Dylan Brooks | Words of the West

Lights On

Each year, as the days get to their shortest, something remarkable happens.

Up and down every street, we find rooftops, balconies, front lawns and driveways all adorned in light.

Whether you call them Christmas lights or holiday lights, these installations are a hallmark of our culture.

We’ve come to expect them. Yet, we still find ourselves amazed by them.

It’s not the displays themselves that give us pause. The ingredients of colored bulbs, green wires and brass fasteners are somewhere between tacky and blasé.

It’s not the fact that electric bills go up across town that grabs our attention. Only economists and this author find that noteworthy.

It’s not even the holiday spirit that leaves us gazing in wonder. The lights are just one part of a holistic ecosystem that makes us feel festive and warm as winter sets in.

No, it’s the sheer pervasiveness of these lights that leaves us in awe.

Even in a time when we can hardly agree which direction up is, we come together across faiths and demographics to light up the night. Across the country, we take on the arduous task of stringing lights all over the outsides of our homes.

It’s remarkable from a bird’s-eye view.

But take a closer look, and this practice can blur the lines between culture and cult.

There’s a Keeping Up With The Joneses aspect to holiday lights. Let it slip that you’re not hanging up your own lights, and you’ll be hit with an inquisitive Why Not?

The Why Nots seem to make more logistical sense than the Whys in this case. We generally celebrate the holidays indoors, so lighting up the outside of our home is not practical. And we don’t need an army of colored bulbs to lead us to the front door after dusk. Street and porch lights do just fine at that task year-round.

But none of that matters.

No matter the practicality, we’re expected to have our lights up between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day. And then not to have them up the rest of the year.

These expectations drive the aura that surrounds holiday lights. For without critical mass, this phenomenon would merely be a spotty trend.

But what drives these expectations themselves?

What leads us to passively shun those who opt out of decorating? What inspires us to quietly shame those who put up their lights too early? What compels us to intuitively know when it’s time to take down the installation?

I believe the answer to this question is safety.

As members of a community, we strive for safety. We want to feel secure enough to trust others, and for them to trust us.

Few actions provide that sense of safety quite like putting up holiday lights.

It’s public. It’s communal. And it toes the line between conformity and expression.

Participating in this tradition helps us fit in. It indicates our goodwill. It broadcasts our good intentions.

In a world full of tribalism and deceit, we need those signals more than ever. But we don’t just need them in the winter. We need them in the summer too.

In fact, we need them year-round.

The challenge, then, is to apply the message from the holiday lights tradition to the other 11 months of the year. To illuminate our lives the way we illuminate our homes. To spread kindness and build trust, even when the overt reminders aren’t all around us.

We have the power to make these objectives a reality. But only if we let the light within us guide the way.

Let’s start today.

The Intersect

Fascination.

There are few emotions quite like it.

When it strikes, you find yourself transfixed, in a state of awe.

There are many ways we get to this point. Some of us get there through romance. Others by looking at art. Still others by working on string theory.

I get to a point of fascination whenever I uncover something long overlooked.

Whenever I’m exposed to a new way of viewing the world around me, I’m blown away. That which I failed to recognize before is now embedded in my mind.

It’s as if a light switch was turned on in a dark corner of my cognition. My behavior becomes more conscientious. My vision gains layers of depth. And I consider of how it would be it we were all awakened to this newfound vantage point.

I’m locked in to my new reality. The one that was there the whole time, but I was previously too inattentive to see. And all the while, I’m amazed by the altered perspective that just blindsided me.

But once I get past this moment of fascination — once the awe runs its course — what do I do next?

Do I play sleuth, taking a deep dive into the topics that generated these profound insights? Do I leave them alone and go stumbling down the trail, waiting for the next lightning bolt to strike?

As it turns out, I do neither. I follow a different path instead.

Now, this is not to say that either of the approaches just listed is patently wrong. There is some value each of them.

Devoting our attention to fully understanding what bit us can help us affect positive change. Continuing down life’s path oblivious to the next profound insight can recapture that sense of fascination and wonder.

Yet, there are also drawbacks to these approaches.

Going down the rabbit hole to fully uncover new theories and ideas can be exhausting. It can divert our attention from other important ventures. It can steer us off course.

And following the path of willful obliviousness carries a
hefty opportunity cost. It restricts us from fully expanding our minds and transforming our behavior.

Neither of these approaches seems right to me. So, I focus on the intersect.

The intersect is the point where a profound insight meets something we’re more acutely familiar with. It’s where a new way of thinking impacts an old way of doing. Where a fresh perspective transforms an inherent state of being.

Consider the following example.

In her book Quiet, Susan Cain fully explains the concept of pseudo-extroversion — where introverts effortlessly act extroverted in situations that call for it. Cain refers to a psychological study that supports this concept.

Cain also cites other studies throughout the book that illustrate how introverts and extroverts respond cognitively to various cues. Many of these experiments illustrated showed different levels of stimulation to certain parts of the brain, depending on whether the subject was introverted or extroverted. They unveiled the innate differences that drive the personality gap.

As an avowed introvert, I found Cain’s writing fascinating. And I was captivated by the psychology studies she referenced. As someone who’s a marketer by trade and a writer by passion, I understand the importance of captivating an audience. And I recognize that psychology can provide the key to unlocking the cognitions behind people’s actions.

Even so, I wasn’t tempted to start studying psychology. Or even to start reading books solely committed to that discipline.

I was focused on the intersect.

On how I, as an introvert, could live a more prosperous,
enlightened life. On how I, as a marketer, could better connect with the consumers I longed to reach. On how I, as a writer, could more holistically inspire my readers.

Psychology feeds in to all these objectives, of course. But I don’t have to dig very deep to extract the concepts that best apply to my journey.

The full depth of psychological studies only does so much for me. The intersect of psychology and my passion, livelihood and state of being is where the rubber meets the road.

I don’t feel this theory applies to me alone. It applies to all of us.

Yet, all too often, we fail to abide by it.

It’s all too easy to get manically excited when we feel captivation. To feel the desire to shift course and pursue a new direction. To long for that feeling of wonder, again and again.

But the true value of our insight doesn’t come from those moments of fascination. It comes from the intersect with what we’re already
doing, thinking and feeling.

Embrace the power of the intersect. It could help you change the world, even in the subtlest of ways.

The Conviction Morass

Conviction.

It’s the difference between a half-hearted endorsement and a full-fledged belief. And it can turn an idea into an inspiration.

Conviction helps our voice cut through the clutter. It helps our concepts gain an audience. It helps our vision become a movement.

In our attention-deficient world, these results are more than a nice-to-have. They’re essential for gathering any semblance of attention.

This means conviction has become table stakes.

When we speak publicly, when we write, when we create performance art — we’re expected to do so with conviction.

The ideas within our work — they matter to us. But we must be compelling in order to make them matter to the world.

I’ve taken this mantra to heart.

I speak with conviction. I act with conviction. And I try and share ideas on Words of the West with conviction.

Without conviction, the tens of thousands of words I’ve shared here would ring hollow. They would lie trapped between tradewinds of spreadable ideas on the high seas of prose.

Such a fate does no one any good.

So, I only write on concepts I truly believe in. I only focus on fresh perspectives that I feel could benefit the world at large.

Yet, each time I share my vision with the world, a haunting
thought gathers in my mind.

What If I’m leading my audience astray?

You see, much like a frontiersman’s pickax, conviction is a requisite tool to break through. But it’s as double edged as a Bowie knife.

All ideas shared with conviction are not necessarily good ones. In fact, conviction has helped bring about the darkest sides of humanity.

Totalitarianism, genocide and human trafficking each have their roots in conviction. These scourges on our existence are not native to our cognition. But when the misguided spread a message of divisiveness with great conviction, a devastating tidal wave can take hold.

Those who seek to send us backward can be just as effective as those who seek to bring us forward.

For conviction doesn’t discriminate on morality. It simply provides a bigger megaphone.

This is a sobering reminder.

While few of us aim to use the powers of conviction to denigrate society, the ideas we spread can still cause harm.

After all, the world is not black and white. It’s shades of
gray.

And a movement that inspires one person can send another spiraling.

I consider this morass each time I spread ideas.

I recognize the danger embedded within. And how it might remain at odds with my Do No Harm mandate.

Yet, I carry on.

Because ultimately, the opportunity cost is greater if I don’t share. Because ultimately, the benefits outweigh the risks.

This rings true for all of us.

Making a positive change in the world starts with speaking up. If your heart is true and your morals are strong, it is worthwhile to share your ideas with conviction.

So, don’t hold back.

Know the risks. Understand the responsibilities. Take the leap.

Go Your Own Way

If you could distill the way you live your life into a single catchphrase, what would it be?

My catchphrase would channel my inner Fleetwood Mac, in four simple words.

Go Your Own Way.

I don’t choose those four words because I have illusions of grandeur. I don’t fancy myself a rebel or a rock star.

No. I choose them because of what they represent, on a fundamental level.

Namely, the ability to be an individual. To zig where others might zag. To forge my own destiny.

I have embraced this mantra for years. The path less chosen has consistently been mine.

When my high school classmates went off to prestigious universities in the Northeast, I moved to Miami for college. Palm trees and sunshine aside, my classmates largely looked down on my choice. But I wasn’t one to follow in their footsteps. So, I went my own way.

In college, I didn’t take on “safe” vocational studies. Instead of studying finance, law or medicine, I got a degree in Communication. Sure, the job market was larger for financial analysts, lawyers and doctors. But I didn’t see myself in those fields. (I am a writer, after all.) So, I went my own way.

After college, I sought out my first full-time job as a TV news producer. But I didn’t find it in Miami, or up north. I found it in a city I hardly knew anything about — Midland, Texas. So, I moved halfway across the country for a position with a salary similar to that of the cashiers at the local Walmart. Not many people — even in the media — would go such a distance for an anonymous off-camera position. But I did. I went my own way.

After three years in the news, I was burned out. So, I left my job without a new one lined up and moved 300 miles east to Dallas — another city where I only knew a few people. Starting over is daunting. Doing so willfully, with no safety net, is borderline ridiculous. Yet, I knew in my soul that this was the best path for me to take. I went my own way.

It would be easy to say I was being bold by making these against-the-grain decisions. But that would not be accurate. Truth is, I am intensely introverted, and about the furthest thing from impulsive.

Because of my nature, the choices I made felt excruciating. Opening myself up to change, risk and doubt was not something I took on gleefully.

Yes, the moves I made came after much soul-searching and quiet deliberation. They built upon the realization that what is difficult is often what is necessary. That the road most traveled might not be the best path for me.

I share this because there is a powerful lesson we can all take away from my experience.

That lesson? That following our heart and soul might mean straying from the pack. That being true to ourselves doesn’t always mean following the well-worn path.

Indeed, it’s often when we branch out that we find ourselves.

What we’re made of. And what we can make happen.

So, when you’re considering your next move, don’t be afraid to blaze your own trail.

Go your own way.

What’s Deserved

There’s an iconic line embedded in the 1992 western Unforgiven.

A notorious gunslinger (played by Clint Eastwood) has his rifle pointed at a corrupt sheriff (played by Gene Hackman). Out of ammunition and injured by a previous bullet, the sheriff has no recourse beyond his words to ward off doom.

“I don’t deserve this,” the sheriff says.

“Deserve’s got nothing to do with it,” replies the gunslinger.

Those seven words carry weight, much like Revenge is a dish best served cold.

Not just on the big screen. But in the world as a whole.

You see, we all too often feel as if we deserve things. As if the results we see in life are validation of our actions or intentions.

It’s not our fault. Society actively promotes this message. Particularly this time of year.

Don’t believe me? Consider what we were told as children about Santa’s naughty and nice lists, and what they might lead to.

Did you want a lump of coal or a shiny new toy? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

The mantra of Do good, get rewarded is hardwired into our culture. We’re raised to believe that if we do things the right way, we’ll see the results we deserve.

There’s only one problem with this theory.

It’s not true.

The world is inherently unfair. Bad things happen to good people, and good things happen to bad ones.

No matter how much we want to think that we’ll get what we deserve, there’s no guarantee we will.

So how do we respond?

We could look upon this discrepancy with scorn. We could act slighted if we don’t get the result we feel should be coming our way.

But if we do this, the only thing we’ll deserve is the label of whiny or entitled.

No one wants to hear how our day to day lives are less perfect than we desire them to be. For we live in a world filled with imperfection. Lamenting the parameters of our existence is as futile and unproductive as yelling at the sun for rising in the east.

So, no. Much like the fallen sheriff in Unforgiven, complaining does us no good.

It’s far better to take the word deserve out of the equation. To look at the opportunities we’re given as a blessing. To accept the rewards we get for good deeds with humility, and with grace.

This won’t even up the score. Bad things will still happen to good people. Favorable actions won’t always lead to favorable outcomes.

But our mindset will be better. We’ll be more optimistic. We’ll take less for granted.

And that’s a gift that will keep on giving.

So, let’s stop thinking of what’s owed. And start focusing on what is yet to be earned.

After all, deserve’s got nothing to do with it.

Thank God for that.

Taking Up Space

When it comes to impact statements, it’s all too easy to draw a line in the sand.

Are we making a difference, or taking up space?

This is a black and white delineation in a world of gray. Yet, the underlying message remains on point.

We’re obligated to make a difference. To contribute positively to our community. To leave the world better than we found it.

For our society is like an engine. The more its components help it run, the more efficiently it chugs along. The more those components sit idle, the more it drags.

To a great measure, this is unequivocal fact. Regardless our opinion of a social safety net or welfare, there is a cost that comes with providing opportunities. From paychecks to subsidies, nothing we receive to put a roof on our heads, food in our mouths or clothes on our bodies truly comes for free.

This cost is typically offset by the contributions we make to society, and specifically the economy. This could be 40 hours a week helping a company provide a service to the market. Or the generation of ideas or academic thoughts that allow the society to break boundaries and improve efficiencies. These types of activities provide balance.

But when we’re receiving this assistance while sitting on the couch, it could be argued that there is no balance. What we get is more than what we give in return.

Under this definition, we’re taking up space.

Now, opportunity does not always come equal. As such, we may be stuck on the couch not of our own volition.

Regardless, the optics of this outcome are not great.

So, our society often puts stipulations behind handouts. It requires all of us to at least make an honest pass at offsetting the costs behind them.

This could mean applying for jobs. Or filling out forms to explain disabilities that stand in the way of our opportunities.

The underlying message is clear.

As a society, we don’t tolerate taking up space.

I learned the mantra of making a difference from an early age.

I recall waving goodbye to my father as he got on the commuter rail in his business suit. Or how my mother dropped me off at school and then headed to her job.

Most acutely, I remember when my father switched careers and became a teacher. He hoped to make a bigger difference in the world, and make his own that much brighter.

A quarter century later, I’d say he has achieved that objective. And he continues to do so.

Following my parents’ example, I’ve worked hard in two careers throughout my adult life. I’ve taken nothing for granted. I’ve embraced each day with a sense of determination and purpose.

In the workplace and out of it, I’ve sought to make a difference. To be productive. Not to take up space.

This mission has guided the decisions I’ve made, both professionally and socially. My mantra of impact has led to my drive and my edginess. It’s filled my daily to-do list with a gauntlet of activities. It’s encouraged me to push my limits and take on more responsibilities.

Each and every day, I am following my mission. I am being productive. I am not taking up space.

But maybe I should be.

Living life as a productivity-holic has its own associated costs. (Is productivity-holic a word? I feel it should be.)

Most notable of these costs is burnout.

It takes a lot of energy to devote so much time to an agenda. Focusing on maximum productivity, on making the biggest difference I can — that constantly requires me to think of What’s Now and What’s Next.

The detritus of this focus can lead to exhaustion.

And exhaustion can weaken a mind. It can lessen its impact.

I have felt these effects loud and clear. Yet, whenever I have, another thought has come to my mind.

Suck it up. Keep making a difference. Don’t you dare take up space.

This is stupid.

Taking a breather now and then is critical. It rejuvenates us and unshackles our mind. It allows us to make our biggest impact.

Yes, taking up space causes a drag on society. But the short-term cost is more than offset by the long-term gain we can provide.

So, moving forward, I will start building these breathers into my life. I will stop viewing the concept of taking up space as heresy.

And I will continue to take up space here and there, as long as such endeavors are undertaken with a greater goal in mind.

While it’s blasphemous for one to prescribe the path they have not yet taken, I encourage you to join me on this journey. For it will provide mutual benefits.

Let us find our pause. And in doing so, let’s refresh our purpose.

The space we take up will not be wasted.

Daily Gratitudes

Each day, before I take my first bite of a meal, I do something peculiar.

I bow my head, close my eyes, and sit silently for a moment.

It’s similar to saying grace. But without the interlocking hands. Without the well-worn lines of thankfulness. Without any audible words whatsoever.

You see, I am not a religious man. But I am a man of faith.

Faith in humanity. Faith in the goodness of the world. And faith in the Lord above who provides us the chance to learn and grow, overcome and prosper.

This opportunity is in itself a blessing. For it provides hope eternal.

Through the good times and the bad, joy and strife, we have the opportunity to make our next move brighter than our last one. We have the chance to experience a brighter tomorrow.

This is all too often forgotten in the bustle of life. The speed of our day to day can make these overarching rays of light seem ordinary and obscure.

We hardly take the time to pause, except when we nourish ourselves.

That opportunity is, in itself, a blessing. Something so critical, yet so simple that it becomes automatic.

Not to me.

I believe that meal time is a perfect time to reflect. To bow my head and show my most sincere appreciation.

So, I do so. But quietly and personally.

What do I silently reflect on?

It depends.

I don’t believe in following a time-honored script. I recognize the power of ancient blessings for various food items, passed down through scripture over millennia. I understand the emotional connection forged by saying grace the way a beloved family member once did.

But, in my case, going over the same lines over and over rings hollow. It’s not specific enough.

So, I do something completely different. I think of a new concept to be thankful for each time I sit down for a meal. It could be an opportunity that lies ahead, a fresh experience in my memory or a lesson I learned in the prior few hours.

I reflect on what these opportunities, experiences and lessons bring me. I consider how they will make me stronger, wiser and better.

Then, I express complete humility and gratitude for them.

I mention this not to evangelize these practices. But instead to promote the overarching idea behind them.

On the day this article is posted, I will become a year older. Traditionally, such an occasion is filed with parties, gifts and wishes.

We take these occasions to recognize how much we matter to others. And to let our hopes and dreams fly free.

These are worthy things to celebrate, and worthy aspirations to hold dear.

But why limit them to just one day?

Every day is a gift. A blessing filled with experiences, opportunities and lessons to help us grow.

When we open our mind and open our heart, we can take something valuable out of each and every day. Not just the days when we’re showered with love and attention. Not just the days where we feel on top of the world.

Every day.

Through the tough times and the good ones, we have the ability to see the silver lining. We can gain valuable perspective each day we’re above ground.

But without reflection, this intuition is lost. And without humility, we are blind to it altogether.

It’s our responsibility to take internalize life’s abundance. To transform our experiences into a brighter next chapter. To seize the opportunities placed in front of us. To turn lessons to enlightened actions.

How we go about doing this can vary. But whether we’re silently saying grace at the dinner table or taking a walk around the block to breathe in the fresh air, our daily gratitudes mean everything.

Life is a blessing. Don’t take it for granted.

Getting Whole

How long does it take your world to get rocked?

Sometimes, less than a second.

I was driving down the road not long ago, heading between work and my business school class. It was a mild, sun-speckled day, but appearances were deceiving.

I’d had a rough day at the office. And I was driving to campus to take a quiz I didn’t feel fully prepared for.

Somewhere in the middle lay some solace. As I plodded down Dallas streets bathed in golden sunlight, an episode of This American Life played through the speakers of my SUV. It was a rerun, but a compelling one — part murder mystery, part unexpected journey narrative.

As the episode neared its dramatic peak, I approached a green light. Then…

WHAM.

I felt something slam into the side of my SUV.

The airbags didn’t deploy. My vehicle didn’t veer off course. Yet, I instantly knew something was wrong.

By the time I was able to pull over to the side of the road, I could see that my vehicle was significantly damaged.

It turns out the driver of a pickup truck sitting in the turn lane to the left of my vehicle had decided to bail into my lane without warning. There was nothing I could have done to avoid getting hit.

Fortunately, I wasn’t injured. But I was still greatly inconvenienced.

As I got back in my SUV, I thought of all the new items on my to-do list. I would need to file a claim, schedule repairs and get a rental vehicle. All because of an accident that was in no way my fault.

While insurance would foot most of the repair bill, I would still bear the cost of lost time while getting everything back in order.

And until I was able to get my SUV into the shop, I would need to drive around with a dented door. I would carry the stigma of appearing too cheap to fix the damage or to too irresponsible to have avoided it in the first place.

During that time, I imagined a figurative bull’s eye on my vehicle — with other drivers judging me and avoiding my vehicle as much as possible. I felt vulnerable and ashamed.

Why did I feel this way? The answer lies in my core tenets, particularly when it comes to responsibility and ownership.

My SUV is the most substantial item I own. It’s also the biggest purchase I’ve ever made.

As a control enthusiast, I feel compelled to protect that investment. I’m obsessed with keeping it out of harm’s way.

This is why I pay extra to park my car in a covered spot. It’s why I drive with extreme caution in bad weather. It’s why I leave a buffer between my vehicle and nearby ones as much as possible.

But of course, protective measures only go so far. The open road is full of risks, from falling objects to aloof drivers. Danger lurks around every turn.

So, when I find myself in harm’s way, I latch onto a new obsession. That of getting whole.

I focus all my attention on what it will take to get things back to normal. As if the mishap had never happened.

And if someone else is liable for the damage incurred, I see to it that they incur the costs.

Call it my pound of flesh moment. Or whatever else you may. But when things go sideways, getting whole is my entire objective.

I’m not sure how healthy this thinking is.

After all, bad things will happen to all of us in life. Things that are inherently unfair and a lot worse than damage to a car door.

When these mishaps occur, the primary focus should be on moving forward. Getting whole is a secondary concern, as it might not be a feasible proposition.

For instance, if we were to suffer a debilitating injury, we might never fully recover from it. Yet, life must go on. We must move forward, even if we do so in a compromised fashion.

I grapple with this dichotomy as I face milder crises in my life. Is it truly worthwhile to expend the energy needed to erase the dents and scratches life can add to my body or my possessions? Am I breaking my own rule by chasing perfection?

Perhaps. Perhaps not.

What I do know is this.

I will keep trying to remain whole as much as possible. To cut out risk and limit instances of my own liability.

And when misfortune strikes — when, not if — I will be resilient. I will focus on getting back on the horse as steadfastly as possible. And I will keep moving forward.

That, in its essence is what getting whole is all about. About taking that hit and keeping on moving forward.

That is where I was, quite literally, in the aftermath of my car accident. But really, it’s where I’ve been throughout the peaks and valleys of life.

And so have we all. It’s what makes us stronger.

Let’s keep that momentum going. Let’s keep plowing forward in the face of adversity and challenges. Let’s do what it takes to get whole.

We’ll be better for it.

Acculturation Wars

Our nation is in the midst of a great battle.

Not one fought in a military zone, or in deliberated in a courtroom. But one borne out through bitter public discord.

That battle is over the future of our culture.

There are some who aim to protect the status quo at all costs. They see an influx of outsiders and an onset of changing demographics as a threat to culture as they know it.

There are some who aim to promote change. They see that same influx of outsiders and onset of changing demographics as an opportunity to further evolve our culture.

And then there are some who are in the middle. They welcome the influx of outsiders and onset of changing demographics, so long as some existing norms are respected.

I belong to that last group.

I live just outside of Dallas. Like many regions across the Sunbelt, the greater Dallas area —often called the Metroplex — is blessed with mild weather, ample land and an affordable cost of living.

These factors — along with Dallas’ central location — have attracted many companies, who have relocated to the region. With those companies have come many new jobs. And with those new jobs come an influx of new residents.

This has been a boon for the area. The influx of people and jobs have led to new housing, schools, restaurants, entertainment venues and infrastructure. The economy has grown accordingly, and opportunity abounds.

Yet, all of that change has come with a cost.

Many of the new residents feeding Dallas’ burgeoning economy have relocated from California. But while their address has changed, their cultural affiliation has not. This has led to a growing bubble of Californianism, deep in the heart of Texas.

The problem with this development is that Texans, as you might have heard, are a proud bunch. We have a rich culture steeped in heritage and tradition. And we don’t take it well when that culture is treated like a doormat.

So as more people flood in from the shores of the Pacific and redefine North Texas as California East, the tension builds. Don’t California My Texas stickers start appearing on rear windows of pickup trucks. Don’t Cali My Dallas becomes a rallying cry.

This is not to say that Dallas is entirely insular. I myself moved to the area from West Texas several years ago, and I’m not a Native Texan. Even so, I have been treated with nothing but kindness during my time in North Texas. And there are many others like me across the area who are not met with derisive car stickers.

So, what’s the difference? Unlike the recent swath of California transplants, I took heed of the existing culture in Dallas, and incorporated it into my lifestyle. I didn’t willingly stand apart.

This wouldn’t seem to be difficult. After all, I did come to Dallas directly from elsewhere in the Lone Star State. But, West Texas has a different culture than North Texas — out west it’s more western and rural. It took me a bit to learn the ropes in the Metroplex, but I kept a spirit of adaptability. Today, Dallas is as much as part of me as I am part of it.

It’s my hope that the wave of Californians in the area follow a similar path. That they respect the cultural norms and traditions found here in Texas. And that they work to incorporate that culture into their own, instead of remaining at odds with it.

On a broader scale, I hope that people who relocate to new areas across the country — regardless of their origin — follow this strategy. That they take heed of the culture that’s already in place, and work to incorporate with their own.

I also hope that those who already are in these communities are as welcoming to new residents who make this effort as my neighbors here have been to me.

When both new and existing residents work to bridge the gap, it can help alleviate cultural tension. It can also forge stronger community ties. Everybody wins.

Let’s take the middle ground. And end the squabbling once and for all.

We Rise

If I had to distill my overall life philosophy into three words, it would be the following.

Together we rise.

It means that success is not a zero-sum game. That we can work together to see the change we aspire to achieve.

In essence, this philosophy is an extension of the old adage A rising tide lifts all boats. Yet, in this case, the observed change does not come from the whims of Mother Nature. Instead it’s driven by the will of our nature.

The rise comes from a place of selflessness, sharing and compassion. From a place of sacrifice and humility. From a place of recognition for the unmatched potential of societal change.

And it comes from a basic realization. We did not get here alone.

It’s a simple fact. But it’s one that can gradually take the air out of us, like a slow leak in a tire.

Why? Because we feed off a narrative of self-made grandeur. Of pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps and driving our own success. Of independent prosperity.

This narrative, of course, is ridiculous. We’re not born knowing how to walk, talk, eat solid food or clean up after ourselves. We’ve had help from Day One. And that assistance has often stretched into adulthood.

Yet, the self-made man narrative is pervasive because it has roots in our heritage. Frontier settlers in early America did indeed get by on grit, guile and perseverance.

Still, for all of the stories of Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett, there are countless others that are left untold. Stories that ended with frontier settlers scalped, starved or frozen to death.

That would have been the story of the Pilgrims too, had the local natives not helped provide them the tools to survive the brutal winters of present-day Massachusetts.

No, despite tales to the contrary, our society itself did not get here alone. Despite the tall tales of glory, a healthy dose of humility is in the offing when we reflect on what’s allowed us to innovate, iterate and prosper over the past four centuries.

This is why we celebrate Thanksgiving around this time each year. It’s why we maintain an air of kindness and generosity as the calendar winds down.

It’s a noble cause. One that summons the best in all of us.

But why can’t it be omnipresent the entire year around?

We’d be better served putting our oversized egos away, no matter the season. We’d be better off if we considered achievement in the context of We Not Me.

This would require a shift in attitude, from feeling the euphoria of receiving to attaining the satisfaction of giving. It would require more bandwidth, from looking out for ourselves to looking out for others. And it would require a mix of patience and persistence, as improvement does not always come at a constant rate.

But these changes would be well worth it.

No longer would our success come at the cost of others. No longer would our achievements widen the dividing line between the haves and the have nots.

Instead, we would be building shared equity in improvement. We would be forging stronger ties with our community. And, in doing so, we would help solidify our legacy in a way that resonates long after we’re gone.

I’ve long said that when my time is done, I would want my headstone to read: He had a good heart and he cared.

That message is simple. But it need not be revolutionary.

So, as we prepare to give thanks and spread cheer, let’s consider how we can devote ourselves to something greater. Let’s commit to three powerful words.