Month: April 2021

Going Dry

It was a work of art.

A perfect glass of whiskey on the rocks.

The distiller’s name has evaded my memory. But the smooth taste of the libation has not.

I finished one glass, and then another. Then, I paid my bar tab and went back to my hotel room.

I haven’t touched alcohol since.

As I write this, it’s been more than three years since I tasted that whiskey. Technically, I could say I’ve been three years sober. But I struggle to use that word — sober — to describe myself.

For the way I parted with drinking doesn’t match the sobriety stigma. There was no killer hangover, no devastating hospital diagnosis, no trail of collateral damage to force my hand. I was able to coordinate my own exit.

In this case, it meant saying farewell to alcohol at The Happiest Place On Earth — Disney World. I’d traveled to Orlando for professional training right after New Year’s Day. And with lodging and transport taken care of, I decided to make Disney World my last drinking hurrah.

So, I spent an evening sampling a drink from each of the country pavilions at Epcot — beer in Germany, baijiu in China, a margarita in Mexico. A couple of nights later, I had those two glasses of whiskey at the hotel bar. Then, that was it.

One month without alcohol became two, then three. While I had said my break from alcohol would be temporary, I began to reconsider that stance.

I was having nightmares about returning to drinking. And the anxiety about falling off the wagon overshadowed any lingering desire for whiskey or beer. So, I made my split with alcohol official.

I wasn’t going back. But moving forward would prove tricky.

America and alcohol go hand in hand.

Our obsession with drinking dates to our nation’s origins. Many colonial settlers came from England and Scotland — two regions with a legacy of brewing and distilling. And while these settlers dumped tea into the Boston Harbor in protest of a tax, we’ve long paid surcharges for booze without much complaint.

Our relationship with alcohol has not always been healthy. There are tales of liquored-up outlaws going on rampages in the Old West. And the rise of the automobile has led to an epidemic of drunk-driving deaths.

But our only national temperance effort backfired spectacularly. While Prohibition was the law of the land in the early 1900s, bootlegged liquor operations and speakeasy bars flourished. Organized crime outfits benefitted from this boom, and the collective love of libations only deepened.

Humiliated, the government repealed Prohibition in 1933. It had become clear that alcohol, for all its problems, would remain entrenched in our society. Indeed, many of our cultural norms — from dating to celebrating the new year — continue to involve sharing a drink.

When I decided to abandon this legacy, I found myself on treacherous footing.

Social life became surprisingly complex. I would often end up in alcohol-laden settings, turning down drinks left and right. And as I did, I faced incredulous questions from those around me.

How could I just swear off drinking? And why was I doing this if there I was not facing a crisis?

I knew why these inquiries were headed my way. My actions were unconventional.

Family, friends, and acquaintances were all trying to be respectful of my decisions — all while saving face.

Even so, the questions upset me.

I was feeling better than I ever had. And yet, time and again, I found myself on the defensive for the choices I had made.

I started withdrawing from social life to give myself a break. And when I did find myself in mixed company, I started announcing my aversion to drinking upfront.

It was draining. Demoralizing even. Then, a global pandemic hit.

Suddenly, social gatherings weren’t happening. And neither were the uncomfortable questions.

This was a relief at first. Even as my anxiety was soaring, this was one area where I could find a bit of solace.

Yet, as the months dragged on, I started to yearn for social life again. And now, as we emerge from the pandemic tunnel, I’m ready to reengage.

I just wish I could do so without being put on trial for going dry.

Behind every lifestyle choice we make is a mission.

My mission for going dry was to be mentally present for each moment of my life.

I didn’t get obliterated all that often in my younger days. But those times that I did still gnaw at me.

Losing control of my thoughts and actions was distressing. And the potential implications were terrifying.

By purging alcohol from my life, I wouldn’t have to worry about ever driving drunk. I wouldn’t need to concern myself with the harmful words I’d later forget ever having said. I wouldn’t be filled with humiliation after making a fool of myself.

These are all positive outcomes — both for myself and those around me. And yet, all too often, I feel like a pariah for choosing this path.

It shouldn’t be this way.

After all, plenty of people don’t drink alcohol. Some avoid imbibing because of their faith or their demons. Others make an active choice to abstain.

No matter the cause of our decision, we deserve better than to be cast into the shadows. We desire a kinder fate than the stain of scorn. We demand the benefit of the doubt in its place.

Social acceptance need not hinge on filling our bodies with poison. Irresponsible behavior need not be boundlessly lionized. And the implications of inebriation need not be ignored.

Yes, drinking will continue to be an important part of our society, our economy, and our culture for generations to come. But there can — and should — be room at the table for temperance too.

I yearn for that possibility.

I long for the day when sobriety is not a loaded term. I pine for the moment when the intricacies of social life are no longer dominated by what’s in our glass.

We are not there — not yet. But with a little more empathy and open-mindedness, we can be someday.

So, the next time you hear someone calling themself sober, don’t assume they have problems. It could just be that they have solutions.

Running On Empty

I’m just not feeling it today.

How many times have you said something like this? Plenty, I’m sure.

We’re not on our A-game all the time. There are instances where we’re out of sync. There are moments where we don’t feel up to the task.

This has been true since the dawn of humanity. And it will continue to be true for generations to come.

And yet, the ways in which we handle such instances have changed in recent years.

I’m just not feeling it has morphed into a code word. It’s become an invitation to abandon the task if we’re not at our peak.

Such a strategy has become widely accepted. It’s even celebrated.

But should it be?

The greatest ability is availability.

Football coaches live by this quote. But applies far beyond the gridiron.

Just as the most legendary athletes have a penchant for staying in the game, the most accomplished among us tend to remain in the action.

That means showing up, even when we’re not at our best. It means giving our all, even when we know we don’t have much left to give.

It means running on empty.

Such a concept often gets a bad rap. It conjures images of bluffing our way through a task. It amplifies the concerns of burnout.

These unsavory outcomes can occur when we run on empty. But they’re only one part of the tapestry.

Many people can run effectively on empty, without the side effects. A mix of preparation and passion can help them sail through, even when they’re not at 100%.

A famous example of this comes from Michael Jordan. The legendary basketball player was already a four-time world champion in June 1997, when his Chicago Bulls battled the Utah Jazz in the National Basketball Association Finals.

The teams had split the first four games of the series, setting up a pivotal Game 5. But on that morning in Utah, Jordan woke up severely ill. Instead of joining the team for the morning practice, Jordan stayed in his hotel room for much of the day. He only arrived at the arena an hour before the game. And he looked incredibly frail.

No one would have faulted Jordan for sitting out the game. But he suited up anyway — and he ended up putting on a performance for the ages. Jordan poured in 38 points, including the game-clinching basket. The Bulls went on to win another championship two nights later.

The “Flu Game” has become an indelible part of Jordan’s legacy. It proved that even when Jordan’s speed, strength, and stamina were stripped away, he could still get the job done. This was a testament to his athletic fundamentals, his competitive spirit, and his love of the game of basketball.

While we might not be Michael Jordan, we also have the ability to make an impact when the odds are stacked against us.

Not long ago, business people routinely battled jet lag to give important presentations halfway around the world. For generations, blue-collar workers have been able to put in long hours, even as their bodies ached. And for millennia, parents facing the roughest of days have managed to remain superheroes for their children.

Of course, these people would much rather be at the top of their game. But when they’ve found themselves far below that level, they’ve adjusted. They’ve been able to run on empty.

A few months before Michael Jordan’s “Flu Game,” I woke up with the stomach flu. After I made a mess in the bathroom, my mother held me out of school.

It took me a couple of days to recover, and I was miserable the whole time. I loathed the fatigue and nausea, of course. But I despised the feeling of helplessness as the world droned on without me.

When I made it back to school, I set a new goal for myself. Perfect attendance moving forward.

And by and large, I managed to achieve that. Over the next decade or so, I only missed a handful of school days. And hardly any were due to illness.

I wasn’t always at my best. But I showed up anyway. And I feel I was better for it.

These days, such a sentiment rings hollow.

Wellness has become a buzzword. And technology has allowed us to filter our persona to our heart’s desire.

Showing up on both the good and bad days no longer has cachet. If anything, it’s viewed as a waste of effort.

Now, not everyone is on board with this airbrushed reality. Some have rebelled against it, rallying behind the phrase If you don’t love me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best.

But even this saying is off-kilter. It implies that we should treat mediocrity as an ideal. And that just isn’t true.

Michael Jordan persevered in that “Flu Game” in Utah. But I’m sure he would have much preferred to be at full strength.

The same goes for any of us when we run on empty. We’d prefer a full tank, but we make do with what we’ve got.

It doesn’t take special talent to pull this off. All it takes is a bit of pride in our craft. And a commitment to stick with it through thick and thin.

Our tanks are all empty now.

After a year of illness, job loss, and isolation, we are a shell of what we once were.

It can be tempting to wave the white flag at a time like this. To hibernate until a brighter day emerges.

But such desires are foolish.

There is no escape from what we’ve experienced. The trauma is shared, and it permeates all corners of our existence.

We will only find the light if we do it collectively.

We must stop clinging to the ideal. And we must engage with what’s real instead.

We must run on empty.

Sure, this might feel awkward. But that discomfort is a hurdle we must clear to reach our destination. There is no other way.

So let’s stop bowing out when we’re not our best. Let’s stop looking for the emergency exit at every opportunity.

Running on empty is a feature, not a bug. It’s time we use it to its potential.

The Opinion Trap

Who cares what others think?

How often have we heard someone ask a question like this? Plenty of times, probably.

This question is rhetorical. The implied answer is that we shouldn’t take too much stock in what others have to say.

At first glance, this seems like well-intentioned advice.

After all, there are plenty of people out there, each with their own opinions. If we pander to the crowd, we lose a sense of ourselves. Or worse, we become co-opted by the views of others.

Better for us to promote our individuality. Better for us to wave off the background noise. Better for us to have faith in our own abilities.

And indeed, in a vacuum, such single-minded confidence might work.

But we don’t live in a vacuum. We live in the real world.

High school is an uncomfortable time. And yet, it can be an illuminating one.

Our bodies are transforming. Our minds are going through turbulence. And our social status is still being sorted out.

High school is the first time we’re faced with a real decision. Do we roll with the cool kids or linger among the outcasts?

It’s a cruel dilemma to be thrust upon an adolescent mind. For each decision has steep costs.

If we strive to be cool, we abandon our sense of individuality. We become an embodiment of the views and values of others.

But if we embrace our individuality, we find ourselves banished to the shadows. We miss out on many interactions with our peers. We risk the sting of loneliness at a time when we are ill-equipped to weather it.

My own high school days were marked by the tension between these fates.

I had already switched schools three times by the time I was 14, and I was aware of how difficult it could be to make new friends. Becoming a cool kid would appear to be my best path forward.

But many of my classmates were from a different background than I was. Plus they were much more outgoing than I was able to be.

So, I tried to split the difference. I joined the baseball team, and I sat near the popular kids as they held court at lunch. But otherwise, I retreated to my own world.

This approach did little to ease my angst. And although I met one my closest friends during high school, I don’t tend to look fondly on those days.

But perhaps I shouldn’t be so harsh. Maybe I shouldn’t consider the adolescent social status gauntlet as crude.

As it turns out, it’s a great primer for what comes next.

There are many definitions of adulthood. But the one I find most telling is The point at which one is self-sufficient, independent of their parents or guardians.

Yes, adulthood depends on self-sufficiency. And in a capitalist society, that means taking advantage of opportunities to financially sustain ourselves. Landing a steady job, selling enough of a product, or raising sufficient capital are three common ways to get there.

But where do those opportunities come from? They come from other humans.

Whether they’re representing a company or they’re simply consumers, other people are the linchpin to our success. Self-sufficiency is nothing more than a misnomer.

The fate of our future relies on the opinions of others. On their willingness to give us a chance, to provide us financing, to stick with us through thick and thin. This much is unavoidable.

But what of our credo of self-belief? What of our pledge to tune out what others think? How do we reconcile this contradiction?

I call this dilemma The Opinion Trap.

There are two main ways to confront The Opinion Trap. We can lean into it or we can attempt to escape it.

Those who lean in tend to follow the well-worn path. They actively seek the favorable opinions of others — particularly those who will provide them the opportunities they require. This might mean attaining certain educational milestones to stand out to hiring managers or working extra hours to impress their supervisors.

Such work can pay dividends. But it also diminishes the value of these individuals’ beliefs and opinions.

By contrast, some people have sought to escape The Opinion Trap. They’ve broken out from the corporate cycle and set off as entrepreneurs. These nonconformists are steeled by an intense belief in themselves. They’re determined not to let the views of others impact their fate.

And yet, on their way out of Dodge, many budding entrepreneurs are horrified to find The Opinion Trap lurking in their luggage.

Indeed, for their venture to take root, they need funding and a consumer base. And attaining both of those depends on the favorable opinions of others.

The Opinion Trap is insidious. And it is unavoidable.

If I were to pinpoint the moment I became an adult, I’d say it was the day I left my childhood home at age 18. But it wasn’t until I was 25 years old that I was financially self-sufficient.

My parents helped support me in college. And when my first job didn’t pay enough to cover my rent, my parents generously helped with the difference.

I was grateful to my parents for supporting me as I sought my footing in the world. But I also had aspirations of being self-sufficient.

So, when I exited the news media and moved across Texas, I was elated. Finally, I’d be able to sustain myself.

Then, I ran into the rough side of The Opinion Trap.

What I thought would be a two-week job search ended up lasting three months. With media experience all over my resume, I applied for a bevy of media relations and corporate communications positions. I figured this would be the most logical step forward.

But the opinions of the hiring managers filling those roles were unanimous. I was not qualified.

I will admit that these rebukes took me to a dark place. I had always believed in myself, but now I was questioning that faith. Was I really worthless all along, and was this just now coming to light?

Fortunately, I was able to get off this escalator before it hit rock bottom. Someone took a chance and offered me a digital marketing position. I didn’t know a thing about marketing at the time, but I got myself up to speed quickly. I’ve been in that industry ever since.

But even with the success I’ve seen, I’ve never fully recovered from that job search. My bouts with Imposter Syndrome — already prominent during my news media days — have only intensified. And I am continually worried that I will fall out of favor with the key decision-makers in my career.

With all this in mind, I’ve leaned hard into The Opinion Trap. I’ve taken on new responsibilities to stay in the good graces of my superiors. I’ve improved my customer service techniques to earn the trust of my clients. And I’ve gone back to business school to fill any perceived gaps in my marketing training.

These choices have paid dividends. But they leave the fate of my career — and my livelihood — squarely in the hands of others. If I run afoul of them in any way, I could end up out in the cold.

I have to live with that.

One way I do this is by escaping The Opinion Trap in all other aspects of my life. When it comes to my hairstyle, my exercise regimen, or the way I spend my free time, I rely solely on my own opinions. Even Words of the West is a venture where I follow my own nose. (Although the trust you put in me, dear reader, does loom large.)

For me, such a divide is necessary. It allows me to control the way I live my life, even if the way I sustain such a lifestyle relies on the good graces of others. That’s a compromise I can live with.

It’s on all of us to find a version of the middle ground that best suits us. To reconcile the importance of both outside perceptions and our own style. And to reconcile both in a healthy manner.

There is no clear roadmap for this objective. We’ll each need to find our own way forward through trial and error.

It’s daunting. But it’s the only way to keep The Opinion Trap from eating us alive.

So, let’s step to it.

The Failure of the Fourth Estate

I entered the newsroom on a mission.

It was my first job after graduating from college. My first time interacting with the big, bad world of adulthood. And I was as idealistic as I was young.

I viewed my new role as an evening TV news producer in West Texas with purpose and responsibility.

I would be providing information to improve the lives of my station’s viewers. What could be more important than that?

Sure, I had heard the doubters and the naysayers. The ones who stated that news was nothing but garbage. I was determined to prove them all wrong.

The path to this objective turned out to be a jagged one. I had my fair share of bumps in the road.

There was the time I bungled some breaking news. There was the election night coverage felled by a graphics mishap. And there was the time my boss chided me for featuring too many crime stories.

But I learned from my mistakes. I iterated. I improved.

By the time I left that job, I’d figured out how to handle breaking news. I’d successfully produced an election night newscast — during a presidential election year, no less. And I’d diversified my news coverage beyond a parade of mugshots.

Ultimately, my desire to stay in the media dwindled, and I left the industry behind.

Yet, I never blamed the media for my decision to leave it.

I never questioned the devotion of the reporters, anchors, and producers who poured their hearts into their work. I never questioned the integrity of journalists who often brought home smaller paychecks than Walmart associates. I never believed the claims of bias and corruption from the naysayers.

For years, I would continue to defend the media against all comers. But those days have come to an end.

The Fourth Estate.

It’s an old term for the role of the media. So old, in fact, that many have not heard of it.

The term comes from eighteenth-century England. In those years, there were three estates of British society: the clergy, the nobility, and the commoners. The press — the Fourth Estate — disseminated information between all three.

Of course, the colonists in North America didn’t think much of this system. They broke away from England, forming a nation that separated church and state. They also removed the formal distinction between nobility and commoners in favor of representative democracy.

And yet, the fledgling nation left the Fourth Estate intact.

The role of the media has been cherished ever since America’s earliest days. Journalists have been given the liberty to disseminate information and hold power to account. And they’ve been largely protected from censorship.

Journalism has chronicled the growth of this nation. It has helped expose corruption. And it has even restored our dignity at times.

But it also has an insidious side. And that element has never been more apparent.

March 2020 was a surreal month.

A deadly virus spawned a global pandemic. And in America, life as we knew it abruptly stopped.

As Americans sequestered themselves, many turned to the news for assistance. With so much fear and uncertainty percolating, the Fourth Estate would be our truth-teller.

But the truth we were provided came with an angle. A dark, insidious angle.

As the lockdowns set in, there were endless reports of overrun hospitals. There were harrowing tales of medical professionals reusing contaminated protective gear. And there were the chilling images of refrigerated trucks acting as makeshift morgues.

The sights and sounds of the first wave were jarring enough. But as we sought further guidance, the media provided us with little reassurance.

The point of the lockdowns had been to limit interpersonal contact. Public health officials believed this would keep the virus from spreading and hospitals from getting further overrun.

Journalists seemed to latch onto this message. And, as we sought guidance for everything from getting exercise to grabbing groceries, the media pounced.

There was the example of the young woman who defeated the virus, only to drop dead after a run. There were all the tutorials about the safest way to scrub down groceries. There were all the other anecdotes of someone doing something menial and ending up on a ventilator — or worse.

The underlying message was supposed to be clear. Stop trying to play the angles. Follow the public health guidance. Stay home. Stay safe.

But the grizzly examples used to drive this point home were outliers. And they painted an alarmist picture, causing undue dread. Even I, the media veteran, had a panic attack after scrubbing down groceries.

There was no denying it. The Fourth Estate had failed us.

Back in 1906, the media changed forever.

That was the year muckraking journalist Upton Sinclair published The Jungle — an insider account of conditions inside meatpacking plants.

The revelations in that book were horrifying. So horrifying, in fact, that they led to a spate of new regulations on both factory labor and food processing.

By showing how the sausage gets made, Sinclair had reformed major swaths of society. He had proved that the media could do more than bear witness. It could affect positive change.

That revelation proved true, time and again. It was the media that exposed the Watergate Break-In. It was the media who showed police brutally beating civil rights demonstrators in Alabama. It was the media who held the government accountable for its bungled response to Hurricane Katrina.

Each of those bombshells had us looking on in horror. But the collective outrage forced our country to move forward.

And yet, I don’t view Sinclair’s work as a net positive. At best, it was a mixed success.

For while The Jungle might have ushered in a new age of investigative journalism, it introduced a new element to the mix.

Sensationalism.

No longer was reporting the facts satisfactory. To be sensationalist, the story had to spark emotion.

After all, that’s what the reader — or listener or viewer — wanted. That’s what would grab their attention and keep them coming back for more.

There is no doubt that the media became more sensationalist in the 20th and 21st centuries. If it bleeds, it leads has been a well-known adage for years. And when I was cutting my teeth in the news industry, I was constantly told to find stories with a good hook.

But now, in the wake of a global pandemic, it feels like media sensationalism has hit reached a tipping point. The overpromotion of cautionary tales and the incessant parade of gloomy headlines has crushed the psyche of millions. It hass heightened anxiety, sowed distrust, and even led to despair.

In fact, I believe our society will emerge from this pandemic worse off than we could have been, thanks to the work of the media.

I’m not the only one with these views. A scholarly article from the National Bureau of Economic Research identified a negativity bias amongst journalists. And even The New York Times took note of its findings.

I found some of the explanations for this phenomenon to be lacking. No, people don’t want incessant negativity in the stories they encounter. If they did, Disney films would never have become a commercial success.

But the main point of the research still rings true. The media has failed us with a barrage of sensationalism. They’ve exploited our emotions too many times. And they’ve left a trail of psychological concerns in their wake.

The Fourth Estate has failed us.

It’s time for the media to change its tune.

It’s time for journalists to treat readers, listeners, and viewers with the dignity they deserve. It’s time for the industry to recognize the damage caused by playing to emotions. And it’s time for the media to handle that power responsibly.

The Fourth Estate can be great again. For our sake, it must.