Marvel sees a tree. She approaches it and stops us completely, disrupting our walk.
This forces me to take in my surroundings.
I notice for the first time how blue the sky is today. Some geese fly overhead and land on the sparkling pond down the hill from us. There’s a father and his young son fishing off the dock. I take a deep breath and start to taste every note of the sweet air as it passes through my nose and into my belly. Speaking of notes, I hear the harmony of wildlife play through the woods, the low hum of the cool wind and high sliding chirps of the black-capped chickadees. God’s most perfect creature, the squirrel, climbs down a tree and onto the trail to say hello. I wave back.
I’m reminded of the Buddhist texts I’ve been reading: be present in this moment, and in every moment. You never step into the same river twice and all that jazz. I look at Marvel and realize that we will never take this same walk again. We do not last forever. Change is the only constant; the only permanent thing is our impermanence. I get emotional. Tears fill my eyes as a woman walks past us cautiously, understandably, as I am a man in the woods.
I am close to enlightenment. I can feel the universe on the tip of my finger and tongue.
Then Marvel sees the next tree, and we walk a few feet more. We start the process again.
This is the most common response I receive when I tell someone that I graduate from school this month. And, with all due respect, this has not been my experience at all. No, this has been two of the longest years of my life, in the very best way.
A few summers ago, I got an idea, which is always a dangerous thing for me to have. Like a puppy with a sock in its mouth, I have difficulty putting them down. I started a graphic design program when I was 19, made it to the third quarter, and dropped out unceremoniously; it wasn’t a decision that haunted me, but it did feel like regret. I clearly love art and design, I love learning, I love communication, I love rules (and love breaking them), I love accomplishing goals; how did I not have my degree? I learned about the North Star Scholarship, which made school affordable, through TV interviews with Governor Walz and thought: I could do this.
So I did.
I started taking the steps towards finishing something I started twenty years ago. I filled out the right forms, I talked to the right people and, before I knew it, I was sitting in a classroom on the first day of school at the age of 39, in August of 2024.
It’s at this point that most accounts would say “fast-forward to today” but that’s not what happened for me. The last two years were novel and difficult and exceptionally rewarding. I got humbled day after day in a way that, let’s be honest, I totally deserve. I knew stuff before; I know so much more stuff now, including how much stuff I just don’t know. I wanted to fully embrace this educational season of my life, so I joined clubs and volunteered and competed and connected to so many people from every age and walk of life. At the same time, hard stuff happened at home, as stuff does; thanks to the wonderful support I had here at home, we were able to figure it out and keep it all afloat until I made it back ashore.
It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t inconsequential.
It did turn something I used to regret into something I am so glad I initially failed at; my life has been impossibly enriched by the time I spent at DCTC the last two years. I can’t imagine it happening any other way.
I know I said it in my speech (both versions), but I want to repeat it once more: you are undone. Forever. You can be whoever you want to be and I hope you choose to be who you really are. There are things you want to do but haven’t and, odds are, it’s because they are hard things to do. I can’t speak for you but I can say that, for me, the difficulty is worth it and, actually, the difficulty is the point. We’re being coldly sold on efficiency; let A.I. live your literal life for you, what could go wrong?
Everything. Everything could go wrong. You might find yourself at the end of a life realizing you didn’t really live it at all.
I just want to, once again, give you all my love and gratitude for the love and support you have given me, especially at home, work, and in school. I’m exhausted, I’m burned out, but I am so happy and fulfilled and proud to be a former student (and future alumni) of DCTC.
So what’s next? Oh boy. If you know me, you know I have ideas, and aren’t those just the most dangerous things to have.
Whoa! My heart is bursting. A massive and sincere thank you to everyone who came out to Commencement and supported me tonight; I love you all so much. A wonderful evening and every single person I saw and talked to was so lovely.
My speech went fine, but! A whole page was missing from the binder at the podium. It was low-key horrifying. I was genuinely losing it on the inside, a dozen squirrels screaming and throwing things around in my mind. But I did make it through alive and I knew I still wanted to record the whole thing at home and share it with you, if that’s okay. It’s called “Undone” and I love it so much:
My name is Dennis, and I am a psychic. See, I am willing to bet a fortune that I know what all of our graduates are thinking right now: “I’m done.” Or some variation of “I did it,” or “I’m finished,” or… “Yay.” But I have taken to this stage tonight to try to convince you that you’re wrong. That we are and will forever be undone, and this is one of the most extraordinary gifts we get just by being human. Good evening and welcome: to my fellow classmates, to our cherished friends, family, and support systems, and to our wonderful faculty and staff.
I am a psychic, but I am not a mathematician. Can anybody here estimate how long it took me to get the two-year degree that I’m taking home tonight? If you guessed about two years, then you clearly know how to do school more efficiently than I do. You need to add twenty to that number. In 2004, I started my epic Graphic Design journey at a now-defunct school called Brown College in Mendota Heights. I didn’t even make it a year; I dropped out during my third quarter. I was done. Some of you may identify with that kind of being done: the loss of a goal, a job, a relationship.
I have lived a lot of life since then. If you are a mathematician, don’t try to figure out how much. I started a family, I played music, I worked in restaurants, I published books, I dressed up as SpiderMan and Batman more often than any grown up ever should. But my biggest accomplishment wasn’t external or superheroic at all; eight years ago, I made the impossible decision to get sober.
I had reached another point in my life where I thought I was finished. I had spent so many years weaving malignant threads through every space and corner of my mind that I eventually found myself trapped in a toxic web of my own creation. I ingested poison and I secreted it; I suffered and I caused suffering. And long after I had decided I was done, I had one just more thought that ended up saving my life: maybe not yet. It is possible that I could be undone.
Change is a beautiful and terrifying and inescapable feature of life. I think we sometimes equate change to something novel, to becoming something new. But sometimes change is the opposite; it can be a return to the good things we were before we became who we are now. But no matter how we change, the change itself is constant; we are never finished, even after we believe we are finished. There is so much value in this.
I came back to school because I love learning, love growing, love changing. And I wanted to finish this one more thing I started a long time ago so I can start becoming countless new things. Through honesty and openness and empathy and a real dedication to service in all its forms, I’ve been able to embrace my indeterminate condition and have been embraced in turn by the people I love and care about. That includes all of you. And I’m not saying that if someone has hurt you that you have to forgive them or allow them back into your life; I am saying that any human being who is willing to admit they were wrong and embrace change is a candidate for that forgiveness. Change can heal; change can be a cure. And every day is an opportunity for it.If you were cruel yesterday, you can be kind today. If you said the wrong thing, you can try to say what’s right. If you didn’t say anything at all, you can speak up. If you weren’t there when you were needed, you can be present. If you forgot to tell someone how you feel, right now is the time.
Which brings me back to my original point: remember when I shocked you all by exposing your innermost thoughts? I hope now that you can rethink this old idea of done; I hope you can commit to being undone. That is: never done. Always learning, always growing, always changing. Even the word “commencement” is sometimes misunderstood: it doesn’t mean “accomplishment.” It means “to begin.” So, from the bottom of my heart: congratulations to you and this new beginning. I am beyond honored and humbled to be with you here right now. Go out into the world and show them who you are; but if you don’t show them on day one, remember that you are undone, and you can try again tomorrow. Thank you.
I have a million photos from a galaxy far, far away to choose from but I want to share this selfie from one of my favorite ever Star Wars experiences with my favorite ever Jedi (then not-a-Jedi, spoiler).
Ashley Eckstein, the voice of Ahsoka Tano, was at Twin Cities Con in 2023. When you table at cons (which I do; I’m a super famous and successful author in case anyone forgot!), it’s difficult to leave your booth for any reason, which includes meeting your favorite celebrities. In this case, I decided to check out Ashley’s table at the end of the day on Friday (after the floor closed) to see if she was still there.
She was! Yay! But she was all packed up and ready to go. Boo!
Shoot, I said. I told her I had been hoping to catch her before she left, but I would try again later in the weekend.
What’s one more? she said, and invited me behind her table where we took a dozen fun selfies like this one.
Artists and actors and writers and musicians owe us exactly nothing; they create magic that makes our lives better and deserve to live their own on their own terms. I’ve had good and bad experiences and have told those stories and at the end of the day, they’re all people.
But when you do meet someone who lives up to their character and is a wonderful person to boot, it is an experience that enriches the fantastical worlds we obsess over as fans.
I am repeatedly on the record as saying there is no such thing as bad Star Wars, and I stand by that statement. I think there is a spectrum of storytelling here that ranges from enjoyable and fun to deeply meaningful and life-changing, but it is all good in my correct opinion.
Now go watch the Maul finale so we can talk about it. I went from not particularly caring that this was a series to straight up sobbing during an episode last week. For Darth Maul! What the heck! I love Star Wars!
It’s my birthday (again) and I’m one of those people who don’t hate it; I know too well that not everyone gets to grow old like they should and I adore every minute I’m here (even those minutes I don’t adore).
On this day I usually reflect on my most recent journey around the sun, and this year I learned something I apparently have to relearn every few years. This time the message was delivered courtesy of Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch.
No, I did not receive tragic medical news; instead, I am one of the millions obsessed with a television show called The Pitt, about an emergency room in Pittsburgh and their talented, traumatized staff. Dr. Robby leads this team, and he does so in a way that both inspires and guilts me.
See, Dr. Robby sees people. He talks to them, he listens to them, he tries to help him and — this is the hard part I have to keep relearning — he doesn’t avoid them. He keeps coming back: to the difficult patients, to the necessary conflict, to the seemingly impossible challenges.
He approaches life head-on.
I don’t know what people think of me, not really. I think some of them think I’m a confident person who does things. I don’t know if they think I’m avoidant. I know I don’t want to be. But I am, by nature, and it’s something I have to resist. Fictional characters throughout my life have always reminded me to be brave and to embrace people and problems; heroes like Spider-Man and Luke Skywalker when I was kid, and now Dr. Robby as an adult.
Friction is the only way we get better; I know this until I don’t and then I see it and feel it and know it again.
Which has been another hard lesson of the past few years: slowly gaining the ability to really be criticized. Because not only am I avoidant, but I will be a people-pleaser until I die, probably from not enough applause. I know I am not universally beloved yet I’m cursed with the perpetual need to be liked. Being told by someone that I did something wrong or that they didn’t like how I did something is a form of torture for me. The exposure therapy of my education has been, honestly, a release.
I do care what people think, but what they think doesn’t define me, and sometimes what they think can help me. Learning how to tell good criticism from the bad is an invaluable tool. I don’t believe people who loudly shout “I don’t care what people think of me!” because they wouldn’t shout it if they really didn’t care, and if you’re a human being with feelings on this planet, then you do care, I know it, at least a little bit. And that’s okay. That’s amazing.
It’s like 3 am and I don’t know what I’m doing here. Here, as in on my phone and writing a birthday message; and here, as in life, in existence. But I’m happy to know you and happy to share my thoughts and feelings with you and I’m, sincerely, just happy to be alive and be here. I’m glad you’re here too. Here’s to 29 (shut up).
Years ago, I took a DNA test and it confirmed a lot of what I knew: Norwegian (what up lefse), German (natürluch), a little Irish (obvs), and British. But it also revealed that I had strong Danish genes, which is delightful to me: LEGO and I share a bloodline (and I could be a possible heir).
For a class project, I’m doing research on Denmark. It’s a remarkable country. As we continue our slide into warmongering authoritarianism, a country consumed by the shadows it refuses to deal with like a toddler throwing tantrums instead of growing up, I can’t stop pining for Denmark.
They’re proud environmentalists; they’re a country of cyclists, and prioritize exercise and green living by design. 41% of their energy is cultivated by the wind. Danish people pay a lot in taxes, but most are happy to; education and health care are free and they have a high level of social security. Denmark is considered one of the least corrupt countries in the world. They appointed the world’s first woman prime minister, back in 1924; they were the first country to allow same-sex partnerships in the 80’s like it’s no big deal, because it’s not. They’re tech-fluent, but human-oriented. Work-life balance is essential to the Danes, as is the concept of trust. They call themselves a realm; that’s just cool.
Living in America at this moment in time means learning about Denmark feels like reading science fiction.
What I find so odd and jarring is that much of what we want for ourselves isn’t found in fairy tales or comic book pages; they are just realities for other citizens across the globe. Ask some smart people why we can’t have universal health care in America and they will use some impressively smart language to say absolutely nothing at all. I think that’s what I’m tired of: the apathy and resignation powered by self-perceived intelligence and supposed realism, a total lack of American imagination.
I think I dream of Denmark because the American dream is dead.
We said we were the greatest, that we fought for and believed more than any other country in progress and justice and equality and freedom. But we are, in reality, as the kids say: mid. We’re not even mid-mid. We’re lower-mid, at best. If the cost of health care doesn’t wipe us off the board, a government-sanctioned clown militia will.
Earth Day has me wishing for a Denmark visit even more. Fun fact: every single Minnesota Republican voted to let foreign entities desecrate our cherished Boundary Waters. That is a level of sick usually reserved for Captain Planet’s cartoon villains. It’s a secular kind of evil and inhumane.
I’m tired of feeling broken in a broken country. And I do know that moving won’t fix any problems; we still exist on this planet together, regardless of distance. But, at the root of my Denmark fever, I think I just want to live in a place that cares: about its environment, about its animals, about its people and our hearts and dreams. That was the whole point of Earth Day, anyway: a single reminder that we are a single being on one single planet.
I’m obsessed with the Guthrie. Not lowkey. Like, the highest key.
Last year, our Creative Arts & Writing Club took a trip to the theater to take in a tour and see Agatha Christie’s Mousetrap. As a former drama club president, it was easily one of the highlights of my first year back in school, so I am not exaggerating (okay, slightly) when I say I was counting down the days until the next one. Which was today.
We took another tour (even better the second time, next year I want to give one) and watched Sleuth, which was nothing like I had expected (and delightful for the subversion of said expectations).
I always get so energized after a visit here. It reminds me of all the years I spent onstage and backstage, which is both joyful and bittersweet; I really miss it some days, the dream of a gang of creative people working together to put on a show.
Anyway: so many thanks to the Guthrie. They’re amazing people and this is hands down my favorite theater. Much love to my club for being a good hang and a shout out to the Thai place across the street, Kindee, for feeding us well two years in a row. I know I technically won’t be a student next year but I am also very sneaky, so maybe I’ll find a way to take a third tour!
I don’t like making these posts but I also have to be loud to compensate for the cowards who are suspiciously silent now; the cowards who put this madman into office.
I guess there are people who still need to hear this so here it is: throughout human history, the man who declares with intent that “a whole civilization will die tonight, never to be brought back again” has never, ever been the good guy.
Ever.
And it’s a special and sick kind of heartbreak that we still need to talk about this, today, thousands and thousands of years into the existence of our species.
Look: quite a few of you have shown us that you have no problem supporting a racist, sexist, anti-Christian, hate-filled, failed businessman, who is also a convicted felon found liable of rape (and very likely a pedophile who continues to protect a cabal of pedophiles). We have to live next to you and it sucks, knowing who and what you support.
But do you understand what Donald Trump is now?
He is an actual terrorist. And that makes the people who still support him a terrorist organization.
And I need you to recognize something: I am not trying to tie disparate threads together to make this point. It’s a simple fact. Any person who threatens to end a whole civilization, to commit genocide against 90 million Iranians, is a fucking terrorist. If any other country in the world did this, you would know it. For some reason, though, Donald Trump has exposed the indisputable fact that some humans just don’t have a legible moral code.
I wish all the people who have been so passionate about their issues — about peace, about kindness, about decency, about their faith, about the sanctity of human life — would speak the fuck up right now. Because we saw you. We saw you wearing red hats and pointing your fingers and claiming some kind of moral and intellectual superiority.
And now that he’s a terrorist? Crickets. The loudest crickets I have ever heard.
This is how a society breaks and crumbles and is washed away to sea.
You whine about gas prices while the man you support decimates children, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, soldiers, nurses. You cry about trans athletes while he destroys our planet and all the beings who exist on it and guzzles its invented wealth like an SUV sucks down oil.
If you’re not okay right now, that means you’re okay. You’re human. You’re made of skin and blood and you can feel yours tear and bleed as pain gets inflicted on someone just like you.
We know without a doubt who the helpers are now. We know the good kind. The kind who, if Earth does continue to exist after this attempt on its life, will make it a beautiful place once again.
It just sucks the biggest balls that we have to live through this in order to get there.
Eventually you will be unable to give any of yourself to this world.
I don’t mean to say this as a way to plunge you into a cold existential void. If anything, I want this to be a splash of cool water on your face, a reminder.
Human life is hard. Friction is a feature and found in every single atom of actually living it. That flowing resistance allows us to bloom. To watch people hand off the role of being human to A.I. isn’t just sad and disappointing; it’s tragic, it’s offensive, it’s inhuman.
I think of all the people who use it to write an email. Or a poem. Or draw a picture. All the things that make us uniquely us. And some of this may arise from laziness, but I think of the real fear those people must have; the fear that if they put themselves out there, it won’t be any good. And so they don’t try. They don’t participate in the only life they have because a device can produce a string of words that won’t electrify but also won’t reveal and, if someone doesn’t like it, can just be blamed on the machine anyway.
What the fuck are we doing?
I am being increasingly drowned in A.I., from the companies who insist on integrating it into every single product to the people in my day-to-day life who sincerely think that by using it, they’re being clever or forward-thinking, when the technology is pushing us backwards by destroying human thought before it begins. It is not only offensive but oppressive. And like common sense or compassion, this understanding seems to be something you can’t teach.
As a few people like to obsessively point out, I talk too much. I know. I overshare. I get it. But for fuck’s sake: I only get to be here once, only get to connect to the other people with me on this planet once. There is no romance in withholding and no conversation in silence. I talk a lot because it’s who I am, and I know it’s who I am because I’ve actually spent my entire life figuring me out and not delegating that work to a smart toaster.
I keep thinking about the idea of quality. Quality being something that is excellent or good and can only be determined by an embodied being.
I’ve spent my whole life, from coloring on pieces of loose leaf paper as a kid to going back to school to get my degree in graphic design, dedicated to art and the embodiment of quality, of being human.
I have never used A.I. in my work. For better or for worse, I wrote all my own words, drew all my own pictures, edited and designed those messes with my own hands and eyes, and put them out into the world when I felt like they said what I wanted to say. To you. To another human.
So what is it that you want to say? Because time is running out; that well will not refill. There will come a day when you can’t share any more of who you were while you were here. What are you going give and leave? Everything, or just some of your parts? And what parts of your only life are you going to outsource to an unfeeling, inhuman machine?
So! I just learned this afternoon that I have been selected to be one of the commencement speakers at the 2026 DCTC graduation ceremony in May. This is an absolute honor and a total full-circle moment and I could use your help!
I already have a draft. (In fact, a draft was required for consideration; even though I was nominated, I had no idea how many stages this process would be!). But now I have an opportunity to expand and enrich this draft and that’s where you come in.
Over the years, I have written hundreds of essays here. If you’re reading this, then you’ve probably read some of them, too. So my question is: has anything from any of those pieces stuck with you? Like, are there words that regularly come to your mind because you encountered them through my mind first?
I really want to include those kinds of meaningful sentiments in my final speech, which is namely about change and the concept of being “undone” (which is also its title). Feel free to comment or message me about anything that comes to mind. Thank you in advance, and holy cow I’m going to give a speech at graduation!
The Den 