Month: November 2016

Respecting Our Rivals

Competition is a hallmark of our society. We view our world in terms of winners and losers, haves and have-nots. The moment of truth is upon us in everything we do — for us to achieve our objective, someone else is likely going to fail at attaining it.

However, not all competitions are viewed as equal. Rivalries stand apart on the playing field, in the political arena and in our neighborhood.

Whether due to proximity or competitive spirit, rivalries are notably intense — so much so that foiling a rival’s objective is seemingly more important than obtaining what both sides so desperately seek. As such, angry words are often exchanged and lines are drawn in the sand. No wonder unaffiliated commentators often describe the conflict as “good, old fashioned hate.”

Yes, rivalries are quite the spectacle. We’re drawn to them because they get us hot under the collar. Some would even say they’re a necessary emotional outlet.

But all too often, they go too far.

Recently, the emotional tensions of rivalries have been at least partially responsible for the savage beating of a San Francisco Giants fan in the Dodger Stadium parking lot and the contentious post-election rallies both for and against President-Elect Donald Trump. Going back even further, the Hatfield-McCoy feud wiped out a substantial portion of each family — mostly for trivial reasons.

These tragic incidents have a common theme — unchecked emotion. Opposing sides have viewed their rival as their enemy, and then used that identification to justify actions that crossed the line.

Sadly, these examples are far from the only ones of a rivalry going too far. By glorifying the contentious nature of rivals going at it, our society enables us to go to the point of no return, time and again.

It’s like setting a fire and then dumping a full canister of gasoline on it; the flames are sure to burn out of control.

It needs to stop now.

And it can. We just need to change our perspective.

I understand this well. As a University of Miami alum, I have no warm or fuzzy feelings for Florida State University. Both schools have had a long and contentious football rivalry, but the contempt goes deeper than that. A difference in perceived academic standards and student demographics has helped turn even general discussions about Miami and Florida State into situations where participants must choose one or the other.

Perhaps the most poignant example of this was a phrase I learned as a freshman at Miami: “Friends don’t let friends go to Florida State.”

The salty relationship between the two schools permeated my soul. Long before I put a kibosh on the term, I actively stated that I hated Florida State. I talked a lot of smack and belittled people I didn’t even know just because they wore garnet and gold.

However, things changed slightly by the end of my college days. On Labor Day weekend of my senior year of school, I drove up to Tallahassee to watch Miami and Florida State face off in football. Parking was scarce, and I ended up finding a space in a bank parking lot.

As I set up my tailgating gear, three people who had parked nearby started chatting me up. They were Florida State fans from Fort Lauderdale, and we quickly got to talking about our common home region. Soon enough we were drinking beer together, despite rooting for rival teams.

This situation taught me a lot. I learned that I can have a lot in common with people who make different choices than I do, and that it’s possible to respect my rivals.

I can honestly say that I take a different perspective involving rivalries now. When Miami takes on Florida State each year, you can bet I want nothing more than to see my Hurricanes come away with the W. But I also think about what a blessing it is to see my team share the field with an old rival, with both teams giving it everything they have. I think about how fortunate both Miami and Florida State fans are to inextricably be a part of so many classic games and legendary moments. And I think about how, win or lose, life goes on for both fan bases.

At the end of the day, I’m honored to have the chance to circle the Florida State game date on my calendar every year.

As a client of mine — who’s a Florida State alum — once told me, the Florida State-Miami rivalry is a respectful rivalry. Although there are always going to be quite a few bad eggs out there in the stands, I truly believe that statement to be true.

I think it’s important that we take this perspective with all of our rivalries. Our country is far too divisive right now, and it’s sending us spiraling backwards. Fanning the flames with unbridled contempt does us no good.

We cannot move forward as a unified society if we can’t stand to communicate with those whose views differ from ours. While we might not all have the same perspective, we should at least share common decency to view each other as people, not targets.

So, let’s work on respecting our rivals. For at the end of the day, we all are sharing this planet.

Gratitude Through Turmoil

The holidays are here once again. As we prepare to feast on copious amounts of food, reconnect with loved ones and stress about shopping, a sense of finality is starting to set in.

Yes, although the calendar makers might not have gotten everything right — 30 days have September, April, June and November? Are you kidding me?! —they at least had the common decency to ensure the holiday season puts a tidy bow on the year.

As holidays ramp up, it’s natural to count our blessings. That’s what Thanksgiving was originally about, and it remains a central theme throughout the entire holiday season (along with lights, Santa hats and caroling).

However, I sense something different this time around. In the wake of a particularly trying year — one that has culminated in the most contentious election of our lifetime — a sense of angst has seemingly replaced that of gratitude.

This is far from unexpected. Division and mistrust have been central themes from coast to coast this year, often resulting in anger and violence. We’ve seemingly spent more time pointing the finger at others than we’ve spent trying to heal our fractured society. And we’ve given no indications that we plan on finding collective solutions to these problems anytime soon.

All of this is discouraging. But what upsets me the most is seeing people I look up to sitting in the corner with their head in their hands.

Too many of us are giving up. And that’s unacceptable.

I’ve put myself through the fire multiple times throughout my life, and I know that the moments that test our mettle are the ones that define us. It’s not about being backed into a corner; it’s about how we respond.

Those of us who believe in morality, acceptance and empathy have had a rough go of it recently. This is clear. And the principles of collectivism and inclusiveness have never seemed more like a pipe dream fantasy.

However, we should stop looking at the glass as half-empty. Even in times of turmoil, there is much that’s worthy of our gratitude.

We should be thankful that we hold the principle of decency dear in our hearts. That we pass them along to our children. That we live what we preach.

And we should appreciate that our collective predicament presents a giant opportunity. An opportunity to live our lives righteously, as we have always done. An opportunity to lead by example. And an opportunity to slowly get our society back to one that espouses values that connect and strengthen, rather than divide and weaken.

There is much work to be done. But we have the power to do it.

For that, we should be eternally grateful.

Into the Abyss

Fortune favors the bold.

I believe these four words because I have lived them, time and again. But nothing was quite as bold — or as trying — as my move away from the news industry and into a future of unknowns.

Some have asked what led me to abruptly walk away from a career I’d devoted so much to, but quick explanations can only go so far.

This article delves deeper.

November 15, 2012

It was a normal Thursday in the newsroom at KMID Big 2 News, the ABC affiliate in Midland, Texas. Eight days had already passed since President Barack Obama had won re-election, and the shine of pulling off flawless election coverage had finally worn off. Thanksgiving was a week away and a busy ratings period was winding down.

As I got to work putting together the 5 PM newscast, I felt as if the finish line was in sight. As KMID’s Executive Producer, I had devoted a lot of time and effort into making sure election coverage went to plan — an important initiative, as previous years’ election newscasts had been doomed by technical glitches and other blunders. I’d also followed that triumph with a trip to Oklahoma for a college football game, so I had little left in the tank on this particular Thursday. However, I happened to be working a half-shift, so some long-needed R & R was finally in sight.

Or so I thought.

It was about 4:40 PM — 20 minutes from the start of the 5 PM newscast. I was doing my final check of news scripts when the police scanner went off.

All units be advised. Accident with train. Garfield and Front.

There was no time to think. I instinctually went into breaking news mode.

I sent a cameraman to the scene and called Midland Police to get more information. I quickly learned that a Union Pacific train had collided with a parade float carrying military veterans and their spouses.

It was a truly horrific incident, but this was no time to reflect. There was much more to be done, and precious little time to do it all.

I immediately broke the story on the station’s website and Facebook page, rearranged my newscast and wrote new scripts to account for the new lead story. Then I let everyone — production staff, reporters and news anchors — know what was changed, and what I needed them to do. I did all of this in less than twenty minutes, and the ensuing newscast went off without a hitch.

When I got back to the newsroom, my office phone was ringing. It was ABC News in New York — producers with the national program were calling to ask me for information.

That when it hit me: I’d hit what some producers might call “The Jackpot.” I’d nailed a breaking news event that went national.

It was the greatest achievement of my career.

But I don’t recall a feeling of exuberance during this defining moment. Instead, I recall a feeling of pain.

These painful memories remain vivid.  I remember a reporter calling me from the accident scene and crying uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the pressure and gravity of the situation. I recall the ruthless race by our crews to get more information and interviews, even though the victims understandably wanted no part of a TV camera in their face. And most of all, I remember the pit I felt — and still feel — in my stomach, knowing veterans who had been wounded in duty in Iraq and Afghanistan lost their lives in a parade held in their honor.

These images and sentiments stuck with me when I finally drove home around midnight, at the end of what turned out to be a full 9-hour shift. As I lay in bed, I remember asking myself for the first time if the career I’d chosen was the right one.

At my career apex, I’d never felt more low.

November 16, 2012

A breaking news story is like an earthquake. After the initial devastation is over, there are waves of aftershocks.

In the case of the 2012 Midland train wreck, those aftershocks came courtesy of the National Transportation Safety Board.

Now, anyone who’s seen the movie Sully knows that the NTSB arrives quickly after a disaster but investigates slowly and deliberately. As investigators set up camp in Midland and began a series of daily briefings, our station worked diligently to keep up with the latest developments. Suddenly, I found myself working 7 of the ensuing 8 days. There was no weekend for me, no Thanksgiving. My job beckoned, early and often.

By the time Black Friday was over, most of these new developments had mercifully dried up — but so had my energy. As I went into my first extended period of free time in two weeks, I was so tired that I couldn’t do much more than curl up in the fetal position and sleep.

The next day, I did something I would have considered inconceivable just weeks earlier — I started applying to jobs outside of TV news.

December 14, 2012

It was a Friday morning that started the same as any other. I woke up and checked my phone for what I missed overnight. Such is the life of a producer.

As I scrolled through my Facebook feed, something caught my eye. It was a friend’s status that read: “What the hell is wrong with people?”

Knowing something was up, I powered up my laptop and checked the ABC News website. That’s when I learned that a gunman had shot up an elementary school in Sandy Hook, Connecticut — killing several first graders and their teachers.

The pit in my stomach returned. Then I went numb.

After staring into space for who knows how long, it hit me.

I’m going to be cover this horrifying story at work later.

My heart sank.

That day turned out to be the most difficult one of my working life. Even though the incident happened 2,000 miles away from West Texas, spending a full day keeping up with developments in a real-life nightmare was pure torture. There was no silver lining; by reporting on the sickening events of Sandy Hook, we left our viewers as upset as we all were. Yet it was our duty as media members to report the story, even if no one really stood to benefit from it.

It was the ultimate no win scenario, one that seemed to play out in slow motion.

When the day mercifully came to an end, I went home, collapsed on the couch and cried.

At that moment, I knew there was no future for me in news.

March 6, 2013

It was a Tuesday that was anything but ordinary.

When I arrived at the station, I walked into my boss’ office, closed the door and handed him a signed letter — the only letter of resignation I’ve ever drafted.

I told my boss when my last day of work would be and we shook hands.

As I walked through the newsroom, the evening anchor turned to me, a look of sadness on her face.

“Dylan, did you just…?”

I nodded and continued on to my desk. I didn’t want to be a distraction.

Truth be told, I’d known this day was coming for a few months. I just didn’t know when.

After taking some time to enjoy the holidays, I had begun my job search in earnest in the first moments of 2013. I zoned in corporate communications and Public Relations jobs in Dallas — knowing there were plenty of opportunities there — and I applied to as many job openings as I could find each morning before heading to work.

I had it all planned out. I’d get a job offer, put in my two weeks, move to Dallas and get started in my new profession. It was all so simple.

There was only one problem. I didn’t get a single job offer.

With 20-20 hindsight, this makes sense; no hiring manager worth their salt was going to give an unproven commodity living 300 miles away the keys to the castle. But in early 2013, it felt as if the walls were closing in with each failed job application.

Soon enough, the hourglass did run out of sand. As my KMID contract and apartment lease neared expiration, I knew I wasn’t about to renew either. So on the first Tuesday in March, I formally announced my intentions.

Job or no job, I was heading east.

March 30, 2013

There’s no day quite like moving day.

As the morning dew glistened off my car windshield, my father and I loaded my personal possessions into a U-Haul van. I dropped off my apartment keys at the leasing office and we headed for the highway — my father in the moving van, me in my car.

About 5 hours later, we unloaded the contents of the truck at their new home — a storage unit outside of Fort Worth. I then checked into an extended stay hotel, and my father flew back to his home in the Northeast.

I was on my own, facing an uncertain future.

“This too will pass,” I told myself. “A couple of weeks from now, I’ll have a 9 to 5 job and my own apartment.”

Not so much.

July 1, 2013

I turned the key in the lock, opened the door and set foot in my apartment for the first time.

After months of struggles, I’d finally made it.

You see, the two weeks I’d figured I’d need to land a job had turned into three months, as company after company turned me down. But after applying to more than 600 jobs, depleting my savings account and nearly maxing out my credit card to cover basic living expenses, I finally got a job offer. And now I had a place to call home.

I set up a chair in the living room, sat down and thought of the journey I’d been on, along with the new adventures that lay ahead.

It was sobering and exhilarating at the same time.

November 16, 2016

As I look back at all of these moments, one thing is clear.

I made the right decision leaving the TV news industry.

Sure, the road I took was highly unconventional and full of struggles that could test anyone’s will. But it was a road that needed to be taken.

You see, TV news was my passion early in my adult life. It was my career, my future, my dream. But the stress and angst I felt on the job in those fateful last months of 2012 served as a powerful warning. Maybe news wasn’t right for me, or I wasn’t right for it.

The decision to switch careers saved my life, or at least prolonged it. I now have a greater sense of purpose in my life, along with a renewed sense of balance. And I’m forever free of the monumental stress associated with producing TV newscasts — stress that I estimate would have shortened my lifespan by three years if I hadn’t left the newsroom behind when I did.

Much has changed in the past few years since I made this decision. I’ve matured. I’ve become more self-accountable. I’ve made massive inroads in a new career. And, most of all, I’ve gained a world of perspective.

But even with all of these changes, I think back constantly to the decisions I made to get me to where I am now. I understand that they’re a key ingredient of my story, and always will be.

It’s been a wild journey, and it will continue to be one. But I wouldn’t trade one second of it.

The Control Illusion

I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.

Truer words might never have been spoken. But is it all an illusion?

As a general rule, we are captivated by control. Ensconced in it. It’s why we wear our lucky jersey when we watch our favorite team play, why we head out to vote, why we lock our doors and park our vehicles in well-lit areas.

We are addicted to control because the unknown is disturbing. The possibility of disappointment or failure leaves us vulnerable, cold and unprotected. So we shield ourselves from danger by convincing ourselves we have a say.

We don’t.

Think about the first thing you did this morning. You opened your eyes to a brand new day, and you’ve likely felt in control of your actions ever since.

But what caused you to open your eyes? Was it the sun through the blinds? The beeping of an alarm clock. Some silent cue you can neither recall nor explain?

Truth is, you had no control over that primary action in your day. Something else — God, nature, circadian rhythm, who knows — something else was responsible.

And it goes far beyond that. We’re all riding on a spinning ball orbiting a blinding light, with no seat belt to protect us. As such, we have far less of a say in how factors of time, space, weather, physics or circumstance will alter our immediate destiny than we’d like to believe.

So we set up smoke screens. We jump into the Matrix and convince ourselves we’re at the helm, that our actions will lead to desired outcomes.

It’s comforting, reassuring — and preposterous.

Our one vote won’t swing the election. The jersey we wear when we watch our favorite team won’t help them win. And that safe, well-lit parking spot probably won’t protect your ride if the sky fills with hailstones.

Why must we spend all kinds of karmic energy trying to grasp control of these unknown variables, when it won’t do us a lick of good in the end?

There’s a better way. It requires us to accept the profound, and refocus our controlling tendencies in areas where we really can make a difference.

The kind of person we are. The decisions we make. The ways we act towards others. These are the factors we should be controlling; they can help us positively contribute to our society and improve our well-being.

Sure, shifting our focus in this direction means leaving the outcomes of many other events we care about to chance — and that’s scary. But we’ve never really had control of these independent variables anyway; we just blinded ourselves from the truth with the illusion that we did.

So let’s double down on controlling how we contribute to our family, community and society. For at the end of the day, the outcome of that pursuit is how we’ll be defined.

The ball’s in our court. It’s on us to pick it up.

Taking Stock

Why do we spread our focus so thin?

It’s a question we don’t often ponder. But maybe we should.

I know that personally, I’ve overloaded myself on insignificant items of interest in recent years. I’ve been determined to catch every episode of every TV show I liked, watch every game my favorite teams play, read every article my favorite Internet marketing publications ever put on the web.

It hasn’t been FOMO driving this pattern — I’ve made my feelings clear on that — but rather, an all or nothing mentality. In essence, I’ve given myself an ultimatum: “Either I will take in all I can consume of a subject, or I will take in none of it.”

All too often, I’ve taken the first option.

Now this was all well and good at first — this immersion demonstrated a consistent dedication to the subjects I cared about, one that would lead to benefits in either my career or well-being (yes, I know I bashed leisure time once, but it can still have therapeutic benefits).

But over time, this dedication has become a burden. There are only so many hours in a week, and I’ve found myself planning mine around factors out of my control, such as the schedule of a pro sports team or the article count of an online publisher.

The more I talk about this, the more ridiculous it sounds. But much like a train, it’s hard to stop this pattern once it gets rolling.

Or at least it has been until recently.

***

For various reasons, I’ve shaken things up in recent months. Although I’m generally averse to change, I’ve swallowed my pride and sacrificed some of my carefully crafted weekly routine in order to better myself professionally.

With these changes in motion, I’ve found myself with far less free time than I once did. As a result, I’ve been spending less time watching sports, keeping track of every show or reading material that may or may not be interesting.

But it goes much further than that. I’ve focused precious little time on fantasy football, and I’ve been wasting less energy on pointless exchanges with friends through text messages or social media.

I’ve given up a lot of things I once enjoyed. And you know what? It feels liberating.

You see, I’ve taken stock of my life. The time squeeze I’ve found myself in has forced me to subconsciously evaluate what truly matters to me.

And what does truly matter to me? Only a finite list of things: maintaining my relationships with those closest to me, writing articles like this one, cooking good food, exercising, spending quiet moments outdoors, advancing my career — and yes, occasionally watching football on fall weekends.

Renewing my focus in these pursuits, and these pursuits alone, is liberating. I have control over my destiny — not the calendar or some TV programming executive somewhere. And whatever I choose to devote myself to in a specific moment receives my full dedication, attention and passion. It’s a win-win.

***

This model represents how it should be, but seldom how it is.

Whether it’s our own competitiveness, FOMO or a drive to lay claim to watercooler conversation, we find reasons to worry about too many things that are far too insignificant in the long run (fantasy football, anyone?).

We’re doing no one any favors with this behavior, yet we persist.

But we have what it takes to break the chain, to stop ourselves paper-thin. So let’s take stock of our lives, figure out what’s truly important, and then double down on that.

Our destiny is in our hands. It’s time to grasp it.