Three Thought Thursday

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Dear Reader,

A lot has happened in the past three weeks.

Funny enough, it's been three weeks since my last edition.

I moved out of my parents' house. I moved into an apartment. I got sick. I got healthy, and even met my favorite actor—all in a single month.

I visited my happy place (Maine), had a company retreat at my boss’s (Ben) home in Vermont, and spent 24 hours in New York City reuniting with my old roommate while being completely starstruck. Stay tuned…

Those 10 days I spent out east were easily 10 of my favorite days of 2024. And I'm certain I will look back fondly on them at the end of the year. I learned a lot, and I want to share it with you.

Northeastern Reflections—that’s the theme of this Three Thought Thursday.

Fires and Friendship

There’s something about fire that touches the soul. Maybe it’s the warmth. Maybe it’s the glow. But more often, I think it’s because of the people you share it with. A few weeks ago, I wrote an ode to friendship, particularly how religious schools excel in fostering it. The first leg of this Northeastern trip was no exception—five friends from college, gathered in a hallowed space filled with goofy memories and deep conversations. Experiences that bonded a memory to a moment. I can only describe these moments as slices of heaven. You glance at the clock, see 8 PM, and after what feels like an instant, you check again, and it's 3 AM. Time seems to evaporate.

I implore every person to experience these slices of heaven whenever they can. But they don’t come easily. It takes work and intentionality to get there. It takes building meaningful relationships with others. It takes assigning meaning to a special place. It takes planning to build out an experience. The good news is that all of these can be done, and they can be done in simple ways. During the trip, we went white water rafting, water skied, and even hiked a mountain:

But our slice of heaven came at the fire, where a simple conversation recapping the day evolved into discussions about love, weddings, faith, and the human condition. The night evaporated before our eyes, but it is a core memory none of us will soon forget.

Slices of heaven come at the intersection of special experiences, in special places, with special people.

Noah Kahan is Right

I got to see my boss for the first time in six months. Well, that may be an exaggeration—I work a fully remote job, so we only connect via calls, texts, and online meetings. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I’m fortunate to work closely with my boss, Ben, who has built a massive social media following over the past two years. It’s a dream job for someone in their early 20s, and I feel incredibly lucky. But fully remote work is a double-edged sword. On one hand, it's like literal time travel—no commute. While others spend 30 minutes driving or an hour on a train, my commute is 30 seconds. That’s amazing. The flexibility it offers is unparalleled.

But the downside is the loneliness. My boss and I talk on the phone every day, but there’s something irreplaceable about face-to-face interaction. Walking into an office and socializing in person holds a unique kind of meaning. It often goes underappreciated until you don’t have it anymore. This is not to discount my job—I wouldn’t trade it for the world—but it's something I've noticed as remote work becomes more prevalent. It’s "remote" in every sense—technologically, yes, but it’s also like being on a remote island by yourself.

That’s why what my boss did was so special. After my trip to Maine, he extended and compensated the second leg of my trip so I could visit him at his place in Vermont. I got to experience his beautiful home on top of the mountains, overlooking the valleys of the Vermont countryside. We did a ton of fun and productive things—hiking, cold plunging, shared meals, 12-hour workdays, and deep conversations about the future of the company. As the world becomes more remote, these non-remote activities become essential. Activities between a leader and their team, yes, but more fundamentally, activities that humans must do with one another. Human connection is the lifeblood of the human condition. Being able to experience my boss’s environment—where he works and where he lives—builds empathy and understanding in ways that can’t be achieved remotely. I mean, how could you beat this view?

As technology improves, AI will make more and more jobs obsolete. We are moving towards the unknown. But one thing is for sure: human connection will keep the human race going.

Human connection is and always will be the lifeblood of the human condition.

Stars and Big Apples

Have you ever had a hard time approaching someone you want to meet? That little voice in your head fights against your heart that’s telling you to introduce yourself to someone interesting. This happens to me all the time, especially if I’m a bit starstruck.

I was lucky to live with a great friend when I spent a semester in Barcelona. He moved to New York City after graduation, and I found myself at a moment in time where things just seemed to align:

• Two Broadway shows that were going on that I wanted to see (that also happened to have some of my favorite actors playing the leads (including my favorite actor, Andrew Barth Feldman)).
• My flight home from my boss’s house was leaving out of New York City (by choice) a day after the retreat ended (so I had to 24 hours kill).
• And my friend was free and willing to let me spend the night.

Check, check, check.

It was a wild third leg of the trip. I left my boss’s house early, but New York City traffic had other plans, making me five minutes late for the first show. Luckily, the show started ten minutes later. Afterward, I grabbed an amazing meal with my roommate from Barcelona, and everything seemed to be leading up to the highlight of the trip: seeing the second Broadway show, starring Andrew Barth Feldman. I scanned my ticket, got to my seat, and was immediately starstruck. He crushed.

Afterward, as I was leaving the West Side Theater, I noticed a sizable crowd forming outside.

“What's this all about?” I asked someone towards the end of the line.

“Well, the cast usually doors (a theater term for the cast coming out to see the fans after the show ends).”

“What? That's wild. Maybe I should stay…” as I walked away from the theatre to my friend's apartment. That voice was fighting against my heart. And it was winning:

“Nah, you're a massive fan, but what if you got found out? You never did theater growing up. What if he asks what shows you've been in or other ~wildly unrealistic and improbable excuses you're giving yourself because you're trying to find a way out of your nervous energy to approach someone you want to meet~…”

I turned around and walked back. I was at the end of the line, no shot of meeting him. 10 minutes passed. 15. After half an hour, I was ready to leave. Then the doors opened, and out walked the two leads—Andrew included. Instead of starting at the beginning of the line, where most of the crowd (and cast) was, he went straight to the end, right where I was standing. I was one of the first to say hello. It was a blur, but I introduced myself, exchanged a hug, got an autograph, and even took a picture:

Mission accomplished.

Always fight back against that little voice telling you to turn away.

Three thoughts from my trip to the Northeast:

1. Slices of heaven come at the intersection of special experiences, in special places, with special people.

2. Human connection is and always will be the lifeblood of the human condition.

3. Always fight back against that little voice telling you to turn away.

Grateful for you,

Tommy

P.S. Can you do me a favor if you learned something new in this edition? Forward this letter to a friend who may not know about one of these three stories.