In late 2007, I told the absolute truth for two weeks straight. I went out of my way to tell people how much I either appreciated or resented them. I brought up past situations that still really bugged me. I answered questions with the kind of overwhelming candor that would make Howard Stern blush. I was completely transparent.

Needless to say…those were the worst two weeks of my life.

Okay, I’m lying—they weren’t the worst two weeks, just the most confrontational. Every conversation was like playing hopscotch in a mine field. The conversation topics that we generally gloss over with convention turned into full-on confessionals.

At the bank: “Hello sir, how are you this morning?”

“I’m doing great—the woman in front of me was wearing a thong and I could totally see it through her skirt.”

. . .

“Obi, did you get my email?”

“Yea, I read it but couldn’t think of anything clever to respond with so I just deleted it, hoping you wouldn’t ask me about it.”

. . .

And those were the easy questions. Topics on relationship (wowsers), politics, or what I really thought of someone, went from 5-minute stop & chats to hour-long heart-to-hearts. I stopped the experiment after two weeks, not because telling the truth (the WHOLE truth and nothing but the truth) was difficult, but because having conversations with people on that level—everyday—was just emotionally draining.

It all started when my good friend Brian suggested I read a book called Radical Honesty written by this guy named Brad Blanton. (I never got around to actually reading the book but I did read this sweet, condensed article about it in Esquire magazine.)

Blanton suggests that the only way to have real, authentic relationships with anyone is to be a real, authentic human being. Imagine that!

But you say: “I am real. I tell the truth. I’m an authentic human being.” Blanton would disagree. Many of us burn through conversations with the same canned responses. (There are probably hundreds of different human emotions but when asked the question “How are you?” 95% of us respond with “I’m good.” Really? Are you always “good”?) We don’t realize it but not only does this show a lack of awareness but it’s completely inauthentic.

I’ve got to tell you: those two weeks were rough. They were incredibly uncomfortable. Who knew that being totally and completely honest with the people could create such tension? You quickly realize how often you’re willing to lie in order to avoid confrontation. And in being so honest, you also realize when your attempts at avoiding confrontation are completely unnecessary.

I called an old friend and told him that I resented that time back in school when he secretly dated a girl that he knew I had a crush on and didn’t tell me about it. I felt like I couldn’t trust him after that. We talked about it (and other things) for an hour, and our friendship deepened as a result. My vulnerability and my ability to call him out created a stronger bond between us.

This is one of the benefits to being radically honest: your vulnerability creates the space for others to be vulnerable with you. They see you as a human being with emotions and not some robot with a fake smile and clever witticisms.

Being radically honest means taking responsibility for everything: your actions, your desires, your opinions, etc.

“Responsibility means that whatever you are doing, you are willing to experience yourself as the cause. You are the source of your troubles as well as your successes. As long as you are blaming, explaining, apologizing, trying, resolving to be good, hoping or feeling guilty, you are not being responsible.” – Brad Blanton, PhD

Responsibility takes courage. Honesty takes courage. Telling the world what you really want takes courage.

“Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, but it’s the creation of possibility.” – Brad Blanton, PhD

Perhaps this is why I found such value in the experiment. I’m always looking for opportunities to express courage. The more often I act from courage the less often I act from fear.

“Always, always, always, always, always do what you are afraid to do… Do the thing you fear and the death of fear is certain… Do the thing and you will have the power.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

AN EXPERIMENT: THE 7-DAY RADICAL HONESTY CHALLENGE

Starting now, I want you to pledge to be totally, completely, and radically honest for the next 7 days. When asked a question, answer with the whole truth—not just the good parts. If you’re holding a grudge towards someone—tell them. If you’re appreciative about something someone did for you—tell them, even if it was in the past. If it had a profound effect on you today, there’s no doubt they’d be glad to know it.

More importantly, pledge to be radically honest with yourself. Ask questions. Do I really want to do this, or am I doing it to look good in front of the boss? Am I really happy with my body, or do I just tell myself that to avoid exercise and healthier eating habits? Am I really happy in this relationship, or do I stay because it’s comfortable?

Take this as a life experiment. Be radically honest with yourself and others and see what comes up. It’s only 7 days.  And if things become too prickly—you can always go back to lying. :)

HENRY MILLER

COMMANDMENTS

1. Work on one thing at a time until finished.
2. Start no more new books, add no more new material to “Black Spring.”
3. Don’t be nervous. Work calmly, joyously, recklessly on whatever is in hand.
4. Work according to Program and not according to mood. Stop at the appointed time!
5. When you can’t create you can work.

6. Cement a little every day, rather than add new fertilizers.
7. Keep human! See people, go places, drink if you feel like it.
8. Don’t be a draught-horse! Work with pleasure only.
9. Discard the Program when you feel like it—but go back to it the next day. Concentrate. Narrow down. Exclude.
10. Forget the books you want to write. Think only of the book you are writing.
11. Write first and always. Painting, music, friends, cinema, all these come afterwards.

HARUKI MURAKAMI

When I’m in writing mode for a novel, I get up at 4:00 am and work for five to six hours. In the afternoon, I run for 10km or swim for 1500m (or do both), then I read a bit and listen to some music. I go to bed at 9:00 pm. I keep to this routine every day without variation. The repetition itself becomes the important thing; it’s a form of mesmerism. I mesmerize myself to reach a deeper state of mind. But to hold to such repetition for so long — six months to a year — requires a good amount of mental and physical strength. In that sense, writing a long novel is like survival training. Physical strength is as necessary as artistic sensitivity.

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

 I call it Woman with Sandy Corns on Venice Beach in 1959.

]]> http://theuberman.com/experiments/343-things-made-a-woman-on-a-beach-with-sandy-feet-thing-1/feed/ 0 http://theuberman.com/experiments/day4/ http://theuberman.com/experiments/day4/#comments Thu, 26 Jan 2012 20:45:40 +0000 obi http://theuberman.com/?post_type=ubr_experiments&p=118

More notes on the 30 Days Raw experiment: DAY 4

In addition to the delicious food I’ve been eating, I’ve been noticing a lot of mental improvement. Lots of clarity and focus. I’ve been in a better mood and I’m not in my head nearly as much. Maybe there’s something to this raw food thing?

Also, been sleeping less, waking up earlier and feeling totally fine about it. No lethargy or anything!

So, far so good y’all.

Be awesome.

Five years ago I snuck into the Grammy Awards.

I was supposed to have been invited but things don’t always work out as planned.

It all started a year before that when I wrote in my journal: “Next year I’ll be at the Grammys.” (You’ve got to really be careful about the things you write in your journal. If you’re an action oriented person, they may just happen.)

My being at the Grammys was less about my desire to hob-knob with rock stars and more about my relentless drive to always do what I say that I’ll do, to be courageous in the face of my fears, and to live my Life with authority. If you do anything with enough authority, the world will take you seriously.

The following is a brief account of what happened.

PREPARATION

“Having paid heed to the advantages of a plan, the [Uberman] must create situations which will contribute to their accomplishment. By ‘situations’ I mean that he should act expediently in accordance with what is advantageous and so control the balance.” –Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Every action involves a degree of preparation. The greater the action, the more preparation is needed. As soon as I made the decision to actually bust my way in, I put my head down and started to research. I wanted to know everything there was to know about the 2006 Grammy Awards. Where was it taking place? What time were the artists supposed to arrive? Who was producing the event? What kind of credentials would I need? What were some important names to know (and drop)?

I found out that the company producing the event was called Rogers & Cowan, so I went through their website and made a few calls. Basically, I wanted to know the names of anybody who was anybody.

Next I worked on my appearance. I wanted to seem like an agent with swagger or somebody’s manager, so I opted for the classy-casual look: a fitted black suit with a v-neck white tee, an expensive (looking) watch, the biggest diamond (looking) stud my ear could support, and some fresh, new, scuff-less white Vans. (Oh, and aviator sunglasses—you can never go wrong with aviators.)

My roommate at the time was a movie extra and a film festival fanatic, so he had credentials (those cards you wear around your neck) just lying around. I put on about 5 of them.

I wanted to drive my bosses Porsche to the event, but I didn’t have the balls to ask, so I opted for a rental. The rental companies were pretty much sold out of everything [cool], as it was just days before the event and everyone was in town. So I drove my 5 year old, champagne-colored Toyota Solara. (Hey, agents drive glorified Camry’s right?)

Lastly, I put on a giant Bluetooth earpiece (they were huge back then) and stuffed the BlackBerry into my jacket pocket. The goal was to pull it out and start asking (neurotically and extra-loud) about the ‘status of the deal’ and ‘how come they hadn’t deposited her $5 million yet’ and other such agent-like things. I would even call my voicemail just so the giant blue light would flash when I talked and I would look extra douchebaggy.

I was to ready to rock.

AUTHORITY

“If an [Uberman] is not courageous, he will be unable to conquer doubts or [carry out] great plans.” –Sun Tzu, The Art of War

The original plan was to crash the event with my friend and partner in crime James (the extra). I decided to leave early just to scope out the Staples Center and its security arrangements. A 5-block perimeter was created around the arena, with one makeshift entrance being frequented by expensive cars. This was the entry point. I called James and told him that I was going to go for it, and that I’d call him when I got in. (I was absolutely certain, there was no such thing as ‘if’.)

I rolled up to the police officer guarding the entrance. Her badge said T. Beckham and she had a fairly pleasant look on her face. I called my voicemail.

“Excuse me sir, your car doesn’t have the orange placard. I can’t let you in.”

Blue-light flashing: “Madonna, one second please…uh, hello officer, I was told to pick it up at the venue.”

“No sir, they were supposed to mail it to you prior to the event.”

“Wow, what an oversight…I actually have to meet up with my client 5 minutes ago. Is there anything I can do?” A Bentley rolled up behind me.

“Well, if I let you go they may give you problems at the gate.”

“Listen, Becks, let me deal with the men at the gate. I don’t want to keep Jay-Z or whoever is behind me waiting.” She looked at me for a second. A slight smile formed. She waved me in.

If you do anything with enough authority, the world will take you seriously.

My heart was beating faster than ever. Success! If I could get in that easy, the rest would be nothing, right?

I rolled up to the gatemen guarding the parking garage. More police officers.

“Excuse me sir, do you have your parking placard?”

“What? I was told that they’d give it to me at the venue. Anyhow, I’m on the list. Go ahead and check.”

“There is no list, sir. Please pull over to the side.”

My heart was in my throat now, pumping harder than it ever had. The officer huddled with his colleagues for minutes-that-felt-like-hours before walking over to my car.

“Listen; just ask…Roger or Cowan. I’m super late though. Can we make this quick?” I couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of my mouth. The officer lowered his sunglasses and looked me directly in the eye. His face wasn’t as pleasant. He then ripped off a giant orange ticket from a stack of about a hundred and placed it on my dashboard.

“Have fun, sir.”

No way was this happening. I drove off slowly, almost suspicious, like a guerrilla-unit SWAT team would jump out from some trash cans and gun me down, Bonnie & Clyde-style. No guerrillas or SWAT team arrived.

“If courageous, he gains victory by seizing opportunity without hesitation.” –Sun Tzu, The Art of War

The parking lot was littered with Lamborghini’s and Bentleys and Aston Martins and such. I felt like I was on the set of some car porno. I think I orgasmed every time I walked past a Ferrari or G55 Mercedes Benz.

ACTING AS IF (or FAKE IT ‘TILL YOU MAKE IT)

“If you want a quality, act as if you already had it.” –William James

Once inside the compound, I assumed the persona of a top-flight uber-agent. I walked straighter, made eye-contact with everyone, was super-chatty, and even winked at a few women that walked by. From time to time I would pull out the BlackBerry, call my voicemail, and have fake conversations with celebrities, politicians, and even the Dalai Lama. My goal was to feel like an agent, so my attitude and actions would flow naturally.

I was inside the compound but I hadn’t really made it yet. Each entrance to the actual Staples Center building was guarded by metal detectors and large men in multi-colored blazers. I tried a few of the entrances, only to be rebuffed on the account of my lack of real credentials.

I got real close once, in fact I made it into the building, only to be given away as the metal detector went off due to the digital camera in my pocket. Apparently, I should have known that all digital cameras were prohibited from the event. I didn’t get the memo.

I went to the on-site credentials office to pick some up. The woman ran my name through the computer.

“What? No Okorougo on the list? Ok, try Sam Cohn.”

I didn’t get my credentials.

FAILURE AND REDEMPTION AND FAILURE

“There really is no such thing as failure. There is only the rearrangement of plans.” –Susan Falter-Barn

I sat on the curb outside the credentials office feeling a little bummed. How could I make it this far without getting into the building? I thought about what to do next. If I could create the most ideal situation, what would it be? Getting on the red carpet!—easy.  So off I went.

I was told that the red carpet was positioned next to the VIP parking lot, where small pockets of well-dressed people stood chatting next to limos and giant SUVs. I made it a point to say ‘Hi’ to all of them as I passed, even stopping to join in on some conversations.

One group happened to include Coldplay’s limo driver, who was also rather ambitious and interested in seeing the carpet herself. We arrived at a carpet that was red, but less glamorous than one would imagine it to be. I went up and gave the lady with “the list” my name. (I don’t know why I kept doing that, like I was expecting it to magically appear if I said it enough times. Of course, it didn’t.)

“That’s weird. Well, I’m supposed to meet my client on the red carpet. Should I just wait for her to arrive?”

“Oh, they didn’t tell you? The carpet is green this year. And it’s on the other side of the Staples Center.”

Damn, another memo that I somehow missed. I thanked her and headed off in that direction. My escort, Coldplay’s limo driver, had to stay back in case Chris Martin needed to grab his piano or bong or something.

I followed a group of MTV journalists and photographers to the new GREEN carpet. Sticking close to the group and doing my best to stay incognito, I got but five feet away from the limo arrival point. The first limo that arrived was carrying Jennifer Love Hewitt. The flashing lights went off and the photographers started yelling for her to look in their direction.

I paused. Here was my chance. All I had to do was trail after her, wave a few times, walk the 15 yard carpet and duck into the building. My hands trembled and my palms began to sweat. I took a few steps toward the carpet and extended my right foot, placing it slowly onto the lush green floor covering.

I’m on! Now the left foot, Obi. I must have looked like I was doing the Harlem Shake ‘cause my whole body shivered in fear. I looked up to see if anybody was paying attention to me. I’m not sure how long I stood there, but it must’ve been long enough because a large tuxedoed security officer looked directly at me and whispered into his walkie-talkie, walking quickly in my direction.

I ducked behind the photographers from MTV, crouching a bit. Someone grabbed my right arm firmly and pulled me away from the group. It was the security guard.

“What the hell are you doing?!” he asked.

“Uh, well, I’m supposed to be here.”

“Let me see your credentials.”

Sheepishly, I pulled one out from my suit jacket. It read:

LA FILM FESTIVAL (VOLUNTEER)

The guard once again grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the street.

“Hey man, I’m parked here.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am. In the subterranean parking lot, underneath the Staples Center.”

“There is no parking lot under the Staples Center,” he lied.

“Yes there is, and I’m parked there, orange placard and all. Now get your hands off me,” I said with authority.

There wasn’t much he could say after that. There’s no way I could have known that if I didn’t park there. He let go of me and grabbed the walkie-talkie attached to his jacket lapel.

“I have an African-American man, mid-20s, approximately 6 feet tall, black suit, white shoes. Please be on the…”

I didn’t stay for what came next. I walked away from the green carpet, away from the flashing lights, past the credentials office, around the VIP parking lot, past the guards with the multi-colored blazers, past the orgasm-inducing Lamborghini’s, and back into the safety of my car.

I sat there for about 30 minutes before driving off. I was bummed—yes—but also a bit high with excitement over what just happened. I was definitely having a meditative moment. I felt alive and everything around me felt richer and more real.

I was there…I was really there.

Robert McKee has been teaching creators of all kinds for most of his adult life. In a recent interview about storytelling, he offered a statement that literally paused me. (I’ve replaced his words “write” with “create” because his answer can be used for artists of all mediums.)

“Beyond imagination and insight, the most important component of talent is perseverance – the will to [create] and [recreate] in pursuit of perfection. Therefore, when inspiration sparks the desire to [create], the artist immediately asks: Is this idea so fascinating, so rich in possibility, that I want to spend months, perhaps years, of my life in pursuit of its fulfillment? Is this concept so exciting that I will get up each morning with the hunger to [create]? Will this inspiration compel me to sacrifice all of life’s other pleasures in my quest to perfect its telling? If the answer is no, find another idea. Talent and time are a [creator]’s only assets. Why give your life to an idea that’s not worth your life?”

Why give your life to an idea that’s not worth your life?

Love it.

Here’s to the creators.