Rocket Ride

Ricky wasn't really interested. He just wanted to play baseball. This was going to cost him the whole weekend, and there was definitely no baseball in space.

It was his school’s turn to go up to orbit. Part of a new federal program, all public schools were sending their 8th grade classes on a NASA space shuttle for a few hours, to "see the Earth as it really was." It started last year, and Ricky had been disinterested since the announcement by Congress. He had never really been into politics.

But although he had pleaded with his mother, she had insisted he go, that it would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to experience something most never would. All his paperwork filled out and signed, there was no more arguing—he was going.

"Everyone please take your seats and strap in. NASA staff will come around and ensure you're buckled in properly and securely," Mr. Sorenson called out. Ricky was glad he was accompanying them. Although he wasn't really into science, Mr. Sorenson was his favorite teacher. He was always nice to Ricky, and he did a pretty good job of making science cool, or at least not boring.

It seemed forever for all the checks and preparations to be completed. Many of his classmates were chatting away excitedly, wondering how the “rocket ride” would go, what zero gravity would feel like. A feeling of anxiousness permeated the room. This was a first-time experience for everyone, Mr. Sorenson and the other chaperones included. Only the NASA staff on board had any understanding of what was to come.

The countdown started. Ricky began to feel really nervous. “Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen..." He couldn't believe this was actually happening. His heart started racing. "Four, three, two, one, ignition!" An incredible noise filled his eardrums. The space shuttle began shaking violently, and as he and his classmates were pressed hard against the backs of their seats, he could feel them rising upward in the sky.

"Just keep calm everyone, we'll be up in the atmosphere in less than 4 minutes," the shuttle commander called out. All around him, kids were yelling and screaming, NASA staff and chaperones doing their best to quell their fear. Ricky closed his eyes and tried to block out all the chaos.

Before he knew it, he felt a queasy stomach sensation as the shuttle leveled out. NASA staff began unstrapping, and were floating, actually floating. They maneuvered to each passenger, unbuckling their seatbelts and herding them to windows. A stern looking woman unbuckled Ricky and asked him if he was alright. "Yea I think so," he mumbled. She nodded, unsmiling, and gently but firmly guided his wrist to the nearest window before tethering him to the railing.

It was here, in that first moment of looking out, that changed Ricky's life. He was transfixed with the vast Earth stretched out before him, a giant, glowing surface, more brilliant blue than he could imagine. There was an enormous weight to what he was viewing, this magnificent sphere occupying his whole field of vision. Thousands of miles below, he could see pure white swirls of cloud and the outline of a continent.

"That's Asia, can you see the steppes of China and Mongolia?" Mr. Sorenson asked him. Ricky hadn’t noticed him, being so enraptured with the view. "It looks so... beautiful,” Ricky commented softly. He felt lame using that word—​beautiful? But that was all he could muster. He couldn't describe how he felt, the emotions he was feeling.

"I know what you mean… I agree,” Mr. Sorenson replied. “It’s the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I can't believe we live on such a miracle." They floated there silently, noses and finger tips pressed to the glass, hardly aware of anything else around them.

"Notice there are no lines down there," one of the NASA staff was saying. "We're looking down on one planet, the only one we've got. This is the only known place in the universe to have oxygen, to have an atmosphere and ecosystem capable of sustaining life. It's all we've got. We need to take care of it."

Ricky couldn't believe how he felt. He could barely process everything. This was it. This was his planet. This was his home. He felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the Earth, for all the people on it, for all the people he knew. He would never forget this. He was part of a miracle, and he had no choice now but to treasure it.

Redding and the Density Divide

As a Bay Area native, Redding is an interesting place. Crossing over the freeway overpasses you see the surrounding mountains, and it’s beautiful. It was my second visit, and while the city has its warts (as all do), it also exudes a rustic, forgotten charm. I understand why my family finds its vicinity to nature appealing. Redding is “out of the way from everything,” and many find that peaceful. Driving home, snowcapped Mount Shasta dominated the rear-view mirror, and we had views of prominent Lassen Peak to the left. Both were splendent; there are no mountains like that in the South Bay.

Sundial Bridge in the heart of Redding

The pace of life is different in Redding. While going to the grocery store and driving around it was clear people move slowly. They worry less about getting somewhere, and overall seem less tense—there’s less association with time. We walked around our Airbnb neighborhood, and it felt different. Every fourth or fifth house had a large Trump sign or banner somewhere in the front yard, something you don’t see in Santa Clara. “We’re not in Kansas anymore,” I thought to myself…

People who live in the city and those who live in the countryside face a large experiential divide. It was the largest demarcation between the original colonies and early states: economies, living conditions, and lifestyle were all different. People in the city enjoy the hustle and bustle. They appreciate the vast number of food choices, all the entertainment options. People in the country enjoy the connection with nature, appreciate the peace in being left alone, and like what’s familiar.

There’s an inherent element of self-reliance among rural people; if you can’t take care of yourself, you fail. In old times, it meant you didn’t survive. They pride themselves on their ability to thrive on their own. City dwellers rely on services more. Traditionally there’s no space to raise animals or crops, to grow your own food. They specialize in something that adds a piece of value to the societal whole. That specialized value converts into currency, which they use to fill out the rest of their lives, outsourcing much that country folk engage in daily. City folk are specialists, rural folk are generalists.

The remains of Whiskeytown in Shasta County

I think this is one of the prime distinctions in American life and thus America politics. The ‘swing states,’ those that actually determine elections, have a mix of both lifestyles. Ohio, Pennsylvania, Michigan and Wisconsin have larger, liberal cities, but also many conservatives across large swaths of rural land. These states hold a balance between the specialization and services and the generalism and self reliance. Those two lived experiences differ greatly, and their proponents tend to vote very differently.

This divide seems to directly stem from the density of land, the density of living. When you’re forced to be self reliant due to lack of services, you need many skills just for daily life. That makes you more accustomed to the familiar, because you’re the one that has to solve your problems. The fewer surprises the better. Meanwhile urbanites are constantly affronted with change. They must continuously adapt to novel situations, and this leads to more openness, more acceptance of a variety of experience. They are regularly exposed to what they can’t control, and regularly utilize services that resolve problems. Driving across town in the City is a pain, so San Franciscans take public transit or ride shares.

This difference in density is one of the fundamental causes of liberalism and conservatism. People often cite wealth and the reluctance around taxes, but that’s only one part of the story. The wealthy avoid high taxes whether they live in Atherton or Russian Hill. “Ordinary” people living in cities don’t want to pay taxes any more than those in rural areas, they just value services above solitude.

Whiskeytown National Recreation Area in early Spring, 2021

And yet, these differences are still small compared to the larger picture. We might go about our days differently, but we still live the same days: 24 hours at a time, seeking health, wealth, prosperity and peace for our tribe. We may have varying tolerance for taxes, rely on services to a different degree, but we still all want the same things. Our methods are simply different. Our pursuit of meaning, the means to which we pursue meaning, still resemble one singular human path. Our children still go to school. None of us want cancer or dementia or heart disease. We all want our children to live long, healthy excellent lives. We all want freedom. Are we really any different?

Leaning into the divide between metropolitans and farmers is not the answer. The answer is to recognize the liberal-conservative divide for what it actually is: tiny variation within the woven fabric of humanity.

Redding is not that far from me. I woke up and did my Morning Routine, like always. I went to get bagels. My wife and I sat and had breakfast and coffee. We packed. Then we left to drive up there. Four hours later, we were in a very different, very beautiful place. I felt myself sticking out at the gas stations and grocery stores wearing traditional Silicon Valley garb: dress shorts and a short sleeve button up, complete with Xero Sandals and an Apple Watch with a LGBT rainbow wristband. And yet, nobody cared. The locals in Redding were nothing but nice. Am I that different from them? We’re all trying to make our way in life.

That’s our purpose in our short time here, to figure life out. And in my experience, whether in Redding or Silicon Valley, China or South Africa, it’s much better to do that together.

AB2901 Open Letter to the California State Senate

To the California State Senate:

I'm writing to implore you to uphold your duty as elected officials and to advocate for the passing of The Pregnancy Leave for Educators Act (AB2901). Voting "yes" on AB2901 affirms California's commitment to providing the best education possible.

Teachers should have the best parental leave in the state. There are many reasons for this, but it comes down to this: teaching is the most important job in the world. We must allow teachers to recover from birthing their children and give them time to bond with their newborns—so they will return to the profession.

Working with students on a science project in Arusha, Tanzania - November 2019

Without teachers, we don't have astronauts, engineers, doctors or lawyers. Good teachers are fundamental to a strong education, the prerequisite for skill and knowledge acquisition. Without teachers, our future disappears because we are unable to educate and train the next generation.

Because here's the elephant in the room: teaching is hard, and people are leaving the profession. California has the 4th largest teaching shortage in the country. We can debate the causes of this distressing trend, but the bottom line is we are losing teachers precisely when we need them more than ever.

What's one way to reverse this trend? Create incentives for people to join and remain in the field. If teachers are granted the humane perk of fair parental leave, they'll want to return to their classrooms. With proper parental leave, teachers can rest and recover from childbirth, one of the most profound moments of their lives, before returning to their important, and inherently stressful, jobs.

Learning is an amazing thing to watch

Because the fact of the matter is teachers are tired. “Burnout” is the buzzword among teachers. And who can blame them? They are accountable to the children they teach, those children's parents, the administrations and school districts, and society at large. Providing sufficient parental leave will help combat burnout and incentivize retention.

Teachers are called to the profession, but they're barely hanging on right now. AB2901 is being closely followed. If it doesn't pass, thousands will be angry, and California cannot afford the resulting dire consequences. California can't afford this runaway train of teacher shortages. Our future depends on it. We need to bring people back to the profession by providing reasons to come back. And shouldn't teachers have the same perks as everyone else?

It's time for the Golden State to lead again; to lead the country, and the world. California created the first public library in the 1800’s and led the charge in protecting the environment through emissions standards legislation in the early 1960’s. It's 2024—in these uncertain times, California should resume its place as a world leader in public policy and as a force for good.

You have the power to take the first step. You can vote "yes" on AB2901 to show teachers you value their service and sacrifice. You can incentivize more people to join the teaching ranks, so that California provides the best education possible to its citizens. You can change the world for the better. Will you?

Thank you,

Trevor, Trevor Allen Vision

Hiking Matters

A walk is not a hike. And there’s a clear difference.

Four dimensions differentiate hikes from walks:

Terrain. On a hike you negotiate natural terrain—dirt, rocks, or sand— on some kind of trail. You frequently have to watch your feet and choose your path, otherwise you’ll trip on rocks or roots. The terrain is usually uneven, necessitating selective footwear. Walks occur on some manmade material or such well trodden pathway it might as well be manmade. You can wear flip flops on walks. Here’s a simple litmus test: did you think about what shoes to wear? If not, it’s not a hike.

Distance. Going for a walk is easy, it’s casual, it’s nonchalant. Spur of the moment you can just decide to go. A hike? Then there are consequences. You’ll likely still be hiking an hour later, and you’ll be exerting effort. Walks can be long, but hikes always are—unless they score excessively high in one of the next two dimensions. People feel a sense of accomplishment when they finish a hike, because a hike isn’t a 1 mile loop around the pond by their house.

Looking toward the Bay atop Windy Hill - June 2023

Elevation. Hikes aren’t flat. We enjoy hiking Windy Hill because it’s relatively short on a clear dirt path. What makes it a hike? The 1,000 foot elevation gain to the top, from where you can view the Pacific Ocean and the San Francisco Bay simultaneously. I’m pouring sweat by the time we reach the summit. Many pursue hikes for views of the surrounds. In order to get those views, you need a hill. Even hikes ending in waterfalls need some type of elevation to exist—the water has to “fall off” something. And that sense of accomplishment? You feel it when you’ve climbed something, instead of “just” walking a couple flat miles. 

Nature. A walk can circle a city block. You go on a hike because it’s in nature. You hear the songs of birds, the rustling of squirrels in the underbrush, perhaps the trickling sound of running water. You’re out in the elements, you acutely feel temperature change, even if just from sun to shade. You’re aware of the wind picking up, of the foliage changing. This immersion within nature is a hike prerequisite, but not necessarily a walk. 

Say we use a famous waterfall to contextualize these dimensions:

The start of Lower Yosemite Fall Trail - July 2024

In July my wife and I walked the Lower Yosemite Fall Trail. The loop is paved and almost entirely flat, measuring about a mile. You get an amazing view of Yosemite Falls (the tallest waterfall in North America), and experience some forest along the route, but you’re never fully immersed in nature due to the throngs of people and proximity to the main road. The terrain is negligible, the grade is almost nonexistent, and it’s short. The Lower Yosemite Fall Trail is a walk. Yosemite Falls Trail, meanwhile, qualifies as a hike. You must climb 2,700 feet up to the top of the granite cliff where the waterfall begins its plunge. The trail isn’t paved — it’s a root and rocked-filled dirt path that winds its way up from the valley floor. There are switchbacks, and switchbacks, and switchbacks… and you are immersed in nature throughout the hike. There are mesmerizing views of the falls, Half Dome, and the picturesque valley floor far below. Yosemite Falls Trail is a spectacular 7 mile hike.

So hikes are inherently out in nature and involve elevation and long distances on natural terrain. Who cares? Why does this even matter?

Sometimes I wonder if the very simple things can change the world—like getting out in nature and going on a hike. What if more people hiking more often is part of the solution? What if hiking provides the needed respite, the connection with Mother Earth, that empowers us to be better to each other, to be better humans? We are connected to this planet and all life on it. We have been for millennia, since the dawn of our species. Hiking enables us to live that experience, and maybe to understand that we’re all part of one beautiful system, that we are one.

Upper Yosemite Falls with Half Dome looming in the background - April 2017

Written Contribution to the Universe

I write because I want to contribute to the universe, I want to make an impact on the world. That’s my why. I want to do this because I believe it’s the purpose of life, to contribute to this particle soup of which we exist in and are a part of. A life well lived is to be impactful, to somehow change the world or make the universe better for our species, for all species on Earth, for all life. To make the universe better, cooler, more awesome. We are the manifestation of reality, the manifestation of the universe expressing itself. It’s actually utterly amazing when you consider it, and I am it. So I write to contribute something epic.

Boarding a plane in the Okavango Delta with my Granny in 2010 during my first visit to Africa

What’s value? What can I uniquely provide to the world? I feel I have a unique perspective on humanity and the planet because of my travels and upbringing. Not only have I been fortunate to travel extensively, but my parents have—they raised me in it. So the two people who have sculpted my personality the most have been to and seen many places. What’s more, all four of my grandparents traveled. I spent more time with my Granny and Grandpa, my mom’s parents, seeing them multiple times a month growing up. Their love and affection was grounded within an optimistic, expansive view of the world. I’ve spent less time with my dad’s parents, my Grandma and Grandpa, but they have “lived the world” more than anyone I know: they’ve lived on at least 4 continents (North and South America, Africa, and Asia) and several countries. This was back in a different time, before Instagram and the internet, when traveling and living abroad weren’t cool or popular. I still marvel at their experiences and stories. Their lives have been, for lack of a better word, cool. And all of this genealogical travel has shaped who I am today.

What is so different about my perspective? It may not be radical, but I truly see humans as one species, not a collection of countries or cultures. I genuinely believe, and have evidence through my travels, that we are more similar than we are different. People sometimes take this as an admonishment of cultural diversity, even whitewashing. But I couldn’t mean anything further from this. I’ve lived in China, a country with a completely different language and history. I’ve lived in South Africa, whose history and culture has become a smorgasbord over the centuries. I’ve spent months in East Africa, a place still suffering from the ravages of 19th century colonialism. These places couldn’t be more different than each other or where I grew up in San Jose California, the capital of Silicon Valley… as a tall, blonde-haired blue-eyed white heterosexual male from a middle class family. I recognize these differences in culture because I’ve immersed myself in all of them.

Local scene from Beijing, China, spring of 2013

But I still believe these differences remain superficial, from a certain perspective. Did I eat completely different foods in Africa and Asia? You bet. I still remember my first couple weeks in China, when I roamed the streets of Beijing alone, looking for restaurants. I would find one, hand-sign my way to a table, and open up the menu handed to me, knowing it would be completely indecipherable. I would point at something random, and the waitress would acknowledge my choice and bring it to me (quickly, too: in China most dishes can be prepared in less than 10 minutes, which is pretty crazy considering how varied their food is). I ate things I couldn’t even identify. The food culture couldn’t have been more different than the standard American fare I was used to growing up. But to think about it slightly differently—did I eat food? Yep, along with all the other 1.3 billion Chinese people. As did all the cohabitants of South Africa or Tanzania. In fact, all the humans I’ve ever come across in this vast world eat food. We all sleep too, around 8 hours a day. We all share the same biological processes, i.e. we all circulate blood and breathe air and sweat and poop.

What’s more, we all want the same things. We all seek financial security. We all want purpose, to find some meaning in our lives. We all try to live long healthy lives. We all want to have fun. We all want to support and protect and spend time with our families—or as I like to use the term, our tribe: the small group of people we most associate with, care the most for, and spend the most time with. We all love. From my perspective, when you consider all these similarities between us, the differences in geography and history and culture seem fairly small. Because they’re less important than these most important things, these elements of health, wealth, time and love. If we forced every person on Earth to live under some regime that optimized those four dimensions, would any nation or cultural group of people be disproportionately more unhappy than all the rest? No. The joy would be egalitarian. (For the record, I’m not at all advocating for any authoritarian system of wellbeing for everyone). And this doesn’t mean we can’t highlight and celebrate our differences either.

This is where my head is at with TAV. I want to convince people I’m right—that we are more similar than we are different, globally, across the entire planet. And I want to show people that adopting such a lens of our species and the world is a good thing—it will bring security, prosperity, health, and happiness to us all. Maybe we have to start by proving such “global consciousness” is possible. Because if we can believe in it, we can argue over it, and eventually pursue it. This is what I’m working towards. This is my deepest belief and my boldest possible pursuit of purpose. Writing about it gets it out there on the interwebs. You reading about it plants the seedling of a united humanity. And there’s more coming, more that will inspire change. Will you join me?

One Little Piece

Everything’s going to be alright. No matter the course of our lives, we get to be here in this incredible universe together. We get to be one little piece of it, no matter what happens. I try to remember this when life seems mundane. Because it’s a big beautiful amazing world.

Changing Together

The world is changing, as it always is. Part of being human is adapting with it, something our species has been doing for millennia. By developing global consciousness we can impact the future of change as never before. Will we unite?

Experiencing Earth

I was going through pictures on my computer this evening and I was struck by Earth’s majesty. I don’t think there’s any other word that captures it. There is glorious architecture in Prague and awe-inspiring wildlife in the Serengeti. There are thousands of waterfalls all over Earth right now, their streams gushing over cliffs as you read this, all the time. One can visit the polar cold or the humid jungles on this planet. Earth truly is a miracle. Life is enriched when we go out and experience it.

Reading Other Worlds

Immersing yourself into stories changes you. When you imagine and accept other worlds and other realities, your perspective enlarges. This enables us to be more thoughtful and considerate, because we have more “experience” in uncertainty and the unknown. Maybe the world can come together if we simply read more.

Choosing Love and Beating Cancer

Cancer has greatly affected my life: all four of my grandparents have fought it. Two of them are no longer here because of this horrific disease.

So I'm running my first ever Half Marathon to honor Augie, Doris, Shirley and Dick - four of the most important people in my life. I've never ran this far before, and my goal is to complete the race in under 2 hours. I'm nervous, but I know this race is nothing compared to what they faced.

I want to live in a world in which grandparents meet the spouses of their grandchildren; a world in which grandparents play with their great grandchildren. A world in which we have beaten cancer.

Please consider sharing or donating to my fundraiser to give hope to a cancer-free world. Together, we can do this. We can end cancer.

Thank you.

Lessons from Harry Truman

What are the lessons I’ve learned from former U.S. President Harry S. Truman?

• Always act with integrity and do what's right

• Be honest - it makes life simpler

• Work as hard as you can to make an impact on the world

• Action matters, and we must move swiftly to act

These tenets are not reserved solely for elected officials, but can be employed by every American citizen. If we all strive to act like Harry Truman, we can build not just a better country, but a more just and and prosperous world.

Christmas Cards in August

We’ve never composed a Christmas Card, it just hasn’t been our thing. But I’ve always thought a good way to create one would be to write it throughout the year to better capture all the highlights.

I similarly keep a note on my phone titled “Our Year Together” to record all the joyous memories over each of the twelve months. They can be simple things like dinner and dice with the folks, or birthday parties or baseball games. A few times each year, and always at the end, we review the wonderful experiences. It keeps us centered and grateful.

This portable time machine can work wonders on your psychology. There is always something to be grateful for. And life is better when we’re grateful. Because it really is beautiful.

Juggling in Life

It can be difficult to keep all the balls in the air in life. But I think most of us choose the same priorities, regardless of ethnicity, culture or geography: family and love.

Sharing Love

I have to say, one of my favorite adulting activities is sharing good news and love with family. Does that make me old? Perhaps, but it can also signify a life well lived. And if we all focus on living well, we can share this big beautiful amazing world together.

Faraway Friends FTW

I try to reach out to faraway friends fairly frequently. It connects me to my previous lives when I saw those people more often, and it keeps my perspective broad because they live somewhere completely different and's thus have disparate experiences. Because I believe we are all one, but we channel our humanity through the various conditions unique to each of us. Despite varying circumstances, we all want the same things. My faraway friends can attest to that. We all emanate love.

People Bringing Change

I used to be one of those cynical souls who pondered not “bringing in children to this world.” But I realized that’s precisely what it is: cynicism. How can we make the world better if we don’t bring people into it? Will the world change by preventing all future generations? Because I agree it seems unlikely the current people alive with agency will bring about global change. Maybe it’s someone young without influence who will change the world—meaning that person was brought into the world by someone. Maybe it’s you.

Create and Contribute

We’re here to create, to contribute, to do. I try to remember that when I’m feeling lazy or unsure. When we look back, we’ll feel proud if we lived authentically and contributed all of us to the world.

Adults Never Come

I think you’re never an adult. There are always more new experiences in life, and the world is always changing. That’s why so many people behave like children. Gotta keep learning and adapting in order to contribute. And that’s part of what it makes it beautiful.

Summer Closing

You can feel the summer winding down. The temperatures are cooling, school is starting soon (as well as football season!), and the year is on the back half. And so it goes.

Time keeps going.. are we contributing? Are we enjoying it?

Truman Tome Thoughts

I finished a big book today, the first time I've finished reading one in a while: Truman by David McCullough. I was emotionally moved upon completing it. And I can say I learned so much from this biography—incredible history (and the importance of always learning more history), but also insight into how to be good, how to be great, and how to live a life well lived.

Harry Truman may not have been our smartest President, but he worked hard and acted on principle (during his entire political career, not just during his time in the White House), in some of the most consequential times in United States history.​ I feel lucky he was our President at the close of World War II, the dawn of the Nuclear Age, and the birth of the United Nations. He served, as politicians ought to do—to the best of his ability.

It's been said reading enables us to live many lives. I think that's true. There's a unique feeling you encounter when racing through the final pages, eager to finish, but at the same time, dreading it being over. It can be emotional finishing a book, and it stimulates the mind, but I feel it's also almost a spiritual experience, especially when transversing the barrier of time and communing with the dead.

Thank you for your incredible service President Truman. And thank you David McCullough for writing a wonderful book.