Unashamed Insistence

"Someone else's action should not determine your response."

That's The Dalai Lama speaking. Mr. Rogers was a big fan of his. He quoted him in his posthumous book, "Life's Journeys According To Mister Rogers," which I began reading this morning.

It's a ridiculously excellent quote if you stop to think about it. That said, it may well be easier said than done. But, then, the best things in life are probably easier said than done.

I went back to work at MTV News today after a week-long vacation that fell fast on the heels of Independence Day which followed almost immediately after Chris and my trip to Amy's and Bo's. Which is to say, for the first time since I took the first life-altering step into a deeper and more simple life, I was forced to wade through Big Media knowing that a) I'm not a rocket scientist b) I'm selling sugar water and c) I'm not going anywhere anytime soon.

I read most of Bo's book, "Deep & Simple" -- the one that started it all -- while on vacation in Bonaire. It's pretty easy to imagine a life of a) fiscal modesty b) community orientation and c) daily reflection while floating in the Caribbean. In the ninety degree subway at nine o'clock in the morning? Not so.

That was the challenge today, and will be in the coming weeks and months. How do I integrate these lessons from the epicenter of what I've taken to calling The Fast Food Culture? Abbi and I weren't in New York five minutes when I said (half in jest), "I feel like buying something already."

Fortunately, Mr. Rogers came to the rescue almost immediately.

Amongst the (I kid you not) 1633 emails in my inbox was one from my mother.

"Saw this on a blog," she wrote. "Don't know if you've read this or not."

I followed the link (timmadigan.com) to Chapter One of author (and Fort Worth Star-Telegram reporter) Tim Madigan's book, "I'm Proud of You." Tim and Mr. Rogers were friends.

The heart of his greatness... was his unique capacity for relationship, what Esquire magazine writer Tom Junod once called "a fearlessness, an unashamed insistence on intimacy." That was true with almost every person he met, be it television's Katie Couric or a New York City cabdriver; the Dalai Lama or the fellow handing out towels at the health club where Fred went to swim. Fred wanted to know the truth of your life, the nature of your insides, and had room enough in his own spirit to embrace without judgment whatever that truth might be.

Tim's description of Mr. Rogers' ease with intimacy ("Your wounded heart is a very beautiful heart") and compassion ("Anything mentionable is manageable") was as eloquent and moving as any I'd read. I smiled and choked back tears right there on the 2/3 Express.

All day long I'd been holding Mr. Rogers, Bo Lozoff, Amy Hollingsworth, and The Dalai lama in my heart. All day long I tried to find the joy in every situation, no matter how bleak. All day long, I sought to turn other sadness, frustration and exhaustion into hope. The City can be brutal and inhospitable. People can be cruel.

I stepped out of the subway at 72d Street. The air was heavy and hot. Traffic was clogged. People were rushing. As I crossed Broadway, I caught a glimpse of the sun setting over the Hudson, before scurrying on towards home. A block later, though, I turned around to watch it slip beneath the waves. I was a little bit embarrassed to be standing on the street corner staring into the sun. But I'm working on it. I'm shooting for unashamed insistence.

Silence & Song

This morning was beautiful. The sky was clear blue. The air was cool and crisp. Chris and Ethan joined Abbi and me for our morning run in Central Park. Somewhere around the fourth or fifth mile, there beneath a deep green canopy of leaves on the bridal path east of The Reservoir, Ethan began singing.

He was reclining in the jogging stroller, looking up at the sky through the trees. The stroller was bumping along the gravel path. He was singing softly to himself. I could only scarcely make out the words over our collective footfalls, only his sweet, soft voice warbling with every bump.

At the end of last week's shoot, Amy read me a letter Mr. Rogers had sent her from Nantucket. I'm sure it will make the documentary. He wrote about quietly observing the sunset over Madaket Bay, and how deeply he was moved by it. I can't quote the letter verbatim (the interviews are being transcribed by our brand-new, most-capable Associate Producer, Katia Maguire, who produces for PBS' "American Masters" by day), but in essence, Mr. Rogers told Amy that the deep and simple beauty of the moment inspired him to sing songs of praise (Amy calls them "doxology").

"There's something very mystical and wonderful about how music can touch us," he told the Academy of Television & Radio. "You know, it's elemental."

It struck me this morning that, without any prompting, or learning, Ethan knows how to respond to beauty and grace: with song. Of course, Mr. Rogers knew all about the power of song.

"The music is a huge part of my work. It was always a way of expressing who I was and how I felt."

Music was definitely a shorthand for Mr. Rogers and me. The day after I met him, I played "Summer's Gone" in his living room. I think he intuited a lot from that song choice ("summer's gone away/everything left to decay/there is nothing you can say/to make it last"). I think he felt the sense of loss and hope in me. Later, he played "Happy Birthday" and "Won't You Be My Neighbor?" for me. I didn't need to intuit much; his openness, love and light spilled from his eyes and radiated from his fingertips.

There was a lot of silence and song between Mr. Rogers and me. When the horror of September 11th derailed the long-planned release of my CD, "Crash Site," I asked myself what he would do. Two weeks later, Mr. Rogers called the venue at which I performed a Red Cross benefit and sold copies of a newly-recorded benefit single just to wish me good luck.

Silence and song.

The sun was setting as Chris and I wrapped up our interview with Bo in Mebane, NC, last week. Chris was picking up some final shots from the deck of The Human Kindness Foundations Meditation Center. I stood next to him, quietly taking in the cool, tranquil, and beautiful moment. Just over our shoulder, a morning dove sang softly, "Whooo, whoooo, whooooo..." I often think of God when I hear morning doves. I know He/She was with us then. I didn't say a word to Chris. But last night, as I quickly screened the tapes, I found that Chris had pointed the camera towards that beautiful bird and its song, and lingered there a while.

Silence and song.

There will be plenty of both in this film.

For Mr. Rogers. And me. And Ethan.

The Deep & Simple Gold Mine

I stumbled (ok, Googled) upon an absolute gold mine this weekend. The Archive of American Television has posted a nine-part interview with Mr. Rogers from July, 1999. I'm only one hour into it, but already I'm thrilled, and moved, and so excited. And already I'm emailing Christofer saying, "We need to raise funds so we can license all of this great footage!"

I have two computers on my desk here at the MTV, a Apple and a Dell. I tend to do the bulk of my work on the MacBook, while watching broadband on the Dell (while, of course, CNN plays on the TV -- not so intentional, to be sure). So I was working and listening and I heard Mr. Rogers says, "Yunno what? Before we do that, can I say one more thing?"

I paused what I was doing, and watched...

"How many clothes can you wear? How many cars can you drive? How big of a shelter do you really need? Some people get so caught up in the trappings of life. At least I feel that they lose what is real. And so my desire is to help children realize that deep and simple are far, far more important than shallow and complicated and fancy."

I clapped and whooped out loud. Here he was saying almost exactly what he said to me that day in Nantucket! It's the thesis of the whole thing! And it completely hooks into what Bo and I discussed last week about consumerism's tendency to distract from spirituality! So cool.

But don't take my word for it. Set down what you're doing, and watch for yourself.

Archive of American Television Interview With Fred Rogers

The End Is The Beginning Is The End

Considering that Chris and I have barely begun shooting, Mr. Rogers & Me," it might sound ridiculous to tell you that I think I know how the film should end.

(Of course, if you don't want to know how it's going to end, you probably shouldn't read any more of this post.)

I haven't tracked down the actual tape yet, and I only vaguely recall having seen it myself, so I would say that the story of Mr. Rogers at the Emmy Awards was an apocryphal one -- if both Bo and Amy hadn't corroborated my memory.

Here's the scene. Mr. Rogers is accepting his lifetime achievement award. He's standing at the podium in front of television luminaries (I remember seeing Diane Sawyer and Mike Nichols). He asks everyone to stand and says, "All of us have special ones who have loved us into being. Would you just take, along with me, ten seconds to think of the people who have helped you become who you are. Ten seconds of silence." Then he lifted his wrist, looked at his watch, and said softly, "I'll watch the time."

Above all, I think, Mr. Rogers was an advocated for quiet reflection. Because in reflection, in turning inward, we find ourselves, and The Divine. It is the essence of deep and simple.

Mr. Rogers had a saying on a plaque in his office that read, "What is essential is invisible to the eye." What is essential is inside. The way to get at what is essential is to be still, be in the moment, and listen.

In May of 1997, during a Charlie Rose broadcast from Pittsburgh, Mr. Rogers asked Charlie, "What do you think we can do, those of us who are purveyors of this television medium, what can we do to encourage people to have more quiet in their lives, more silence? Because real revelation comes through silence." (Charlie answered with another question.)

So... imagine that ninety minutes of film have passed. We've established my relationship to Mr. Rogers, his challenge to me to "spread the message" of deep and simple. We've spoken with Bo and Amy, Mrs. Rogers, Michael Keaton, LeVar Burton, Katie Couric, Bill Moyers and who knows who else. We've visited his birthplace in Latrobe, his children's center at St. Vincent's, the set at WQED, and his red sweater in the Smithsonian. We've seen clips from his show, and his speeches, in interviews, on camera and off. We've addressed spirituality, culture, consumerism, advertising, violence, and television. And you, there in the audience, have a few things to think about. What does deep and simple mean to me? What really matters? How can I make a difference?

In voice over, then, as the camera settles on a shot of the sunset on Madaket Bay (where Mr. Rogers swam daily, and where my mother first met him), I'll say, "Would you just take, along with me, ten seconds of silence." And I'll pause long enough to hear the wind and the waves then softly say, "I'll watch the time."

Closer

I gather from the feedback I'm getting that everyone thinks I'm freaking out over the scope of this project. And I am. But I don't mean to be all sturm und drang. It's not all heavy. There's already been plenty of joy, fun, and beauty along the way.

Take this photo, for example. Chris and I were at The Cracker Barrel in Mebane, NC. We hadn't really eaten (Power Bars don't count) in nearly twenty-four hours, this despite the fact that we'd done a full-day shoot, all-night drive, and even a short run. So we were huuuung-ry! And when I saw that bacon -- those thick, glorious strips of swine -- well, I had to grab the camera.

Breakfast was, by the way, outstanding. I had two eggs over-easy, sausage and hash brown caserole (mmmmm, cheese!). Chris had (get this!) two eggs over-easy, three strips of bacon, and three pancakes.

Sure, I was wound like a top. But we sure enjoyed that breakfast. And we had an absolutely amazing afternoon afterwards (excepting, perhaps, when Cracker Barrel became the but of jokes -- "Southern Fast Food," I think she called it -- around the dinner table).

An unexpected byproduct of this project is the tie spent with my brother. We've been best friends our entire lives, with the usual ups and downs. But as he anticipates the August arrival of his second child, and I continue to be consumed with my career, and my singer/songwriter aspirations, we spend less time together. So the long drives and long talks have been nice.

At the end of our long day at The Human Kindness Foundation, Chris and I snapped a few photos with Bo in his office. After we said our goodbyes, and were turning for the door, Bo opened his arms wide and pulled both of us into his chest. I thought it was pretty cool that, on just the second day of shooting "Mr. Rogers & Me," we had already been brought closer together.

The Solution

I walked out of the office to pick up lunch this afternoon past two-hundred teenage girls, each one dressed and coifed identically. Sitting on a planter near the center of the 1515 (which we call, "The Mothership") were two paparazzi waiting on "Superman Returns" stars Brandon Routh and Kate Bosworth.

As you probably know, "multi-platform" is the big catch phrase in media these days. In short, it means that ads are following you onto every device you have: tv, laptop, ipod, cell phone. MTV's TRL has already experimented with dual live bradcasts onair and online, so when the action ends on TV, you can just turn your head towards your computer. You can watch "The Hills" on your iPod, your cell phone, and your laptop. One of my (bad) jokes around here is that implants are next: TV straight to your brain.

All of which would be fine if we were broadcasting, say, "Frontline," or "The News Hour," but...

But I can't stop thinking that if you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem.

This morning I was thinking about some of the things Bo Lozoff and I discussed on Monday (Chris laid off all the HDV to DVD so I can screen them over the weekend -- I can't wait!). As a culture, America has more leisure time and more wealth than any other in history. But we're more overscheduled and more depressed than ever. He told me about a couple he saw walk into a hotel gym, climb on their respective treadmills, out on their respective headphones, unfold their respective magazines, and watch their respective channels.

There's something seriously wrong with this picture, yunno?

Mr. Rogers received four Emmy Awards over the course of his thirty year television career. Upon receiving his fourth, he stood before the inustry-only audience is said, "You know, there are a lot of powerful executives in the room right now who are responsible for most of the television programs on the air. And I have to tell you, you're not doing a very good job."

If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem.

I worried about working for MTV before I even started. On one hand, I was concerned it was be high school for adults. For another, it didn't align too well with the Thoreau-like ascetisism I'd embraced in college ("I endeavor to stand on the edge of two eternities..."). So I rode a motercycle high into the San Juan range, climbed to 14,000 feet, and sat alone a few days to think it through. I decided to go for it, and have enjoyed it almost every step of the way.

I thought as I crossed Columbus Avenue en route to the subway this morning, "This documentary is going to be the end of my career."

One of em, anyway.

Accept The Ambiguities

Amy, bless her heart, sent me two emails today. Both were packed with the kind of fortification necessary to help me through a long, challenging day. As you can imagine, transitioning from the rolling green hills of North Carolina and the unharried energies of the Human Kindness Foundation to the steamy concrete of Times Square and deadline intensive MTV was jarring. Three hours of fitful sleep didn't help. But Amy's email sure did:

Benjamin,

So your "angels in the atmosphere" are at work again today, and these words straight from Fred himself:

"I've often hesitated in beginning a project because I've thought, 'It'll never turn out to be even remotely like the good idea I have as I start.' I could just 'feel' how good it could be. But I decided that, for the present, I would create the best way I know how and accept the ambiguities."

Accept the ambiguities. Everyone is pulling for you.

Best, Amy

After work, I spent a few minutes on my deck, watching the clouds soar by. Then I called Abbi and talked her ear off. I was rolling on materialism, being in the world but not of the world, life, death, truth and beauty for a half hour, non-stop. Then I stepped inside (out of the rain), and wrote Amy...

Forgive me for taking so long to respond to both of your thoughtful, inspiring, and comforting notes. As you can imagine, leaving Richmond at 6AM, flying into New York at 7AM, and returning to work at 9AM makes for quite a day. I only now just finished eating dinner, and am sitting down to begin to process all that's transpired...

As you may have read, yesterday went quite well. Bo is an interesting, charismatic, and very deep man. Words still fail me when I try to summarize all that we discussed in our nearly six hour conversation. From culture to kids to shaking off our mortality; we covered some serious ground. As you read, I was rendered speechless by the end of the afternoon. (I'm still recovering, to be sure.)

Your emails have helped restore me to a place of confidence. Chris, too, keeps reminding me, "One step at a time." It's not so much that I doubt the outcome (as long and in whatever form it might take), but instead am reeling a bit over how naive I was to undertake this project -- this journey -- and not expect to be forever transformed.

Still, I feel if only slightly equipt for the long road, whether from studying Campbell in college, or fasting for four days in the desert when I was 22-uears-old, or simply putting together compelling, substantive programming at work. As one of my favorite guitarists (The Who's Peter Townsend) says, "It's all building up to something."

That said, this is a project that will progress in fits and starts. Chris and I have most definitely returned to earth. I expect that our next major step will be either Washington, DC, or Pittsburgh. Meanwhile, we work for "The Man."

Either way, you have been a kind, patient, and giving soul. Likewise your wonderful family. Thank you so much. (These words themself seem insufficient.) Thank you for opening your home, and your heart, and
sharing with me.

I don't know quite what this will look like when we get there, but I can promise you that I will do my best to merit the fact that you're pulling for me.

Now, however, I really must go to sleep. The Big City seems even bigger on just three hours of sleep.

Love to all, and my deepest gratitude. Will speak soon, and keep you posted...

I hit send, then collapsed into deep, dreamless sleep.

Staring At The Sun

Had I known just how radically impactful one afternoon at Bo and Sita Lozoff's Human Kindness Foundation was going to be, I'm not sure I would have had the courage to turn up the driveway. But ain't that always the way?

In my very first conversation with Mr. Rogers, standing there on his back porch gazing out on Madaket Bay, he told me that his friend, mystic Bo Lozoff, had just begun a yearlong vow of silence. Nearly five years later, I have spent a full day with the man, and am just now cracking the spine on the book that started it all for Mister Rogers and me, "Deep & Simple." Inside, Bo has written me a short note:

For Benjamin
With love and friendship and blessings for your Great Project
Bo Lozoff

I was verbose at the beginning of our conversation. I tried and tried to wrap language around the most profound mysteries like God, The Divine, and Faith. But by sundown, I was mute. By dusk, Bo's many wisdoms ("pearls" just don't do the depth and breadth of Bo's words justice) simply washed over me, so overwhelmed by deep, simple and profound truths was my "beginning mind." I could scarcely muster an "Aha!" or an "Mmm hmm."

I said to Chris as we packed up at the end of our eight-hour shoot, "I feel like I've been staring at the sun all day long."

Still, a few hours later (it's 5:26 Tuesday morning; Chris and I are waiting on our Richmond flight), I can't wrap words around what happened yesterday. I can barely remember Bo's exact words. He quoted every Great Book, and many great minds, but this morning almost all of his words are lost on me. Like I said, it's like going blind after you stare at the sun. Right now, I'm still blind. I know that I will see again, but right now, there is only bright light.

I remember how it felt, though, walking and talking with this great man (a man whom, along with Mother Theresa and the Dalai Lama, Mr. Rogers counted amongst his heroes). It felt like I had stepped off a steep cliff into deep, cool water. I knew I was going to be able to swim just fine, even though I was in way over my head.

Lemme give you some context here. This is a man who's writings contain introductions by the Dalai Llama. This is a man who speaks his truths in synagogues, churches, ashrams and prisons alike. This is a man who lives by three tenants: live simply (wary of material), contribute to the greater good, and practice spirituality. This is a guy who -- through discipline, prayer, study, and fasting -- seeks to shake off the mortal coil: self, family, home, and body in order to touch the divine.

He told me a story just after the sun fell behind the rolling hills of Orange County, North Carolina, about a mortal man visiting angels in Heaven.

"If things are so wonderful up here, why don't you come down there to to earth?" the man asked the angels. "We really need you down there."

The angel pointed through the clouds to a crack in the ground and said, "Do you see that tiny crack down there? The one through which ants can barely pass? We angels can no more pass through the dooway to your human earth than those ants through that crack. Only one has passed before. The rest of us are too big."

"Instead," the angel continued, "You must grow. You must decompress every atom of your being, and then ascend to us."

I told Bo that I was overwhelmed with the depth, breadth and substance of all that he had told me. I told him that I hadn't expected to wrestle with so much so fast. And I told him that the project suddenly felt enormous.

"You don't have to wrestle with it all in one day," he said. "You will sit and be quiet with it all."

"And what's the worst thing that can happen?" he asked as we strode up the gravel road toward our car. "You'll fail. We all fail. There's nothing wrong with failure. It's how we grow."

Equal Turns

Within just a few minutes of arriving in Fredericksburg, Virginia, Abbi called in tears to tell me her sister's boyfriend had been killed by a drunk driver. Five minutes later, my friend Dan Guttman called to announce his engagement to his girlfriend Lisa. A steady, steamy raind was falling from a cloudy sky. Still, the sun fought to shine through and I thought, 'This is it. This is life. Terrible and wonderful, tragic and magical in equal turns.'

The Hollingsworths -- Amy, Jeff, Jonathan and Emily -- were waiting patiently when Chris and I pulled up beside their slate gray colonial home. Inside, the table was set with fruit, crudites, Checx Mix and water. The family was warm, and welcoming, and as excited and nervous as we were. After about an hour of getting comfortable with one another, Chris began re-arranging their living room for the shoot. We set Amy up in front of the fireplace, lit the room, and rolled tape.

Amy and I spoke of her nine year friendship with Mr. Rogers, the lessons he taught her, and legacy he left her. She graciously shared her private letters -- including one he wrote in praise of the sunset as seen from his Crooked House on Nantucket. She spoke of his sincerity, his deep intention, and steady discipline. Amy, bless her heart, had been reflecting for days on how to best serve our project, and speak directly to the notion of "deep and simple." Time slipped by effortlessly. I felt so safe and comfortable as the fire died down, I found myself reclining on the family couch. The clock read seven o'clock. We'd been talking nearly two hours.

Somewhere in the middle of our conversation, I became overwhelmed by the scope of our undertaking. I began to feel unworthy of the task. Who am I to even begin to tackle huge themes like God, faith, meditation, self esteem, death and love? As we watched an interview Amy had conducted with Mr. Rogers some ten years prior, I told her I felt overwhelmed, and afraid.

"I just hope we can do this story justice," I said in near whisper.

"Benjamin," Amy assured me, "Fred always knew what he was doing. Don't second guess yourself. You were commissioned for a reason."

The Hollingsworths sent us on our way with a few cold sodas, and three bags of snacks just as dusk was falling. Chris and I talked the whole way to Chapel Hill. We have some six hours of sleep between us (twenty minutes of fitful sleep on the airplan notwithstanding) in the last twenty-four hours. I don't know where this road will end, but we're on it, and there's no way but forward.

Sojourners

In six hours, a black Lincoln will pick up Chris and me, and whisk us away to LaGuardia where we will board USAir flight #267 for Richmond where our journey will commence. Actually, we've already departed wherever we are, or were.

The story arch of this documentary is all about the journey of discovery. In many ways, we have no idea what we'll find. In short, it is a connect the dots; how did Mr. Rogers become the man that he is, and how did he help other become who they are. Sounds simple, right?

It is a simple premise, except that, for Chris and me, it is all unknown. I have Googled and Mapquested, I have researched and read, but still, I have no idea how this story will end. It's like our own "Da Vinci Code," but without the murder in the Louvre. The north star of our story, the means by with we guide ourselves, is Mr. Rogers. Outward from him, dozens of bright points: Amy Hollingsworth, Bo Lozoff, David Newell, Bill Isler... how do they all connect?

Each person's story could constitute an entire documentary. Take Bo Lozoff, who we will meet Monday afternoon on his seventy acre ashram near Chapel Hill, NC. A '60s peace activist, Bo was visiting his brother in prison when he realized the similarities between their two worlds. Bo lived on a commune, tilling soil and living collectively. His brother worked in a factory and shared the yard. Bo was happy with his life. His brother was angry with his. And it dawned on him. Culture views prison as punishment. But Bo saw it as an opportunity to transform lives. A mission was born.

Thirty years later, millions of prisoners have been send free copies of Bo's book, "We're All Doing Time." His Human Kindness Foundation is a way station for ex-convicts, allowing them to transition back into society. Three years ago, funded in part by a small donation from Mr. Rogers estate, The Lozoffs founded a small biofuel refinery in rural North Carolina to give ex-convicts a space to acquire skills.

This is a man who walks the walk. This is a man who Mr. Rogers once listed as one of his personal heroes. And this is the man about whom Mr. Rogers and I spoke when we first met nearly five years ago.

I am anxious tonight. My ambition, or foolishness, has gotten the best of me. With no funding, no endgame, and nothing but a wing and a prayer, we are embarking on something much, much bigger than ourselves. Right now, we are staring up at a night sky filled with twinkling stars. Our job is to make constellations of them by which to find ourselves a new way home.