Month: June 2020

Forests and Trees

Vision.

It’s perhaps our most vivid sense.

We process the world through pictures. Through color. Through light and through shadows.

Vision facilitates our memories. It keeps snapshots of the faded past crystal clear in our minds.

Vision captivates our dreams. It makes these experiences so lifelike that we mistake them for reality.

Vision even crosses the void. When darkness sets in, our other senses kick into overdrive to compensate for what we now cannot see.

Yes, vision is essential for how we interact with the world. From the days of cave paintings to the modern day, it’s been a central part of our narrative. It’s served as a universal language.

And yet, much still gets lost in translation.

The view from my patio is leafy and green.

Not far from the railing — maybe 10 feet away — there is a large canopy of trees. And as I sit on my deck chair and take in the fresh air, the branches and leaves of the nearest tree extend out toward me, like a set of olive branches.

I love this view. It provides shade during the scorching days of a Texas summer. It provides a screen from the curious gaze of neighbors. And it provides solace from the noise and distractions that otherwise clutter my life.

And yet, this setup has its drawbacks. The trees rob me of the chance to gaze across the vast landscape. To feel the radiant warmth of the late morning sun. To ponder what lies beyond the horizon — or even see the horizon at all.

Fortunately for me, there are areas within walking distance that provide me such opportunities. But even then, there are tradeoffs. I must leave my leafy perch behind and venture out into the world.

I must decide whether to gaze upon the forest or look at the trees.

Details matter.

They might not shine like a marquee light. But they resonate.

Sure, you try and can go without them. You can stumble through life without paying attention to the little things. You might even get away with it, for a time.

But eventually, such brazen disregard for the details carries a hefty price.

So, I don’t risk it.

Yes, I have long obsessed over details. I’ve soaked up information like a sponge. I’ve looked carefully before I’ve leapt.

I’ve dumped my own health data into spreadsheets and crunched the numbers. I’ve read reviews before making a purchase. I’ve called service providers to make sure I understood how the fine print would impact me.

These habits have stemmed from my obsessive-compulsive nature, and my low tolerance for risk. But they’ve also plugged into a larger pattern.

For our society is addicted to detail.

Detail provides us the edge we need to thrive. And it provides the roadmap to live out our fantasies of perfection.

So, we follow its guidance.

We internalize adages like Take care of the little things, and the big things will follow. We make those words our ethos.

But all our efforts ring hollow.

We’re still missing part of the picture.

Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat.

This line is widely attributed to Sun Tzu, an ancient Chinese military strategist.

Phrases like these fill book called The Art Of War. That text is ostensibly about military strategy. But it’s found a far wider audience in the modern world.

In the face of fierce competition, business leaders, politicians and enterprising individuals have all flocked to military texts like The Art Of War. They’ve scoured the words of legendary tacticians, searching for translatable takeaways.

And of all the takeaways, these eight words stand our most of all.

For if we fail to consider the bigger picture, the details don’t matter. The minutia become meaningless.

We must get a glimpse at the entire forest to get a true understanding of the trees.

Some years back, I took a gondola ride up the western face of the Sandia Mountains, near Albuquerque. I had read that Sandia Peak had the best view of the city, and this was the best way to get to it.

The ticket was expensive for a gondola ride. As I boarded, I discovered why.

The gondola ride was not billed as transportation. It was meant to be an experience.

Trips were listed as flights. And a tour guide spoke with riders throughout the journey.

As soon as I heard the guide’s boisterous voice on the intercom, I rolled my eyes and tried to tune him out. This was not something I’d signed up for.

And yet, about halfway up the mountain, the tour guide pointed out something I couldn’t ignore.

Do you see that tiny black speck down there? he asked. That’s actually boulder the size of this tram car. 

I was floored. It was hard to imagine that something that appeared so tiny was actually larger than me.

The mental calculus hurt my brain. Years later, I still wince while trying to wrap my head around that fact.

That moment on the gondola encapsulates the relationship between the forest and the trees.

The 30,000 foot view provides context, but so does the ground-level perspective.

In moments of strife, we put blinders on.

We narrow our perspective, honing in on what can help us to survive the moment at hand. We consider our next move, in hopes of eradicating the threat — both now and in the future.

We focus solely on the trees.

Such a focus can help us to survive a brief shock. It can provide a lifeline in the wake of a storm, an attack or the loss of a job.

But if the struggle persists, everything breaks down.

Our laser focus makes us rigid. Our lack of perspective prevents us from adapting to our new reality.

And so, we endorse radical solutions. We turn to answers that may help in a pinch, but might have disastrous long-term consequences.

But this pattern cannot sustain itself.

Long-term crises require a dual perspective solution. They require us to focus on the forest and the trees.

We can’t just throw the most radical solutions at distressing disruptions — such as pandemics or recessions. There’s only so much runway for such stunts.

No, we must take a different tact.

We must first consider the overarching vision, the bird’s eye view. Then — and only then — can we descend into the particulars with an actionable plan.

Putting this plan into action requires a lot of it.

It means exploring the gray areas between the extremes. It means promoting sustainable behaviors. And it means thinking three steps ahead — even as the future remains wildly unpredictable.

This is hard work. Uncomfortable work, even.

But with so much at stake, we can’t hide from it.

So, let’s broaden our minds and widen our perspectives. Let’s not choose between the view of the forest and that of the trees.

Each should have its place on our plans.

Let’s make those plans a reality.

Faded Glory

It was so much better back then.

This is the great lament. The pang of regret, of longing, of melancholy nostalgia that eats at many of us from time to time.

When the present seems uncertain or uncomfortable, it’s all too natural to look backward. To rewind to a moment that seems more familiar and less scary. To gaze upon the shiny glow of that moment and believe in its superiority.

But as the saying goes, All that glitters is not gold.

When I look at the world around me, I tend to take the long view.

After all, the structures around us are built to last. Highways, homes and infrastructure have been designed to stand the test of time. And the average life expectancy in the developed world is going up too.

Yes, there are notable exceptions to these standard measures. But on the whole, things seem to be designed for the long-haul. And so, I focus on how we can continue to better ourselves over an extended time period.

But even as I stare toward the horizon, I’m keenly aware of what lies 6 inches from my nose. The short-term might not be my main focus, but it still matters.

In recent times, that fact has been more evident than ever.

A dangerous virus has forced us to upend our patterns of social interaction. A recession has left millions without an income. And longstanding tensions from race relations and political divisiveness have threatened to boil over.

The sun may still be shining in America. But it’s been hard to feel the warm glow.

As I’ve watched the short-term outlook deteriorate, I’ve found myself yearning for better days. Not in the uncertain future. But in the distant past.

I’ve found myself nostalgic for the 1990s.

The 1990s. What a time it was.

I was only a kid back then, but I recall things being harmonious. There didn’t seem to be as imminent threats out there. And there didn’t appear to be as much division and despair as what’s commonplace these days.

We could just live back then. At least that’s the way I remember it.

But take a wider view, and it’s clear that my rosy memories of that era are incomplete.

For one thing, there was still plenty of division. It was just underground. The Internet as we know it was in its nascent stages. And with no social media channels or smartphones, it was all but impossible for the divisive bickering of that era to reach today’s levels of public consciousness.

For another thing, there was plenty of despair to be found. While the United States government was running a budget surplus, unemployment numbers were often still above 5 percent. Plenty of people were poor, hungry and without a path to a better tomorrow. The angst that bands like Nirvana channeled in their music those days was real.

But these facts weren’t hitting me in the face at that time. For I was in a middle-class household under the care of  attentive parents. I was insulated from the darkness of those days.

Well, mostly.

My family did get the print version of the New York Times. And on my way to scanning the sports section, I would see the front page headlines.

The partisan bitterness during President Bill Clinton’s impeachment trial. Instances of racial profiling amongst the New Jersey state troopers. The horrific murder of James Byrd, who was chained to a pickup truck by racists in rural Texas and dragged for nearly three miles.

I would look at these stories in horror. But after a day or two, the routine of life would kick in — school, homework, family dinner — and I would forget all about the ugliness that lurked all around me.

There is no blissful ignorance. Not anymore.

Recent events have laid bare the disharmony of life. The gulf of distrust between us. The presence of vile hatred in pockets of society. And the inequality of opportunity.

In the past several years, we’ve been asked to part with our rooted assumptions. To change our behavior in order to promote equity and ensure safety.

We should be up for the challenge. After all, this task has been asked of us for the entirety of the millennium. Or at least since the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks.

And yet, we’d still rather escape to a rosy memory than tackle the beast in our midst.

Even as that rosy memory remains illustrative fiction.

Hindsight may be 20-20. But the benefit of clarity comes at the cost of context.

It may be easy to look back on a previous era and call it friendlier. But if we could hop in Doc Brown’s DeLorean and travel back there, the situation on the ground would look much different.

I may be look happily on the 1990s now. But truth be told, I wasn’t all that happy back then. I was saddled with anxiety and battling depression. My joyful memories help hide the acute pain I felt in that moment.

And I wasn’t alone. Plenty of people with more life experience than me were also miserable. And they yearned for an era that had passed them by. Even in the afterglow of the Iron Curtain’s collapse, many didn’t feel the present was a step forward.

This pattern has continued to perpetuate. In the social media age, people like to brand each year the Worst Year Ever. This branding stuck in 2009, when Michael Jackson died unexpectedly and a recession decimated the economy. But such a moniker also stuck in 2010, 2011, 2012, and so on.

In the fog of the moment, we are incapable of finding the right does of perspective. And that can become a major problem.

The moment now facing us is unprecedented.

It’s uncomfortable to have to abandon such hallmarks as social interaction or in-person entertainment. It’s disconcerting to think that a trip to a grocery store could ultimately kill us. And it’s excruciating to stumble through the mist with no idea when this moment will be over.

Just about no one is looking at this era with a smile on their face.

But we can do better than seeking an escape.

We can search for the silver linings. We can build for a brighter future. We can focus on our actions and mute our laments.

We can reshape our situation in a manner we can be proud of for years to come.

Nothing’s stopping us from doing this. Nothing but ourselves.

So, let’s break free of the hamster wheel.

The past might be comforting. But the present is still being written. And the future is up for grabs.

Let’s seize the moment.

Living With The Enemy

I was at my kitchen table when a heard a muffled sound.

It was that staccato of something bumping into a thin piece of metal.

As if by instinct, I turned my head to the left to investigate. My gaze shifted upward to find the area the sound was coming from.

As my eyes reached the track lighting near the ceiling, I found my culprit — a large yellow jacket.

I was instantly paralyzed with terror.

There are few things in life that I fear. Strangely enough, mud is one of those things. (That’s a story for a different time.) But wasps are certainly another.

Wasps are aggressive flying creatures. They have a painful sting. And they often set up nests in areas that people access.

As far as I’m concerned, wasps represent an impending disaster.

And so, as spring approaches each year, I am on guard. I have pest control on speed dial as I head out onto my patio. I walk gingerly as I approach blooming brush or dense wooded areas.  For my nemesis could be lurking anywhere.

But this time, the enemy was inside the gates. I was trapped with a wasp, inside my own home.

What was I to do?

I sat there, motionless. Meanwhile, the wasp swan dived from the lights onto the stainless steel door of my refrigerator.

The insect was oblivious to my presence. It calmly rested on the metal.

As I watched it apprehensively, a thought came to my mind.

Leave it be.

I couldn’t believe myself. Was I really going to let something I feared take over my sanctuary like this. Had I gone mad?

But the yellow jacket was leaving me alone for the time being. I could at least try and do the same.

So, over the next hour or so, I followed through on my uneasy truce. The wasp and I co-existed in my home — it on the refrigerator door, me at my kitchen table.

But eventually, the wasp tired of its perch. It flew around the kitchen for a bit before landing on a doorframe. And at the moment its wings took flight, the fear came coursing back through my veins.

So, I spring into action.

I got a can of Raid, cornered the yellow jacket, and shot the spray at it. The wasp fell to the floor and stopped moving.

I didn’t have remorse for what I did.

After all, I’d removed all manner of pests from my home before — even the ones that didn’t fill me with terror.

But as I swept up the wasp and disposed of it, I thought of my initial instinct — the one telling me to leave it be. I considered how I had tried to conquer my demons, and to live with the enemy.

What had inspired me to make such an attempt? Was I going soft? Had I lost the will to take control over my own home?

No, I had not. Deep down inside, it seemed I know what I was doing all along.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

This is a bit of wartime wisdom, perfectly encapsulated in the film The Godfather, Part II.

Proximity to the enemy can yield abundant intelligence. And abundant intelligence can lead to effective strategy.

This is why guerilla warfare has had such a long run of success. Instead of facing off on an open field, guerillas can lurk in the midst of their enemies. They co-exist — at least until they have enough of an advantage to strike.

There is still risk in this confrontation. Casualties remain likely, if not inevitable.

But when compared to continual, open conflict, guerilla warfare can prove more effective and efficient.

And it all starts with the willingness to live with the enemy.

As I write this, we are in the midst of a crisis, as our health is threatened by a lethal virus.

It’s tempting to seek to attack this issue head-on. Or to hunker down until all the danger has passed.

But such tactics are not sustainable. For a virus cannot instantly be stamped out or indefinitely be waited out. It evolves over time.

And so, we must learn to coexist with it. To recognize that its presence might continue in the short term, even as we seek to eradicate them in the long term.

Ideally, we can avoid direct conflict with the virus through this arrangement. But some risk will still remain present.

Even so, that risk is likely far lower than it would be under less sustainable tactics.

Months after my encounter with the yellow jacket, I climbed into the back seat of an SUV.

I had dropped my vehicle off to get repaired. And now, I was getting a ride back to the shop to pick it up.

But as the SUV went into motion, I heard a rustling sound. I looked across the back seat and spotted another yellow jacket. It was exploring the window guard on the other side of the vehicle.

This was all disconcerting enough. But moments later, the wasp flew right by me and nestled on the top of my window guard.

The wasp couldn’t have been more than 10 inches away from my face, and I had no way to elude it. There was no can of Raid to save me this time.

I had no choice but to confront my fears. I would need to live with the enemy.

And so, I sat there for five whole minutes, doing my best to ignore the insect. I was projecting calm — all while quietly freaking out. Each turn in the road had me worried that the wasp would get agitated and sting me.

But it never happened. The wasp minded its own business.

By the time I got to my destination, I felt triumphant. I had committed to living with my fears. And this time, I managed to avoid breaking that commitment.

 

We can all make the same commitment.

The commitment not to hide from the dangers all around us. Or to charge recklessly right toward them.

But instead, the commitment to pause. To seek out a more sustainable path. And to take it.

It’s a subtle power, this power of restraint. But that doesn’t make it any less resonant.

Yes, our enemies may lie in our midst. But if we play our cards right, they can bring out the best in us.

Righteous Resonance

There’s nothing I could say.

Chances are, these five words have crossed our mind on occasion.

For no matter how outgoing or socially adept we are, there are instances where communication fails us. Where words seem wholly inadequate.

This could be at moments of great elation. It could be at times of extreme shock. Or it could be in periods of profound sorrow.

I remember being speechless in the aftermath of 9/11. I recalled the events of that day viscerally. And yet, I felt powerless to put those memories into words. It took more than a decade before I was finally able to share my story.

I don’t regret taking so long to find my voice. After all, I had been mere miles away from major tragedy — one which was unfolded during the age when I was most emotionally vulnerable. Trauma like that doesn’t just come out in the wash. It takes its time to heal.

But there have been other times where I’ve stayed quiet. Like so many others, I’ve had moments where I determined I couldn’t understand what others were dealing with. Moments where I stopped trying. Moments when I mistook absenteeism for action.

Those instances are far too frequent. And they fill me with regret.

 

Several times I week, I go for a run through my neighborhood before dawn. I devote my days to my profession, without fearing it will drive me to a hospital bed. And whenever I venture out of my home, the worst outcome I might face from a law enforcement officer is a speeding ticket.

These might seem like normal activities or expectations. But they’re actually signs of privilege.

I am not wealthy. But I am a man of great fortune. And while I enjoy the advantages this brings, I do so with great guilt.

For there are so many who have been dealt a brutal hand. Who have seen their lives threatened by two insidious cornerstones of our society — medical disease and racism.

These two strains poison the well of equity. For they each cast an uneven burden — one indiscriminately and another full of discrimination.

Both medical disease and racism can tear families apart. They can deny opportunities. And they can exacerbate the divides between us.

Those of us who haven’t experienced this devastation have no reference point for it. There’s no way to know how it feels to live with the weight of injustice crushing us. There’s no way to simulate what it’s like living in constant fear.

We are living in an alternative reality. The connection is lost. And with it, our empathy.

So, we delude ourselves into silence. We determine we have nothing useful to share with the afflicted, and we slowly fade into the background.

Often, we make such moves under the guise of respect. We determine that it would be improper to inject ourselves — and our privilege — into another’s suffering.

But there’s hardly anything more disrespectful than remaining quiet.

As I write this, both medical disease and racism are top of mind in our society.

They have both been present on our shores for more than 400 years. But they haven’t always captured our collective consciousness the way they have now.

For the events of recent months have been tragic.

A lethal virus has swept across America, claiming more than 100,000 lives and decimating minority populations. And a spate of incidents involving law enforcement and vigilantes has left several unarmed African-Americans dead.

The veil has been lifted on these systemic problems. And yet, those of us not directly affected by this round of devastation are falling back into old patterns.

We’re convincing ourselves that since we can’t relate, we can’t help. We’re focusing on saving face instead of saving lives.

I know these patterns because I’ve lived them.

As the virus intensified, I stayed silent — even as the reports of death poured in from coast to coasts. Then, as a spate racial violence spurred widespread protests, I kept myself muzzled.

But gradually, I came to my senses.

I checked in with my friends of color to see how they were, and how I could assist. I spoke candidly about inequity and my subtle role in perpetuating it. And I vowed to make changes in my own life that would make the lives of others that much less difficult.

All of these gestures were small. But they were far from trivial.

For instead of passively observing the problem, I was actively trying to be part of the solution. Instead of obsessing over words, I was putting my weight behind my actions.

These actions won’t bring back those who have already been lost. And on their own, they’ll do little to change the state of affairs.

After all, I am just one dot on a map. One data point out of 300 million.

But if more of those dots take the same small steps, it will build a movement. A movement that can support the more boisterous one making the headlines. A movement that can lead to a better future.

Lasting change doesn’t come from a singular voice.

Government officials, faith leaders and scientists might provide us with the tools to enact change. But it’s on us to take the ball and run with it.

Martin Luther King Jr. gave us the dream to end centuries of legalized segregation. Jonas Salk gave us the means to defeat polio.

But if the people hadn’t adopted Dr. King’s message, the Civil Rights Movement would have died in obscurity. If the people hadn’t taken Dr. Salk’s vaccine, polio would still be rampant today.

Not everyone who advocated for civil rights had to sit on the back of a city bus. Not everyone who got the polio vaccine had to watch a loved one wither away from the disease.

But they leaned in anyway. And they helped the world change for the better.

Now, as we face new challenges among familiar fronts, we should follow the path they blazed. Instead of focusing on what to say to make things better, we should focus on what we can do.

Regardless of our background, we have the chance to make a difference. Our actions can yield righteous resonance.

But all of this can only happen if we allow it to.

So, let us not be silent.

We might not have the perfect words to bridge the gap. But our actions speak volumes.