Month: December 2009

Spreading Tolerance with Marc Elliot

Case Studies in the 9 to 5 alternative: No. 4

Welcome to a series of profiles on alternative lifestyles. If you think that you (or someone you know) would make for an interesting interview, then drop me a line. I know there are plenty of you out there :) Hope you enjoy!

Marc ElliotMeet Marc Elliot. A close friend of mine, Marc was born with Hirschsprung’s disease, a rare condition that left him with virtually no intestines. Think eating bad Mexican food will disrupt your bowels? Marc has probably got you beat. At age nine, he also developed Tourette’s, a syndrome characterized by its physical and verbal tics. From involuntary shouts and racial slurs, Marc has spent the better part of his life learning to adapt and deal with his condition. He’s got some stories.

A year ago, when Marc was passing through Boston to visit family, we had the chance to catch up. I was thrilled to learn that he was about to make a big life decision – whether or not to become a professional speaker.

Over the last year, Marc has spoken in 15+ states and reached 60,000+ people about tolerance. His presentation, called “Don’t Judge a Book by its Noises,” is hilarious, informative, and full of passion. Marc is certainly living ” the 9 to 5 alternative.” I’ll let him tell you more about his decision.

So you’re on your way to medical school.  What happened?

I’m still trying to figure it out.  For twenty-three years I was planning on going to medical school to become a pediatric surgeon.  At some point after spending a college semester in London, though, I decided to take a year off before applying to medical school. Thus the first deviation from my quintessential life plan.

During my year off, I felt compelled to do something different, not to work in a research lab or hospital for the simple reason that I was about to spend my whole life doing that.  Up to that point, I had spoken recreationally and at one point wondered if I could turn pro bono speaking into a full-time gig.  Before I knew it, I had a marketing packet in my hand and a presentation to sell: Don’t Judge a Book by Its Noises. The intent was to teach students about tolerance.  It felt great at the time, but I had one problem – I didn’t have a single engagement!

Over the next five months I tried hard to get gigs, but it was tough.  Around November, schools started to bite, and before long, I had booked just over 20 engagements for that spring semester.   It was exhilarating and exciting, selling a speech that I hadn’t even given before!

Tell us about your first couple of speeches. Has the style of your presentation changed at all?

To compare the speech I give today with my first experiences on the road would be embarrassing.  My first engagement, to a small non-profit in Milwaukee, was preceded by a hypnotist.  It was nerve-wracking and surreal and all kinds of exhilarating.  Though my most memorable presentation those first months was at a prestigious boarding school called Suffield Academy in Connecticut.  It was my first standing ovation—500 students and faculty—and while I didn’t know it at the time, that became the true symbolic beginning of my professional speaking career.  My speech, since then, has evolved multiple times, each time incorporating a lesson from the past.

How do you find speaking engagements? What’s your schedule?

Early on, some of the best advice I received was, “Marc, you need an agent… any kind of an agent!”  Luckily I had one, Andreas Thysseen, who happened to be one of my closest friends growing up. In the beginning, he would cold-call schools and say, “Hi, my name is Dreas and I’m representing a young motivational speaker on tolerance named Marc Elliot…” Now, while I still have some people that help generate presentation-leads, I find myself getting referrals.  I also recently joined Coleman Productions, which is a speaking agency that represents me at colleges across the country.  With my own bookings for high schools coupled with this agency’s efforts, I plan on having 150-200 engagements over the next 2 years.

What about your finances?

Money!  It is still mind-blowing to think that I get paid to speak, especially since this started out solely as an adventurous place-holder before medical school.  What is even more amazing is that I get paid to spread such an important message.

The first few months, pricing my presentation was an awkward and unchartered experience.  With little market research, Dreas and I made up my fee.  I spoke at engagements ranging from $0 to $1,105 this past spring.  As I embark on my first legitimate year of speaking, my fee for high schools is now $1,500 (plus travel expenses), while for colleges it is bit more.  Charging this much seemed daunting at first, but I am beyond confident that my impact absolutely merits that fee.  Compared to other speakers, my prices are quite competitive.

Any funny “growing up” stories you like to tell during your presentation?

That question is like shooting a fish in a barrel—remember, I grew up with Tourette’s and only four feet of intestines!   My entire presentation is filled with stories and anecdotes that implicitly convey ideas of tolerance rather than me explicitly telling students “how to treat people.”

I’ll end this interview with a classic “growing up” interaction.  One time, before boarding a plane, I told a flight attendant, “Hi, my name is Marc Elliot.  I just want to let you know that I have Tourette’s Syndrome.  I sometimes make involuntary noises and I cannot help it.”  She replies, “Don’t worry honey… we’re all a little bit crazy!”

You can get in touch with Marc through his website at Marc Speaks, or ask a question in the comments and I’ll do my best to make sure he sees it!

Kathmandu, Nepal: Gorkha Beer, Mountain Bikes and Nostalgia

I was aflutter.

It had been almost three years since my academic semester in Kathmandu, and I was coming back. I was really coming back. Would the city look the same? Would I remember my homestay neighborhood? How would the family dog, Jenny, greet me? Probably with a growl. Definitely with a growl. For whatever reason, Jenny and I were never on the best of terms.

From Tribhuvan International Airport, my colleague and I arranged a local taxi and flitted through Kathmandu’s streets with chaotic gusto. Well, until we hit traffic. Two and three and four-wheeled vehicles contending for space with people and pushcarts, stray dogs and large, lethargic cows. Kathmandu’s congestion pockets were hustling and bustling away. It smelled the same—like diesel, mostly. I rolled down the window. That particular afternoon, the air was just crisp enough to flaunt the distant Himalaya.

It all felt so natural. The ethos of Kathmandu was within my grasp once again, and the feeling of dislocation that I often experience when hopping from city to city was gone. I was finally returning to a place I called home for nearly four months. A place where I discovered a passion for travel, a love of culture and a newfound understanding of world citizenship.

A lot had changed in the past three years. Nepal had abolished its monarchy. A ten-year Maoist insurgency—scattered with four cease-fires—had finally seen its end. King Gyanendra, before leaving the palace and retreating to the outskirts of Kathmandu, handed in his scepter, peacock-feathered crown and royal yak hair. Buildings rose and restaurants opened. Dense became denser, and urban survival masks became the new fashionable accessory for the pollution-conscious populace.

Of course, much stayed the same. Thamel, a bubble of tourism, was still Thamel. Lonely Planet trekkers, Europeans and Israelis and Australians, buying tiger balm, knock-off (and sometimes kitschy) media, clothing and outdoor gear. Banks, image developing centers, countless tourist agencies – it’s all here. You can book flights to Lukla, the launch point for all Everest-bound trekkers, or buy bus tickets to Pokhara (flying is safer!), a popular destination just west of Kathmandu. You could be an ice axe wielding mountaineer, neophyte Buddhist or substance seeking nomad and find a way to blend in. Thamel’s cramped streets will satisfy your every tourist need.

My colleague and I powered through work and spent the latter half of our week living Kathmandu to its fullest. We sipped hot ginger coke and raksi, a traditional millet (or kodo or rice)-distilled alcohol, typically brewed at home. We stuffed ourselves with samosas, lentils, and buffalo momos, Tibetan dumplings that cost about a dime each. At the Everest Steak House, a Thamel restaurant that offers 33 different styles of steak, we drank Gorkha beer and cheap apple brandy. We listened to music at Jazz Upstairs, met a professional photographer and made friends with a British girl working for Save The Children. We traveled to the Pashupatinath temple complex, to Boudhanath stupa and to Swayambunath, the temple where wild monkeys run amok.

It was a memorable week. The last morning, we rented mountain bikes and joined a group of eleven foreigners and locals, many of them working for the World Food Program. We biked to the edge of the Kathmandu Valley, past goats, chickens, dogs and cows, some tethered, most wild. Past burning piles of trash, steel welders and motorcycle mechanics, brick layers and momo-filled pressure cookers. It was so nice, after nearly a month of city-based work to travel outside of Kathmandu. To smell clean air and see rice paddies. To stretch my legs and cycle away. The ride was tough—my homestay brother watched me tumble off a one-lane track—but well worth the experience.

Returning to Thamel that afternoon, I felt spiritually renewed. The nostalgia and comfort of Kathmandu had officially set in, and I knew, I just knew, that I would be back again.

Nepal, until next time.