Trey Humphreys 1/14/22 Trey Humphreys 1/14/22

How To Live: Dennis

A little yellow corvette and a lifetime of adventures and tragedies…meet Dennis.

Last Saturday I met a stranger at a BBQ restaurant at 2 pm in the suburbs of Atlanta. An older man with a hat who looked like your grandfather. Harmless, cute, and quaint.

A friend told me I should meet this man because he has an interesting story. I like interesting stories.

“Hi, I’m Trey.” I reached out my hand as I approached the table.

“Dennis,” he replied with a big smile full of white teeth. He was wearing a sweater with a collared shirt underneath and some khaki pants. Standard old man attire.

We chatted a minute then got in line for some BBQ. My friend Ilene showed up a few minutes later. We like interviewing interesting people. We never show up with an agenda. We aren’t organized enough for that. Two weeks ago, we interviewed a lady who was attacked by a raccoon and before that, a man who milks Cobra venom in Miami.

As we sat down at the table I tried to figure out how to start the conversation. I knew almost nothing about the man. It was silent for a minute then Dennis said, “Well, let me tell you the short version of my life,” as he slowly nibbled on some BBQ.

“I have no meat in my ass anymore so sitting on these seats hurts like hell.” He grinned and informed us he weighed 290 pounds a year ago and now is down to 170.

He only eats one meal a day now. Apparently, he used to eat everything.

“I finally went ahead and spent $53,000 on new teeth after mine were beaten out of my head when I was attacked by six prisoners at the Federal Prison. They stabbed me 38 times and beat my right eyeball out of the socket…” he mentioned casually.

What?

Dennis grew up in Atlanta. His mom was the secretary to the President of Delta Airlines. He and two buddies stole an alligator from the Atlanta Zoo when he was in high school and carried it to the top of the Henry Grady Hotel (now the Peachtree Plaza Hotel) and put it in the rooftop swimming pool. Then they went to jail.

“We had to put a trench coat and hat on the alligator to disguise him in the elevator on the way up to the pool.” Dennis smiled.

The three boys were sentenced to community service for the summer which was cleaning all the animal cages at the zoo.

“I have seen enough shit to last a lifetime! Turtle shit is the worst. It is as long as the turtle.” He held his hands apart to show the size.

His parents sent him to military school after the alligator heist to finish high school. Shortly after he was sent to Vietnam for a few years.

“I have absolutely zero stories from Vietnam. I was nowhere close to the front line. Hell, I had my own tent. The only story I have is when I tried to climb up on a tank to take a picture to send my dad. I slipped and broke my ankle. They tried to give me a Purple Heart for it!” He laughed as he told us how he turned it down. “It was more Darwin award worthy than Purple Heart!”

Dennis came home from Vietnam and went to college in West Virginia. He walked on the football and baseball teams and graduated with a 3.6 GPA.

“I always got good grades in high school and aced the college entrance exams but I paid a girl $100 a week to take all my classes in college. I never went to a single class in four years.”

Genius. I went to all my classes and ended up with a 3.0 which landed me an internship at the Atlanta Zoo cleaning gorilla shit. True story.

“What did you do after college?” I asked.

“Well, I came back to Atlanta and my mom said I should be a lawyer. So, I became a cop.”

“Why a cop?” I asked.

“Sounded like fun,” he answered. That seemed to be Dennis’ answer to almost everything turning point in his life.

“My first day on the job I went to domestic disturbance call. When I walked in the home a 420-pound lady was chasing her 104-pound husband around the kitchen table with a butcher’s knife. Half his arm was laying on the table and there was blood everywhere. I screamed “Stop” and made them sit down. There was blood was all over the place and shooting out of the man’s arm like a hose!” He held up his arm to show where it was cut off.

Over the next few years Dennis was shot by a neighborhood vagrant, dealt with pimps, had a homeless guy lock himself in his police car.

“Then you went to work in the prison?” I questioned.

“Yeah, it sounded like fun,” he replied. He was promoted 14 times in the first four years.

The Atlanta Federal Penitentiary looks like a damn medieval fortress. It is 300 acres and was the largest prison in America holding up to 3000 inmates. It has fascinated me since I was a kid.

Ten years and two months into his career at the prison Dennis walked into a room at the end of a day to shut off the lights. When he stepped into the room he discovered six inmates who were trying to escape. They had created fake dummies in their beds and snuck all the way to the group meeting room.

“I knew immediately bad things were about to happen,” he said.

They jumped him, stabbed him 38 times, and beat his left eyeball of the socket. They blew out all his teeth and left him for dead. Another inmate discovered his body and rang the alarm. He was rushed to a hospital and put into a medically induced coma. He lost half of his kidney. The prisoner who found him and pulled the alarm was released from prison that very night.

“When I woke up in the hospital my dad told me there was a difficult to understand man who had been waiting to talk to me for three days. He sat outside my room the entire time. So, I said bring him in.

“Your Trustees wanted me to let you know the six guys that attacked you all committed suicide.” the man said in a broken New York accent.

Then he left.

“I had four trustee prisoners who were all mafia guys serving time for white color crimes. They liked me and sent this man to relay the message.” Dennis said.

“Poor guys. I guess they just couldn’t live with what they did, huh?” I replied.

“Yeah, I guess it weighed too heavy on their hearts,” he smiled.

Earlier in his prison career, he shot and killed Willie Foster Sellers – Head of Dixie Mafia – from 160 yards away as he was trying to escape.

“I hit him three inches to the right of his ear, dead center. I regret shooting that man. An FBI agent was standing next to me and gave me the order. However, I wish I would have shot him in the leg. I will always regret that.” He looked away.

It seemed that although Dennis lived a crazy life, he has a solid code of ethics. He has never been inside a strip club, never did drugs, never cheated on his wives, and lives with the regret of shooting Willie.

After getting the shit kicked out of him, he could not go back to work in the prison so he took a job running theft prevention for some retail stores in Atlanta.

“A buddy had some retail stores in Atlanta and asked if I would help him reduce theft in the stores. I said sure. It sounded like fun.”

Since then Dennis has been in sales selling security technology. Last year he was the top sales guy out of 248 people across the country.

“Not bad for 72!” He smiled.

Not bad at all.

“Have you ever been in love?” I asked wondering about the other side of his life.

“Yes. I married a good-looking Delta flight attendant and came home early from a work trip one day and walked in on her having sex with a guy I knew since kindergarten on my rug in front of my fireplace drinking my wine. They were both butt naked. I sat them both down without letting them get dressed and had a conversation. I told them they were never going to see each other again. I never raised my voice. He was a deacon at the church and didn’t want his wife to find out so agreed to my demands.” Dennis said confidently.

His marriage ended and then his ex-wife got married seven more times.

“I met my second wife in a bar in Dallas, Texas. I walked up to her and said you look exactly like my second wife. She asked how many times I had been married. I said once. A year later we got married in Las Vegas in a small chapel. Joan Collins was in the same chapel and got married right before us. She stayed and was our witness for our marriage and then told us she had rented out a restaurant for her reception but was heading back to LA so we could have it.”

Here is the turn.

Dennis was married for 24 years to that woman, the love of his life. She was an oncologist. They lived in Nashville. One day she came home and told him they found out she had cancer. Nine days later she died.

He had two sons. Both died of heroin overdoses. Five years apart. Both at 31 years old.

In 2005, his wife, son, and mother all died in the same week.

There I was sitting across from one of the happiest guys I have ever met who lost both his sons, both his wives, was shot, and damn near beaten to death in prison.

“How have you overcome such tragedies in your life?” I asked.

“The rear-view mirror is small and the windshield is big. The tragedies don’t go away, they just get further away. We have to move on and honor the memory of those who have passed.”

“I have lived a charmed life. I really have. I have been blessed to have the courage to always do the things I wanted to do instead of what others wanted me to do. Bad things happen to all of us. 90% of life is attitude.”

Wow.

I learned many lessons during our three-hour conversation. Life is what we make of it. Our attitude determines the quality of our lives. Never steal an alligator from the zoo.

Halfway through the interview, Ilene asked him if he has a photographic memory.

“It seems like you remember everything,” she mentioned.

“Yes, for some reason I almost have a photographic memory.” He replied.

He was a remarkable storyteller who relies heavily on his memory. I am trying to learn how to be a better storyteller. My memory is garbage.

When we first sat down he told us when he was young, his aunt gave him a book of 101 poems and offered him $100 for every poem he memorized. He memorized 50 of them and recited one for us from memory.

“When I turned 16, I bought my dream car with the money I earned from memorizing poems. A yellow convertible corvette for $4800.”

That was it. That is how he built an amazing memory. A smart aunt challenged him to memorize poems.

“I still have that Corvette. It has 555,000 miles and I drive it all the time. It’s my retirement fund.”

Dennis wants to have I Did it My Way played at his funeral. He certainly has done it his way. When I asked him what he makes of his life he said,

“I’ve been playing what if and why not all my life.”

At 72 years old, Dennis isn’t done yet. He is hellbent on getting into Cuba and still sings in bands around Atlanta. He has his pilot’s license, reads four books a week, and is dating a new girl.

“Thanks for talking to us today, Dennis. What are you doing tonight?” I asked as we wrapped up the conversation.

“Oh, I am going to Hal’s Steakhouse to see my favorite piano player. I think I will have two old fashion drinks and two shots of 1942 tequila from my favorite bartender and smoke a cigar. That sounds like fun,” he said.

Maybe we all need to have a little more fun. Maybe that is the secret.

As we were all walking out of the restaurant, I asked one last question.

“What is the secret to life?”

“Take what you’ve got and make the God damned best of it.”

Trey

Trey Humphreys 1/4/22 Trey Humphreys 1/4/22

One Word For 2022?

One Word

Words. Can you imagine the internal dialogue in the caveman's mind before language? I can't.

Every year I choose a one-word intention. Even I can remember one word. Resolutions? Nope. Goals? Ish. A word? Yup.

A word that represents something that could have a massive impact on my life. Like sex. Did you know the average American has sex 58 times a year? What is your number? Pick a new number for 2022 and see if you can manifest it.

Onward.

I have been thinking about my one-word intention for 2022 and then it hit me. It's fantastic. Not the word fantastic, but a fantastic word. I was leaning towards BRAZEN (bold, unashamed) but then a new word hit me yesterday…

By the way, magic is an outstanding word. When I die, I want this on my tombstone:

Trey was magic.

Onward again...

Most people come up with flat words. Words that are important yet boring. Like gratitude, connection, abundance. Snoozefest. There is no sense of action to those words. Lame. Boring.

Ilene came up with MOXIE as her word. Nice.

Sizzle is a good word. Sizzle.

My word must influence my behavior in a positive way. For example, when I am procrastinating or not being social or skipping the gym.

Wiggle is a good word. So is Electric.

So what is my word for 2022?

GO.

Two letters. A "G" and an "O".

BOOM! How about that? Outstanding! You have no idea how amazing that word is for me....

For example, I was trying to decide if I wanted to go be social last tonight. I didn't want to and was journaling about it. I know I need to be more social but wanted to stay in and go to sleep at 8 pm. Then the word hit me...

Go.

Go be social. Go make friends. Go celebrate life because it isn't forever. Go.

Today I was thinking if I should go to the gym.

Go.

Travel this year?

Go.

Then something else interesting hit me as I thought about the word GO...

Let Go.

Let GO of expectations. Let GO of future worry. Let GO of bullshit stories I tell myself like I can’t love or I am not smart enough or I am ugly. Let GO of ridiculous comparisons to Instagram models and successful CEOs. Let GO of the anxiety I have in simple conversations with friends.

(let) Go.

Two letters. A "G" and an "O".

Then ANOTHER thing hit me...

There are two letters in GO. This year is 2022. Whoa at the 2's.

And then something else hit me…the first two letters of GOD are G and O...

Wow.

What is your word for 2022?

Maybe it’s MAGIC or BREATHE or SEX or SIZZLE or DAZZLE or LAUGH or FINISH or ZEN or SMILE or TRY or WRITE or TALK or RELAX or ASK.

ASK is a powerful one...

Maybe you don’t need a word. That is ok too.

Let’s GO.

Trey

Three Things I Loved in 2021

1. The Set Up - Dan Bilzerian

Sure, this dude is a wacko, but my God, he figured out how to hack his life. Also, his book is insane. The man had two heart attacks in Vegas when he was 27 years old and has had sex with every hot girl on the Earth. The stories in this book are madness and surpass Motley Crue's book The Dirt. That says a lot...

2. The Prof G Pod - The Best podcast

Prof G, or Scott Galloway, is smarter than balls and funny. He talks about business, branding, fintech, and how to be happy. The dude is hilarious and insanely smart. And, he is Ilene’s dream man so if you can find a clone of him…

3. Tik Tok - Education.

I learn everything from Tik Tok. Specifically, how to cook. Here is a video I made that has 2.1 million views: https://www.tiktok.com/@treygoesglobal/video/6828952869736123653?lang=en&is_copy_url=1&is_from_webapp=v1

Trey Humphreys 11/16/21 Trey Humphreys 11/16/21

Sarah & The Bee

A story about a girl and a bee…

She was waiting for me. It was dark. Real dark.

I don’t drive at night. Not my speed. However, I was up in the sticks and had a couple hours to kill. It was only 7:30 pm but pitch black. She was standing in her driveway. Waiting.

She approached my car with a case of Bud Light under one arm wearing a worn-out baseball hat, jeans, and a flannel shirt. She looked to be in her late 20’s, a bit stocky, and giddy.

“Let’s party!” I announced as she got in the back seat. I say that to every rider that gets in my car regardless of the time of day. It automatically puts them in a good mood. Then they don’t kill me.

She laughed.

“Where am I?” I asked. I was up in North Georgia and drove 11 miles to pick her up.

“Ducktown. I might have pre-gamed a bit too hard today,” she giggled.

Ducktown. Never in my life have I heard of such a place.

I started driving for Lyft a couple of months ago as a consulting project. I am now addicted and think I might write a book about the people I meet. Like the one guy with dreadlocks who tipped me a pound of psychedelic mushrooms at 7:30 in the morning.

“Do you mind if I open a beer?” She cautiously asked.

“Go for it,” I answered. Little did she know I started a party bus company 20 years ago.

“Oh, thank God,” she smiled.

Her name was Sarah. She told me she used to live in the city and worked in bars and restaurants. Eventually, she decided to quit and follow her dream.

“I moved up here and bought a farm. Now I breed mules and board horses.”

“Mules?”

“I love mules. They are my favorite animals.”

“Why?” I asked keeping my eyes on the road because we were somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

“Well, kinda because of the bible, you know Mary road in on a mule and whatnot, but more so because they are extremely smart. A thousand times smarter than horses.”

I peppered her with questions about mules. Her favorite mule, Snickers, can count. If she asks it what day of the month it is, it will count out the days with it’s hoof. That is insane.

I asked her if horses bite. She said yes. One picked her up by the hair and threw her over a fence one time.

“Since you run a farm, what time do you wake up in the morning?” I asked.

“4 am.”

“What time do you get home?”

“7:30 pm.”

Damn.

“I love it. I am outside in nature, and I work hard so I am tired when I go to sleep. All my friends have anxiety and depression, but I am too tired to be anxious or depressed. Those losers need to work harder!”

She was chatty and half drunk. We drove and drove.

“Have you ever watched a bee pollinate a flower?” She asked randomly.

“No?” I thought.

“It is amazing. A dance. Mesmerizing. People need to slow down and watch bees sometimes. Today I watched a squirrel play in the leaves for 10 minutes. It was so cool.”

Imagine that…taking time to pause and be in awe of what is around us. Sounds, well, peaceful.

I was blow away. She stole my heart. What an amazing girl. A young farmer who taught me three amazing lessons in a 20-minute Lyft ride.

1. Follow your dreams.

Don’t get stuck in a city if you are a country girl. Do not wait tables if your soul needs to be outside. Don’t work at home if you need the energy of others around you. Burn the boats, take a risk, and do what your heart wants you to do.

2. Work hard. Get tired.

Depression and anxiety are for those who have time and energy for it. Fill your calendar, work hard, wear out your mind.

3. Slow down, look around.

Watch the bees. Watch them dance.

One day I am going to buy a banana farm. I will raise racoons and grow fruit. I will also have show chickens, the fancy ones. No pigs though, not for me. Maybe a mule or two. The garden will have okra, tomatoes, and broccoli. Does broccoli grow in the ground?

Thank you Sarah! You were such a beautiful inspiration. I hope you finished that entire 12 pack of bud light and stay away from biting horses.

Trey

Trey Humphreys 10/26/21 Trey Humphreys 10/26/21

WOWS & VOWS

7 days, 5 flights, 4 hotels, 3 party buses, 2 booze cruises, and 1 trip to the emergency room later…

Day 1 - Monday

I showed up at the airport wearing a polyester western suit with white fringe and 70’s platform shoes. It was 8 am. I ordered a beer. Two actually.

My buddy and his future bride showed up wearing matching terry cloth blazers. We were headed to Hawaii. They were eloping. I was officiating.

He still hadn’t proposed. They decided to elope but he had not yet popped the question.

“Think I can propose on the plane,” he asked me two days earlier.

“Hell if I know,” I replied.

With an hour left in the flight to Kauai, an announcement came over the PA system. It was my buddy. He was reading his proposal on the intercom from the front of the plane.

“We have a special announcement for the lucky lady in seat 35E from the gentlemen in seat 35D. They are headed to Kauai to ELOPE…”

He was no longer sitting in seat 35D.

Confused? So was she.

You see, he thought the flight attendant would read his proposal on the PA system and he would take a knee and whip out the ring. Instead, they let him read the proposal. So, the future bride listened to the announcement thinking it was for someone else the entire time.

Whoops.

Once he finished reading the proposal, he walked back down the aisle as the other passengers cheered.

He got down on one knee and she said yes.

Confused yet? Perfect. Let me make it more confusing. Here was the itinerary for the wedding week:

Monday – Proposal
Tuesday – Non-rehearsal dinner
Wednesday – Wedding
Thursday – Bachelor and Bachelorette parties
Friday – Bride’s birthday
Following Saturday – Rehearsal dinner

Got it?

Day 2 - Tuesday

“How do you want the ceremony to go?” I asked him as I sipped a beer at the hotel’s Tiki Bar.

“Don’t rush it,” he replied.

Jesus Christ. Thanks for the guidance. It was the one and only time we ever discussed the actual ceremony.

Later that night we went to a fancy restaurant for sunset and dinner. The sunset was beautiful and the dinner was loud. We were seated next to a few large trees full of at least 80 million parrots going nuts. A few espresso martinis later and we finished the dinner without uttering a single word about the wedding plans for the next day.

Day 3 - Wednesday

We loaded into an SUV to head to the wedding site at 7:30 am because he decided to get married at 10 am on a Wednesday. He also decided to write his vows in the Uber on the way to the wedding.

“Is that a ukulele?” Garrett asked the Hawaiian dude holding a full-sized guitar.

“No, it’s a guitar,” the Hawaiian dude replied.

Garrett hired him to play the ukelele during the wedding.

Whoops.

We stood in front of a huge wooden circle in a garden. There was a handful of us, the ukulele player who forgot to bring his ukulele, and the wedding coordinator who might have been on meth. Unconfirmed.

The ukelele player played a borrowed ukelele as the beautiful bride came down the aisle. She settled in facing the groom.

“F*ck,” she said as the wedding coordinator stepped on her dress.

“Amor, you can’t say that,” the groom whispered to the bride. She is from Brazil. He is from Alabama. The Ukelele player was from Mars. The ceremony started. So did the rain.

“Friends and family, welcome to a very special occasion,” I announced as I looked down at my notes. The rain made them unreadable. Wonderful.

I guess I should introduce the wedding party…

Garrett, the groom who has traveled to 192 countries, and some might argue, a complete idiot.

Rosane, the bride who is 1000 times better looking than Garrett and asked for stripper boots as her wedding gift.

Ben and Barbie, the two most gorgeous human beings on the planet.

Jeff and Becca, the brother and sister-in-law of the groom who missed half the wedding week stuck in quarantine.

Fran G, The mother of the groom who once went backstage with Elvis.

Ilene, a friend of the bride and groom who bought the ring and somehow didn’t lose it over the past three weeks.

Josh, a friend of the bride and groom who thinks marriage is as stupid as Southwest Airlines.

And me, the officiant who had no idea what was going on…

The sun came out halfway through the ceremony. The bride dropped the F-bomb twice and the word Oral was in Garrett’s wedding vows. The best man, Garrett’s brother Jeff, gave Garrett an empty ring box. It turned out to be an amazing ceremony. Perfectly imperfect.

After the ceremony, some strange lady with no shoes forced us to learn a hula dance. Garrett almost had an aneurism because we still had not taken wedding pictures, the only reason in his mind, to have a wedding. He had booked the place for an hour and we had 15 minutes left.

“Put your dumb shoes back on and let’s do the pictures,” Garrett yelled.

After pictures, we quickly changed into our outfits for a booze cruise, loaded up in a limo van, and headed across the island. Reception? No. Booze cruise? Yes.

I wore a full captain’s costume. Of course.

We boarded the booze cruise and got ready to travel up the Na Pali coast.

“We don’t serve alcohol until the second half of the tour,” the real captain announced during the safety speech.

“Boo!” I, the fake captain, announced at the real captain during the safety speech.

We headed up the coast as Garrett’s mom got seasick. They served us steak that tasted like gasoline and salad that blew away in the wind. Eventually, the boat turned around halfway and the bar finally opened.

Game on.

Old people hung on for dear life as we danced, laughed, and drank.

We had a limo bus waiting to take us back to the hotel. As we boarded the bus the driver explained that there would be no alcohol allowed on the bus.

Garrett cracked two beers.

“I HEARD A BEER CAN OPEN! I SWEAR TO GOD YOU WILL WALK! WHERE IS THE BEER?” the driver screamed as he tore open the side door glaring at us.

Silence.

“WHERE IS THE BEER?” he barked again.

More silence.

“Sorry, I will pull up my mask,” Garrett said slowly pulling his mask up over his nose as if that was the reason the poor bastard was screaming at us.

Eventually, the psychopath went back to the driver's seat and headed towards the hotel.

Garrett and Rosane opened four more beers.

Back at the hotel, we sat under a tent on the beach eating chicken fingers and drinking cheap wine Ben stole from the booze cruise. We laughed until it hurt.

The perfect ending to a perfect day.

Day Four - Thursday

We jumped on a flight back to Honolulu for the rest of the week. Garrett bought a ukelele at the airport because you do stupid shit when you get married, I guess.

Once we landed in Honolulu the bachelor and bachelorette parties began…

Garrett was excited because he rented a Lamborghini limo to pick us up from the airport. Have you ever seen a Lamborghini limo? Neither have I.

It was not a Lamborghini limo.

We all piled into the non-Lamborgini limo and asked the tiny driver to head to a liquor store. He pulled into some shady strip mall where we loaded up on cheap champagne and White Claw. Basic.

Back at the limo, Garrett instructed the bride to saber the champagne bottle with a knife. We all stood around as she sheered the top off of the bottle.

And her finger.

Blood poured onto the sidewalk as she stood in shock. I stood back in shock. He back stood in shock. The tiny driver back stood in shock.

I ran back to the liquor store to buy bandages and ice. The bride almost passed out, the limo driver was beyond words, and the rest of the crew tried not to laugh.

Next stop, the emergency room.

Several stitches later and the bride was good to go. Well, she couldn’t wear her wedding ring because that was the finger she cut. Naturally.

A few of Garrett’s buddies flew in for the bachelor party and we all met at the only rooftop bar in Waikiki. Seven dudes sitting on a couch for two. The power went out at some point, so we sat in silence eating french fries and drinking vodka.

A party bus picked us up and took us to a completely empty bar at a shopping mall. Hawaii was being very conservative due to the Covid pandemic. Every place shut down at 10 pm.

The girls had been out at an overpriced dinner for their bachelorette party and met us at the same sad bar.

We all boarded the party bus which led us to some sketchy joint hidden somewhere in the city. I danced around with my briefcase as a dozen girls asked me to buy them shots. I pointed to Josh and told them he was rich. One of the girls asked him to pay her mortgage. He asked her what a mortgage was…

Eventually, we made it back onto the party bus and ended the night circling the city.

Day Five - The Birthday

The next day we celebrated the bride’s birthday because her actual birthday was on Wednesday when she got married and how many days is too many days to party really? We headed to yet another booze cruise.

A DJ fired up music as the boat headed to sea. The poor dude next to us threw up in a bag for two straight hours so I took pictures with his girlfriend.

The booze cruise lasted two hours and nobody died. The captain looked at us like we were aliens. Other passengers kept their distance. We twerked.

Which leads us to dinner afterward…

We found a table in a tiki bar on the main drag. Garrett immediately ordered a round of pineapple drinks. Not drinks make from pineapples, but drinks served in full pineapples.

A Hawaiian lady sang Journey songs on a tiny stage behind a clear plastic tarp in the corner. We ate around 400 mozzarella sticks while Rosane ate four poke bowls in a row because Ilene fed her a full edible on the booze cruise a second after the captain announced no drugs on the booze cruise. She ate the whole thing, by accident. It was her first time.

Whoops.

She laughed and ate, laughed and ate, laughed and ate.

When it was all said and done, Garrett had ordered 47 pineapple drinks.

FORTY-SEVEN F&CKING PINEAPPLES!

Day 6 & 7 - Turtle Bay North Shore

It never ends…and we did NOT find Sarah Marshall.

Day 8 - Fly Home

Thank God.

Day 13 - The Rehearsal Dinner

A week after we got back to Atlanta we had the rehearsal dinner. There was no rehearsing. Just laughing, roasting, dancing, and love!

Overall it was the perfect week. A reminder to us all that we don’t have to do things how everyone else does things. We can be different because we all are different.

Cheers to the newlyweds who threw the most epic wedding week of all time. A week full of laughter, friendship, and love.

Trey

Trey Humphreys 8/5/21 Trey Humphreys 8/5/21

How To Get Unstuck

The key to getting unstuck is not what you think it is…

Lube.

It actually makes sense. Lube.

I asked a question on Facebook yesterday to see what all the Facebook gurus would say. The comment section went bananas. Humans love to give opinions. Everyone is an expert on Facebook.

The question I asked…

How do you get unstuck when you are stuck?

So far there are 40 comments. Eight of them are lube.

I work with a lot of people who are stuck. Or rather, think they are stuck. I think it is impossible to be stuck but let’s not get into physics.

Perhaps, stuck means a lack of clarity on the way forward. Perhaps stuck means trapped in a job or life you do not enjoy. Perhaps being stuck is being locked away in prison, having a shitty mindset, or being addicted to porn, weed, and pizza.

Find some lube.

What is lube? The dictionary says…

the act of putting lubricant on the moving parts of a vehicle

Lube is something that gets the moving parts moving again. You need to get moving again.

Some of the comments on my Facebook:

· Meditation

· Release expectations

· Emotional rehire

· Call a friend

· Action. Do something. Anything.

· Travel

Then what? Then what do we do? Will it fix it forever? Eh.

Here is a comment from my buddy Joey who is both right and left-brained, has great hair, and never sits still. He is a powerful coach, entrepreneur, and guitar player:

Journal
Sweat
Volunteer
Gratitude inventory
Call three friends that are big fans and talk.
Walk the Beltline, make eye contact, and say hello (out loud) to everyone you pass.

Here is another one from my buddy Lee who is an overachiever, adrenaline junky, and tech nerd who built and sold software companies:

I feel like a terrorist in a room full of Buddhists. But my approach is a little different.

Pick the smallest, tightest, most finite corner you can find. Get irrationally determined and singularly focused to achieve the smallest of gains. And then start kicking f’ing ass. Don’t sleep, don’t relent and don’t accept anything but absolute domination and victory over infinitesimal gains over until you find yourself far from your starting place. Then look back SEE your progress. Celebrate your determination. Then see if you can get twice as tenacious about the next tiny gain. Before you know it, you’ll be back in the hunt towards your overall goals. Not as Zen as meditation and spiritual exploration, but nothing gets shit done quite like relentless, obsessive tenacity. And nothing feels better and is more motivating than looking back and seeing the distance you’ve put between you and what once felt impossible. Success begets success. So, stop looking at the mountain and start looking one step ahead and absolutely dominate that one step. If you can make one step, then you must be able to do that again.

And finally, one from Stacy:

Put wood under your wheel.

I think there is something else …

Routine.

Routine gets us out of our minds. Routine doesn’t give a shit about our feelings. Routine could care less about the victim story we tell ourselves or the temperature outside.

Routine says do this, every day, over and over regardless of what you think, how you feel, or if it’s raining.

Put on your shoes, go outside, and run. Repeat tomorrow.

Sit down, shut up, close your eyes, and breathe for 10 minutes. Repeat tomorow.

Wake up at 6 am, say a prayer, do a pushup. Repeat tomorrow.

To get unstuck, design a routine. Commit to the routine. Become obsessed with consistency. Celebrate the daily micro wins.

Create, Commit, Consistent, Celebration.

The fastest way to change is to design a daily workout routine that includes lifting heavy weights (male and female). The second is to design a morning routine that is a minimum hour long. The third is to design a connection routine to engage with other humans.

I spend the first three hours of the day doing a routine that gets me to baseline. I walk outside, drink 32 ounces of room temperature spring water, do a 10 minute guided breathwork meditation, and do my creative journaling for one hour.

What’s your routine?

Trey

P.S. If you need some help getting unstuck, jump in my next 30 Day program that starts on Monday. I have designed this to create routine, discipline, accountability, fun, and connection. At the end of 30 days, you will see clearly again. You will be a different person. You will have the motivation and be proud of yourself again. If not, I’ll send you a free bottle of cotton candy-flavored lube.

www.corefourchallenge.com

Trey Humphreys 7/21/21 Trey Humphreys 7/21/21

Disconnected

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Connection is dying. The office is dead. MySpace has ruined everything. Twitter sucks, always has, always will. Trump is not President, I don't think.

Welcome to the new world. A world where anxiety has replaced boredom and people need 400 mg of edible weed to sleep through the night even though they are lying on a $12,000 sleep number memory foam cool technology mattress in a climate-controlled home with a white noise machine, 56,000 thread count sheets, and pH-balanced water on the nightstand. Oh, and a $70 MyPillow. That was a long rant about sleeping. Sorry.

I started watching a show on Netflix last night about the Roman Empire. It seemed fake because they spoke English and had magnificent hair. The girls had fake boobs.

Anyway, can you imagine the life of a man in Rome during the Roman Empire? That poor bastard never showered, fought his entire life in the army with a sword that probably weighed 80 lbs, and slept in the mud. There was no AC, grapefruit LaCroix, Siri, FitBits, or Starbucks whipped frappuccino decaf spinach milk lattes.

There were no Goldendoodles eating vegan carrot dog food or billionaires flying their own spaceships to outer space.

Times are changing.

Now we live in perfect comfort at all times. We all have diabetes, cavities, and gluten allergies. We are riddled with depression, anxiety, and Coke Zero. We are losing friends as the world population increases by a billion every hour.

If Jesus were here, he would wear crocs and have 5.5 billion Instagram followers. He could sell a single post for 25 million dollars. Sorry, I digress.

Bottom line it blog boy,...ok - here goes.

We are losing connection. The magical, mystical, buzzword of the year. We are losing our connection with each other. Everyone has their cell phone on them at ALL times yet we never speak to each other. I haven't made an actual phone call in three weeks.

We connect through text, Snap, fax, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Clubhouse, Pinterest, Slack, Bumble, Hinge, TikTok, WhatsApp, Gmail, NextDoor, OnlyFans, and regular mail.

But are we even connecting? We use emojis because typing the word 'happy' is too exhausting.

I think connection is the next big problem to be solved. As an entrepreneur, I have built programs that uniquely connect people. My 30 Day Adventure program, Exchange men's group, upcoming group travel business, and newly formed 30 Day Employee Engagement program called GLUED, for example.

Connection is in demand.

It is so bad I have created a new program for businesses that literally connects employees to other employees and leadership in the same company. Can you imagine? A business where I bring your people together so that your business is successful? Unheard of in 1932. Or during the Roman Empire.

(Here it is: https://www.gluedglobalconsulting.com/)

We need to stop turning inward and start turning outward. Introverts like me need to turn off Netflix and hang out with humans. The depressed, anxious, and self-loathing need to quit reading self-help books and start talking to real people. Coworkers need to meet each other. Shocking right?

I am selling connection. Are you buying?

Trey

Trey Humphreys 7/15/21 Trey Humphreys 7/15/21

Are You A Virgin?

Are you a virgin?

I lost my virginity in a Days Inn motel when I was 16.5 years old. She was super hot. I weighed 120 lbs and had acne.

I've been following the career of a guy who looks like Santa Claus and speaks funny. Sometimes I think about this dude and wonder why I am not like him. Usually, the thought "what is my excuse" rattles around in my brain.

I have lots of excuses. All valid, of course.

The dude has been up and down in the business world but seems to have landed on top. I don’t think he gives a shit about failure.

He dropped out of high school when he was 16. Perhaps it was because he is dyslexic and couldn't read. Maybe he is stupid. He tried to become an entrepreneur by growing and selling Christmas trees. It failed. Then he tried to raise and sell parakeets. Failed again.

He kept trying though. He started more companies. Here are a few:

Cosmetics company - failed
Wedding dress company - failed
Vodka company - failed
A social media company - failed
A lottery - failed
A car company, a computer company, a soda company - failed, failed, failed

Poor bastard.

When I was 16, I built and sold rabbit cages. I would go to construction sites and take wood and nails from the scraps then build the cages and sell them. Talk about shitty cages. I have started about 15 companies. Five of them worked. Not bad. They say 9 out of 10 small businesses fail.

This crazy dude has started hundreds of companies. Most have failed.

However, a couple of days ago he flew into outer space in his own spaceship. He is worth 7 billion dollars and turns 72 years young in five days.

Richard Branson is the greatest entrepreneur of my time.

When asked about the disaster concept Virgin Cola that failed horribly he said, "I got to drive a tank into Times Square and also to create a cheeky bottle in the shape of Pamela Anderson. That business taught me not to underestimate the power of the world's leading soft drink makers. I'll never again make the mistake of thinking that all large, dominant companies are sleepy!"

Not bad.

What I love about Richard Branson is he has tried EVERYTHING and is still standing. He doesn’t let the unknown stop him. He wears stupid costumes and lives on an island he rents for $42,000 a day. He also still has cool hair.

When asked why the name "Virgin" for his empire that has over 400 companies he said that when he and Nik Powell started their first business together in the form of a record shop, they were “virgins” in the business.

One of their first employees suggested the name, which is a humorous acknowledgment of their inexperience when first starting their company. Being new to something is being a virgin to it.

We are all virgins until we aren’t.

Do you have an idea, dream, or goal to try something new but are scared because you are a virgin?

Lose your virginity and go to the moon like Richard.

LET'S GO!!!!!!!
Trey

Trey Humphreys 7/7/21 Trey Humphreys 7/7/21

Adventure in Congo?

Is it weird that I have an idea to spend New Year's Eve in the Democratic Republic of Congo? It has a nice ring to it, NYE in DRC. A pretty dumb idea at best.

The DRC is a complete disaster. It regularly tops the list as the poorest country in the world. It is a massive country in the center of Africa. The most corrupt country in all of Africa, and that says a lot. Anyway, it has gorillas, bananas, massive snakes, and cities full of madness, all of which I love.

If I had to choose an adventure of a lifetime, it would be to boat the entire Congo river from source to ocean which weasels its way through the entire country. A wild trip through some of the most insane land in the world.

Sure, the travel advisor website says this about the Congo:

Violent crime, such as murder, rape, kidnapping, and pillaging, continue throughout the DRC. Road travelers are frequently targeted for ambush, armed robbery, and kidnapping.

And then this:

War rape makes a particularly effective weapon because it not only destroys its physical victims, but entire communities as well. War, violence, and instability have ravaged the DRC for decades.

War rape. God bless.

Toss in malaria, Ebola, leprosy, yellow fever, AIDs, and a thousand other diseases and it is quite the adventure. The crocodiles are as long as football fields and the hippos kill 500 people a year and are faster than boats in the water. Snakes? Plenty.

But the people are the most dangerous. Poverty-stricken and desperate, they can cause serious problems to a skinny white dude like me.

One white dude canoed the entire river in 2012...all 3000 miles...and did not die. Barely. He is the only person to have achieved this goal.

Here is some advice from another fella as he was making his way down the river...

"Do you know there's still armed Mai Mai rebels in there man? I'm telling you if they catch you, they'll kill you, and it won't be a quick death." He continued, "A year ago two Belgian missionaries were captured, tortured, and had their testicles cut off and eaten. Their heads were then cut off and put on spikes outside their village." (Read his story here: https://www.theguardian.com/travel/2012/jan/27/canoeing-the-congo-river)

That sounds fun.

I always think about adventure. Not so much jumping out of an airplane but the adventure that calls to each of us. Whether it is climbing a mountain, finishing a marathon, writing a book, getting married, or going to the DRC for NYE. Adventure fuels us and makes life worth living.

There are only two things every human being really needs...someone to love and a grand adventure.

What is the adventure of your lifetime?

LET'S GO!!!!!!!
Trey

Trey Humphreys 6/23/21 Trey Humphreys 6/23/21

Sitting & Beer Gone Wrong

I'm done eating chicken.

And sitting. Damn, I sit too much. Ever thought about how much you sit? Do they make sitting apps now?

Listen, I am not ready to dump $1000 on a standing desk but hear me out...I decided I need to quit sitting. So, today at the coffee shop, I stood the entire time. About an hour. It wasn't bad. Now I am at Whole Foods standing at a high top writing this email.

I think I just reversed aging.

We lay when we sleep then we wake up and sit at the kitchen table for coffee then sit in the car to work then we sit at work and then we sit at lunch then sit at work again then sit at dinner then sit in front of the TV then lay back down in bed.

Unless you are a roofer.

I gotta stop sitting so much.

I am living with my mom right now because I moved into a new place and decided I didn't like it so moved out the next day. Pretty smart. Anywho, mom is always moving around. She hardly ever sits. Just like her mom who managed a farm until she died in her late 80's. I come from a lineage of non-sitters. Both those gals have always been super healthy.

Well, except the time my grandmother got hit by a beer truck. That was a mess.

So, note to self, quit sitting so damn much.

Trey Humphreys 5/24/21 Trey Humphreys 5/24/21

A Dude Named Tarzan

This past weekend I traveled to the land of no masks to visit two college buddies. One is from New Orleans and completely nuts and the other is from all over the place and hilarious. They landed in Melbourne, Florida where one is an Internal Medicine doctor and one is a luxury home builder. I road on their boats, drank their Trulys, and watched us all get kicked out of the yacht club of which none of us were members. Whoops.

But that is not what this story is about. It is about another dude I met and a reminder about life.

The dude was standing on the edge of the dock staring down at the water. He had long, blond wavy hair and a golden tan. He looked like a rock star, to be honest. Or the greatest surfer of all time.

"He loves fishing," the guy sitting next to me said nodding at the dude standing on the edge of the dock. We were sitting on my buddy's dock on the Intercoastal Waterway in Melbourne Beach, Florida. There were a few of us soaking in the afternoon and watching the Blue Angels dance through the sky at the air show across the river.

"We were in a tournament recently and he pulled in a 150lb tarpon. Took him an hour." The man continued.

I stared at the dude. Mesmerized.

"Who is that dude?" I asked my buddy who owned the house a little later.

"Tarzan," he replied.

"Tarzan?"

"Yeah, Tarzan. He loves to fish and has nine sponsorships with the top fishing brands in the world. He loves to fish."

He was wearing a long sleeve shirt, shorts, a baseball hat backward, and Vans.

Tarzan is 12 years old. He has braces.

Tarzan, actual name Abram, comes from a humble family. His mom and dad are a young couple with four children total. Number four was a surprise. They live in a small house in a neighborhood close to my buddy's river house.

"That kid sets his alarm for 3:30 in the morning, ties his fishing poles to his bike, and rides to the beach to fish for bait. Then he goes and uses the bait to fish for big fish. Then he brings home whatever he catches, cleans the fish, and cooks it for his mom and dad. Every. Single. Day."

Are you serious?

"Yes. He has been fishing as long as I can remember."

Tarzan, one of the coolest kids I have ever met, not only is one of the best fishermen in Florida but also can cook. I can't make a sandwich without fucking it up.

I talked to the kid for a while. He was extremely cool and very kind. He has 6,000 Instagram followers (@fish_like_tarzan). The number is low because Instagram shut down his original account last month because you have to be 13 to be on Instagram. Don't tell anyone.

I thought about that kid all weekend. Specifically, his passion for fishing.

"We were headed out in the ocean to fish one time and Tarzan started casting a line as we were driving out to the fishing sites. The boat was still moving fast so I asked him what the hell he was doing," my buddy told me.

"You can't catch a fish unless your line is in the water," Tarzan replied.

In his latest book, The Art of Impossible, Steven Kotler argues that the formula for a life well-lived is:

Curiosity --> Passion --> Purpose --> Profit.

Curiosity leads to Passion which leads to purpose which leads to profit.

I think young Tarzan is well on his way. He is already talking to boat manufacturers about them building his own custom boat. A huge boat.

Where are you in this formula? Looking for your passion? Trying to turn your purpose into profit? Exploring curiosities?

If you are as blessed as Tarzan is to have found your passion, pour into that bitch, and never let go.

You can't catch a fish if your line's not in the water.

Trey

Trey Humphreys 4/8/21 Trey Humphreys 4/8/21

Funny Mushrooms in Costa Rica: Part 2

“Do a little bit more,” he said to me as he folded the tinfoil.

I was sitting on a makeshift bed in an open-air hut about 30 yards from the ocean. A small square place, about 10 feet by 10 feet, with a meticulously organized kitchen and bed. It resembled a patio with half walls. I wondered how many bugs attacked him when he slept. Or if he just sweats the entire time. It was 80+ degrees and 9 pm.

The night before I took part in a mushroom ceremony. Reluctantly. He was the Shaman. A foreign man with hordes of hair - body, head, and beard. Black hair consumed him. The kind of dude who can sit in the lotus position for hours, unbothered. A man who has been to the other side more times than I have been to the movies.

The ceremony had gone surprisingly well. The only other times I have ever tried psychedelics were grueling. I am no good at drugs.

However, I did so well during the mushroom ceremony, I decided to buy some more to try on the beach the next day. Seemed like a great idea… sun, surf, sand, and fungi.

“Do a little bit more this time,” he said again as he boxed up some magic mushrooms. He personally grows them under a waterfall nearby.

“Sure,” I mumbled.

The next day I headed to the beach with the girls around 2 pm. There were four of us, plenty of sunshine, and one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. The girls ate some mushrooms. I ate three, the same as the night of the ceremony, and laid back in my lounge chair. Let the good times roll.

30 minutes later I was feeling pretty good so I ate three more. When in Rome.

They say the best place to do mushrooms is in nature. It connects you to nature. Recent studies are showing all kinds of benefits from healing end-of-life anxiety to reducing depression. Paul Stamet, the leading authority on all mushrooms worldwide, damn near overdosed on a bag of mushrooms when he was in high school. Here is a snippet from his appearance on the Joe Rogan podcast:

During his first interview with Joe Rogan, Stamets retold the story of his first magic mushroom trip, a transformational moment for the mycologist.

Throughout his life, Stamets had struggled with a stuttering problem. He took his first magic mushroom dose as a young man and described how the psychedelic experience changed his life.

After eating an entire bag of mushrooms, Stamets climbed a high tree in the middle of a powerful thunderstorm. “I was up there and I felt in touch with Gaia and the universe,” he explained. “My heart opened up I felt one with all. I was like, “Oh my gosh, this is such a powerful spiritual experience.”

As the storm raged around him, Stamets began to wrestle with his stuttering problem. “I said to myself, ‘Stop stuttering now. Stop stuttering now.’ I said that dozens, hundreds of times. Over and over and over.”

Once the psychedelic journey had ended, Stamets no longer had a problem with his stutter. Stamets ended the story with an explanation of the healing power of fungi: “It has been medically proven that we can reset the neurology of the human brain through neurogenesis. I believe that experience allowed me to map new neurological pathways.”

I bet that was one hell of a ride…

My mushrooms started to take effect and I was feeling good. The colors of the ocean were vibrant and bright. The sun was perfect and warm. The music in my earphones was radiating through my body.

Then I got the tick. The “oh shit” tick. The tick that started my mind racing. The tick that calls for a walkabout. A walkabout to reduce the intensity of impending doom and avoid people at all costs.

I got up and walked down the beach doing breathing exercises and reminding myself I wasn’t going to die. Waves of paranoia washed over me. I talked to my inner child, God, my outer child, and the ocean. My mind raced. Breathe in, breathe out. How many more hours of this?

“Atlanta!” a huge man was pointing directly at me with an enormous index finger as he approached from a distance.

Here’s the deal. The very last thing you want to do when you are having a hard time on mushrooms is to look another human being in the eyes. Holding a conversation is an even more absurd idea. Meeting someone for the first time is simply unheard of.

“Atlanta?” He shouted again moving closer and closer to me.

“What?” I said in pure panic. My mind was spinning. Please lord…

“You from Atlanta?” he said with a good ole boy smile. I remembered I was wearing an ATL hat. Damn.

“Yeah?” I forced a word to leave my mouth successfully.

“LaGrange,” he said like we had been best friends since the war. “Down here on vacation. Beautiful place. What part of Atlanta?” he continued.

“Marietta.” I have no idea why I said Marietta. I live downtown.

“Yeah, I just changed careers from teaching school to cybersecurity” he got closer and bigger and scarier.

Small talk gives me anxiety when I am happy and sober. At this point, I was in full panic mode hoping my face wasn’t contorting in a million different ways. His was. Could have been the mushrooms.

“Ok,” I mumbled proud I had been able to hang on this long in the conversation.

I looked over his shoulder and could see my safe space, the beach chair off in the distance. My entire soul craved to get to the chair and hide from the world. How could I possibly get out of this conversation without simply saying I am losing my mind right now because I ate a bunch of fungi that generally grows on cattle excrement.

“Yeah, alright, ok, right, yeah, uh-huh, yeah” I made noises as best I could as he rambled off a million more things I had zero interest in hearing. I tried to focus on his face, the conversation, and staying alive.

Was this really happening?

“What do you think places cost down here to rent for a few months?” He asked peering deeper and deeper into my soul.

How in the hell was I supposed to figure out math, run a real estate analysis on Costa Rica, speak, and stay alive all at the same time?

“Sorry, I gotta go.” I cut him off mid-sentence and quickly moved past.

I got to my chair and could not sit still so I got into the ocean. Then I got back to my chair. Then back into the ocean. Waves of hell washed over me as I floated in and out of paranoia.

At one point I looked over at the girls and thought they had lost their minds. One was pacing frantically, another talking to imaginary people, and the third staring directly at the ocean. Sensing that there was nothing I could do to save them I grabbed my backpack and walked back to the house. Barefoot.

A long, rocky, walk from the beach to the road to the dirt road to the house. When I arrived, David was in the pool.

Damn it. Another human.

After some terrifying small talk, I finally made it up to my room where I hid for the next two hours. Eventually, it started wearing off and I ate half a cracker. God had saved me after all.

I carefully snuck back downstairs ready to face the world again. I was certain the girls, who had never tried mushrooms before, had lost their minds and gone to the hospital. I dreaded checking my phone but was worried sick.

“Come meet us for a drink. We are at the restaurant on the beach.” – a text from Ilene.

There was no way they are still alive. I made my way to the restaurant and there they were.

“Are you guys ok?” I asked wondering what happened to them.

“Yes! That was so fun!” they all replied.

Shoot me.

Trey

Trey Humphreys 4/3/21 Trey Humphreys 4/3/21

Funny Mushrooms in Costa Rica

A mushroom ceremony in Costa Rica…what could possibly go wrong?

Say yes to adventure kept running through my mind. Yes. No. Yes. No. Maybe. We will see…

Probably not. Well, maybe. Nah. But, what if…

A tiny busted-up Suzuki Samurai pulled up to the house. It was missing a roof. Inside the little toy truck were two men. One was dark and hairy. The other bright and bald.

Ilene had found these people through Emily, a love guru we met the day before in the jungle. She was normal. These two dudes, not so sure.

The men got out of the jeep and walked up to the pool carrying a few instruments in a few instrument cases. We were staying at an Airbnb in MalpaÍs, Costa Rica.

The hairy guy greeted me first. We hugged. He was shirtless and smelled a bit off. By a bit, I mean like a basket of body odor marinated in wet socks. The other dude had a tie-dye tank top, shorts, and an old beat-up trucker hat.

Interesting.

“Hello,” said the hairy, shirtless guy. He was the Shaman. He had the guru look…long dark hair, very little clothing, physically fit. If I had to guess, he was from India or Russia or Mars.

“Hi,” I replied.

Ilene had signed us up for a “Mushroom Ceremony”. Now, my history with psychedelics is littered with disasters. Generally speaking, I become severely paranoid and my brain goes haywire. And by generally, I mean every single time. The worst experience of my life was when I overdosed on a marijuana edible at Coachella in California. The second worst was the one and only time I tried LSD. I had a heart attack when I did Ayahuasca. Good times.

I told Ilene earlier in the day that I was most definitely going to sit this one out.

“Sure, I’ll do it,” I said to the Shaman as his buddy laid out four yoga mats with those hippie blankets you see at the beach. Say yes to adventure, I thought. God help me.

The Shaman, who said very little, set everything up on the deck next to the pool. He pulled out four sound bowls, a flute, another flute, a stick-looking instrument, and some metal thing that looked like a surgical tool. Dave, the other guy, smiled the entire time and spoke so softly you couldn’t understand him. He had a guitar and some gadget he would eventually use in his mouth.

“Have you done mushrooms before?” the Shaman asked me with big eyes, no smile, and concern on his face.

“Ish,” I replied as my chest started to tighten.

He nodded. I have no idea what the nod meant. Dave smiled. He always smiled.

There were four of us. Me, Ilene, Ashley, and Julie otherwise known as Juuuullleeessss when I have had some drinks. We took our positions on the yoga mats.

After a longwinded prayer that none of us could hear or understand, the Shaman crawled over to me and opened a small pouch of tinfoil with three huge mushrooms.

“Take them all?” I asked with eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“If you want,” he replied. Great, thanks for the guidance. Say yes to adventure. I ate them all.

He moved to the girls. They ate them all.

I figured we were about to have an amazing experience or get robbed by a shirtless Shaman and his smiling buddy.

The Shaman sat cross-legged in front of us. He started another prayer we couldn’t hear or understand as Dave sat smiling next to him. Dave was in a chair. No guru sitting for Dave. Just smiling. The Shaman started playing the crystal bowls.

I believe that psychedelics are a useful tool to explore ourselves and spirituality. I was praying the next four hours would not be a complete disaster. I do not think mushrooms can kill you. Sure, anything can happen but I feel like the more we explore our minds, the better. Or maybe they can. Whatever.

God help us.

Eventually I laid down and closed my eyes. Dave turned out to be one hell of a guitar player and sang softly the entire time. The Shaman moved to the flute.

As the mushrooms were dissolving my brain, Dave started playing a song about monkeys being our teachers. I am pretty sure the song lasted three hours. At one point the Shaman shifted over to me and touched my face with the surgical tool-looking object. It felt like he was sending electricity directly into my skull. It. Was. Amazing.

The next how-ever-many hours was an epic tour of the universe. Overall, it was an amazing experience and I didn’t lose my mind! Trey 1, Mushrooms 0. Finally, a win.

What the mushrooms taught me was about surrender. Letting go. Resistance is the killer when doing psychedelics or just about anything outside of lifting weights. The more we resist, the worse it gets. Only when we surrender can we find peace. Weird drugs are the perfect practice.

After a few hours, the ceremony came to an end. The Shaman gathered up his stuff and they headed off to a surf camp to meet some buddies for coffee. I sat paralyzed on an outdoor couch staring into space…

The next day Ilene and I went to see the Shaman and Dave at their campsite. I decided to buy some more mushrooms for us since I was a pro now. I figured a blissful day on the beach with some mushrooms would be amazing.

Well, turns out it WAS NOT AMAZING….

To be continued….

Trey Humphreys 3/31/21 Trey Humphreys 3/31/21

Hollywood Drugs to Costa Rica Love

An interview with a woman who escaped L.A. for Costa Rica and saved her soul.

“I did all the drugs every single weekend,” she said lounging in a sun skirt and tank top on a grey outdoor sofa in her open-air kitchen.

She used to live in a California penthouse on the beach with a co-founder of Myspace. He was her boyfriend. Until he wasn’t. She found herself lost, gray, and weighing only 90 pounds.

Emily was born in San Francisco and spent her 20’s in LA. She sold pharmaceuticals in Beverly Hills, did all the drugs, and thought she was invincible. She dated guys who were selling companies and getting rich. Then her world caved in when Myspace boy cheated on her.

“I met an artist in San Francisco years earlier and for some reason I had the urge to go see him. He was a healer. When I walked in he said I looked terrible.”

My friend Ilene and I were sitting in her open-air kitchen on the side of a mountain in Costa Rica. Her husband of five years was making a vegan salad. He had arm tattoos, a French accent, and no shoes.

Nobody wears shoes in Costa Rica. The wind was blowing perfectly. The sun danced in and out of the trees as they swayed in the breeze. There was a box of organic fruit in the kitchen loaded with bananas. My kind of people. Sans the vegan part.

“The healer told me I had to find my creativity again. I thought to myself I have never been a creative person.” She continued with her story…

Emily is now an author, women’s coach, surfer, mother of two, and retreat facilitator. She was radiantly pretty in an effortless way. She was glowing actually.

Two nannies tended to her babies in an adjoining part of the house separated from the area we were in by a small pool. There was a third section behind with a king-size bed and massive glass doors. The entire complex was on the side of a jungle in Santa Teresa, Costa Rica. I couldn’t help thinking how perfectly amazing the place was.

“You ever heard about love?” I asked with a smile. Her book is called The Quest and she helps women believe in themselves and find love. I was positive her story was a doozy. Anyone who becomes a love coach usually went through hell to get there. Love is bananas.

“You know, for me, I was a perfectionist. I did not know who I was. I was in and out of bad relationships, partying every weekend, and dying on the inside,” she looked back and forth between Ilene and me.

Ilene had found her on the internet, reached out, and got us an interview. We like to interview odd people with odd stories. She seemed odd enough. We drove our blue rental car up a long dirt road into the jungle where we found her amazing house.

Her surfer husband continued to build his perfect salad in the kitchen glancing over at us every once in a while. The French are bold people. I never saw him smile. Or laugh.

I learned that once Emily started to lean into creativity her entire life changed. She gave herself permission and started, for the first time, to not judge herself. She found writing, art, and surfing. It saved her life.

While on vacation in Costa Rica years ago she ran into her now husband, the French guy. They surfed together one time then drove all over Costa Rica for two weeks falling in love. When he took her to the airport to fly home he said, “If you come back, we will make a baby.”

The French are bold.

She came back and now they have two.

“We did ayahuasca on our second date,” she said casually smiling at her French husband.

“Dear Lord, that’s intense,” I replied flashing back to the time I did ayahuasca in some hippie’s house in California and blasted into the universe for eight hours. Ayahuasca is one of the most profound psychedelics in the world. I danced with Jesus Christ, talked to an alien, played piano with my dad who died 20 years before. I also almost had a heart attack and thought I was a gorilla for a short period of time.

“He has done many ayahuasca ceremonies,” she said pointing to her French husband.

“Really?” I replied shifting my gaze to him and his bohemian, MC Hammer pants.

“Yes, I have some in the refrigerator. Want some?” He said motioning his head to the refrigerator without smiling.

“No thanks…” I said trying to act cool but trembling inside.

The French are bold.

She told me he is a member of a group called The Red Path. These freaks do vision quests where they do peyote all night and then go into the jungle, alone, for four days. Then eight days the next year. Then 13 days the next year. The kicker is they do not eat food or drink liquid the entire time, have to sit under the same tree, and not move over three feet.

“It is intense,” he said boldly chopping his lettuce. The man was making the most amazing salad of all time.

Fuck that, I thought. I couldn’t imagine starving to death with no water as ants and mosquitoes cover my body just before a jaguar ripped my face off.

As we wrapped up our conversation I asked Emily what she tells the women she coaches.

“They have to find their self-worth. I think this starts with giving yourself permission to be a beginner at things. To be creative and find your passions. I start by finding anything, even small, that is great about the person and we go from there.”

Agreed. Life is so much better if we give ourselves permission to try new things, create new art, and stumble until we can walk. Maybe if we do we will end up in love on the side of a mountain in the most amazing place in the world.

Pura Vida!

Trey

More about Emily: https://www.emilypereira.com/

Trey Humphreys 3/24/21 Trey Humphreys 3/24/21

Around The Sun

3/23/21

Another year. Age. A curious thing.

The bell curve of life. Here I am. The birthday boy.

I swam in the ocean this morning at 5:30 am. It was perfect. Warm. Waves. Overcast but a little sun peeking through the clouds, hiding behind the mountains. The whitewash was my favorite. Turning, soaking, foaming. I walked to the beach. I settled into a small coffee shop and ordered an iced coffee. I love coffee. I love the feeling it gives me when it hits. Happiness. Hope. Joy.

I am trying to think of one goal this year. Just one. Not too many.

Get married? Get a job? Move?

Swim in the ocean as much as possible. I like that one.

Avoid mirrors. Call friends. Eat fruit.

Beer at lunch. Morning walks. lots of breathing.

A weekly massage. A daily prayer. No more elevators.