The Kind Point September 2, 2025

GET OUTTA TOWN

Hi! I'm Jeff, if you're reading this, it's because I view you as someone I'd want to sit down over matcha and chat about life with. I'll be sending this newsletter out every few weeks or so. If it's not your jam, feel free to unsubscribe, I won't be offended!

Whenever I hear someone say, “Get outta town,” the literal part of my brain flashes to a scene from the film Waiting for Guffman, with Ron and Sheila Albertson, local celebrities in the fictitious town of Blaine, Missouri.

Oh, that movie. Hilarious, earnest, and oh so awkward, it highlights our cringe-worthy need for validation, fear of small-town obscurity, and the kind of unearned pride of place that comes from never having been exposed to anything else.

There have been more than a few times in my life when I left the comfort of my own personal Blaine, MO. Sometimes, but not always, on purpose. The results? A good shakedown of my understanding of the world, and the end of any unearned pride I’d been accumulating.

When I was fifteen, I found myself sitting behind the wheel of the family Volkswagen Rabbit one Sunday as my dad talked through the mechanics of driving a manual transmission. He had been letting me shift gears from the safety of my passenger seat, left-handed, for years, so how hard could it be?

I remember looking down at the floor and saying, “Wait! Dad! There are three pedals. I only have two feet!” Apparently, I’d never really paid much attention to the floorboard.

This whole time Dad had been doing the real work of pumping the brake, clutch, and gas pedals with only two feet, like someone playing the organ at church, while I just moved the gear stick and thought I was nailing it.

And there went my little fantasy of how great a stick-shift driver I was because of all my experience. I ate a large slice of humble pie that day when I started the car and couldn’t even move it without killing the engine.

I could have graduated with a degree in Asian Studies without ever setting foot off my campus in the Pacific Northwest. And considered myself an expert. I had the chance to study abroad but wasn’t sure I could afford it. And the idea scared me. I’d never been to that part of the world.

Despite the odds, I ended up spending my senior year in ten countries in Asia. My expertise, a house of cards I had built all by myself while writing papers on Shinto rituals and early Chinese bronzes, fell apart the nanosecond I got off the plane in Taiwan. In its place was my own booty handed to me in a massive basket labeled What the Hell Do I Know About Anything?

Painful. Eye-opening. Humbling, obviously. And incredibly insightful.

We’ve all read the studies: our brains fare better as we age if we introduce new things to it, like learning a language or taking an art class. Making a new friend. Even just driving home a different way. And many of us say, “Yeah, yeah, good idea, I’ll get to it.”

But there are huge incentives to not do those things: it’s disorienting, and it’s unfamiliar. It does not flood our brains with those feel-good chemicals like dopamine. It can literally hurt our heads.

Then why do it? As a way to offset brain atrophy? Maybe. But also, think of the times in your own life when you have ventured beyond the known boundaries, and discovered an incredible world.

Looking for a way to offset the adrenaline-fueled righteousness invading your bloodstream more and more these days, making you crustier and crustier? Not to mention confusion as to how to navigate in an ever-divisive world? Stay put, and you’ll have to keep squeezing your world down into ever-shrinking shapes to maintain that righteousness. The antidote? Get out more.

Put yourself in unfamiliar situations and pay attention to what you notice outside of yourself, rather than doubling down. Take your expertise out for a test drive and see how it holds up.

Feeling pissy about the lack of affordable housing? Go volunteer at a local women’s shelter and listen to what the staff has to say about the issues they face. Enraged at your local government? Go to a public meeting. Offer to help things move in the direction you envision.

Tell me about a piece of awkward learning you’ve been going through. Feel free to share any surprise or buried treasure you’ve uncovered. If you give me permission, I’ll share it in a future newsletter.

On my side, I’m currently reading the book Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters. Holy humility. I’m a queer male adult who thought he knew a thing or two about gender. Peters’ novel is forcing me to look at the floorboard of the Volkswagen Rabbit and admit that I know nothing.

In summary, and an invitation to all of us:

Don’t be a Ron. Don’t be a Sheila.

Get outta town.

Something Kind

What I'm Reading ​ What I'm Reading ​Detransition, Baby​ by Torrey Peters A whipsmart debut about three women–transgender and cisgender–whose lives collide after an unexpected pregnancy forces them to confront their deepest desires around gender, motherhood, and sex. ​Buy it here​

What I'm Watching ​Flipping Vacation Bible School​ Clare flips the script and serves up more tea, and I am here for it! ​Watch it here​

What I'm Planning ​Coaches' BBQ (virtual event)​ Expect a self-led, attendee-directed experience where folks can lead coaching segments they’re most interested in, or join in the convo with their virtual paper plates loaded. Just like at other backyard gatherings, these conversations could run for an hour or might be just a ten-minute catch-up. Casual is the vibe. ​Register here​