Month: March 2020

Document It

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.

Those are the opening lines of Charles Dickens’ 1859 novel A Tale Of Two Cities.

The novel covers a tumultuous period — the French Revolution. It was an era that preceded Dickens. But it was also one he encapsulated quite well.

Dickens was a master at finding the dramatic tension in any setting. He could extract a story from a loud moment, or even a quiet one. After all, he managed to turn the customary stillness of Christmas Eve into a page-turner.

But perhaps Dickens’ greatest skill was his most simplistic one — he wasn’t afraid to document the moment.

We tend to look at history through documentation.

This could be cave paintings, ancient tablets with hieroglyphics or crumbling Roman columns.

Recently, that documentation has been easier to access. Johannes Gutenberg changed the world with the invention of the printing press in the 1400s. Suddenly, works of communication could be mass published, instead of hand-written.

The treasure-trove of historical documentation has increased over the past 500 years. In fact, even Dickens would owe a modicum of gratitude to Gutenberg. Without his invention, there’s no way he would have been able to put out long-form content, let alone become one of the most widely-acclaimed writers of all time.

Yet, for all the documentation of recent history we can get our hands on, there is something missing — the perspectives of those in the fray.

We might watch musicals derived from the letters of Alexander Hamilton. We might learn the words to the Gettysburg Address. But those works come from the perspectives of the acclaimed. We know far less about how it felt, viscerally, as the American colonies became a nation. Or what it was like seeing that same nation plunge into a bloody Civil War.

The people on the ground in those eras surely felt the winds of transformation. But, by and large, they didn’t share their in-the-moment thoughts.

Some of that has changed in the last century. Anne Frank’s diary gave the world a heartbreaking inside view to the atrocities of the Holocaust. And the growth of home video equipment made it easier to record our reactions to transformative moments.

But we’ve only seen real progress on this frontier in the last 20 years.

In early 2011, a series of uprisings across the Arabic region caught the world’s attention. In countries from Morocco to Egypt and Yemen to Syria, people took to the streets to oppose authoritarian regimes. The movement would come to be known as the Arab Spring.

This was a fascinating development on its own. But it was even more intriguing given the way the world found out about the Arab Spring.

In many countries across the region, protesters shared their thoughts, ideals and perspectives on social media. Some shared video clips on YouTube. And as news networks started broadcasting images from the scene, the world gained a 360 degree view of what was happening.

Never before had we been able to document history in real time quite like this. Sure, media outlets have long been able to gather the facts of big moments. But they haven’t been able to fully capture the essence of those living the change.

That perspective is not theirs to document. For they are reporters and producers on assignment. They are experiencing the events from a degree of separation.

No, it’s up to those in the fight to document their experiences. In 2011, they did.

But the story doesn’t have to end there.

Sometimes I wish I could travel back to 1999.

I was a shy, submissive child back then. Far from the strong-willed, independent adult I am today.

I didn’t have a cell phone yet. Our family had just gotten DSL Internet. And I could count on one hand the number of times I’d traveled more than 500 miles from home.

Yet, life seemed simpler in 1999. People were trusting and approachable. The United States government was running a surplus. There were relatively few armed conflicts globally and the developed world seemed to be in harmony.

All of that would soon be shattered.

In less than two decades, the world has been shaken to its core by three major events. The first event was the September 11th terror attacks in 2001 — which jolted the United States and left aftershocks around the globe. The second event was the 2008 financial crisis — which disrupted economies on multiple continents. And the third event has been the COVID-19 pandemic of 2020.

As I write this, the pandemic has sickened more than 400,000 people worldwide, and killed roughly 18,000 of them. Close to 3 billion people have been officially ordered to stay in their homes — about 500 million of them in Europe and the United States.

These are frightening times, filled with anxious uncertainty. Across the globe, people are being isolated to slow the spread of the virus. Menial activities like shopping for groceries or walking the dog are now fraught with lethal risk. And millions of people have lost their jobs as businesses shut down.

It is a difficult era to be experiencing. But experiencing it we are.

Someday, this time of strife will end. The stringent rules and restrictions will be relaxed, and society will get back to some semblance of normalcy.

We will continue to carry the emotional scars of the pandemic — just as we still carry the scars of the 2008 Financial Crisis and of 9/11.

But those feelings will get buried under the rush of the moment. Soon enough, they will be all but forgotten.

Future generations will lose connection with the shared experience under the COVID-19 pandemic. News reports and statistics will only say so much.

Look at what we know about the last global pandemic of this scale — the Spanish Flu outbreak of 1918. More than a century of distance means that there aren’t people around with firsthand accounts of that experience. Much of what we know comes from newspaper clippings and photographs. And that means there’s a whole lot we don’t know as we navigate these rough seas.

This is tragic.

We should be taking the time to document our experiences, even during trying times. Especially during trying times.

There are not many other generations that have experienced what many of us have — three global security, financial and health crises in a 20 year span. What we’ve experienced firsthand is worth sharing.

I’ve long committed to share my experiences right here on Words of the West. I will continue to do so. And I’m keeping a daily diary of my time under de facto quarantine, which I hope to share with the world at some point.

Yet, I hope I’m not the only one.

After all, our excuses have evaporated. Technology makes it easier than ever to share our firsthand accounts. But only if we commit to action.

So, we move through life’s challenges and triumphs, let’s commit ourselves to being more than mere passengers.

Don’t just witness history. Document it.

On Uncertainty

Outcome unknown.

These two words can bring us to our knees and leave us screaming in agony.

We may consider ourselves resilient in the face of challenges. But such a characteristic is formed under an assumption of normalcy.

When that assumption is removed, we find ourselves in the wind. And that causes us strife.

There is no light at the end of the tunnel. And without such tangible signs of hope, we despair.

As I write this, the world is in the midst of its most severe health crisis in more than a century.

A lethal pathogen has made its way around the globe, causing a Coronavirus pandemic. This coronavirus is highly infectious, and it causes a potentially deadly respiratory disease.

The last time a pandemic of this nature spread worldwide at this scale was 1918. That’s when the Spanish flu infected more than a quarter of the global population. In the United States alone, more than 500,000 people died.

Much has changed since that time. Vaccines are prevalent today. Medicine has advanced. And we now can get critical information quickly over the Internet.

These changes have helped mitigate the damage of plenty of viral threats over the years — including a new outbreak of a similar flu strain in 2009. But they couldn’t completely rid us of them.

The risk of an untamed virus wreaking havoc on society has remained. And that risk has become reality.

With lives at stake and no remedy imminent, many global leaders have turned to the same solutions employed in 1918. Large gatherings —including religious services, concerts and sports events — have been banned. Bars and restaurants have been shuttered. Travel has been curtailed. Hygiene norms have been revisited. And quarantine measures have been employed — both for those ill with the virus and for those at risk of infection.

These measures have led to a moment that feels eerie and dystopian. Across the globe, normally bustling streets and public squares are empty. Financial markets are in freefall. Unemployment is up. And the short-term viability of many industries is uncertain.

This is all distressing. But the ambiguous nature of what comes next has been unbearable.

In the midst of the storm, there have been no clear answers about how long the risk will last. And it’s anyone’s guess when this period of mass isolation will end.

To be sure, society is better-equipped for moments like these than ever before. Thanks to technological innovations, millions of people can work or attend classes from home. Food and supplies can be delivered to our doors. And entertainment options abound on our televisions, computers and smartphones.

But all of that is cold comfort in an environment so ripe with uncertainty.

The existential threat provided by this virus could last for weeks. Or it could last for months.

That’s a long time for anyone to be caught in a lurch, filled with anxiety about what comes next.

There is a great amount of irony in these anxieties.

After all, uncertainty is a common staple of our lives.

We don’t know what each day will bring us, from opportunities to missteps. From the moment our feet hit the floor, we’re essentially flying blind.

Under most circumstances, we accept this ambiguity. We even embrace it — through our compulsion for gambling, our obsession with watching live sports events and our No spoilers warnings for movies we have yet to watch.

Uncertainty is a source of intrigue. It provides spice in our otherwise monotonous lives.

But it only works effectively when it’s contrasted with something we’re sure of. It’s only welcomed within the context of normalcy.

This normalcy could be the rules of a game, an event on a published schedule or other patterns that impact our behavior.

We know that the plane or train should depart at a certain hour. We know that our favorite sports team should only play a specified maximum amount of games in a season. We know that when we place our wagers at the casino, there are small odds that we’ll win big and overwhelming odds that we won’t win at all.

But in moments of crisis, this façade of normalcy can get stripped away. And all that we don’t know is made painfully apparent.

This turns uncertainty from a diversion into the main event. And we’re not equipped to handle such instances well.

Sure, we might appear to adapt to such sea changes after a brief transitionary period. But appearances can be fleeting.

Deep down inside, the continued ambiguity is tearing us apart. Emotionally and psychologically, we’re struggling.

After all, we are social beings by design. Throughout the millennia, connection has helped humanity grow and thrive.

Regardless whether we’re introverted or extroverted, our understanding of the world is defined by the experiences we share with others. When that understanding is turned on its head, we find ourselves in freefall.

We panic. We abandon rationality. And chaos ensues.

We see this every time an external calamity tanks the financial markets. We see it every time a potential disaster causes people to make a run on supplies at the grocery store. And we see it in hundreds of smaller-scale forums at the same time.

The downward spiral accelerates exponentially as uncertainty continues to linger. Society frays. Tensions mount.

Suddenly, that irony doesn’t seem so amusing.

Day by day. Moment by moment.

Those are truly the only ways to look at life.

For uncertainty rules the roost. There is only so much we can do to mitigate its effects. And all that mitigation stands up like a house of cards in a hurricane.

This blunt assessment might not be reassuring. But it’s needed.

For the more we grasp the illusions of normalcy, the more we set ourselves up to fall.

We must embrace life’s ambiguities. We must accept a reality that is full of unanswered questions.

And we must do all this, even as we strive to find solutions for life’s myriad mysteries.

Not much is granted in this world — including our continued existence.

We had better understand that, and adjust accordingly.

There is no other way.

Singles and Home Runs

Like a cat ready to pounce, I waited eagerly for the question.

I had read the case study and identified the big ideas it entailed. All I needed was an opening from the professor to share it with the class.

I normally wouldn’t be so cavalier in sharing such insights. I’m an introvert, more apt to stay silent than to toot my own horn.

But this was business school. Discussions like these were part of the fabric of the experience. And class participation was part of the grade.

So, I waited for my opportunity, and raised my hand when it came. When the professor called on me, I shared those big ideas I’d identified.

But the reaction to these insights was not what I expected.

Instead of affirmation, there was silence and bewilderment throughout the classroom.

Okay, the professor said, after an awkward pause. But what else did we learn about the company from the case study?

One by one, my classmates would speak up, repeating facts so clearly written in the text that a sixth grader could have shared them. And time after time, the professor would approve of their simple commentary.

Now I was the one bewildered.

Why were we spending so much time on obvious points? Was this really the best use of our time in class?

I had to be missing something here. But what was it?

I racked my brain for a while, until I came up with the only that seemed semi-reasonable.

I was going for home runs, not singles.

When I was growing up, I played baseball.

I was an outfielder on my middle school team. And I was on my high school’s Junior Varsity team for a season as well.

I didn’t play much, because I wasn’t very good. I had trouble running down fly balls. And when I threw the ball, it would tail off to the right.

But I wasn’t entirely a lost cause.

In fact, I got a hit in two of my three at-bats in high school.

One of those hits was a ground ball to the right side, which I beat out for an infield hit. The other was a soft line drive over the second baseman’s head that landed in right field.

These were the kind of results that would make star batters blush with embarrassment. If they were right-handed like me, they’d much rather crank a ball to left field.

But I was just fine with my two base hits. I was most comfortable extending my arms and serving a ball on the far side of home plate into right field. That was my natural swing.

I was a singles hitter. And that was alright by me.

Then again, this approach wasn’t going to get me a ton of playing time. And it wasn’t going to help me make the Varsity team in the future.

The prominent roles on both squads were filled by the impact players. By the kids who could hit home runs, not just singles.

Home runs guaranteed that the team would score at least one run. Singles only got the team one step closer to scoring a run.

(For those uninitiated with baseball, runs are the same as points or goals in other sports.)

In other words, home runs meant more.

I must admit that I envied my teammates who were impact players . For I was a scrawny teenager with limited athleticism and a long swing. I couldn’t easily relate to their abilities, as much as I yearned to.

There was one day when I got a taste, though. We were taking live batting practice, and a got a hold of a pitch. I watched the ball sail down the left field line, landing about 300 feet away.

It was exhilarating.

Wow, I thought to myself. I can actually do that.

But then, the next pitch came in. I took a swing and hit a weak ground ball to the right side.

Back to normal.

My time playing organized baseball is long gone.

And so, it seems, is my singles-hitter approach.

These days, I’m all too tempted to swing for the fences. To try for the bold and profound.

For I know all too well that the world can be a ruthless, competitive place. Hitting home runs seems like the best way to rise above the fray.

But is it? Probably not.

Swinging for the fences is the very definition of a high-risk, high-reward strategy.

The successes can be majestic. But the odds of swinging and missing are much higher.

At a single moment in time, this dynamic can provide a thrill. Just like gambling, the uncertainty and potential can enrapture us.

But our lives are filled with quintillions of moments. And over that large of a sample size, the failures of a home run strategy loom large.

It’s much better to consider the merits of the single.

I often speak of incrementalism. Even as I appear to be doing a poor job of practicing what I preach.

I’ve brought up this principle mostly as an antidote to the dangers of radicalism. As proof that taking a series of gradual steps can bring smoothly needed change to society.

But there is a second reason this philosophy holds water. It gets us to adopt a winning strategy when it comes to singles and home runs.

We are not following that winning playbook right now.

As the line in the old Nike commercial goes: Chicks Dig the Long Ball. Truth be told, we all do.

Going for it all — calling our shot and taking a mighty swing — this is more than brash expression. It’s the opportunity we see to swat our problems into orbit. To find a panacea and live happily ever after.

These urges are part of human nature. After all, who would rather keep suffering than find a quick cure?

But these desires are also self-serving. And with the home run strategy gaining mass appeal, this attribute can cause problems.

For what ails us might not ail others. And our instant cure might cause others collateral damage.

All too often, this is exactly what happens when we swing for the fences. And while the downstream impacts might be unintentional, that doesn’t make them any less catastrophic.

It’s time for us to get ourselves out of this downward spiral.

Let’s keep the line moving with singles, instead of going for the home run. This way, we can leverage the upside of progress, while minimizing exposure to the downside.

This might be tedious. And it might go against the grain of how others approach problems.

But it’s a move in the right direction. An approach that can pay massive dividends over time.

So, let’s kiss the long ball goodbye. It’s time for us to dig the base hits.

Sheep and Lions

In like a lion. Out like a lamb.

Growing up, I heard this phrase in school every March.

It was an old proverb about the change in seasons over the course of the month. A saying that illustrated the transition from winter’s frigid roar to the relative calm of spring.

It’s hard to take this proverb at face value. After all, different regions of North America experience the shifting seasons in different ways.

In California and Florida, winter fades away quietly. Indeed, the weather is consistently divine in both places throughout the month of March.

In Texas and Oklahoma, the opposite is true. The relative serenity of a southern winter devolves into the destructive chaos of severe storm season — where green skies, tornadoes and giant hailstones lurk.

Even in the northeast, where I grew up, the adage didn’t exactly go to plan. The late stages of March would approach, bitter and blustery, and I would wonder where this lamb was that we were promised.

But while this talk of lions and lambs might be stylized, it still has some substance.

For it’s not just about the weather. It’s also about us.

Words on a page are not always equal.

Sure, most have the same size, color and font. But some of them are louder than others.

And perhaps the most resonant word out there is Roar.

When we see those four letters in sequence, our pulse quickens. Our adrenaline starts pumping. And our horizons expand.

We don’t feel this way because we are all jungle cat aficionados.

No, we feel this way because that one simple word reflects what’s expected of us.

From our earliest days, we are encouraged to be lions. To be hungry. To be courageous. And to make our voice heard.

We are expected to lead. To boldly break new ground while furthering our ideals.

These demands can indeed become reality. There are definitely times when we charge ahead as if we are the kings of the Serengeti, hot on the trail of a herd of antelope. And there are certainly moments where we take bold steps onto unproven ground.

But those moments are fleeting.

Most of the time, we are far more likely to appear as sheep. We are more apt to stay with the pack. To choose the security of routine over the risk of possibility.

This fate befalls just about all of us at some point, no matter how ambitious we were at the outset of our journey. Our devolution is close to inevitable.

In like a lion. Out like a lamb.

What’s driving this phenomenon? What’s the magnetic force repelling us from regal lions to feeble sheep?

The answer isn’t clear-cut. But I believe much of it can be found within the structure of our society.

For those of us in the westernized world are trapped by the friction that lies between opposing realities.

On one hand, there is the social reality. Here, we are expected to be courteous and communal.

On the other hand, there is the economic reality. Here we are asked to be cutthroat and self-serving.

Our economic reality, in particular, demands a degree of independence. After all, we can’t be go-getters unless we have the liberty to do the going out and the getting.

But there is a limit to just how free we are.

Ultimately, the magnetic force of our social reality will rein us in. Like one of those retractable dog leashes, the tether of public perception will keep us from straying too far.

This might seem disheartening. But it shouldn’t be all that surprising.

By their very nature, social conventions are filled with rigidity and inertia. Change is met with skepticism, and revolution is met with resistance.

Tradition holds court. Even if it keeps flawed perspectives in place for generations.

We can scoff at this shortsightedness. But we’d be foolish to ignore its power.

For in a capitalist society, it is our social community that holds the purse strings. Our economic destiny depends on its support.

We must kowtow to communal influence. Otherwise, we might end up cast out of society, left destitute and starving.

There’s no way we can truly be lions in this world.

In a moment of crisis, where will you run?

It’s a difficult question. An unpleasant one, even. But the answer can be telling.

If we were to follow the edicts impressed upon us, we would charge ahead. We would run toward the danger. Like lions, we would boldly lead.

But instead, we tend to do the opposite. Like sheep, we tuck our tails and retreat.

There are sensible reasons for this, of course. Protection and self-preservation are chief among them.

But on a wide scale, the results of our apprehension can be catastrophic. Our society becomes a rudderless ship, devoid of the bold leadership needed to propel it through tumult.

These collective failings cut deep. And they can resonate for the long-term.

How can we expect to meet the challenges of tomorrow if the crises of today paralyze us into inaction? How can we find a way forward if we keep backtracking at the first sign of trouble?

We must adapt our ways if we hope to rise to the moment.

It’s time to redefine success.

The traditional measure — the ability to provide for one’s family — is too conservative. While this measure is important, it’s table stakes.

We can think so much bigger. And we must.

The challenges of the world today and tomorrow call for bravery. They call for determination. And they call for leadership.

We don’t have to tout radical ideas or accelerated timelines for disruptive changes to take on these challenges. In fact, we’re more likely to find success by being incremental.

But we do need to get started.

We must have the license to embrace the bold. We must be allowed to be lions.

So, let’s loosen our vice grip on the status quo. Let’s be accepting of the potential of a new normal. Let’s exude courage and strength, even in the face of uncertainty.

In with the lion. Out with the lamb.