Completely stopped on the freeway during rush hour, I put the car in park, take out my phone, and begin recording a TikTok video. I talk into the camera about the happiness this standstill inspires in me. I explain that, in prison, I would yearn to have exactly this sort of moment to myself, and how being in my own vehicle now—although momentarily kept from going anywhere in it—represents such a wonderful level of freedom that I'm compelled to express my joy in a video.
After I get home, I use the subject of my TikTok video as a jumping-off point for a bonus episode of my podcast. Some of the episodes are topical, addressing the challenges I face as a retuning citizen, but what I most enjoy is recontextualizing mundane experiences and everyday nuisances. I like sowing in listeners (I hope) the seeds of gratitude for our astonishing, precious lives.
Before the day is out, I edit and upload the podcast. I see that my rush-hour TikTok video has seven heart reactions and a thumbs-up emoji. It's a start. It's also purely theoretical.
No, you haven't missed any big news; I'm still in prison. The scenario described above is pure imagination. It's something I've considered for a while. I often think about how to make the most of my wrongful imprisonment after I'm finally exonerated. People who engage with the formerly imprisoned have told me that the people who most successfully reintegrate are the ones who lean in to their experiences, openly sharing what their time in the system taught them. It makes sense. That's how I arrived at this social media concept I call "Stranger in a Strange Land."
I envision it as a series of videos and writings that document my return to society after more than two decades. The thinking goes like this: if I can synthesize the lessons of my twenty-odd years of imprisonment into a public-facing platform, my story can be of benefit to others. I could share how I found purpose, meaning, and deep happiness despite terrible circumstances. I could offer people perspective. I might even spark inspiration in the process.
The world looks today very much like what British wordsmith William Burgess had in mind when he wrote A Clockwork Orange. One term he used in that book, "real horrorshow," could substitute for any news headline, any day of the week. That's the view from where I sit, anyway. More than a few people agree. I suspect, though, that despite the attachment people feel to their doomscrolling and hyperbolic echo chambers, it might be worthwhile to buck the trend by creating alternate narratives. That's how I envision "Stranger in a Strange Land": a possible antidote to the hatemongering and hyperactivity that seem to dominate contemporary society.
In addition to being a therapeutic outlet, I see potential here for an extension of my Zen practice. My camera could linger in moments of mundane beauty—an iridescent puddle on the sidewalk, a caterpillar climbing a tree, the sinuous curves of a snowbank, water circling the sink drain—either accompanied by commentary or silently meditative. The feed would offer prompts for everyday awe, and highlight things I missed during my decades of imprisonment. In this way, I might expose people to otherwise invisible reasons for gratitude.
And of course all of this would tie in with my desire to speak to audiences about thriving amid life's travails. Monologues and interesting, intelligent conversations with thoughtful guests (I'm thinking here of writers, philosophers, meditators, other former prisoners, and more) would help to elevate the podcast above so much of what's out there.
Post-release video content can find popularity. Just look at the accounts of ex-prisoners like Keri Blakinger, Dontrell Britton, or Morgan Godvin. Each has a unique style and focus, and there are quite a few others putting stuff online these days. Some are earnest, some are serious, but all of them did time and now use the experience to engage with people in a positive way. I'd love for "Stranger in a Strange Land" to be an extension of that. A guy can dream, can't he?
