Month: April 2022

State of Emergency

The sign on the subway train was unambiguous.

If you see something, say something.

Normally, this wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. The message would be swiftly forgotten.

But nothing about this moment was normal. America had just been attacked by terrorists, and there was an ominous feeling that an aftershock was coming. Vigilance was the best defense.

So, we all read the signs. We looked around the train car for anything suspicious. And we prepared ourselves to sound the alarm on the next terror plot.

The same was true when we walked down the street. An intense focus overcame us, and any semblance of trust faded away. Such was the modus operandi that was asked of us.

We were in a State of Emergency. And we were acting accordingly.

More than two decades later, those signs are still on the subways. But many of us don’t notice them anymore.

After all, most of the terrorists who attacked our nation are either dead or behind bars. And those aftershock threats we so feared? Our intelligence services shut them down.

We are no longer in a State of Emergency. And we are acting accordingly.

Now, this is not to say the threat is quashed. Far from it.

A series of terrorist attacks have happened abroad. New terror groups have cropped up, putting our society in their crosshairs. And a series of mass shootings here at home has elevated the issue of domestic terrorism.

Yet, we don’t follow the subway signs. We no longer look around anxiously on the while on the street. And if we do happen to see something, there’s a good chance we’ll keep it to ourselves.

Some might say this indifference reflects poorly on us. That it puts us at risk.

They wouldn’t be wrong for saying this. But it was always going to end up this way.

State of Emergency.

Those three words can send chills down the spine. For they represent a dystopian shock to the system.

You see, we experience a State of Emergency when something bad happens. A devastating terror attack. A paralyzing weather event. An economic collapse.

We must uproot our routines to navigate the moment. We must embrace the uncomfortable to see our way to the other side.

This is as true collectively as it is for us individually. And that shared burden increases our distress.

But a State of Emergency is temporary. Emergencies don’t last forever.

Eventually, the storm recedes. The attack ends. The economy bounces back. And we resume our regularly scheduled programming.

And if it doesn’t? If the associated disaster carries a long tail?

Well, we resume a semblance of normalcy anyway.

We must.

For emergencies tap into a specific physiological reaction — the fight or flight response. A perceived threat automatically launches this reaction within us, guiding us on a path to survival.

The fight or flight response is powerful in small doses. But it’s not feasible in perpetuity.

There’s only so long we can fight or run before our energy gives out. And even if we build up our physical endurance, the mental toll of fight or flight is too much to overcome.

So, emergencies need to be temporary — at least within the confines of our minds.

Periods of intense disruption must not persist. Even if the embers of the threat are still out there.

As I write this, we’re not long removed from a State of Emergency.

For two years, our nation has soldiered on under a patchwork of federal, state, and local regulations. These regulations responded to the growing threat of the COVID pandemic. And they impacted how we interact, travel, and work.

This moment has certainly felt dystopian. After all, we hadn’t lived in the shadow of a deadly pandemic before. And we had never seen our society so thoroughly shuttered.

And while our vigilance to the regulations has varied over time, it was almost universally strong in the beginning. Back then, the fear of a deadly virus was great and treatment for it was nonexistent. The stakes were too high not to act with extreme caution.

But now, the State of Emergency is over. COVID is still out there, and so are many local disaster declarations. But the regulations have fallen away.

Well, all except one.

The federal government had kept a mask mandate in place for all public transportation throughout most of the pandemic. And even as other regulations have come off the books, officials have continued to extend that mandate.

These extensions have increasingly diverged from reality. Indeed, with other regulations fading away, people have been able to go to the office, to a restaurant, to a school, or to a ballgame without restrictions. But once they set foot in a train station or airport, they’ve needed to cover their mouths and noses. The inconsistency was blatant.

And the rationale for these extensions from government officials has been even more head-scratching. Instead of referencing actual data, spokespeople mentioned buying more time for researchers to consider the risks of this moment of the pandemic.

Add it all up, and you have a policy in search of an imminent threat, rather than the other way around.

The federal government has done this before. The extensive security apparatus found at every airport in this nation is a permanent remnant of that terror attack years ago. The imminent threat of terrorism has faded from air travel. Yet, the precautions remain.

We are reminded of these precautions every time we head to the boarding area. Indeed, going through the security process can be extremely unpleasant, particularly if you’re flagged for additional screening. But once we’re through the gauntlet, we can enjoy the rest of our trip in peace.

By contrast, wearing a face mask for hours on end while traveling brings unpleasantness to a new level. Especially when such marks are not required in nearly any other public setting. With society opening back up, our faith in this holdover precaution is largely wearing thin.

But now, it seems we might not need to hold our breath anymore.

A federal judge recently put an end to the madness, striking down the mask mandate. Many have welcomed the ruling, with some gleefully ripping off their masks while in flight. Others decried it, even going so far to say that maskless travelers didn’t care about those around them. The federal government, for its part, signaled its willingness to appeal the decision.

Such variance in opinion is certainly welcome in a free nation. But it’s worth noting that the proponents of continued travel mask mandates are woefully out of touch.

Wearing a mask is not, and cannot be, a normalized activity. Breathing, talking, eating, and drinking are four necessities of our daily lives. Masks constrain or prevent all these activities, by design. Expecting such a restrictive apparatus to be mandated long-term is simply inhumane, even if the risk it protects against persists in some form.

And those risks are still out there anyway. People can take off their masks to eat or drink at airports, train stations, bus stations, and in flight — increasing the risk of catching or spreading the virus. Even if they don’t uncover their faces, people can get COVID while masked. There is nowhere truly safe from the malady.

So yes, it’s time to stop shaming and blaming those who dare support the end of this mandate. Blood is not on anyone’s hands. It’s just that the State of Emergency is over.

Time to act accordingly.

There are some who will read this article and bristle with anger.

After all, COVID has claimed nearly a million lives in our nation. Those losses have left scores of devastated loved ones with scars that will never go away.

Turning our backs on heightened vigilance, on mandates, on States of Emergency — this might seem like a betrayal to those loved ones left behind. It might signal that their loss was in vain.

That couldn’t be further from the truth.

It is important to remember those lost, those disabled, and those left behind from this pandemic. I don’t want to minimize that one bit.

But there are better ways to honor a memory than to hold a State of Emergency in perpetuity. Requiring heightened vigilance for minimized risk — that’s something we just won’t go for. And it’s a standard we simply should not be held to.

So, let’s read the tea leaves. Let’s stop the madness, take a step back, and reset.

The State of Emergency is over. It’s time to act accordingly.

If You Could See Me Now

The assignment was simple. Write a letter to your future self.

I took the instructions seriously. For I received them during a summer internship in college — when I was inclined to do anything and everything asked of me.

So, I put pen to paper. I turned that piece of paper in. And some years later, I received it back in the mail.

But instead of opening the letter and regaling in my advice from the past, I filed that envelope away.

My words of that bygone summer couldn’t possibly meet the moment of where I was now.

Through lines.

They’re a critical element in almost any plot. For they serve as the connective tissue for the story arc.

When we look at our own narrative, it’s tempting to search for these through lines. It’s commonplace to expect our past to serve as prologue. It’s tantalizing to imagine connecting the dots with Hollywood flair.

Such scenarios might seem aesthetically pleasing. But they’re out of touch with reality.

The cold, hard truth about our narrative is best summed up by a scene in The Shawshank Redemption.

In this scene, longtime prisoner Red Redding is being interviewed by a parole board. When the interviewer asks Redding if he’s sorry for the crime that landed him behind bars, he offers up the following response.

There’s not a day goes by I don’t feel regret. Not because I’m in here, or because you think I should. I look back on the way I was then, a young, stupid kid who committed that terrible crime.

I wanna talk to him. I wanna try to talk some sense to him — tell him the way things are. But I can’t. That kid’s long gone and this old man is all that’s left. I gotta live with that.

Even while locked away from the world for decades, Redding has grown. And he’s gained enough perspective to realize that this growth happened while behind bars, not before it. As much as he might want to draw a through-line, he simply cannot.

I’m not a hardened criminal who’s spent decades behind foreboding prison walls. But I understand where Redding is coming from. And as such, I’ve stopped trying to connect the dots.

The person I was when I wrote that letter to myself, that was a different person than the one I am now. Yes, my body and mind have remained intact throughout that time, but both have transformed. Any quest for through lines is an exercise in futility.

Still, it’s fun to imagine. So, I’m allowing myself that liberty here — and inviting you along for the ride.

If you could see me now.

That’s how I’d start an address to my former self. The self-assured young adult, freshly immersed into the real world. Or the bratty teenager that preceded him.

The address would read like this:

If you could see me now, you wouldn’t believe your eyes.

I’ve reached the upper limits of what you think is possible, and then ascended even higher. It might not be the way you drew it up, but the result still tastes oh so sweet.

I’ve faced the struggles you might have assumed I’d confront, as well as some challenges that no one would ever see coming. The process has been painful at times, leading me to wonder if hope was beyond reach. And even now, the scars from those experiences fester. But I’ve made it to the other side.

I’ve tried new things at every turn. Novelties you might scoff at or write off, they’ve become the fabric of my life. The change I’ve encountered hasn’t always been comfortable, and it hasn’t always worked out. But branching out beyond the familiar has opened doors and unlocked so many opportunities I would have once considered unattainable.

I’ve become a TV news producer, then a marketer. I’ve gone back to school, while working full-time, to get a business degree. I’ve parlayed that into a job that I love at a company where I’m valued.

I’ve moved cities twice and forged lifelong connections along the way. I’ve launched a weekly publication, headed up an alumni association chapter, and built myself into a competitive distance runner.

Through all these experiences, I’ve grown into the man I am today. I still have that chip on my shoulder, that drive for continued excellence. But I also have a sense of balance and fulfillment in my life, along with a quiet confidence. I’m grateful for all of it.

If you could see me now, you wouldn’t believe your eyes. But in time, you’ll find out firsthand what you are truly capable of. Think bigger.

I know every inch of these words. I wrote them, and I lived them. And yet, they still give me chills.

For the younger version of me would not have been ready for any of this.

The younger me had a fixed mindset. The younger me believed in stability. The younger me took the world at face value, rather than challenging assumptions.

I’ve proven the younger me wrong at every turn. And for many years, I’ve done this without even noticing. It’s only recently that things have changed in that regard.

Perhaps this is the hallmark of growth. A steady transformation in the shadows that unlocks our potential and expands our horizons.

I don’t know for sure. But I do know that I’m in a far different place today than I was back then.

Where will I be a decade from now?

This question is a trap door. And I refuse to fall through the bottom.

You see, I might be more self-assured these days than ever before. I may have a better sense of what I’m capable of.

But the whole picture hasn’t come into focus yet. There’s still plenty of room to grow, to evolve, and to unlock even more of my potential.

Make no mistake, I’m proud of what I’ve achieved so far. But I still believe that the best is yet to come. And that a familiar refrain will still ring true.

If you could see me now, you wouldn’t believe your eyes.

The Caretaker Conundrum

I wasn’t feeling well.

My forehead was feverish. My knees were weak, and chills cascaded up and down my spine.

I knew the protocol. I’d need to take some Tylenol and rest. My parents would take care of me while I recovered.

Only, they wouldn’t. Not this time.

For I was a freshman in college, a thousand miles away from my home. No one was hopping on a flight to help me get back to health. I would need to take that task on myself.

As this sank in, I felt terrified.

How the heck would I take care of myself in this delicate state? And what if I couldn’t?

Fear gave way to instinct. I wasn’t going to get any better standing around in my dorm room. So, I lay down, pulled the covers over me, and dozed off.

I woke up with a clear mind, if not a clean bill of health. And with this fresh start, I was able to do what it took to recover. By the next day, I was right as rain.

This experience was transformative. I had learned how to care for myself at a point of vulnerability. And life would never be the same.

Well-being.

This term has exploded in popularity in recent years.

Getting to live another day is no longer the objective. Living in a healthy, sustained manner now is.

This thinking has helped grow lifestyle brands, expand the wellness industry, and proliferate demands for work-life balance.

All these innovations have their benefits, but they come with a dangerous assumption. Namely, that others will be our caretakers.

You see, that existential crisis I faced while I was ill in college — it’s hardly a novel one. We all yearn for TLC when we’re at our weakest. And when there’s none to be had, we can feel rattled.

Still, we persevere. Tossed into the deep end without support, we’re forced to care for ourselves. And we learn from the experience — just as I did.

But while some view this moment as a point of no return, others will yearn to recreate what was lost. They’ll look to build a caretaking ecosystem, so that they never find themselves out in the cold again.

And in doing so, they’ll set out on a road to nowhere.

The professional world looks far different today than it did generations ago.

The Internet has transformed the way we do business. Tasks that were previously handled on-site can now be done remotely. And employee turnover is the rule, not the exception.

This last development has led to a lot of hand wringing.

High turnover is a challenge for companies. While Henry Ford’s assembly line model rendered workers as interchangeable, the business world is far more complicated now. Change management is a constant headwind that business must contend with.

In a fit of frustration, some corporate leaders have yearned for the good old days, when employees would stick with a company for 40 years before retiring with a gold watch and a pension. These managers believe that the workforce was loyal back then, and they pine for a return to that stability.

Some employees share this sentiment with the C-Suite. Moving from company to company can take a heavy toll. It’s much simpler to daydream of an era when an employer would take care of you for the duration of your career. That loyalty would be much appreciated in the unpredictable modern era.

Of course, the good old days are long gone. And these desires to recreate it read like revisionist history.

The perceived stability of the bygone generation of work reflected on the era itself. Sure, the Cold War was going on. But it was much easier for companies to get a good read on the market in those days, making decisions that sidestepped turbulence along the way. Bailing on such a smooth ride would be foolish, so relatively few employees did it.

Caretaking didn’t factor into the conversation much, if at all. Companies cared about the three P’s — productivity, profitability, and potential — more than anything else. A stable workforce helped companies achieve those goals faster. But if the waters did happen to get choppy, and employees headed for the exits, companies would simply backfill the open roles.

Henry Ford’s interchangeable workers philosophy was still alive and well.

Goldilocks and the Three Bears. It’s a childhood classic.

In the fairy tale, a girl with golden hair wanders into the lair of a family of bears while they’re away. She methodically tests out everything in the house before determining what bowl of porridge to eat, and what bed to lie down on.

This step-by-step deliberation has gained wide adoption in the real world. In fact, the Goldilocks Principle is now a staple of psychology to economics.

We are all searching for just the right fit — in our business projects, in our academic exploits, and in life in general.

The Goldilocks Principle has a hand in the world of work as well. It’s what’s driven many of us to move from job to job unlike ever before.

We are looking for the right fit and balance in our professional exploits. Each twist on our journey serves as a data point — a guardrail that can help funnel us to our own nirvana.

There’s nothing wrong with any of this. But if we expect caretaking to be part of this fit and balance equation, we’re sure to be disappointed.

Employers have a more nuanced view these days than they did in the pension and gold watch ones. There’s an increased — and overdue — focus on diversity, equity, and inclusion in the working world. And such concepts as company culture and employee benefits have gone from perks to must-haves.

But make no mistake — the companies we work for are not going to serve as our caretakers. At the end of the day, it’s still all about the three P’s. And a more open relationship with employees is simply a means to an end.

It’s on us to recognize this. And it’s on us to adjust our expectations.

No one is going to unconditionally take care of us the way our parents once did. Not our employers. Not the wellness industry. Not our government. Not even our loved ones.

These people and entities will help. They’ll provide the tools to get us back to full-strength.

But it’s our responsibility to apply those tools. It’s on us to launch ourselves across the finish line.

This might not be what we desire, particularly when we’re at our most vulnerable. But it’s the hand we’re dealt.

So, let’s not fold. Let’s play our hand, and stay in the game.

Our prosperity depends on it.

The Paradox of Trust

A friendly face.

It’s a lifeline.

When we’re faced with novelty, a friendly face can make all the difference.

Friendly is familiar. And familiarity can cut through the jitters of uncertainty.

So, we seek out a friendly face at any opportunity. We seek to build a stable of people we can trust.

We believe that we’re setting ourselves up for success by doing this. But we could be booking a one-way ticket to trouble instead.

I’ve often been described as trustworthy.

Many times, I get this feedback directly. Sometimes I see it through the actions of others.

I take this accolade as an honor and a responsibility.

While it’s great to have others believe in me, I know I can’t rest on my laurels. I must work continually to validate that trust.

For trust is not a rubber stamp. It’s a contract.

If I fail to deliver on my end of that contract, it evaporates. I lose the goodwill of family, friends, and associates. And I end up hurt, perhaps irreparably.

And if I abuse the contract entirely — blatantly violating its terms for my own gain — it ignites. I lose the goodwill of family, friends, and associates when the truth comes to light. And they end up hurt, perhaps irreparably.

Yes, what builds us up can also tear us down.

And so, I am deliberate when it comes to trust. I strive to model trustworthy behavior, but I don’t overtly seek out the trust of others.

I simply put myself in a position to earn that label. And once I receive it from someone, I work extra hard to maintain it.

The stakes are too high to act otherwise.

Confidence artists.

We have a complicated relationship with them.

We love it when our favorite characters on the silver screen are putting on a ruse. But we loathe seeing such sequences play out in real life.

The gap between these two examples might seem stark. But they’re closer together than we might want to admit.

Whether it’s James Bond or Bernie Madoff, confidence artists draw from the same well — our sense of trustworthiness, and our unwillingness to question it.

And while it’s easy to trivialize those victimized by confidence schemes — labeling them as the naïve, the uber-rich, or the movie villains who had it coming — such dissonance misses the point.

All too often, we play fast and loose with the concept of trustworthiness. We hand over the keys to the Rolls Royce that is our life. And we just expect the valet in its charge not to go joyriding with it.

We hope that everyone’s better angels will shine through. But what if they don’t?

We have no contingency plan for the devil in our midst. We head out into the chaos of the world without an inch of armor. And the results are predictably tragic.

Perhaps it’s time to change the calculus.

My parents are both educators.

Ever since I was a child, they’ve been entrusted with the well-being of schoolchildren. During the busiest part of the day, they share a classroom – with no parents in sight.

This alone isn’t noteworthy. Or it shouldn’t be.

After all, the school system has been set up this way in America for two centuries. We entrust educators with our kids, no questions asked.

But recently, things have changed.

Revelations of physical abuse in the classroom by teachers have shattered any sense of trust. Schools have had to face tough questions about how they operate.

This has impacted my parents. They’re consummate professionals who have proven worthy of the trust bestowed upon them. But they now face a bevy of regulations and restrictions that impact how they teach.

There’s no question that these changes were needed. The old method of blind trust allowed predators to lie in plain sight, and plenty of lives were ruined in the balance.

Still, the current climate in classrooms isn’t exactly sustainable either. Education can’t happen in a trust vacuum, with all its mechanisms eroded away.

The solution lies somewhere in the middle, in the gray area between carte blanche and a surveillance state.

And it’s there, in the fog and the mist, where the path forward is so difficult to navigate.

Trust but verify.

Back when I worked in television news, I internalized these three words.

Speed was the name of the game. Getting the scoop, being the first to report — that meant everything.

But accuracy was the name of the game too. Putting the wrong information out there could get you in a boatload of trouble.

Choosing between these two edicts wasn’t an option. So, I went with the trust but verify approach.

Essentially, our news operation would implicitly trust the information we came across. But we’d still check with a second source to verify that intel, ensuring it was accurate.

This trust but verify approach speaks to the paradox of trust. We need it, but we can only rely on it so much.

There’s no true guidebook for this paradox. There’s no silver bullet that leverages the upside of trust without exposing us to those nasty downsides.

The best we can do is to approach the situation with eyes wide open. To lean into our vulnerability and to prepare ourselves for the worst outcomes.

We can do this by honoring the trust placed in us. Instead of taking this goodwill for granted, we can act to validate it day in and day out.

And when it comes to the trust we place in others, we can take our time. Instead of diving right in, we can verify that our faith is indeed justified.

On their own, these actions won’t mean much. Trust can still be broken. People can still get burned.

But as more and more of us follow these principles, those risks will diminish. We will bolster our faith in each other while working together to deliver the goods.

That’s a future we can all get behind. But it starts with our actions today.

So, let’s get started.