A Letter

This is a letter I have written to the state of New York, and to one man in particular.

I’m going home next week. And maybe the week after that, too.

A few of my closest friends are at home, stuck in that post-college and pre-employment period I recall finding myself in a year ago. I’ll see some of the boys and we’ll watch the NBA Finals, exchanging stories and crude jokes, I’m sure. Maybe I’ll go fishing with my best friend, Ben, or beat him in tennis (again). Time is ticking, our lives’ journeys are taking us all over the map. In just a few weeks, one friend is moving to Washington, D.C., and another is bound for Hawaii. I want to maximize the most out of this precious time that I can with some of the people who have helped shape me today.

But there’s one person, one very special person, who I know will never leave our hometown. I know I can go see her at any moment, and she’ll be there. She’ll listen to me. She’ll support me. Just like she always has, just like she always will.

The only problem is, she can’t say anything back to me.

Like many of you reading this, I’ll never forget that night. The night that changed us all forever. It was a Saturday night, the first of December nearly six years ago.

Has it been that long?

I sat in the chair in front of my computer, likely doing my homework. I wasn’t in the best mood; my junior basketball season had tipped off the night before, and we lost a game we shouldn’t have lost.

Some time after 10:00 p.m., my parents called me downstairs. My mom had been on Twitter.

“There’s been an accident.”

We flipped on the TV. Breaking news, the screen read. The banners confirmed what Twitter had said--an accident had occurred on I-87, northbound, not very far from where I lived.

I could go on and on about the intimate details of that night. And every night for the next week. And the wakes. And the funerals. And the memorial basketball games. And the softball tournaments. And the chorus concert. And the foundation. And the scholarship. And the balloon releases. And becoming friends with her friends, some of the most inspiring and strongest people I know.

But you, Dennis Drue, don’t need to hear all that. Because no matter what I say, no matter what any of us say, you think it’s OK to walk free this December, six years after you ended the most special friendship I’ve ever had. Six years after you ended the strongest father-daughter bond I’ve ever seen. Six years after you took away the beautiful, loving girlfriend of a boy who needed someone like her in his life to keep him grounded and focused.

Six years, is that really all it’s been?

You were drunk that night. I don’t know how they let you leave the bar to get behind the wheel. Oh, and you were high. Oh, and you were texting someone (to get more drugs). And to top it all off, you were blazing past the 65-mph speed limit on the area’s most popular highway.

And then you changed lanes, failing to see the black SUV driven by Chris Stewart.

You crushed that car. You demolished that car. You pulverized the ribs, feet, arms, and neck of Matthew Hardy and Bailey Wind.

And you killed Chris Stewart on impact.

And you killed Deanna Rivers, reducing the best best friend I’ve ever had to nothing but a lifeless mixture of bones, bruises, and blood.

And for that, you don’t deserve to see the light of day.

I used to be able to call Deanna whenever I needed advice or a friend. My teammates always made fun of me. Sometimes it got to me, and I needed someone to pick me up. She always did. Every. Single. Time.

Now when I need that support, I have to drive to Mechanicville. I go through a gate, and then I navigate my little ‘02 Honda Civic through the thin roads of the cemetery, and snake my way up and down the roads and around trees until I arrive at her grave.

In the winter, I bring a foldable chair and sit down in front of her. I usually look at what new decorations have come since I’ve last been there. Birthday cards, Christmas cards, Happy New Year cards, and similar decorations always adorn the granite memorial to her life. In the summer, I just sit on the ground. And then we talk.

Well, I talk.

She listens. But I know she’s there. I know she would say something if she could.

I struggle with making friends. I’ll admit it. I hold people to really high standards. If you don’t align with my values (the same values Deanna once had) then I generally don’t waste my time pretending to like you.

Because of that, I didn’t have many friends at UAlbany. I really don’t have any lasting friends from my college years. That’s more a fault of my own than other people’s, so don’t feel sorry for me.

But I know I would have had one. And that would have been all I needed to get me through.

St. Rose, just minutes down the road from UAlbany, accepted Deanna a few weeks after you took her away from us. I always think about all the memories we would have made in college. The UAlbany basketball games. The trips to my favorite sub place, DiBella’s. The stupid drunken nights in a dorm room. Sitting and doing homework by the fountain. Deanna introducing me to another one of her best friends, Sizzy, and the three of us hanging out all the time.

But we never got to do that.

I did get to meet Siz. And OB. And all her crazy relatives. And I got to know GiGi better, and J-Dawg, and her mom and dad.

When I spend time with these people, it’s generally at Deanna’s house. Deanna and her family loved to watch Duke basketball games together. A Duke fan myself, I came over several times to come watch games with Deanna and her family.

And I still do.

Except, Deanna is now in a picture frame. Sitting on top of the mantle above the fireplace.

Because you took her away from us.

Matching sweatshirts generously given to us by the Rivers'.

When we all gather now, it’s not just to watch the Duke game. It’s to laugh. It’s to joke. It’s to listen to Daddy Rivs talk about all his new gadgets. It’s for Dylan to unleash the Rivers’ stupid dog on me (I’m afraid of big dogs).

And it’s to honor Deanna the best way we know how.

By loving everyone who deserves our love and attention.

“When you love with all your heart, life becomes one big smile.”

That’s what Deanna’s grave reads. It took time after we lost you, DeeDee, but I’m smiling. Because my heart is full of love. The love you inspired me to have.

But to you, Dennis Drue, I’m not convinced your heart is full of love. I’m not sure if it ever has been. You showed no remorse the day you were sentenced in court. I remember. I was there.

I certainly believe in second chances. I know people make mistakes. People can learn from them, and I’ll respect anyone who shows progress after they acknowledge a misstep and get better from it.

But you already had a second chance, and you blew it.

Prior to your murders of two of the finest young people in the world, you had an extensive record of serious traffic violations. Even with that checkered past, you did what you did on December 1, 2012.

How can we trust you? How can the parents of 18-year-old sons and daughters trust you?

I don’t believe you should spend your entire life behind bars, but just six years? Six years, seven years, eight years, nine years...no amount of time you serve will ever replace the amount of time we lost with Deanna. No amount of time you serve will ever compensate for the loss of a daughter, a girlfriend, a best friend, a teammate, and more.

And for that, I beg you, the state of New York, do not let Dennis Drue out. To have him out in six years would be a disgrace to the memories of Chris and Deanna. It would be a slap in the face to me, their families, and the entire Shen community that was affected by your unspeakable actions that fateful night.

Speaking of slap in the face, that’s something I’ve always wanted to do to you.

But, I’ll be the bigger man here. I won’t do it. Hopefully, the opportunity never presents itself. Because you better stay stuck behind those bars for as long as we possibly can keep you.

This is a letter I have written to the state of New York.

If you would like to write a letter of your own explaining why you think Dennis Drue shouldn't walk free, please contact me and I will tell you how to do so.

Just Say Hi

I love the outdoors. And it's really weird, because all throughout my childhood and teenage years, I never cared for it. I enjoyed the occasional trip to the beach, and that was about it. That changed around my 18th birthday, thanks to a girlfriend and some of my closest friends who shared their passions for the outdoors with me. Ever since then, I've fallen in love with the mountains, the trees, birds, lakes, and the grass. I try to spend as much time in nature as my day allows.

So yesterday, I took my bike along a segment of this 87-mile stretch in CT called the Farmington Canal Trail. It once served as CT's version of the Erie Canal, responsible for shipping goods to towns to increase trade and commerce. The railroad system surfaced a few decades later, and so tracks were laid over the canal as the new preferred method of shipping. After sitting idly for several decades in the later 1900s, the defunct tracks were paved over, encouraging walkers, bikers, skaters, and roller bladers an avenue to take in nature for everything it offers us.

I've found it's the interactions that make my time in the natural world so special. I can remember the first time I went hiking three summers ago. Every time Meaghan, Makala, Ben and I passed someone, we all exchanged greetings. We often stopped others for conversation, asking others how the view at the top was. Just chit-chat, but the kind of small talk I had never engaged in before. And I thought that was the coolest thing.

About a month ago, I went for a solo hike in Washington, CT. After reaching the peak, I sat on a boulder and took in the view. I then began to sing out loud. Not long after, a woman arrived at the top just as I was belting out the chorus of a Dave Matthews song. She went off to sit on another rock, probably wondering what the hell I was doing. But after some time, we exchanged greetings and struck up conversation. A 30-year-old writer, she found herself in a little crisis. She had nearly convinced herself it was time to leave her life in CT for one in North Carolina, where she would live in a small house in an isolated area so she could focus on building a fledgling writing career. She came to the mountain that day to try and talk herself out of moving, because she knew it would be so difficult to leave behind the mountains, and the trees, and the peace. The thought of leaving this terrified her.

As total strangers, we talked for a half-an-hour. I recall hearing a stat that somewhere between 60 and 70 percent of people never stray more than 20 minutes away from where they grew up. I told her that, and that she shouldn't become a number. So do it. If you fail, you fail. But you don't want to kick yourself years down the road for never taking that chance. After our conversation, we parted ways and I headed back down the mountain.

I hope she moved. If she did, I can't wait to buy her first book.

The Aesop's Fable moral of these stories about my experiences in nature is this, just say hi. You never know where it could lead you.

How many times do you walk down a hallway at school, at work, in the mall, and pass by someone and act like he/she doesn't exist? You stare straight ahead, locked in your own world, and completely ignore the existence of another human being. Think about that.

I want you to stop doing that, for a plethora of reasons. Number one, you could deprive yourself of a conversation like I had with the woman on the mountain. The second and more important reason, you never know what someone is going through.

Let me repeat, you never know what someone is going through.

I've made it a priority over the last few years to greet people, even if they're total strangers (as long as you think this person isn't a threat). Say hi and smile, ask someone how he/she is doing, make a small comment about how you like their shoes. That person could find himself/herself in the midst of a terrible day. I know this, I've been there. I've been down in the dumps before, and some random person has greeted me and actually lifted my spirits and restored my faith in humanity. I'm not exaggerating. You would be surprised the impact that a greeting or some other random act of kindness could have on someone's life.

I believe all lessons in life can find roots in Friends or Seinfeld. Let's look at an episode of the former. A supply manager named Earl, ironically portrayed by Jason Alexander (George in Seinfeld), claims he wants to kill himself. Phoebe calls him to see if he wants to buy any toner for his office. He replies, saying he doesn't need any toner, because he plans on committing suicide. With Phoebe on the phone, he announces to the office that he plans on killing himself, and not one person reacts to it. But Phoebe, always the optimist, tells him why suicide is not the answer, and he decides not to.

I'll be honest, I wanted this blog post to start off with a rant about the Santa Fe shootings and then tie it in to the moral of my hiking and Friends stories. These mass shootings rile me up every time, and the lack of action and accountability on the parts of our "leaders" upsets me.

And I can't help but think that if the Santa Fe, Virginia Tech, Columbine, Newtown, Aurora, Charleston, Las Vegas, Orlando, or Parkland shooters had just had some more love in their lives, perhaps these tragedies wouldn't have happened. Call me naive like everyone else does, but I stand by it.

The common trend among all these shooters is this desire to take their frustrations out on other people. Often a spouse, friend, or classmate has wronged the shooter. Or people make fun of them. Or never acknowledge that person's existence.

Which is something you might do every day.

Had others not made these individuals feel like outcasts, like they aren't loved or appreciated or welcomed, it's possible they never would have felt compelled to carry out these abhorred acts.

And let me be clear, in NO WAY am I defending them. Every single one of them deserves a lifetime in a cell with no sunlight for all of the irreparable damage they've caused. But don't you think, that maybe, just maybe, had one person, or maybe even two, said hi to Dimitrios Pagourtzis, or performed some random act of kindness for him the day before, that he may have snapped out of it? That he wouldn't want to walk in to an art class and shoot every which way?

To quote one of my biggest inspirations, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that."--Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

I get everyone's frustrations. Trust me, I'm frustrated too. But just airing grievances at the government and the NRA and the Constitution isn't making this problem go away. Listen, I respect those Parkland students fighting for gun control, but let's be honest. The legislative process takes so long and so many people have to sign off. Politics will not stop these school shootings from happening. Limiting the number of entrances will not stop them. Arming teachers will not stop them. But we can stop them. With our words. With our actions. With love.

Think back to the Friends analogy. Earl announced his intent to commit suicide, and no one responded. You can think of those people as the majority of the public, the portion that is so locked in to their own worlds and acts like you don't exist when they walk by you. But then there's Phoebe, the person who makes a simple gesture by showing some compassion for a fellow human being and making him feel like he's worth something. That the world is a better place with him in it.

I challenge you all to find your inner Phoebe.

And do me a favor, say hi along the way.

Congrats...Now Buckle Up

To the Class of 2018, congratulations. After four years, you've graduated from college and now you're "ready" to take on the so-called real world.

I thought I was ready. And I'm sure if you rewind to this time last year, friends and family of mine would have told you that even just after my three years of college, that I was more prepared for the real world than anybody. And I believed them.

How sadly I was mistaken.

Now I know what you're thinking. If you're at all close with me, you know that for the last nine months I've been working at ESPN, the biggest sports media company in the world. For some of you, SportsCenter's music was a part of your childhood soundtrack, and you may have thought how cool it would be to work at ESPN. I was one of those young boys, and although ESPN was never my goal, I've found myself here and there are few places I'd rather start off my professional career. And I'll be honest, it's an amazing place to be and I'm truly grateful to the people here that took a chance on a young kid straight out of college.

However...

That's just what I am. A young kid out of college. I graduated college a year early, and I'm significantly younger than most everyone I work with. I work in a male-dominated field in a town crawling with high school girls, not young professional women. It certainly doesn't help that the next two nights I'm working from 9:30pm-6:00am, which throws off my body's homeostasis like never before. I'm at the bottom of the totem pole, so no one really cares much about what I'm like as a person, just as an employee. No one cares about who I am or what I like to do or what I stand for. And that's not a stab at ESPN--it's a great place to work. I'm sure that's typical of many other places too.

Listen, I'm not complaining. At whatever bizarre time I wake up at every day and every time I walk onto that campus, I tell myself how lucky I am to have not only gotten a job right out of college, but to have gotten a really good one. I relocated to Bristol, CT and I live in a decent apartment and the paychecks are good enough to cover my rent and my need to overspend on fresh fruits and vegetables and fancy healthy peanut butters (again, if you know me, you know I'm a Nazi about what I put into my body). Because of this, I know I'm lucky and that many people would kill to be in my position, so I make a point not to complain. But, just because I'm in a good situation, it doesn't mean I've found that elusive elixir to life we're all seeking:

Happiness.

Let me be blunt here. This is not easy. All of those "friends" you had in college? You'll see how quickly they forget about you. You'll see how they get so wrapped up in their own lives that they forget you exist. Think about it--all those "meaningful" relationships you had with the girls in your sorority or the guys on your club basketball team. How often did you hang out with them when alcohol wasn't in the picture? Because for many of you, alcohol was a coping mechanism you used so you could tolerate other people.

In this post-college world, many of you will be truly on your own now. Gone are the hungover Sunday brunches with your "friends." Gone are the $2 Bud Light's for Trivia Night at the local pub. You're going to spend a lot of time alone. And you're going to have to decide what it is you stand for, what your values are, and how you want to spend your time. Before you can bring a significant other into your life, you need to first figure out how to love yourself. You need to figure out where you want to go and who you want to be. Many of you will avoid those questions by watching Netflix and scrolling through Instagram. What for? Where will that get you? In reality, it will mask the truth: You're alone, and you don't know what to do.

The good thing for you is, I'm alone too. But that's OK. I accept it, and I'm learning how to deal with it. It's a marathon and not a sprint. I'm still figuring out what my values are, how I want to fill my days, how to balance work and life, how to bring in new people into my new life and cut people out of my old one. I'm doing this in search of that magical word that so many of us never truly find, despite searching our entire lives for it (see above). And I don't just mean waking up with a smile on a random Wednesday. I mean I want to find happiness. Not the "happiness" that the fashion magazines and Hollywood tells us we should all want. That's fake happiness. Society tells you you're supposed to want money, cars and clothes. It's nice to have money for the security it provides, but it doesn't provide anything more than that. Why do you think so many of the world's richest and most famous overdose on drugs? Because they live lives of material wealth, not spiritual wealth--the wealth we all should strive to find.

I want contentment. I want to become a living embodiment of The Golden Rule. I want to fill my days with meaningful work, meaningful relationships, and meaningful experiences. I want a zest for life and to spread that passion to others who don't realize what it truly means to live a life of deliberate meaning. That's what my values are.

As a result, I'm going to post a different blog every week detailing everything I'm learning about being a real adult. I don't have all the answers, but I'm searching for them and I think I'm on the right track. But many of you who are graduating this month, and even those who aren't but are still struggling navigating this same journey that I am, I want you to know you can rely on me.

So I hope you keep coming back, because when that moment hits you, the one where you realize the college days are over, I want you to know you can find me. If we've spoken 1000 times or one time, I don't care. You can reach out to me on Facebook or comment on this blog or find me some other way. Or you can just keep reading along, and perhaps you have some of the same thoughts I do. Like I said, I don't have all the answers. Feel free to enlighten me and educate me. But I think I've got a head start on a lot of people, because I'm slowly finding out the essential ingredients to leading a happy lifestyle, but I know I'm not there yet, and I know you aren't either. And I want to help.

--Troy