Month: August 2016

The Regulate Debate

Life doesn’t come with a map. But sometimes, there’s a guide.

Whether at the ballgame, the beach or the courtroom — chances are, you’ve come across someone assigned to regulate.

The name might change — umpire, referee, lifeguard, judge — but the motive remains the same. Namely, to view the event in an unbiased manner and ensure the rules are followed.

Step away from these venues, and the story changes drastically. Not only is formal regulation uncommon, it’s also deemed to be anything from a nuisance to a grave danger.

Indeed, throughout history, large-scale overregulation has led to everything from bureaucratic inefficiencies to the perils of authoritarianism. It’s a threat to our freedom, a death knell to individualism.

Quite simply, it’s something we want no part of — apart from a few finite situations. And it’s mostly accepted in those situations to keep things moving at an acceptable pace or to help us avoid deadly dangers.

The culture of self-regulation we’ve demanded is ripe with opportunities, yet fraught with challenges. Whether we’re on the golf course, in the board room or merging onto the highway, we must make the right calls to ensure everything progresses in an orderly fashion. We have the double responsibility of getting ahead while ensuring the playing field is not disturbed. One misstep, one blown call, and mayhem can ensue.

But therein lies the problem. Errors do happen. And it’s only natural that they do. After all, we are imperfect beings attempting the impossible. Although the rules of the road, baseball or a court of law were forged by other people, they were still intended to be followed to perfection — an expectation that belies our human condition.

Even computer regulation has proven to be less than flawless. For all the near-perfect capabilities of technology, there remains one fatal flaw — it was created by humans.

So given these constraints, these challenges — what should we do?

Well, we certainly shouldn’t throw in the towel.

It’s our responsibility — both collectively and individually — to make our system of self-regulation work. That means adhering to the rules to the best of our abilities, and — just as importantly — ensuring that we stay true to the spirit of those rules.

It’s all too easy to be immoral and selfish when given the keys to self-regulation, but all this behavior does is start a vicious downward cycle. And — as proven in our recent Recession — irresponsible regulatory behavior can make everyone suffer.

We must be better. We have the tools — a solid understanding of right and wrong, combined along with the power of influence. Now, it’s our obligation to use these abilities to keep everything moving forward.

This is the way to power and prosperity. This is the way to regulate.

Owning It

The thought of owning something doesn’t often cross our minds.

Sure, when we get the keys to a house or buy a new car, it’s at the forefront of our consciousness. But rarely anytime else.

Yet, ownership was front and center in my mind the other day, as I assessed my CD collection. Nearly two decades old, my pile of CDs has become completely obsolete, as all the music has been added to my laptop and backed up to my iPod, external hard drive and the cloud. My SUV has a CD port, but I’ve yet to use it — as I’ve been able to play music on the road through my smartphone, using voice commands.

Technology has made the process of playing music seamless; no more of those bulky music players at home, no more CDs roasting in holders on car visor flaps in the Texas heat. Yet, my collection remains intact.

It remains because I own it.

Yes, the only thing keeping those unsightly discs out of a dumpster is the fact that I paid for the right to own the music contained within them. (Although, in keeping with my new mantra of letting go, it might be worthwhile for me to get rid of those CDs after all.)

***

Ownership matters to me. Not because of the power it provides, but instead because of the sense of responsibility it instills in me. Maintaining something I’ve paid for requires an investment of consistency and care, an investment that builds character.

Sadly, it’s an investment fewer and fewer of my peers are willing to undertake.

Sharing is more in vogue than ever before. Ridesharing, streaming, leasing — these are staples of the Millennial generation. The movement towards a shared economy has been lauded with terms like efficiency and sustainability, but I think the revolt against ownership is actually a cop-out — a wide scale attempt to avoid the burdens of leadership.

You see, the more people leave their music to Spotify, their movies to Netflix, their transportation to Uber and their living arrangements to their landlord, the less the onus falls on them when things go wrong. There’s always someone else to blame if the server goes down or the AC goes out.

This new wave of pass-the-buck convenience is both lazy and counterproductive. And if it remains unchecked, our leadership void will continue to deepen.

***

If we’re to grow as adults, as community leaders, as spouses or as parents, we must be willing to take responsibility. We must be able to take initiative, to solve problems as they arise and to shoulder the blame when it’s warranted.

We must take ownership. And while the individual elements of the sharing economy are largely innocuous — heck, I lease an apartment and subscribe to Netflix — they shouldn’t be a replacement for our obligation to practice this skill.

Actually owning something is the best way to demonstrate responsibility and accountability. There is simply no substitute.

So buy that car, shop for that dream house, download that song or plant that garden. But no matter what you choose, make sure you’re owning it.

The Golden Narrative

As the summer winds down, we once again find ourselves captivated by the Olympic Games. Against the stunning backdrop of Rio, we’ve watched the grace of gymnasts, the dominance of swimmers, the pure speed of sprinters — and so much more.

But it’s not the athletic feats that pique our interests, or even the superstars who perform them. No, it’s something far greater, yet so fundamental, that draws us in.

Stories.

Yes, narrative envelops the games, from start to finish. Broadcasters focus their coverage on it, athletes live it, and the world discusses it long after the Olympic flame stops burning.

Narrative defines the road the athletes take to reach the world’s pinnacle event. It helps define these competitors as more than the flag they represent. It helps show that even when achieving world record athletic feats, these athletic stars are just as human as the rest of us.

Narrative weaves the emotional components of these competitors’ journeys throughout the games as well. Swagger, revenge, grace, power, agility, adversity, resurgence, dominance and sportsmanship are just some of the ingredients that can be mixed into a juicy storyline.

And narrative is what makes a limited-run event live on forever. While the Summer Olympics occur as frequently as our presidential elections, they have an uncanny ability to resonate for eternity.

I’ll never forget the first Olympics I watched — the 1996 games in Atlanta. I was only 8 years old at the time, but moments from those games will stay with me for life. Moments like a Parkinson’s stricken Muhammad Ali lighting the caldron in the opening ceremony. Moments like Kerri Strug sticking the landing on an injured ankle to help lead the U.S. women’s gymnastics team to their first gold medal — on home soil, no less.

These moments are powerful because of the narrative. With the world watching, stories are told, adversity is overcome, and legends are forged. A moderately significant event — such as the lighting of a torch or the execution of a gymnastics vault — becomes timeless.

We should never lose sight of the power of the Olympic narrative. We should always remember that stories are the force that connects the world and allow it to overcome.

Let’s continue to share our narrative. Let’s use the power of the story to transcend borders and cultures for a common good. That’s the real meaning of Going for Gold.

The Art of Letting Go

Keep it or throw it out?

It’s not quite Shakespearean prose, but I reckon I’ve heard it more often than any line from Hamlet — from the voice in my head alone.

This time, the words were my mother’s. My parents are in the putting their house on the market, and part of that process includes cleaning out 26 years of assorted items. Even though I left the nest more than a decade ago, plenty of mementos from my childhood and adolescence stayed behind— which is why I got daily “Keep It or Chuck It” messages as my parents sorted through everything this summer.

With a few notable exceptions, the answer has always been the same:

Get rid of it.

***

It hasn’t always been this way. In fact, it rarely has.

Long before hoarders were immortalized on TV shows, I was on a mission — a mission to keep anything and everything. But I didn’t want to make a mess, so I would stuff cabinets, closets and out-of-sight storage spaces with piles of things I wanted to hold on to.

There were two reasons I obsessive took this approach. First, I wanted to preserve memories in a visible way. Second, I loathed the mental image of anything I’d bought or created wasting away in a landfill.

These sentiments are fine on a small scale — this is how scrapbooking and recycling came to be. The problem was that I felt this way about everything.

It started with physical items, but my mission quickly degraded my relationships with family and friends. I was constantly adding on, saving memories, maintaining everything I had accumulated.

I was afraid of letting go. And I was suffering because of it.

***

Letting go is an undervalued part of life. It’s something we all must do — after all, we don’t live forever — but it’s also something we try and avoid in our everyday lives. Breaking up is brutal, losing touch is unbecoming, and getting fired indicates failure. Our memories are the only part of the past we take with us to the present; those we share those memories with serve as the bridge between the two worlds.

So we hold on, incessantly. We become sentimental. We fixate on the past.

We cling to every detail of How It Was, so it can serve as the foundation for How It Is.

But all we’re really building is a burden. A bigger footprint, more items to keep track of, more meaningless details to weigh down our mind.

We must stop this madness.

***

If the past informs the present, and the present informs the future, we must move on from anything that doesn’t move us forward. We must master the art of letting go.

We must rid ourselves of the static. Let go of all the memories that leave us lost in Yesterday without a ticket back to the Here and Now.

We must move on from the mementos that don’t tell a story, or those we can’t tell a story from; they alone tell us nothing.

For growth guides us down the current of life; we can’t afford to be anchored in place by a fear of letting go. We must free ourselves and live unburdened.

The Key to Happiness

What makes you happiest?

There are few questions that bring out our individuality more than that one.

Some people might mention a beach vacation, or watching their favorite sports team win the championship. Others might mention gifts they’ve received, or time spent with their significant other.

My answer is a bit more complex: When the people I care about are happy, so am I.

I know that might sound like a bit strange, so let me explain.

Happiness, like many other emotions, tends to skew personal. This means that what makes us the happiest are often things we individually stand to gain from.

This fact, by itself, is not terribly dispiriting —after all, the saying goes, “Tis better to have than to have not.” But prolems arise when those personal gains that bring us happiness come at the expense of others.

Happy you got the job offer? Plenty of other candidates got a rejection email. On Cloud 9 cause your favorite team won the title? Fans of the other team are in agony.

These considerations don’t often cross our minds in moments of bliss, but they should. For when we don’t approach joy with empathy, we’re often left feeling hollow and even depressed once the elation wears off.

The good news is that empathy can be built. It just takes commitment to a perspective of selflessness.

I know this statement to be true because I’ve lived it.

As a kid, I felt happiest when opportunities and experiences in my life directly benefited me. It was a primitive, ugly way to view my interactions with the world — one that left me prone to mood swings when my personal needs and desires weren’t being addressed.

Luckily, I was able to evolve out of this pattern. I had the good fortune of being surrounded by many selfless, empathetic people throughout adolescence and early adulthood. Those values rubbed off on me — particularly as I exposed myself to a great amount of adversity on account of my life decisions.

I learned quickly just how fulfilling putting others first can feel. How putting their feelings ahead of mine could build an emotional connection with them and simultaneously allow me to approach the ebbs and flows of my personal life with a steady mind.

This focus on empathy made me feel wholesome and empowered. I could celebrate the successes of my friends and family right along with them, and truly be there to help them through the hard times. I could shake off the disappointment of being passed up for a certain opportunity by feeling genuine happiness for the person who did — even if I didn’t know them personally.

Empathy has helped me grow, and it’s become a staple of who I am.

But more than that, genuine empathy is key to unlocking true happiness. Pursue it wholeheartedly, and you stand to benefit more fully than you could ever imagine.