The Art of Kindness — Lessons in Hospitality from My Slovakian Brothers

When trying to find the best accommodations for your dollar, I’ve learned it helps to approach AirBnb the same way you might when going out for sushi. Each offer different choices depending on your preferences.

A shared room is like ordering two small pieces of salmon nigiri.

A single room is your standard California roll.

And renting the entire home is like asking for the Love Boat — a smorgasbord of sushi rolls, teriyaki, and tempura.

And like sushi, the cost of booking a room can vary depending on what city you’re in and what you prefer. If the prices are too steep it may be best to look elsewhere.

On the other hand, if the rates are too cheap you should be leery. The apartment for $25 a night whose only redeeming feature is the WiFi is like the unsold fish from last Thursday.

Run for the hills my friend and don’t look back.

As I scanned through images in search of my next temporary abode, I came across some questionable postings that made me feel more like I was browsing Craigslist:

Taste the City

“What does that even mean?” I heard myself say out loud.

Another room was being advertised for $19 a night and the only pictures available were of a bed and some nondescript storefront.

Luckily, I’ve developed a keen eye for picking reasonably priced and cozy dwellings, a skill not to be overlooked.

But my time here in Slovakia is not up. Like Slovenia, it is a small country and one gets the sense often underestimated. But one would be mistaken if they thought it was a place to be missed.

Bratislava sits above the Danube, a river I am now convinced is stalking me. Bratislava Castle, Michael’s Gate, and the Slovak National Theatre are certainly worth your time. I spent part of my day marveling at St. Martin’s Cathedral, built in the 15th century situated near the historical city center.

And to date, the three people I know from this country are arguably the most affable and kind-hearted you will ever meet. I half wonder if they’re related.

The first, was a gentlemen I met nearly twenty years ago — a sobering reminder of the delicacy and pace of time. My friend Bill spent many college summers working at a swim club in the Oakland Hills. His co-worker, who worked as a trainer, was a 30-something Slovakian transplant named Milan. How he ended up in Oakland of all places still puzzles me.

What I recall most about Milan was his tireless work ethic, generosity, and the party he threw one August evening where he pleaded with Bill to break all the windows in his house. Luckily, Bill declined and I’m assuming Milan retained his security deposit. That was a strange night and also the last time I saw my Slovakian friend.

Next, there was Jozef, a 40-something father originally from Bratislava, who seemed to have less of a propensity for destroying things. Yesterday, when I arrived, he greeted me warmly and led me into my host’s apartment who happened to be a childhood friend of his.

After he showed me around the space we spoke for about 15 minutes in the kitchen, a pattern that seems to have developed on several of my journeys. He taught me a few words in Slovak that I nearly forgot before he walked out the large off-white door. He also told me a bit of Slovakia’s unique history and its people. Strangely, what interested me most was the dilapidated building directly across the street.

“That was a hospital,” he said. “Actually, I was born there.”

Having just visited the hospital I was born in two summers before in Hong Kong, I was now intrigued.

“How long has it been abandoned?” I asked.

“About 7 years,” he told me.

Only 7 years?! I thought.

It looked like it was built before the Acropolis.

We spoke for a bit longer, trading a few jokes along the way, something I took special delight in since humor is so often lost in translation, or a matter of temperament.

Soon after Jozef made his way home.

Last but not least, there was Jergus, a twenty-something photographer working at a makeshift teashop just beyond St. Martin’s Cathedral. We spoke for an hour and half over jasmine green tea. Each time I finished a carafe he would re-steep the tea leaves and pour me another cup. Part of me started to think he didn’t want me to leave.

Whatever. I ain’t driving, I thought.

I discovered Jergus had lived in Vietnam as a small boy because his father worked in Hanoi. He seemed to have a fleeting recollection of the experience, but had clearly cultivated a fascination with Southeast Asia.

We also covered politics and the arts then began trading insights and observations we’d picked up in our lives. After a while we began to sound like two fortune cookies.

Eventually, my bladder would have no more of it. I thanked Jergus for the tea and conversation. I made my through Old Town on the way to my apartment.

As beautiful as this place is, it’s defining feature, it’s gem, are unquestionably the people. Milan, Jozef, and Jergus — Slovakian brothers from another mother.

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Why it's Important to Sharpen Your Interest in Other People

I once heard someone say, “Sharpen your interest in people and life.” It made consider how tempting it is to overlook the importance of authentic connection and how life’s ups, downs, but mostly in-betweens can gradually make living seem like we’re punching a clock.

Our past informs our lives in significant ways; a failed relationship, a thwarted dream, our sense of self desperately unclear can convince us it’s safer to opt out rather than play another hand.

I’ve often wondered the difference between those who view failure as an opportunity for reinvention versus those who see failure as an excuse to retreat further within themselves.

A few years ago, as I sat in a cramped coffee house a few blocks from my old grad school, I overheard a conversation between an elderly man and a woman roughly the same age.

The two were strangers until they weren’t. The gentlemen and I were sitting by the window facing Broadway, directly across the street from Koronet Pizza, a neighborhood stalwart as far as pizza goes.

“I like to sit here because the light’s better for reading,” I overheard him say before realizing I agreed.

He obliged her request to sit at his table as he perused the New York Times. A smile spread across his wearied face as she took her seat. It was as if he needed, however briefly, to truly connect with another soul.

I wondered for a moment why she didn’t ask to sit at my table though I may have been more relieved than I cared to admit. It may have been the giant Everest backpack resting in the empty chair beside me, or a feeling on her part she might have more to say to the man across from me should an opportunity to speak arise, which it eventually did.

It was clear they were both well-read and informed about current events, which is to say they knew a thing or two about politics. They seemed to bond over their disdain for a presidential candidate and a few other slightly less polarizing issues and people.

But when the conversation shifted to the future the old man said over and over that he was hopeful, while his new friend glanced at him incredulously.

This man, who was undoubtedly in the final chapter of his life clung fiercely to a sense of hope for a future he would likely not be a part of.

The woman on the other hand seemed intrigued but too versed in songs of broken promises to indulge him.

Still, their differences were not a barrier to kindness or authentic connection. Neither ever interrupted the other, they listened with the intent to understand, and even when they disagreed they did so with kindness and respect.

There was an artistry to their exchange; an unspoken respect for having lived enough life to know what they didn’t know.

When it was time to go they each rose from their chairs and headed off in different directions becoming strangers once again.

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A Call to Sidestep Gossip

Author, businessman, and speaker Stephen Covey once said, "Defend those who aren't present." He understood that bonds forged through gossiping about others is tenuous at best. We're essentially saying, "I'll do the same to you."

Taking communal satisfaction by belittling others is a temporary way of numbing our own insecurities and fears. It's not the antidote and instead reveals rather the heals.

When we have the courage to sidestep negative banter we raise the bar in what we expect of others and ultimately ourselves. 

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Plus, I’d love to share my free Creativity Day Planner — a simple two -page template on building good daily habits. 

Lessons Learned from a Tel Aviv Wedding

One morning during a stay in Israel, I woke up to the ear-splitting sounds of chainsaws and leaf blowers a flight below.

Instead of beginning my day at Pinsker Street like I had the first we days, I rose from a plush sofa on Rut Street; a cozy little avenue nestled behind a plaza that reminded of Thompson Park back in New York.

Not only did the early morning antics provide a startling wake-up call but also the realization that one of my closest friends was now a married man.

The night before marked one of most memorable festivities I’d ever had the good fortune of attending.

I arrived at Rony’s apartment at 2:00 pm sharp, bag in tow, and sweat fiercely dripping down my back. He asked if I could stay at his apartment while he and Ella stayed at the Rothschild Hotel.

Considering his apartment was impeccable it didn’t exactly require twisting my arm to hang my hat there for a night. The cold showers at Pinsker could wait.

On his big day, I walked in his apartment to find an entourage of sorts. Rony, as expected was frantically pacing the room, accumulating many miles but not really getting closer to anything.

Ella looked beautiful as she sat patiently, while stylists worked on her long black hair and photographers snapped away.

I did what I could and offered my services in whatever capacity was needed. In the end, I half-ironed a shirt, helped Rony with a bow tie, and carried his luggage to a car parked near his building.

Eventually, we found ourselves on Rothschild Blvd taking photos and poking fun in our all-too brief time together.

“You’re the equivalent of the best man in a Jewish wedding.” Rony commented.

“I’m feel honored,” I assured him.

Spending time together reminded me of just how good this man was. Despite his world spinning an extra rotation or two he still asked repeatedly if I was enjoying myself.

When your capacity to look out for another human being surpasses the pressing demands of your own life I gather that’s about how truly genuine a person can be.

We arrived early at the venue. The building exterior may not have graced the cover of Architectural Digest but its Tribeca loft like interior certainly did the trick. The entire room was beautifully laid out as a hurried wait staff punched time clocks amid photos, dance rehearsals, and family members slowly filing in.

The ceremony itself was something else. Of course, I didn’t understand a word but it didn’t take being versed in Hebrew to know the prose and tone symbolized the love two young people had for one another.

I stole glances at the two between holding one of the four posts of a makeshift Chuppah.

“You just had a major part in a Jewish wedding my friend,” I heard Rony’s older brother say. “People still come up to me and tell me, I held one of the pillars of the Chuppah at your parents’ wedding!”

I just smiled.

I felt as if I was taking part in something truly significant. As lights flashed, footage on a Canon 5D rolled, and people nudged and clamored for better real estate I felt like a specter who’d floated in to witness a historical event.

We danced for hours to an eclectic mix of traditional Jewish, Hebrew, and Israeli music and eventually the less time-honored vocals of Bruno Mars and Adele.

I marveled at the enormous kindness of everyone. For a moment all was right with the world.

“I’ve heard about you,” I heard a close relative say. Others asked over raucous tunes if this was my first Jewish wedding.

“I’ve been to many Jewish weddings back home,” I said. “But the most I’ve seen in terms of tradition is the groom stepping on a glass and yelling Mazel tov! This is the real thing!” I cried.

Another asked where I was going after Israel. “Probably Egypt,” I said.

“Wow. It takes a lot of courage to do what you’re doing — traveling and soul-searching. Really great.”

In the end, I’d decided to go to Egypt instead of Romania by literally the flip of a coin. Definitely a first world problem, I thought.

As the evening came to a close I saw Rony making certain each party was accounted for. He wanted to know if people had a good time, if they had transportation home, but mostly if everyone was happy.

What a good guy, I thought.

He’ll make a good husband.

The Importance of Talking to Strangers

A year ago I found myself in Ljubljana, Slovenia of all places. As I approached a busy intersection, I asked a young woman on a white Vespa what I could expect to see if I kept walking. 

“Not much,” she said. “How long have you been here?” she asked. 

“A few hours,” I explained. 

“You’ve probably already seen everything,” she said, as I laughed. “I can show you around if you like.” 

Her name was Nina and she was a 26-year old teacher originally from a neighboring town. She had a beautiful abandonment of heart, a love of life that is a common hallmark of youth but hers was different. I sensed it would remain with her for the rest of her life. She reverberated with life almost as loud as her white scooter as we sped down narrow streets.

I told her how the last time I was on the back of a stranger’s scooter was while living in Shanghai as an English teacher. I was returning home from the bars on Maoming Lu one evening, watching the cab’s meter carefully, planning to be let off just before the fair exceeded the coins in my pocket. When I was finally dropped off I still had a mile and half to go at nearly 3:00 in the morning.

I noticed a man about to get on his motorcycle and somehow communicated I needed a ride. He rubbed his fingers together indicating money, I pointed to my fake Rolex watch, he gestured back to the bike and off we went. 

Never was so much said in so few words.

There I was, a 24-year old punk kid, riding on the back of a stranger’s motorcycle in one of the world’s greatest cities just a few hours before the sun would rise. And now, over a decade later I’d come nearly full circle.

We zipped past buildings and parks that Nina admittedly had very little knowledge of. “I can’t really tell you what these places are,” she shouted back to me. We made conversation, alternating which side to scream back to one another as we moved nimbly through traffic. 

Soon we found a spot just outside the Gallery of Modern Art. We sat across from each other and spoke spiritedly about Haruki Murakami, Maslow, travel, relationships, and what I could not miss before I left.

She also mentioned that Slovenians were not a patriotic people echoing exactly what Jurij had told me in the apartment just a few hours before. We don’t have that problem, I thought.

Soon it was time for Nina to run some errands. We agreed to meet up later in the evening. She wanted to introduce me to some of her friends and I suggested bringing Jurij along as well. We hugged as I thanked her for her kindness and generosity. 

“No problem,” she said as she put on her shiny white helmet. “You should always talk to strangers,” she said. 

I was sure glad I had.

Lessons from that Old Star Fish Story

By now everyone has likely heard the story of the young girl who was walking along the beach one day where thousands of star fish had been washed up following a terrible storm.

Without any fuss, she'd approach each starfish, pick it up, and toss it back into the ocean. This went on for quite some time before a crowd began to develop, many watching her with amusement. 

Eventually a man approached her telling her she had no chance of making an impact. "Look at this beach," he cried. "What you're doing won't make any difference. There are literally hundreds and hundreds of starfish scattered across this beach."

For a moment the girl's shoulders slumped and her heart sank. She looked defeated. 

But just a moment later, she picked up a starfish resting at her feet and threw it back in the sea. "Made a difference to that one," she beamed.

The old man who'd mocked her just a moment before was so inspired by her gumption he decided to join her.

That story has been told millions of times and one of the reasons it's so important is because we often think our contributions to the world need to be on some grand scale. 

And though it's important to dream big, aiming solely to make a dent in the universe often leads us to overlook the smaller ways we can impact a person, or a community. 

I've gone into countless situations convinced setting up a few beds at a homeless shelter, or mentoring a student wouldn't make a difference. But it absolutely did. 

I may not have launched a rocket, or discovered an innovative way to prevent disease but I've done what I could in whatever community I was fortunate to be a part of.

Find a person, place, or cause you can offer value to in whatever way possible. 

23 Ways to Express Gratitude this Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving! Here are 23 ways to express gratitude:

1. Send a message to someone you haven't spoken to in a while and let them how much they mean to you.

2. Volunteer

3. Jot down 5 things you are grateful for in a journal each night before bed

4. Say, thank you. A LOT.

5. Focus on "being more" rather than simply "gaining more."

6. Help someone out without needing to be asked

7. Make an anonymous donation

8. Listen more than you speak

9. Take inventory of ways you can improve yourself

10. Serve others before yourself

11. Promote a cause you believe in

12. Take care of yourself so you can do the same for someone else

13. Recommend a great book

14. Give someone a compliment

15. Exercise patience

16. Call and wish someone a happy holiday

17. Take time to consider those who aren't as fortunate

18. Show kindness

19. Avoid waste

20. Avoid gossip

21. Be present

22. Given someone your undivided attention

23. Share laughter

And I'm extremely grateful to ALL OF YOU for supporting my daily message.

Much love,

Nick 

You Can Get a "C" Just for Showing Up

Before I went to college my dad told me there was no excuse for skipping class. “You can get a “C” just for showing up,” he said. His point was that half of success in life comes from the quality of our presence. Kindness and gratitude will get you further than you think. When we focus on what we have it becomes difficult to come up with what we don’t.

I had plenty of examples in my personal life of people who embodied that very spirit. People like my friend Dan, who’d lost both of his parents by the age of 20, yet still found a way to thrive as an orthapaedic surgeon. Instead of using his setbacks as an excuse to retreat he dug his heels in and used those challenges to develop a sense of grit and fortitude that got him into the top medical school in the country.

He taught me we get to choose how we show up in life and that the quality of our contributions begins with the quality of our philosophy - that problems are only meant to test our resolve and be reframed into opportunities; if not over the wall then under. If not under then around. And in time, with enough trial and error, we may even discover we’ve been climbing the wrong wall to begin with.

A Very Good Kind of Problem

Before I went to college my dad told me there was no excuse for skipping class. “You can get a “C” just for showing up,” he said. His point was that half of success in life comes from the quality of our presence.

Kindness and gratitude will get you further than you think. When we focus on what we have it becomes difficult to come up with what we don’t.

A very good problem to have.

One

Everyone can agree pursuing a career in the entertainment industry is incredibly challenging. It is perhaps the least meritocratic line of work on the planet. In so many other professional endeavors hard work, expertise, and kindness will eventually offer the opportunity to advance. That formula is less flexible when it comes to being an actor.

Still, I've tried to nudge my actor and artist friends to empower themselves in the few ways they can: 

-- by creating their own work and thus opportunities

-- building a community of like-minded artists

-- and defining success on your own terms.

Understandably, there are other hurdles to getting a serious look from industry movers and shakers. As Viola Davis recently noted in an award acceptance speech, "The only thing that separates women of color from anyone else is opportunity. You cannot win an Emmy for roles that are simply not there.” 

I've had my own hurdles as an actor of color. This certainly doesn't make me unique as many of my talented and hardworking friends have to.

But, I've observed that each group that feels marginalized or underrepresented in the entertainment industry speaks up passionately for their own cause. And understandably so. We tend to talk about what we know and directly affects us. It's human nature.

But what if instead of an Asian American actor advocating solely for his own opportunities he spoke up equally loud for more female filmmakers? Or if female filmmakers voiced their concerns with how Arab Americans are so frequently misrepresented in film and media.

Can you imagine the influence we could have if we all stuck up for one another? The movement to make an "unfair" industry "equally unfair" would be less fragmented, easier to mobilize, and create unbreakable bonds in the process.

And if it could work in the entertainment industry the possibilities beyond a film set would be limitless.