Month: April 2019

Failing vs. Failure

What does it mean to fail?

Probably not as much as you think.

There is a stigma out there against failing. A common narrative that those who fail are not worthy of our praise and attention.

This stigma makes it seem as if there is only one viable option in life — succeeding. That failing is the worst thing that can happen to us.

It’s a silly proposition, really. All you need to do is crack open a history book to see that some of the world greatest success stories failed repeatedly before finding their glory.

Thomas Edison might be renowned for inventing the light bulb. But he also spearheaded a bunch of other inventions that didn’t make it.

Michael Jordan redefined professional basketball. But before that, he got cut from his varsity team in high school.

Even Abraham Lincoln — the honest, even-keeled man who led America through some of its most tumultuous years — lost his first political election.

Failing early on did not derail these legendary figures of history. If anything, it helped fuel their later success.

Why? Because they knew the difference between failing and being a failure.

 

It’s a seemingly minor difference. A shift of three little letters. But the gap between failing and failure is anything but inconsequential.

One term defines the experience of missing the mark. The other lets that experience define you.

The shift from failing to failure has nothing to do with our innate skills. It has nothing to do with our finely-tuned talents. It has nothing to do with our ability to execute.

But it has everything to do with what lies between our ears.

You see, to err is human. Even as we doggedly chase perfection, we recognize it’s more nirvana than reality.

We fall on our face dozens of times as we learn how to walk. We strike out our fair share in Little League as we learn to knock it over the fence. We get questions wrong in class as we learn what exactly it is we do not yet know of.

These failings are part of an iterative process. They’re the journey to an uncertain destination, the steps to a yet unknown summit.

But only if we allow them to be.

We might not be able to control the outcome. But we can surely control our outlook.

As a noted control enthusiast in a chaotic world, I’ve long maintained that we have control over exactly two things — our attitude and our effort.

Managing this properly is key to succeeding after failing.

Many of the world’s greatest success stories took their failings and owned them. But they didn’t let missing the mark define them.

No, they had the confidence to be resilient in the face of adversity. They had the courage to try a little harder, dig a little deeper and dream a little bigger.

This process took them to new heights. It can even be said that failing helped drive their ultimate triumph.

So, it certainly appears that failing is not quite as awful as we make it seem.

Failure? Well, that’s a different story.

I am afraid of many irrational things. Chief among them is mud. (It’s a long story.)

But one of the most rational fears I have is a fear of failure.

I say this not because of my perfectionist tendencies or introverted nature. For despite those traits, I do not shy away from the opportunity to fail.

No, my fear of failure lies at a deeper level. It indicates that I’ve thrown in the towel, and given up on myself.

I don’t want to see that ever happen. Not once.

For accepting failure at face value is like closing a jailhouse door. It confines us and limits our potential.

This is far worse than failing, time and again. Branding ourselves as failures is like putting the final nails in our own coffin.

Branding ourselves a failure goes beyond being risk-averse. It means barricading ourselves from any avenue toward future success. It means sitting in the corner and feeling sorry for ourselves for eternity. It means simply taking up space, instead of making a difference in the world.

I don’t want to face this fate. That’s why I’m driven to give my all each and every day.

It’s why I continue to make bold moves where it’s pertinent. It’s why I remain encouraged by my small failings now and then — knowing that the bitter pill of today will only serve to make tomorrow sweeter.

Yes, my failure sustains me. It drives me and keeps me humble. It inspires me and balances me.

It’s a gift bestowed upon me. One that I am oh so thankful for.

If recognition is half the battle, let these words serve as a wake-up call.

It’s time we differentiate between failing and failure. And that we stop stigmatizing the former in accordance with the latter.

For while they may sound about the same, these terms are light years apart.

One is a powerful tool in our development. And another is the architect of our own demise.

We are foolish and shortsighted to paint these concepts with such a broad brush. By doing so, we limit our contributions to the world. We become sheep not lions.

We’re better than this. Deep down we know it.

Now, it’s time to show it.

Let’s embrace failing. But let us not accept failure.

The Correlation Fallacy

Did you know that the divorce rate in Maine and the per capita consumption of margarine are related.

It’s true.

Whenever one goes up, so does the other. When one goes down, same thing.

So, is margarine consumption a result of divorces in Maine? Do the prospects of court deliberations, split assets and alimony have Mainers running to the store for come Country Crock with their lobster dinner?

Not necessarily.

The Maine divorce rate-margarine consumption is a prime example of the adage correlation is not causation.

In other words, even if two things appear to be alike, they might not be related at all.

We’ve heard this time and again. Yet we continue to search for correlations, seemingly everywhere.

This has as much to do with innovation as anything.

With the growth of technology and the proliferation of big data sets, we have more raw records to peruse than ever before. More than we know what to do with.

There is no guidebook for turning this data into intelligible information. No rinse-and-repeat process to transform the data at hand into knowledge and solutions to make the world a better place.

With no roadmap to follow, we try to find needles in haystacks. We dive into the data, trying to find whatever relationships we can.

On the surface, this seems innocent enough. And it would be — if we were robots. Or Spock.

But we’re not.

We’re humans. Hot blooded, emotion-driven and filled with inherent biases.

A search for meaning is at the heart of our actions. We’re hard wired for this quest.

So, a simple dive through terabytes of data is actually a complex treasure hunt for causality. The objective: Find relationships that support our assertions and complete our narratives.

Instead of panning for gold, we’re data mining for affirmations. We’re finding whatever ammunition we can to support five words: I’m right and you’re wrong.

Those words are subjective. But with more access to data than ever before, we feel we have license to treat them as objective. Even if we must violate the correlation fallacy to do so.

This is how we end up with a world of alternative facts. A world of filter bubbles, chronic mistrust and divisiveness.

All because we refuse to abide by the rules of data assessment.

The world of statistics is filled with obscure names. While the dawning of America made the names Washington, Jefferson and Franklin renowned, fewer people know of Bayes, Boole, Pearson and Box.

The difference is as unsurprising as it is stark. One group of historic figures addressed its audience as We the People and spoke of Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. The other group came up with hypotheses and then rejected — or failed to reject — them using math.

One group did work that was invigorating and captivating. (Heck, they even made Broadway hip-hop musicals about it.) The other did work that was arcane and ambiguous.

It’s no surprise that we’re drawn to the narrative of the Founding Fathers over that of the Fathers of Statistics. The underdog story of how the United States came to be has spawned centuries of free enterprise, free speech and freedom to pursue the American dream. The story of statistics has left us running regressions in Excel and figuring out how Z-scores work on a normal distribution.

Yet, ideas and ideals can only get us so far. While it’s a blessing to live in a free society, it’s also true that hopes, dreams and $3 can get us a cup of coffee at Starbucks.

In order to thrive, we must be able to quantify our impact. Use of data is critical.

This is why the government has a Census every 10 years. It’s why companies and investors track their stock market performance. It’s why we monitor the number of steps we take when we exercise.

We are effectively data-driven. Particularly when something is up for debate.

When we need answers quick, there are few resources to turn to that are more universal than numbers. The strategy is simple: Pull the right data. Win the argument. Seize the day.

Yet, in our zeal to make data our Excalibur, we forget one key point. Statistics are not set up to be definitive.

On the contrary, they’re intentionally ambiguous.

There are too many strange factors out there — from freak occurrences to that which we cannot explain — for us to confidently say that a set of statistical equations can explain the whole world around us. It’s just not true.

The best we can do is point out which factors are related to — or correlated with — other factors. And then use that knowledge to make our arguments.

When we do this, time after time, we say we’re letting the numbers speak.

But the numbers are not speaking. Our inherent bias is.

By looking to settle a debate, we dive into the numbers with a narrative in mind. The correlations and relationships we find are those that either fulfill our narrative or reframe it in a way that still paints it in a positive light.

This is sleazy enough when it comes to matters of opinion. (Hence the issues with the filter bubble society we live in.) But it’s downright reckless when it comes to matters of healthcare treatment, financial wellness, security and public policy.

The decisions we affect in these areas have wide ranging implications. Whether our role is that of an industry professional, a politician, a journalist, a civic voter or something else, a subjective set of correlation analyses won’t cut it.

Yet, time and again, that’s what key decisions are made on. And we suffer the consequences, whether we notice them or not.

It’s time we break with this destructive pattern.

It’s time we stop treating statistics as our white horse, and correlations as our armor.

It’s time that we get some common sense.

When making key decisions, key arguments and key points, let us do more than hold blindly to the data.

Let us open our eyes and consider what’s going on in the world around us.

Let us consider opposing viewpoints, and how they might be valid.

Let us treat learning as discovery, not validation.

It’s only when we do all that that the data speak in volumes. It’s only when we do all this that the resulting decisions bring the most good.

Statistics are a powerful tool, but a delicate one.

Handle with care.

Origin Stories

It’s not where you came from, it’s where you’re headed.

You’ve likely heard this a time or two. Or something like it.

The idea is straightforward: Where we come from is insignificant.

There is no cap on our potential. With hard work, determination and a little luck, we can get where we want to go.

This idea is akin to an ideal. It’s aspirational. It’s uplifting.

And it’s not true.

In reality, we do care about where we came from. Our origin stories matter.

In every aspect of our lives — from family to food to entertainment to shopping, we are obsessed with origins.

Whether we’re traveling through the silver screen to Tatooine to meet Luke Skywalker in Star Wars, reading of Apple’s beginnings in a garage or learning of where the ingredients of tonight’s meal are from, the origin stories are a big part of the ride. Similarly, getting to know new people often means trading stories of where we came from and how we got here.

These patterns are inherently embedded. They’re why the three act structure of storytelling is so prevalent in movies, theater and TV shows. They’re why meeting a romantic partner’s parents is such a key milestone in courtship.

This is no accident.

Origin stories break down boundaries. They make us relatable. And they help forge emotional ties.

As social beings, we are wired for these types of interactions. Yet, we are also vigilant at fighting off the threats that might undermine our existence.

We’ve come up with an elaborate system to reconcile these opposing sensations. One where we separate the world into those we rely on and those we’re wary of.

The dividing line between these two segments is trust. We build social relationships with those we trust. And we try and avoid contact with those we don’t.

Trust is inherently valuable. And earning it is no easy feat.

It requires a series of consistent actions. It requires proof of selflessness. And it requires relatability.

The first two components can be achieved with a measure of persistence over time. But the third one requires something more.

It requires a massive dose of humility.

And there’s no better vehicle for that sensation than an origin story.

For no matter how powerful we might seem, our origins are derived from a place of vulnerability. We start the journey of our existence meekly, lacking the ability for self-sufficiency.

This is true no matter the circumstances of our origin. Regardless our ethnicity, nationality or socioeconomic class, our early days are ones of weakness. They’re the cocoon we metamorphize out of.

In many ways, these formative years are our greatest shared human experience. They’re the great equalizer we can all relate to.

Rehashing them can help us find common ground. They help us put our cards on the table and say Hey, I’m human too.

It might feel cringe-worthy to harken back to those early days. We might instead feel the urge to share with others what we have acute control over — our decisions, accomplishments and aspirations.

But there is power in the past.

The power of context. The power of introspection. And the power of connection.

This is the power that forges the strongest bonds. This is the power that can help us continue to grow and thrive.

It would be foolish to pass this potential up in the name of vanity and ego.

Yes, where we’re headed matters. But so does where we came from.

Never forget that.

 

The Art of Being Real

What objective are you striving for?

Is it to find greatness? To maximize fulfillment? To attain balance?

These are popular goals to shoot for in life. But my answer to this question is a lot less glamourous.

I strive to be real.

Each and every day, I seek to stay grounded by a singularity of purpose.

I tend not to sugarcoat things, or put on airs.

Instead, I say what I mean. And I do what I say.

The premise is simple. If people know what to expect of me, they can count on me to deliver.

The congruency of my words and actions builds trust. That trust speaks volumes. But it also keeps me on my toes.

For being real is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Once one gains a reputation of reliability, one is expected to maintain it.

Others expect me to be true to my word. And staying true to my word means staying true to myself.

This cycle keeps me grounded in reality. At least in theory.

In actuality, my sense of reality is different than just about anyone else’s. It’s inherently biased by my perceptions of my own experiences.

This contradiction is present everywhere I go, and on everything I touch. It’s perhaps most prominent on this website — Words of the West.

When I started this site, I labeled it as a forum where I would share my truth. Yet, that truth often belies the brand I’ve built.

The words I share here are not particularly western. These articles are not Cowboy Poetry, or the words you might find read at a Chuckwagon Roundup. In fact, many of them draw from my experience growing up along the East Coast of the US.

So, what gives? Why would I — someone who values being real — create a brand laced with inconsistency?

The answer has to do with aspiration. Words of the West is as much about the reality I seek to live into in the future than it is about the one I embrace today.

Let’s dive deeper into that statement.

In my view, there are three components of being real.

One component entails understanding your origin. It requires full awareness of where you came from, and how that shaped who you are today.

A second component entails understanding your surroundings. It requires awareness of the intricate web of context in the world around you, and how your actions will be perceived.

A third concept entails understanding your future. It requires the awareness that your reality today might differ from your reality tomorrow.

Unless we find ourselves running from a traumatic childhood, we can often reconcile with the first component. By the time we reach adulthood, we tend to understand how our origin impacted our perspective.

Yet, we often trip ourselves up on the second component. If we have a poor sense of self, we might spring ourselves into action without first considering the contextual consequences.

The words we say and things we do in these moments are impulsive. They lack a central underlying theme.

As such, we find ourselves with such unwanted labels as fake and two-faced.

A commitment to consistency can change this narrative. Aligning actions and words to a common line of thinking can help us build the social capital we need to be considered genuine and true.

This seems like the goal to shoot for. But we can, and should, go much farther.

For our reality will continue to evolve. And the more we can see around the bend, the better we’ll be able to stay on course through these changes.

This is what I’m seeking to do with Words of the West.

In my case, my origins are back east. My present reality is located physically in Texas and holistically within the context of modern American culture. And my aspirational reality — the reality I seek to achieve — that is what I write about each week.

Much like the west, the reality I aspire toward appears simple but is filled with hidden nuance. Its possibilities are wide open, yet its path is guided by a sense of morality. It tells its own story — one that appears grandiose but it never too big for its britches.

It’s the reality I dream of. But not the one that I’m ready to live into quite yet.

That awareness is what inspires me.

It motivates me to keep sharing my voice here. And it reminds me to stay true to the standards I’ve set for myself each and every day.

These objectives might not be glamorous. But they’re real.

And I wouldn’t want it any other way.