I can be your lucky penny. You can be my four-leaf clover. Starting over.
There’s nothing more tantalizing than the prospect of a fresh start.
Whether its boots sinking into a fresh blanket of snow or the sight of a wide-open highway in front of us, the prospect of beginning again is all-powerful.
There might be nothing like the first time, but the second go is still pretty special. For we have both the memories of the first experience to guide us and the residual novelty to excite us.
The fresh start keeps us plowing forward. It revitalizes our sense of wonder. It unveils the potential for a brighter future.
We bask in its majesty. We revel in its opportunity. And each year, as the calendar turns over, we pay homage.
We dress up and stay up late. We eat fancy foods and drink high-class libations. We dream of the new people we’ll be when the clock strikes 12 and the year begins again.
I’ve long railed against this tradition. It all seems so arbitrary and fake to me.
I don’t feel any different on January 1st than I did on December 31st. I never have, and I likely never will.
Yes, we do grow over time. But this process happens gradually, not in an instant.
So, while everyone else is partying it up, I’m playing it down. I’m treating my evolution like a marathon, not a sprint.
This is how I’ve operated for years.
But it might be time to take a fresh look at that stance.
Constants.
These are critical elements in what is known as STEM fields — science, technology, engineering, and mathematics.
Those in the STEM industries solve some of our biggest problems. They’re responsible for many of the innovations that we take for granted these days — such as connected devices, reliable roads, and advanced pharmaceuticals.
Such features have made our world better, and we’ve greatly benefited from them. But they’re all built on a foundation of constants.
Essentially, the scientists and engineers who come up with these solutions base their work on a simple question: Keeping everything else the same, what happens if I make this one change?
By framing the question this way, STEM professionals are controlling the environment. They’re doing what they can to establish a clear cause-and-effect relationship.
That relationship will help turn their question into action. It will transform their experimentation into products, patents, and other tangible solutions.
This is a powerful, proven process. But it does have a catch.
By relying on constants — by only changing one item at a time — we only allow for incremental change. There is no room for flashy wholesale disruptions. There is only tinkering with the status quo.
Wholesale changes are just too volatile, too messy, too difficult to explain. And so, STEM professionals generally try to avoid them. The risk is not worth the reward.
Constants matter. This should be evident now more than ever.
What happens when the ground quakes? When the wave crests? When the world as we knew it ceases to be relevant?
We start grasping, clutching, straining for the familiar. We search in vain for something that is no longer there.
It’s disorienting. Confusing. Terrifying.
We all recognize that feeling now. Whether we live in California or Chattanooga, Florida, or Fargo. We know what it’s like to see our lives turned upside down.
Such is the nature of pandemics. They pack the sweeping force of a tsunami and the destructive aftershocks of an earthquake.
Pandemics force us to abruptly abandon our plans, our dreams, and our objectives. They force us to acknowledge that the goalposts have changed.
For in the eye of the storm, nothing is constant. Everything is fluid — meaning we must adjust in order to survive.
And so, we do what is necessary to make it through.
At first, we are filled with adrenaline. We are compelled to rise to the occasion. We are inspired to do our part to ensure normalcy.
But eventually, the rush wears off. The bleakness of our new reality persists, and hopelessness abounds.
As the familiar fades further into the rearview, we lose a sense of ourselves. We find it harder to recognize who we were before everything crumbled around us. We struggle to recall what we’d once hoped to achieve.
As the fog grows thicker, all we want is a way out. A clean slate. A fresh start.
And the longer the darkness persists, the more we are tempted to run into the fray. To sacrifice all the gains we’ve made.
Yes, survival is an unparalleled test of the will.
It pushes our limits. It drains our resolve. And it can poison our minds if we’re not careful.
This is why it’s important for us to prepare ourselves for crisis. And that training should take place between the ears.
In 1965, Jim Stockdale’s life changed forever.
Stockdale, a Naval fighter pilot, was captured in North Vietnam after his aircraft was shot down in battle. He would spend the next 7 years as a prisoner of war, subject to torture and brutal living conditions. After his release and return to the United States, Stockdale was awarded the Medal of Honor. He retired from the Navy with the rank of Vice-Admiral.
Stockdale’s story is one of perseverance and overcoming long odds. But what piqued my interest was the heuristic Stockdale used to survive more than 2,700 days in captivity.
Stockdale recognized quickly that there was a fine line between faith and false hope. That recognizing a dire situation wasn’t the same as accepting it.
In his book Good to Great, Jim Collins describes Stockdale’s philosophy like this:
You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end — which you can never afford to lose — with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.
Collins famously termed this heuristic The Stockdale Paradox. It’s a pattern that many leaders of business and public service offices follow today.
But why should such gains be limited to the bigwigs? I believe we can all take a cue from Stockdale.
For we are at a point of transition. A point where the calendar flips and we are gifted with a clean slate.
It’s easy to view this as a period of endless possibilities. As a time full of hope. As a moment unburdened by the weight of the past.
But that wouldn’t be quite right, would it?
No, the events that have so deeply challenged us — the pandemic and its effects — they won’t magically disappear when the clock strikes 12 on New Year’s. That baggage will remain.
It’s important for us to recognize this. To see the brutal facts of our reality for what they are, what they have been, and what they will continue to be.
And yet, it’s also crucial for us to accept the gift of our clean slate. To see the possibilities that lie ahead, and to have faith in our ability to attain them.
So, I’m giving this ritual of turning the calendar over another chance.
For the traditions and customs might be tacky and overblown. But there’s still a lot of good that can be gleaned from this moment.
And it is our obligation to soak it up.