Month: March 2019

The Unknown Paradox

Give me a chance, and I’ll make it worth your while.

There’s a good chance we’re familiar with this line.

After all, opportunities are critical components of life. And earning opportunities requires us to cede some control.

If we’re not born into royalty or extreme wealth, our destiny isn’t handed to us on a silver platter.

Sure, our parents and our advocates in the community will put us in position to succeed — if we’re lucky. Yet, the keys to the most impactful opportunities in our lives often lie in the hands of others.

They require a leap of faith by someone newer to our narrative. Someone weighing the balance of hitching their success to ours — often without a longstanding connection with us preceding their decision.

When we ask someone out, when we pursue college or graduate school, when we apply for a job — we’re putting the fate of life changing decisions in the hands of someone new. We’re providing our flight plan to a distant acquaintance and praying that we’ll be cleared for takeoff.

Many times, we’ll get approval. Other times, we’ll be rebuffed.

Either way, our fate is not fully in our hands. We need a leap of faith to open the gate to the next adventure.

There is no such thing as the Self-Made Man. If we’re working for the man, we need an advocate who offers the employment agreement. If we’re trying to be the man — and working for ourselves — we won’t get far without the faith of consumers in our business.

After all, it’s hard to pay the bills when there’s no money coming in.

And if we’re looking for the love of our life? Well, it’s best if the person we seek finds the same quality in us. Otherwise, happily ever after for one might be a living nightmare for another.

Yes, our destiny relies on others to give us a chance. Even when familiarity is lacking.

Getting past this hurdle requires both bravado and humility. We must make the case that we’re worth choosing. We must also reconcile with the fact that we might not be chosen.

I believe this process makes us better.

I, for one, don’t believe I’d be the man I am today if the world simply rolled out the red carpet for me.

At each twist and turn of my journey, there was someone who gave me a chance.

The decision to give me a shot could not have been easy for these individuals. It was a choice peppered with risk.

But these brave men and women pushed forward anyway. They provided me the chance to go to college and graduate school. They gave me an income and a foothold in two disparate careers.

I would, quite literally, not be where I am right now if even one of those opportunities had not been granted to me.

I’m continually grateful for the chances I’ve been given. For those who put their faith in me when it wasn’t necessarily the logical decision to make. It’s something I will not forget.

Yet, while I believe this Leap of Faith system generally works — as I’ve seen it work in my own life — I’ve come to recognize it has a significant blind spot.

I call it The Unknown Paradox.

The Unknown Paradox shows up when someone seeks a 180 degree turn in their life trajectory. When they seek to jump in the deep end of the pool to reboot their narrative.

It shows up when the playboy bachelor decides to settle down and get serious. Or when the Wall Street hotshot aspires to leave the hedge fund behind to become a chef.

These changes are the fodder our favorite literature and movies are made of. They’re the embodiment of freedom of destiny. They’re encapsulations of the American dream.

Yet, in practice, they’re often an exercise in futility.

For the leap of faith needed to continue the metamorphosis is all too often lacking. No one is willing to give the person a chance to prove themselves.

The career-shifter, the reformed person — they’re too much of an unknown.

They’re a potato fresh out of the oven. Too hot to touch.

I experienced this firsthand when I left the news media.

While working in the news, I had seen several colleagues transition from journalists to corporate communications and media relations roles. So, as I prepared to make a career shift, I pursued these jobs doggedly.

I set my sights on Dallas, which had far more companies with open job positions than the cities in West Texas did. I applied to a couple of positions each day, before heading to the TV station for my shift.

At first, I scored a few phone interviews. But the interviewers seemed to consider me more of an anomaly than a legitimate candidate.

Soon, the interview opportunities dried up. Then, my apartment lease ran out, and I ended up relocating to an extended stay hotel in Fort Worth without a job lined up.

Over the next three months, I proceeded to burn up my savings and max out my credit card as I searched for that elusive opportunity. The situation got so dire that I was applying for Administrative Assistant jobs when I finally landed a full-time job.

That job was in digital marketing — something I had less experience with than the communication roles I’d been applying for. Yet, my former boss saw fit to offer me an opportunity back then, and I ran with it.

I’ve since evolved into an experienced marketer, and I continue to work at growing my knowledge of the craft.

But even though my story ended favorably, I can’t shake the memories of my difficult career transition. In particular, a question from those harrowing days continues to haunt me.

Why were so many so afraid to give me a shot?

Was I expected to be a prisoner to my resume? Was my career path anchored by my college major? Did my decision to switch roles paint me as unmotivated or unreliable?

It’s impossible to know for sure. But based off of what I experienced, I’d have to believe the answer was Yes. Or at least Maybe.

And many others stuck in The Unknown Paradox would likely say the same.

This is both ironic and problematic.

Our eligibility for opportunities should not rest on our initial choice of career path. We make those decisions when we’re teenagers — lacking in maturity, adult experience and real-world decision making expertise.

We rarely get it right the first time. Often, it’s because of that wayward experience that we gain the skills needed to get it right the second time.

Yet, gaining that second opportunity is exceedingly difficult when we’re banished to the penalty box for being off the mark with our initial career choice.

This confounding Catch-22 is bad enough. But The Unknown Paradox also sends the message that grit and initiative have little real-world value.

It’s a message that’s as confounding as it is demoralizing.

Those seeking the opportunity to make a change are likely the most motivated to bust tail if given a chance to begin anew. Freezing them out is shortsighted and counterproductive.

And, of course, this all taps into another conundrum: Gatekeepers demanding experience from opportunity-seekers without providing the opportunity to obtain said experience.

Add it all up, and the Unknown Paradox closes doors to more opportunities than risks. It’s a net negative.

It’s time to end this wasteful cycle.

It’s time to stop demanding tried and true. And to embrace energized and new in its place.

For the current system isn’t working the way we intended.

The safe bets, the reliable choices — they can end up far from extraordinary. Those great skillsets and track records can all too often disintegrate into a pool of apathy.

And the more we hitch ourselves to this decision-making model, the further our society is pulled into the quicksand of lethargy.

We need a boost. A shock to our collective system to drag us away from the abyss.

This jolt lies within those who have the courage to change. With those who have the guts to put themselves out there and risk everything for a more fulfilling future.

The people who do this might not have the proven attributes we’re looking for on paper. But they have initiative, grit and heart.

These are attributes that can’t be taught. But they can be invaluable to have on our side.

They’re worth opening a door to. They’re worth braving the fog of the unknown to find.

It’s about time we did so.

Bridging the Gap

Differences.

They’re a constant in life.

The way we experience daily life differs from the way others do. What’s matters to us might not be of concern to them, and vice versa.

This gap is as wide between Denver and Dakar is it is between South Central LA and Beverly Hills. And it can be as present amongst our neighbors as it is amongst those further afield.

The freedom some of us might take for granted is far from certain for others. And we are blissfully unaware of the fear others face taking on what might seem to us to be mundane tasks.

These experiential differences often exacerbate divisions between corners of our society. They can provoke radical movements, some of which can turn ugly and violent. And they can serve as a barrier to unifying solutions.

This final effect is perhaps most concerning. For while our society increasingly values productive collaboration over The Self Made Man these days, it’s hard to work together without common understanding. And it’s hard to find common understanding without knowledge of differing perspectives.

To bridge this gap, the prevailing wisdom is to take a walk in someone else’s shoes. To live as others would live. To see the world from their eyes.

This is what Baba Amte did in India. A lawyer by trade, Amte encountered a leper on the side of the road one rainy night. Amte ran away in horror, but later returned and comforted the dying leper. Then he created a lepers’ colony and moved his young family to it — even though none of them had leprosy.

This is also what Daryl Davis did right here in America. Davis, a black blues musician, met with Ku Klux Klan leaders and attended their rallies. He took these actions so that he could understand the perspective of Klan leaders — even if some of those perspectives shook him to his core.

(Thank you to Mark Manson for sharing Davis’ story in a recent article.)

Of course, not all of us have the commitment or courage to do what Amte and Davis did. Indeed, it was quite dangerous — possibly even reckless — for these men to do what they did.

But we don’t necessarily have to walk in another’s shoes to understand a new perspective. Sometimes all we need to do is take a run in our own.

At the start of a sweltering summer day, I prepared for my pre-dawn run.

These early morning jaunts through my neighborhood have become a staple of my workout routine in recent years. During the stifling Texas summers, they’re a borderline necessity. When the sun rises, so does the risk of heatstroke if you’re exerting yourself.

Yet, this time as I set out, I did something peculiar. I left home without a shirt.

The previous time I had gone running, I found myself sweating through my shirt. Even with temperatures at their lowest point of the day, and the sun well beyond the eastern horizon, the midsummer night air wasn’t exactly refreshing.

So this time, I decided to run shirtless. What can it hurt? I asked myself. It’s dark out anyway.

I made it to the halfway point of my run, and made the turn for home. But moments later, a pickup truck traveling in my direction slowed down and started pacing me.

As I turned my head to the left to see what was going on, the driver rolled down the window closest to me. He hollered Keep it up. Then the truck sped off.

This incident completely freaked me out. And the last mile of my run that morning seemed to take forever.

By the time I got back home, I resolved not to run without a shirt again. I’ve stayed true to my edict, and I’ve yet to encounter any incidents like that again.

What was it about this incident that left me so badly unhinged?

Well, for one thing, I did not appreciate the unwanted attention I received. If a woman on the sidewalk had hollered the same thing to me this male pickup truck driver did, I would have been just as freaked out.

I was not seeking to get noticed that morning — or anytime I go running.

Sure, I might wave to passing runners. But otherwise, I’m in my own realm. I abhor being recognized, unless I’m in the path of a passing vehicle.

But there was something more that bothered me.

As I replayed this odd situation over and over in my mind, I kept asking myself the same questions.

What if this pickup driver had a gun? What if he had ill intentions he was hell-bent on acting upon?

These are odd prospects to consider. But so is a pickup truck pacing a runner on a road before dawn.

This is exactly the type of scenario that can lead to a drive-by shooting, or an abduction. And while there was no rational reason for those fates to befall me that morning, immoral actions are all too often irrational.

As I thought of these prospects of foul-play, I recognized just how vulnerable I was in that moment. I had hardly any recourse to protect myself. And that realization was terrifying.

Yet, as unnerving as my running incident was, I realized it would have been even worse for others.

For I am a white man. The chances of bad fates befalling me are relatively low.

Sure, I could end up in the wrong place at the right time. There’s always a chance I might get robbed, or get injured in a car accident. If I drank alcohol or hung around bars more, I would also increase my chances of something bad happening.

But by and large, I can go through my day carefree.

If I were black, Hispanic, Arabic, Asian, or Indian — well, sadly, I wouldn’t be able to say the same. If I was running without a shirt and happened to be one of these ethnicities, I would likely have been on high alert from the word Go. If noticed a pickup truck pacing me, my first instinct might have been dread, not confusion. The tension I would feel would be instant and palpable.

And if I were a woman of any ethnicity in this scenario — in a sports bra or fully-attired — the terror meter would be up to 11. There have been enough stories of women being abducted during early morning runs that many have abandoned the practice entirely.

In fact, the thought of venturing out alone at night alone — for any purpose — can terrify some women. There have been too many nefarious stories to make even a few steps under the stars seem prudent without a can of pepper spray or a firearm.

I’ve encountered this trepidation firsthand. When I worked evenings as a news producer in West Texas, some of our female reporters occasionally asked me to walk out of the building with them at the end of my shift. This made them feel safer then venturing into the parking lot alone.

I always obliged — not because I knew their fear firsthand, but because I empathized with the fact that it existed.

I still can’t say I know the fear women, or men of other ethnicities, face in these instances. But the more I think about my running incident, the more I recognize how paralyzing it must be.

And the more I want to do what I can to eradicate it.

Bridging the gap in our perspectives and experience doesn’t require the drastic odysseys of Baba Amte or Daryl Davis. It doesn’t require getting yourself into scenarios that unveil our vulnerabilities, as I did.

It only requires two things: Understanding and action.

We must be able to understand that what seems mundane to us might be terrifying to others. Even when we cannot internalize the fear ourselves, we must be aware of its presence.

And with this knowledge in mind, we must act to protect those who face these terrors.

We’d be well-served to believe women who come forward as victims of abuse. We’d be well-served to hold police when they put the lives of unarmed minorities in danger.

When walking down on the street, we’d be well-served to look upon those who look different than us with friendliness, not scorn. We’d be well-served not to stare at women based on the contours of their bodies or the dearth of their attire.

We won’t always get it right, of course. Incidents between police and citizens can be complicated, and sometimes unarmed minorities might not be innocent bystanders. Some women who come forward with accusations might have an axe to grind, instead of a true story of victimization. Some of the people we encounter on the street do indeed have nefarious thoughts on their minds.

But these edge cases are not, by themselves, significant enough for us to burn all bridges of understanding. They’re not prevalent enough for us to sever all hope of a more united, connected tomorrow.

The truth remains: There are plenty of people with innocent souls who must contend with paralyzing fear, day-in, day-out — simply because of the rotten way the world treats them for how they look.

Our collective assumption biases shatter innocence, sow division and provoke tragedy. It’s a poison pill for progress.

Yet, there is another way. We have the power to change our perspectives, and reshape the future.

We must do so.

Plasticity

How malleable are you?

It’s an important question.

It implies that flexibility is paramount. That shifting our perceptions can be advisable.

Depending on the context, this may indeed be true.

Surely, we’re expected to know more toward the end of our lives than we are at the start. After all, we’re not born with the capability to chew solid food or lift up our heads. We don’t start school knowing how to solve algebra problems or structure prepositional phrases.

We must be able to adapt as we grow, so that we can add these abilities to our tool chest.

Whether ingrained through nature or through such imposed structures as the school system, we’re compelled to get from Point A to Point B. To transform ourselves from drooling babies to fully-functioning adolescents.

Yet, once we turn 18, the compulsory rigor is up. We’ve long ago willed ourselves to walk, talk and get dressed. We’ve gone through the ringer of 12 years of schooling. And we’ve finally stepped out from the shadow of our parents and guardians when it comes to ownership of decisions.

We’ve come to the end of the line. Any future opportunities to expand our minds are on us.

It’s a strange time for this demarcation. Although our bodies are nearly fully developed, our minds are not.

In many ways, we are at our most vulnerable. Our brash egos hide the overwhelming fear that lies within us.

We know nothing about responsibility from an adult perspective. How could we? We’ve spent our entire lives to date with a protective blanket bolstering our evolution.

So, we overcompensate by emboldening ourselves. We drive fast, act dumb and chase lust over love. We make the mistakes befitting of our immaturity.

Then, eventually, we see the error of our ways. And step by step, we change.

We settle down. We mellow out. And we take a broader, more mature perspective.

Or, at least some us do.

Indeed, this is where the issue of malleability comes in to the picture.

Theoretically, those who are malleable will have the courage and the humility to make the changes needed to act more responsibly over time. The others will stick to their adolescent principles, remaining irresponsible and short-sighted over the long haul.

There’s a clear imperative. Embrace malleability, or else.

Yet, there is such a thing as being too malleable. Of not having any principles to stand behind.

This too can present a problem. For in the pursuit of such overwhelming change, we risk losing our identity entirely. And in doing so, we risk losing ourselves.

As such, I prefer to consider adaptability by a different name — plasticity.

Plasticity implies maintaining a solid core, yet adapting our exterior to meet our surroundings. It means expanding our capabilities without sacrificing our personality. It means staying true to our principles in a way that betters those around us.

I find this delineation critically important. For it holds true in my own experience.

Like many, I was not ready for prime-time when I turned 18. Sure I felt like I was mature enough at the time, but I was only deluding myself. I had no idea how to act properly, from a social, psychological or financial perspective.

A recent visit to my college campus made this abundantly clear. As I walked the brick paths, memories came flooding back. All followed by the refrain I was so young and stupid back then.

How did I get from that point to where I am today? Slowly and methodically.

As I trekked through early adulthood, I came across new experiences and inherited new responsibilities. I had to adapt to meet these new expectations, handling each scenario in a context-specific way.

My core essence remained the same. But my outward presentation varied depending on the situation.

Sometimes, I equipped myself properly to handle the new scenario I faced. Other times, I fell on my face.

Either way, I gained experience and perspective. And this helped me act more conscientiously and responsibly as my adulthood progressed.

There’s no doubt in my mind that plasticity is the concept that best describes my evolution over the past several years. I haven’t so much grown as diversified.

And I believe plasticity applies on a wider context as well.

It explains the theory of having one self, rather than being our best self. We can adapt our mindset to unlock achievement, happiness and fulfillment. Yet, we don’t need to sacrifice our core essence to reach these results.

It explains the theory of selfless action. We can make our principles our tools, yet let our plasticity guide our endowment of those tools to help others ahead of ourselves.

And it explains the theory of growth mindset. We can allow our minds to expand, and new perspectives to factor into our decisions. All while remaining true to our personality.

Ultimately, that’s what life’s about. Being adaptable to the rise and fall of the tides, but having the backbone to stand tall in unrelenting winds.

Plasticity makes this all possible. We’d be best served to embrace it.

Unselfish

There’s a poignant moment from my childhood that still resonates with me.

It comes from the early 1990s. I was 5 years old at the time.

My family had returned from our first extended vacation — several weeks camping up and down the coast of Maine. My aunt and uncle were over at our home to hear the stories of our travels and look at the pictures we took.

(Yes, it’s hard to imagine now. But in a time before smartphones and social media, these types of social engagements were commonplace.)

It was a beautiful late summer day, so we soon found ourselves in the backyard. We had a new wooden playset that had been installed earlier that year, and I hopped on the single swing anchored to one end of it.

For the next several minutes I laughed exuberantly as the swing went forward and backward. I felt the breeze as I went back and forth, our home getting closer and then drifting further away.

Soon enough, my sister — who was 2 at the time — asked if she could ride on the swing. I said no; I was having too much fun to give it up.

“Now, Dylan,” my uncle said. “Don’t be selfish. How about you give your sister a turn after 10 more turns of the swing?”

I agreed, and he gave the swing a push. Suddenly, I was flying back and forth, the swing taking a much wider track on its pendulum motion. I could feel the wind under my knees, and my jubilation was reinvigorated.

Now, there was no way I was getting off the swing.

Sure enough, after the 10 back and forth turns of the swing were up, my sister asked to ride the swing again.

Actually, it might have been after 15 turns — she had not yet mastered the art of counting.

But either way, when she asked, I once again refused to give her a turn.

My uncle was disgusted. He walked away from the swing set, exclaiming “That was mean, Dylan. You’re being selfish.”

And being the 5 year old brat I was, I responded by repeating the word selfish over and over. It’s as if I treated the term as a badge of honor.

After a few moments, I noticed that my aunt, my parents and my sister had left the playset area too. I was being abandoned for my bad behavior.

I hopped off the swing and went to join them, acting as if nothing had happened. Yet, my uncle continued to admonish me for being stubborn and selfish. He insisted I apologize to my sister for not sharing the swing set.

After a few moments, I did apologize. And that was the end of the incident.

The rift was closed, and we moved on with the afternoon.

Why, then, am I writing about this story more than a quarter century later?

Because that one moment forever changed my approach to life.

 

Selflessness is one of my most prominent qualities these days.

I make this claim not from a place of aspiration or ego. I base it instead off what others have said about me.

And while I’m not preoccupied with what others think of me, I will admit it’s humbling to see one of my core values being recognized.

In my career, my business school studies and my volunteer work, I’ve striven to put others first whenever possible. I might not be shipping off to remote villages in Africa to fix world hunger, but I also don’t spend every waking second looking out for #1.

My philosophy is simple: Help others succeed, and we all benefit.

As I’ve pointed out on Words of the West before, I don’t view the world as Zero Sum. The joy and success of those I care about reinvigorates me and brings me happiness in turn. Putting myself second to help them attain these results benefits everyone.

I did not always think this way. The swing set story makes that fact self-evident.

Yet, I can point to that incident as my spark for this movement. It was the moment I learned the true power and importance of selflessness.

Growing up, I idolized my uncle. I still do today.

My uncle is a renowned surgeon and researcher. His work has helped save the lives of many cancer-stricken patients. His commitment to training and teaching will help a new generation of surgeons and researchers save countless more lives.

These are accomplishments I will forever admire him for.

But back when I young, I admired my uncle for other reasons. He was in medical school back then, and he and my aunt didn’t have any kids of their own at the time. So, whenever we’d visit them — or they visited us — my uncle would spend a lot of time with me. It was an attention-seeking kid’s dream.

My uncle was even-keeled. He was cool and collected, not exuberant. Even so, he was fun to be around.

The last thing I wanted to do was let him down.

Yet, that summer afternoon on the swing set, that’s exactly what I did.

That was one of only two times I remember my uncle being visibly disappointed in me. (The other was when I stepped on a sharp shell at the beach as a teenager and blurted out a certain four-letter word.)

It stung.

I remember asking my parents what selfish meant that evening. And why that word upset my uncle so much.

It was then that my parents taught me about the importance of sharing. To be sure, they had told me about this several times before. But this was the first time it really sank in.

And from that day forth, I started to change.

I didn’t suddenly turn into a beacon of selflessness — I only was 5 years old, after all. But any time I did something self-serving and got called out for it, I would hear a voice in my mind. It was my uncle, saying “You’re being selfish.”

Step by step, year by year, I progressed toward my present-day mantra. I gradually came to see the value of helping others succeed, and I came to espouse it.

The funny thing? Even after transforming my outlook and reorienting my life, my uncle’s words from all those years ago still guide me.

Because truth be told, I still slip up a lot. There are plenty of times I find myself on the precipice of wholly self-serving decisions.

Whether the result of fatigue, multitasking or a lapse in judgement, I often find myself preparing to take an action that benefits me disproportionately at the expense of others.

Yet, when I’m on the brink of making a selfish mistake, my uncle’s words are there to save me.

You’re being selfish. Don’t be selfish.

They force me to pause and reevaluate. They encourage me to make a better decision. And for that I am thankful.

Yes, my uncle is a great man. He’s saved many lives, and the work he’s done will save many more. And in the smallest of ways, his timely words have helped to save mine.

I believe we can all benefit be being more selfless. I believe there’s an inherent advantage to putting others first and helping our communities thrive.

It’s less glamourous than pampering ourselves and basking in self-adulation. It flies in the face of the me-first zeitgeist sweeping across mass media and social media.

Yet, it builds stronger bonds with the people around us. It provides us the catharsis of making a tangible, positive difference. And most of all, it’s just the natural thing for us to do.

We’re meant to work for a cause bigger than ourselves. To build connections with the world around us and work toward a common goal.

Like the buffalo on the Plains from days gone by, there is strength in numbers. But this collective strength is only realized we take our ego out of the question and strive for a goal bigger than ourselves.

We might not be there yet. We might be the kid who refuses to give up the swing, as I once was.

But we can change. We can work at it, day by day. We can transform ourselves to meet an ideal truly worth our aspirations.

Let’s get to it.