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Ethnosphere Connect, Express, Inspire

Commuovere

Italian (v) : to be moved to tears, in a heartwarming way, by someone or something

Collection 2 - February 2023

Table of Contents Masthead From Italy to Willoughby

A Road Paved with Trust

Resilient, Little Warriors

When Rewards Outweigh the Risks

Testimonies

New Issue Preview

Mike, president of Advanced RV, tells the story of hiring a new Master Upholsterer from Italy, helping his family through the two year immigration process, and making them a part of the ARV family.

Alex and Mariela reflect on their decision to move their family to the U.S. and the blessings and hardships that came with it.

Madeline participates in a sea turtle hatchling rescue and release; one of the turtles captures her heart.

Mike writes about his decision to implement the four-day work week at Advanced RV.

Three ARV employees share what the four day work week means to them.

Beyond the Magazine 28 Submissions 29 About the Authors

www.ethnospheremagazine.com

Editor

Madeline C. Lanshe editor@ethnospheremagazine.com

Editorial Staff

Mitchell Dunbar, Maureen Gregory, Madeline C. Lanshe, Marcia Neundorfer, Mike Neundorfer

Designer

Madeline C. Lanshe

Photographers Daniel James, Madeline C. Lanshe

Writers

Benjamin Al-Doory, Maureen Gregory, Madeline C. Lanshe, Jenise LeMay, Mike Neundorfer, Adam Stupi

Other Contributors

Chris Agnew, Mariela Del Castillo, Elizabeth Keller, Alex LLacsahuanga, Gabrielle Lanshe, Valentina Zirone

Published by Advanced RV 2023 Advanced RV. All materials contained in this publication (including text, content, and photography) are protected by United States copyright law and may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, displayed, broadcast, published, or modified in any way without the prior written consent of Advanced RV. Contributors retain all rights to their stories, photography, art, etc. while giving Ethnosphere Magazine/Advanced RV the right to share their work in the digital magazine, print, and any other way they see fit for creative or promotional reasons.

We created Ethnosphere as a place to connect people who are alike and unalike, express pieces of the human experience, inspire, and be inspired.

Daniel James

From Italy to Willoughby By Mike Neundorfer

How did I, Mike Neundorfer, founder of

Advanced RV (ARV), and my wife, Marcia, end up in Rome, Italy, staying in one of the best hotels in the world, and interviewing a Master Upholsterer in a cafe next to the Spanish Steps?

It was 2018 when Alex LLacsahuanga was thinking about his and his family’s future. He had been working for the Hassler Hotel in Rome for 10 years. His responsibilities were broad, including interior design, sewing, upholstery and supervision of renovations, but he was ready for other opportunities. After discussing with his wife, Mariela, he answered an internet job posting from ARV in Cleveland, Ohio, for a Master Upholster position. Two days later, he received an email from me asking him to schedule an interview. Alex was agreeable, but he wanted to make sure

that I understood that since he was living and working in Italy, and he was not presently allowed to work legally in the US. I immediately started preliminary investigations about what the immigration process entailed. Marcia and I were scheduled to attend the RV expo in Dusseldorf, Germany, followed by a visit to Ireland to see friends, so a trip to Rome seemed feasible. We could combine this with a visit to my sister, Martha, who had been living with her husband, Claudio, in Rome for over 30 years. We set up the visit for August, 2018. Alex arranged a special rate for us at the Hassler Hotel for three nights in a room recently redecorated by Alex and his team. The room’s comfort, design and details were world class. The day we arrived, we met Alex, Mariela, Martha, and Claudio for lunch at a cafe near the hotel. Mariela spoke Spanish, Italian, French, and English, but Alex spoke only Spanish and Italian, so Mariela and Martha helped with translation. Early in the conversation, I asked Alex why he wanted to move to the US. He answered, without hesitation, “For my children.” Mariela and Alex have three children, then ages 17, 15 and 6, and they were concerned about the limited opportunities for them in Rome. Over the next few days, we shared several meals with Alex, Mariela, and their children, twice at Alex and Mariela’s apartment. Mariela and Alex are originally from Peru, where Alex worked in several Peruvian restaurants, and he is an excellent chef. After only a couple of days together, we

shook hands on a future for Alex’s family in America. The long, expensive immigration process took over two years, lots of risk, and significant financial investment. Alex and Mariela committed to selling all of their possessions, including their car, giving up their apartment, and getting on a plane to the US with their children. I committed Advanced-RV to working without a master upholsterer for over two years, hiring immigration lawyers, and spending tens of thousands of dollars on the process.

flight check-in that they were on a “no travel list” due to COVID. They had to rent a temporary apartment for a month while Marcia and I worked with our immigration and travel resources to get them a flight to Mexico, where they would have to quarantine. After two weeks in Mexico, they flew through Dallas to Cleveland without incident. Marcia and I had arranged a house for them, and they were relieved to finally be at their destination with a place to stay. Alex and Mariela have now been part of the Advanced RV family for over two years, Alex as a Master Upholsterer, and Mariela in accounting. Both are valued team members. It has been over 4 years since we first met Alex and Mariela in Rome. Taking all the risks associated with immigration, for them, as well as us, has been well worth it.

This would be enough on its own, but none of us counted on the COVID-19 pandemic, which complicated the process. When Alex and his family arrived at the Rome airport with the proper travel papers in hand and only their checked baggage, they were told at the Lufthansa

Knowing Alex, Mariela, and their family has been a great joy. We look forward to our shared meals (usually cooked by Alex), our weekly trips to the West Side Market together, and time with Francesco, who has become the language and cultural hub of the family as a 10 year old kid.

In 2018, Alex and Mariela made the decision

to leave their comfortable life in Rome, Italy, trusting their gut feelings and taking a chance on carving out a future for their family in the United States, based on a job offer for Alex from ARV owner, Mike Neundorfer. Trust must be a two-way street if a joint venture is to move forward successfully. Mike had to trust that Alex had the upholstery skills that his company needed and that he would persist in the two year legal immigration process, and Alex had to trust that Mike’s job offer was the real deal and that uprooting his family to move to a foreign country was the right path for them. Both Alex and Mariela were convinced that immigration, although difficult, would provide opportunities for their three children, Demi, Brisa and Francesco. I spent some time with Alex and Mariela recently and found that their smiles lit up the room while discussing their new “hometown” of Willoughby, Ohio. Here, they have found a

hub of friends, neighbors and co-workers that have welcomed them and their three children into the community. How do you explain to your children that their life is about to be turned upside-down? The trust that Alex and Mariela had placed in Mike and his wife, Marcia, would have to see them through the difficult transition. Daughters, Demi (now age 21) and Brisa (now age 18) along with son, Francesco (now age 10) needed to trust that their parents knew

“The decision was already made before we met with Mike and Marcia.” -Mariela

what was best and would help them navigate the unknown. Meanwhile, the parents worried how their children would adjust to their new environment after saying good-bye to friends and family in Italy. Language would definitely be the first stumbling block, as Mariela was the only one of the five who spoke English. The girls had studied English throughout school, but were hesitant to speak it. Starting school here for Francesco, at first, meant shedding many tears of frustration because he didn’t understand anything that was being said and he felt completely lost. According to his mother, he is a kid who loves raising his hand and speaking up in class, and it was hard for him when he was unable to do so. But within a few weeks, his comprehension improved and he began to grasp the basic concepts of the English language. Before long, he was doing well, making friends in class and feeling comfortable with his elementary school lessons. Marcia spent a lot of time with Francesco

and the girls when they arrived. She played Parcheesi with them (“You are ruthless! Do you know the word “ruthless?” she’d say), and with Francesco, she started reading picture books. They quickly advanced to classics such as Stuart Little and Charlotte’s Web. With the girls, she read Harry Potter. Marcia and Francesco played baseball in the backyard. Francesco has a passion for the sport and hopes to join a boys’ team in the spring.

“I consider Mike the best owner because he is flexible. At the same he’s rigid. He wants you to consider this company like your house. -Alex

“We asked, ‘Is this a dream?’ This is my first question.” -Alex Upheaval for teenagers is not so easily resolved. Demi and Brisa found that fitting in and making new friends, while dealing with the language barrier, was a bigger struggle than what their little brother faced. Both teens were born in Peru, where their family hails from originally. They had already experienced cultural disruption when the family moved to Italy 14 years ago. To add to their estrangement, the COVID-19 pandemic meant that much of their US schooling took place online rather than inperson. This increased their feelings of isolation and disengagement. How do you become friends with someone you only know from a classroom Zoom screen? But, as the pandemic restrictions gradually eased and schools returned to their pre-pandemic routines, both girls had developed sufficient language skills to excel in their lessons and feel more adapted to the situation. Currently, Brisa will soon graduate from high school and Demi is already attending classes at a nearby community college. The sisters have continued their international adventure by obtaining employment at a local Mexican restaurant. As the three of us continued to talk about contrasts they found between their former life in Rome and their new life in Willoughby, our focus turned to food. It was quickly apparent that they missed the easy access to fresh food that they savored while living in both Peru and Italy. Alex, being the chef of the family, favors the many varieties of Italian pasta.

They occasionally indulge in a trip to the large food emporium known as West Side Market in Cleveland to satisfy some of their cravings. When I mention pizza, both Alex and Mariela burst into laughter. “It is so different here!,” they both exclaim in unison. Of course, the youthful standard of burger and fries has quickly earned their seal of approval. However, Francesco gives two thumbs down to the unappealing choices offered by the infamous school “lunch ladies”. He prefers, instead, to bring his own lunch from home to guarantee a tastier noon meal. Home itself looks different here, too. Instead of the customary apartment in the bustling metropolitan city of Rome, the family lives in a suburban ranch house that is just a short walk from Francesco’s elementary school. There is a grassy yard to enjoy (and take care of) and a finished basement that provides additional living space. Neighbors have turned into friends and life in Willoughby has become routine as the family settles into their new normal. A few trips to visit friends in Virginia and Florida have given the family a glimpse of

the diverse regions found in our United States. When asked to give their overall verdict of their move to this country, along with their new employment with ARV, Mariela responded in a voice laden with emotion, gesturing to indicate that she spoke for both of them. “We are so grateful for what Mike and Marcia have done for our family. We are not just employees here. They have treated us as family members and helped us imagine a better future for our children.” It is abundantly clear from her statement that the twoway street of trust that connected them with Mike, Marcia and ARV, has smoothly paved the way to a beneficial partnership. For Alex, Mariela, Demi, Brisa and Francesco, it is the road to success, and they are delighted with where it has led them.

“I saw Mike, tall man, and I’m just little, it was impressive for me. ‘Is this real?’ That was my first impression in that moment. It was beautiful, my first meeting.” - Alex 10

t is night. Light from a bright, full moon reflects off the beach and the lulling, lapping sea as it climbs and recedes. From out of the dark water, a female sea turtle emerges. With unhurried movements, she drags herself up the beach with her wide, flat flippers. She is looking for the perfect spot. She searches, feeling out the sand, and finds an area of the beach that suits her. With all four flippers, she moves the dry dirt and sand out of the way. Then, with her rear two, she digs as deep as she can, burying into the wet sand, moving it aside, until she has created a chamber. Eggs fall in quick succession: one, two, three, until nearly one hundred and fifteen fill the waiting chamber. Her clutch complete, she buries the eggs with the wet sand, patting it gently with her shell, and finishes the process with the dry sand, camouflaging the nest and her hatchlings sleeping inside. The moon has traveled across the sky, hidden by the trees that line the beach. Starlight is all that reflects on the water now as she trudges to its still-warm arms. Without a glance back, she dips her head under, and disappears forever into the waves.

After a two month incubation period, the first few hatchlings, each using a temporary tooth, break the shells. The movement disturbs the others, and soon, most hatchlings are free. Climbing on top of their discarded shells, and each other, they spend the next five days digging out of the heavy sand. Like bubbles in a heating pot, the hatchlings boil to the surface, tiny flippers moving unceasingly like flower petals in a strong wind. The fresh night air touches them for the first time as they scramble over each other, the waves of the ocean beckoning to them. In answer, their exhausted bodies become frantic, scooting feverishly down the too-long beach. They are fortunate it is dark; no seagulls or birds await their arrival. They continue undisturbed until the water sweeps them away. But what of their brothers and sisters who were not strong or lucky enough to break free from the sand?

Resilient, Little Warriors By Madeline C. Lanshe

Sometimes, I get overwhelmed by how

insignificant of a mark I will make on this Earth before I leave it. The world is too large, the problems and suffering too unfathomably pervasive, and I am merely a grain of sand in the endless ocean. I know this feeling is not unique to me. I also know the true, yet not always convincing philosophy: our actions and the light we create might not change the world, but they can change the worlds of those around us. Sometimes, it’s in taking a microscope to the world that we’re able to see the greater picture. One of these moments for me was when I went to Cozumel for my sister’s wedding. Cozumel is an Island off the coast of Mexico’s mainland, a ferry’s ride from Playa Del Carmen. The water is turquoise, the summers are stifling, and wildlife is abundant. I arrived from France, where I’d been living and teaching English for the past two years, with everything I was able to fit in two suitcases and a backpack. I was the first of my family to arrive for my older sister, Gabrielle’s, wedding. 13

Gabes, as we all call her, had met her soon-to-be husband, Sergio, at a Crossfit gym on the island when she was staying there for a month. He was her instructor one night. They hit it off, stayed in touch when she flew back to the States, started dating, then got engaged a year later while visiting me in France. The ceremony was under a canopy on a beach, a sanctuary from the unrelenting noonday sun. She looked like a dream in her trailing white gown and veil, and he looked adorable, crying as she walked down the aisle and as they exchanged their vows. A few days after the wedding, those of us who didn’t have to hurry home for work (some friends and cousins included) volunteered with a sea turtle rescue group. Gabes and Sergio had done it before, but for the rest of us, it was a first.

When a clutch of turtles hatches and makes its way out of the sand and to the sea, not all hatchlings are strong enough; some get left behind, buried in the sand, left to suffocate amongst the fragments of the discarded eggshells. There are groups that dedicate their time to locating and marking turtle nests, and performing the laborious task of excavating the shells, keeping track of how many are found, documenting it, and saving the stragglers from certain doom. After we were educated on the rules and proper procedure, we went down the beach to where flag after flag marked the nests, and split into groups of two to four. I went with Gabes and Sergio. We were given a small bucket in which to keep any living hatchlings we might find until the end of the process. Even with sunscreen, a hat, and a shirt, the sun burned bright and heavy above as we carefully dug where the flag marked the center of the nest. Sand is defiant. It misbehaves. Like a two year old child, it will not sit still, and goes exactly where you do not want it to. It proved harder than I anticipated to locate the stash of eggshells, as the sand collapsed and the hole we were digging morphed and moved, until we had no idea how far from the center we actually were. It took time and patience, and we restarted our hole several times. We reached a depth, maybe three feet down, where it became clear why this was a group effort. Sergio held on to my ankles and lowered me headfirst into the hole. As I dug into the wet sand, my gloved hand shaped like a spoon so as not to harm any surviving hatchlings I might come across, it was Gabes’s job to push the sand out of the way so it didn’t continue to collapse in on me. As the minutes stretched on, I started to doubt that we were in the right spot at all. I could hear other groups around us squealing

with excitement as they uncovered hatchlings. I needed to know what that felt like. Then, the sign that we were indeed digging in the right spot: a broken eggshell. I was careful as I buried my hand and lifted scoops of sand and shell. The remnants were softer than I anticipated. There was no guarantee there were any living hatchlings left behind in this particular nest. In fact, it would be better if there weren’t. But a foul stench made me believe at least one hadn’t made it, and it was now decaying. I hoped that we would find more than death in this hole. When I look back on the many adventures I’ve lived, not many experiences top the excitement of finding that first baby sea turtle and seeing her squirm and flap in the palm of my hand. 14

She was dark gray and oval and perfect. I lifted her up to my sister and finished my mission, digging around until it seemed all the shells had been excavated. By the end, we’d placed four hatchlings on the sandy floor of our bucket, and my sweaty body was covered in sand from my hair to my toes. One of the four turtles was deformed, the left side of his shell caved in, with a crumpled front flipper. I named him Quasi, after Victor Hugo’s character, Quasimodo. They must’ve heard the voice of the ocean; they did not stop moving for a moment. For creatures that had only seconds prior been trapped in their inevitable tomb, they were bursting with life. Even little Quasi wiggled and pushed against the confines of the bucket just like his brothers and sisters. Watching them squirm sent tingles of joy through my soul. We took our bucket to the next nest. While we found the stash of shells, our hatchling count remained at four. I could feel myself stressing over the situation. We were thorough, or so we estimated, but what if we’d missed any? What if one was waiting mere inches from where I dug, and it heard its salvation approaching, only to be abandoned for a second time in its short life. That thought alone would’ve had me digging out there until dusk,

but eventually the men running the rescue moved us along. They’d saved an active nest for the grand release. One man wiped away the top layer of sand so that just their little heads were visible, then he carved a ring around them and buried a hand underneath to lift them up. They were lying almost still, like drunks being stirred too early in the morning. He took sand and sprinkled it over them, like a reverse Sandman, for this seemed to wake them. It started with one pioneer breaking free and making a mad dash towards the ocean. A few more trickled out and then it was a stampede. It was our turn next. Everyone in the group lined up horizontally on the beach. When given the word, we all dumped our buckets. It was important that the turtles still crawl down the beach and not be released directly into the water. Some people had over a dozen hatchlings. My younger sister had stumbled upon a full nest that probably should’ve been left another day or so. But I was content with the four we found. I could keep track of each of them as they pushed their way through the sand. Quasi was quickly passed by his siblings. He scooted awkwardly down the sand, struggling in a way the others did not. Tears welled in my eyes. I wanted to help him. I wanted to protect him. Only one in

one thousand sea turtle hatchlings reaches adulthood. The odds were so cruelly stacked against even the healthiest of them. The first wave scooped him up and dropped him again on the beach. What a way to be welcomed into the world; near suffocation, an exhausting trudge over and through thick sand, then a blast in the face by salty water. And that was only the beginning. After that, a frantic swim past the surf, and then, if they were lucky, a decade of “lost years” braving the sea and all its dangers alone before returning to coastal areas to forage and mature. My eyes stayed fixed on Quasi as he was thrown again, tumbling in the water before settling on the sand. But he kept hobbling forward, no thought of retreating or taking a break. Another wave came and he was swept away, this time, for good. It was all too much; the beauty, the harshness, the ache in my heart. I wept. Wept for the hope we’d provided all these turtles, for the trials and dangers they’d soon face, for all the hatchlings who were not fortunate enough to be given a second chance, and for myself and the part of my own nature which makes me want to protect and comfort and save. My salty tears joined the saltier sea as the last of the hatchlings disappeared beneath the surface. My heart swelled like the distant waves.

Did my effort matter if none of them survived the day? Did I make a difference if they never saw the shore again? When I think about Quasi, how he plowed towards his future, slower than the others but unfaltering just the same, half-crushed shell and twisted flipper an accepted, unquestioned part of him, not once used as an excuse, without mother or father to lookout for him, just a soft-hearted blonde with overflowing affection, I realize that, if he got to feel the breeze on the beach, taste the sea, ride the waves, as he was meant to, even if only for a moment, it mattered. He’d never know that I played a role in giving him a new chance at life. More than that, he had changed mine in a way deeper than the hole he was dug from. That, too, matters.

It is night. The thin, crescent moon is hidden

behind a pillow of clouds. Only light from the peaceful stars illuminates the gentle shift of the sea. A beak emerges, breathing in the warm, salty air before dipping below again. The turtle is larger than a dinner plate, nearly a decade old based on his size. He’s making his way back to the coast for the first time to forage for food. The beach ahead of him feels familiar in some deep, buried part of his mind. His twisted flipper causes him to swim askew. It doesn’t bother him. He knows nothing different. His progress is slow, but that’s okay. The sea is tranquil, the beach is waiting, and like his mother before him, he is in no hurry.

When Rewards Outweigh the Risks

by Mike Neundorfer

s I drove in our Sprinter motorhome from Cleveland to Florida in January 2022, I kept thinking about how I would manage shifting Advanced RV from a five day to a four day work week. Marcia and I would be in Florida for three weeks of business meetings, a friend’s wedding and, in between, camping in the Keys, but my mind kept turning to the commitment I had recently made for ARV to join an international trial of a four day, 8 hour per day work week at full pay. The trial was to start in three months and run for six. While driving south, I kept returning to the question of what we could do in the short trial that would make a big difference. We were already a strong, effective engineering and production team. Could we do the same or better in four days rather than five? How could I lead this? Success meant achieving our current 40 hour week production rate in a 32 hour week. This meant we had to increase productivity by 20%, 19

while maintaining the same or better production quality and attention to clients. Although we would make some adjustments to paid time off and staff compensation, raises and profit share would stay the same. We had to create better measures of productivity, quality, and client attention. Our productivity measures have always been a challenge because each of our motorhomes is custom made and takes varying amounts of time to design and build. Production had been measured simply in months to completion, so we had to add more refined measures. We also had to add a detailed set of metrics to score our quality process. We decided we’d continue to anecdotally assess our level of client attention. If I could make the trial work and make it permanent, it would likely be my most important business contribution in over 50 years of creating and operating businesses. The potential benefits were huge, but I estimated our chance of success at about 50%. The risk

was the loss of 20% financial performance for the trial period. As with many business and personal decisions, the benefits of success far outweighed the short term financial risk, so as sole shareholder, I was willing to take the risk. Sometime during my ruminating on our trip, I realized that success of the trial and ultimate permanent transition was not up to me. The success of the new schedule would be up to the staff, and I could only try to help prioritize and support their initiatives. This was a huge insight and relief. Shortly after returning, I again assessed the interest of the staff and confirmed that there were only a few doubters. I conveyed that this process was in their hands, and they had me for support. I felt energized as I saw their enthusiasm and willingness to embrace the challenge.

When I announced to the staff that we would continue the trial for another three months, there was spontaneous applause. The skeptics had been converted and zealots rallied. As I listened to staff members’ stories of how the added personal and family time had changed their lives, I was more determined than ever to make the 4 day week permanent.

“If I could make the trial work and make it permanent, it would likely be my most important business contribution in over 50 years of creating and operating businesses.”

-Mike Neundorfer

I didn’t think we were ready to start the program on April 1st and neither did the staff, confirmed by jokes about starting on April Fools Day. We began before we had our new measures completely in place. We were still working on process improvements and a large production software tool. Despite this, we moved forward with it. The six month trial flew by. We achieved only about half of our 20% production improvement, but quality continued to increase and informal client feedback was good.

Each member of the ARV team has their own unique story about how the 4-day work week changed their lives. Read on for three of their testimonies.

Daniel James

A Day for Others – Jenise LeMay When we first began the 4-day work week

trial, I wanted to devote some of my new free time using my sewing skills for the benefit of others. I’m now leading a small sewing group at our church, and we meet weekly to sew for charitable causes - we are on our 3rd project. While we only have 6 members so far, we are trying to make a difference in the community locally, as well as around the world where need is great. One of the challenges we face is gathering large quantities of supplies, but we’ve had 2 sewing machines donated, one from a local sewing machine shop. In many parts of Haiti, families have very little, and many children are not able to attend school due to the fear of armed gangs and the shortages of food, water and fuel. We have a connection to a school there.

We made 30 drawstring book bags for the students and filled them with school supplies. While we also wanted to include some nonperishable food items, it posed a greater risk of the school not receiving our gift. There is always a chance that our donations could be seized, but we were able to get the filled book bags to the children without having them delivered by mail directly. The students were very appreciative, and we are planning to make another 30 book bags. This has been a fulfilling endeavor, and every week I look forward to sewing with the other members of our group!

Jenise works in the Upholstery Department of Advanced RV. She has sewn as a hobby from a young age and professionally in the home decor field for 12 plus years. Jenise grew up in Virginia Beach, Virginia where she met and married Mike LeMay. They have three grown children, a grandson, and live with their beagle mix, Harlie.

Jenise, front left, with a member of the sewing group

A New Perspective – Adam Stupi After selling my business in 2018, I’ve

had a difficult time adjusting to both being an employee and a member of a team. Throughout my entire career, I’ve been very independent and have typically worked either by myself or with a very small crew. With the transition to my new job at ARV, I developed an overwhelming amount of regret and resentment. As time went on, I knew something needed to change.

At the beginning of 2022, after some unsettling arguments (at home and at work) it was more evident than ever my negativity was affecting everyone around me. I had been losing sleep and felt consumed. I felt that something outside of myself was to blame. I was encouraged and decided to seek therapy. After several months of meeting with a therapist, some issues became clear. I was “hearing” things as personal attacks, and I reacted in kind: always argumentative, always agitated, always negative. My behavior went much deeper than the recent changes. I was faced with altering a pattern of response that had always been there. In April of ‘22, we entered the 4-day work week experiment at ARV. At first, everyone was very skeptical. “There’s no way we’re going to get the same amount of work done in less time, let alone more work!” At the time, the only silver lining was an extra day off. I then shuffled my weekly therapy appointments to Fridays, my off day. This began a soft start to the long weekend. We had split the shop, half of us off Mondays and the others off on Fridays. Ultimately, what this permitted was a veritable release of stress and anxiety about the upcoming week. I had only half of the people in the shop on Mondays. This freed me up to focus on the work ahead in a calm manner. I could

now design and develop ahead of time. My responsibilities seemed to be easier to swallow. The new schedule, coupled with therapy, helped me in a profound way. I realized that I was wasting so much energy being negative. My motives had now shifted to being helpful instead of critical, patient instead of irritated. “They” or “It” is not right or wrong, just different. I was putting some space between the situation and my reaction. At work, people began to notice an improvement. After having identified some of my “peace management” issues, I recognized my negativity at home. It was explained to me that my wife and 3 daughters had been conditioned to expect a certain (negative) reaction out of me. I had created a toxic environment amidst my family. I have willfully tried to improve our relationships. I’ve only begun and know it’ll take as long as it takes.

With the undeniable success of the 4 day work week, it has been renewed for at least another year. Our doubt has been transformed! We have met and surpassed many of our goals at work. At the end of the day, I am most grateful for those who have supported me at my worst. Throughout the last year, I have cultivated better relationships. My attitude has improved enough to make better choices. I am confident that the smoother work week and extra day off will enable me to choose peace and continue to learn how to improve. Adam is a concept and design developer at ARV where he helps facilitate production in the cabinet shop. He loves spending time with his wife and their three daughters, and enjoys cooking, being outdoors, and traveling. He began his career as a carpenter then cabinet/furniture builder at the age of 14, and he’s always been intrigued by all things mechanical. 24

24 Hours, by the Numbers – Benjamin Al-Doory W hen it was first whispered to me that a transition to a 4-day work week was being considered at ARV, I quickly decided that this opportunity was life changing. “This is LIFE CHANGING,” I thought, in capital, italicized letters.

I immediately began to wrangle the numbers in my head. At some point in the perplexing, inarticulate metamorphosis from child to adult, modern humans seem to become obsessed with quantifying everything. I am no exception. I began to line up every numerically expressible benefit of a work week thus abbreviated: 8 hours a week, times 52 weeks a year becomes 416 hours. Dial in the lunch hour (which may not be paid, but is still a consequence of the workday), and we’re up to 468 hours per annum. Then, there’s travel to and from the shop, just about another hour total each day, 520 hours of additional time that is now mine. That’s nearly 6% of the total hours in a year! Don’t we adults just love percentages? These are just the perks I considered in terms of time, and time is by absolutely no means the only perk I can express in a numerical format. Who considers time without considering money? Commuting costs money. I drive 24 miles a day round-trip. If I drive a gasoline car, and gas is $4 a gallon and my car gets 25 mpg (it doesn’t), it costs 16 cents per mile in just fuel. I’ll spare you the equation, but that’s 25

$998.40 per year driving to and from work, moreover, with a rather generous assumption of fuel economy. Many of my coworkers drive farther and in vehicles that consume twice the fuel per mile. In my case, I’d save $200 per year by omitting 1 out of 5 workdays. The aforementioned coworkers will save much more, ironically enough. Spend $15 a day eating lunch out? Some people do, and that’s $3900 per year (yikes). Eat at home on that fifth day, save nearly $1000. Between fuel and lunch, we’re already up to what equates to a $1.38 per hour raise, if one were inclined to see it in such terms. Working one less day for a full salary in itself is already a 20% raise. Virtually any cost one can associate with being present and available to work will be reduced by 20%. One-fifth. Two of ten. Between that figure, and all the precious, irreplaceable time, my perception of this as life-changing almost seems like an underestimation. But wait, there’s more! Then, there are the benefits that defy quantification, the intangible yet invaluable things that can be overlooked when our heads are willfully submerged in a sea of numbers. For example, I have the freedom to sleep in one more day each week. Do I? Not often, but

just having the option enhances one’s feeling of control, which I find comforting. I get one more day each week with that “Friday Feeling,” that blessed voice whispering in the back of my head, “Guess what? You don’t work tomorrow! Smile, you ingrate!” (I have to teach that voice some manners.) The non-time/money perks piled up faster and higher than I would have imagined: I can stay out later if I so desire; I can go to the BMV, the dentist, the vet, the post office, all before noon on that extra day, and never again have to squeeze those necessities into a busy weekday evening after work. I’ve found that the increased likelihood of completing a home-improvement project over a 3-day weekend has made me far more inclined to undertake such projects. I have moved my piano lesson to my day off, and I work out and help more with household chores. All this results in an overall lower stress level. Not only can you spend more time with loved ones, but that time is of a superior quality. The trickle-down effect is nearly a cascade of positive change. It has already become apparent that the participants in the study are happier people in general. Their families, friends and anyone with whom they may interact will benefit by proxy, regardless of their work schedule. Can one put a monetary value on lowered stress? I’m sure health insurers try to, but I won’t. I recently came across a published article about the 4-day trial study. In one case, a participant was able to spend more time with a terminally ill family member. Can one put a monetary value on that? LIFE CHANGING.

Ben is a member of the finishing team at ARV where he contributes his decades of experience working with wood, leather, and fabrics in the pipe organ industry. He has been playing guitar for over 30 years and restores vintage motorcycles in his free time.

Coming in March: Issue 3

Tir na nÓg Irish (n) A paradise and supernatural realm of everlasting youth, beauty, health, abundance, and joy.

Beyond the Magazinee Sea Turtle Rescue Video

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Daniel James dreams of biking all seven continents, with already three under his belt. He does most of his travels barefoot and always has a new adventure on the horizon when he is home in Ohio. He took the photos featured in this issue while teaching English in Italy. Instagram: @2wheeldan

Instagram: @2wheeldan

Mudpuddle Photography Life is a plethora of moments, images, feelings. We could never capture them all, but that’s what makes those we do special and perhaps worth sharing.

Instagram: @mudpuddlephotography51

Submissions Submit

Who can submit? Anyone! If you have access to our magazine, we’d love to hear from you. What should I submit? Anything creative and heartfelt that can be shared in digital form! Photography, illustrations, poetry, short stories, personal stories, art, etc. Why do you accept submissions? This magazine is a space for people to share their stories and passions in hopes it will connect us with others in a positive, uplifting way. “The ethnosphere is humanity’s great legacy. It is the product of our dreams, the embodiment of our hopes, the symbol of all that we are and all that we have created as a wildly inquisitive and astonishingly adaptive species.” - Wade Davis When can I submit? In each issue, we will reveal the theme for the coming issue. If you’d like your proposal to be considered for the coming issue, submit as soon as you can to give us time to review it with our team, communicate with you, edit, and fit it into the greater picture of the magazine. Otherwise, submit anything at any time. It may fit in a future issue or even inspire the theme of one! What do I need to include in my submission? Tell us a sentence or two about yourself, how you discovered Ethnosphere, and the work you’d like to submit. If possible, attach any images, PDFs or other files to be reviewed, and the editor will be in touch with you. If you have a story that you think would make for a great article, but you don’t have the narrative prowess to write it, don’t worry! There is an opportunity for a conversation with the editor so that she, or someone on the editorial staff, could write the story with you. If your submission is not accepted, don’t get discouraged. There is always a chance in the future. In the meantime, we hope you enjoy all that the magazine has to offer. Even if you are not featured within it, your experiences, dreams, and creations are equally part of the Ethnosphere. Disclaimer: Contributors retain all rights to their stories, photography, art, etc. while giving Ethnosphere Magazine/Advanced RV the right to edit and share their work in the digital magazine, print, and any other way they see fit for creative or promotional reasons. 30

About the Authors Madeline Lanshe is a writer from Green, Ohio, with a passion for traveling, rock climbing, and getting lost in the night sky. She taught English for two years in Le Mans, France, which now feels like her second home. She works at Advanced RV as editor-in-chief of Ethnosphere. Besides dreams of becoming a published fiction author, Madeline is a volleyball addict. She believes life is about collecting moments of magic wherever you go and immersing yourself in the things that light your heart on fire.

A resident of Willoughby, Ohio since 1955, Maureen Gregory retired in 2020 after working in the legal field for almost 40 years. Maureen spends her free time volunteering for a variety of local non-profit groups. Travel time includes visiting her son in Manhattan and her daughter near the Mojave desert. Her oldest son lives in Willoughby, so she enjoys having her two granddaughters nearby. Being retired is all Maureen hoped it would be and she highly recommends it.

Mike Neundorfer is the president of Advanced RV in Willoughby. He supplies ideas and motivation, enabling his team members to take ownership of their roles. Mike and his wife, Marcia, toured the US and Canada in four different class B motorhomes, inspiring the creation of ARV in 2012. The Ethnosphere magazine is a passion project of his, stemming from his desire to share incredible stories, inside and outside the ARV community, in a classy, exciting way.

Daniel James