Author: Dylan Brooks

My life is guided by three attributes: Humility, Grace and Passion. I’m continually driven to help make the world a better place, but I also know the importance of putting others first; the success and happiness of those around me gives me fulfillment.

Rewind and Fast Forward

How did we get here?

It’s a common question these days.

Whether the question comes from a place of anguish, exasperation or curiosity, it’s omnipresent.

There’s good reason for us to delve into this root cause analysis. The past is already written. It’s printed in the pages of books or encoded in our memory banks.

Our recollections of what came before are often vivid. And our interpretation of those events can draw a line to the present.

Never mind that our accounts of the past can be skewed by bias. That history is all too often written by the victors. That memories can fade over time, or enter our cognition already tarnished by an abundance of stress or a lack of perspective.

The fundamental point remains the same.

We draw upon what’s known to help figure out what’s uncertain. We take the solid inscriptions of our past to reconcile the shaky ground of our present.

This method has served us well for generations. After all, the old adage goes, Those who do not learn from history are bound to repeat it.

Yet, the habit of rewinding to move ahead is less relevant than ever today.

Why? We have more power over our story trajectory these days. No longer are we akin to cattle, being paraded down the well-worn trails our ancestors have left.

Today, we are not bounded by limits in technology, communication and innovation. We are largely free to forge a new path that can upend the way society works.

This provides great opportunity. But also, a great challenge.

For while these changes are of our volition, the side effects can make us queasy.

There is no recipe book we can turn to when the ground gets shaky. No prescription to ease the volatility.

The straight-line relationship we’ve inferred between past and present has shifted into an accelerating curve. We’re writing the book in real-time now.

So what recourse do we have? How can we keep our narrative from taking an unintended turn?

It starts by asking a new question.

Where do we go from here?

Starting with this question moves us from reaction to action. It can allow us to move forward with intention, unencumbered by the weight of the past.

It can help us find meaning, even in the face of present-day unease. It can help us write our story on our own terms.

And the best part? This method can work for just about everyone.

No matter which factors have led us to this point, there is a beneficial way forward.

Yes, for some of us, those past actions themselves lead to forward-facing consequences. If we’ve committed a crime, we must do the time. We cede control of our narrative to pay our debt to society.

But this is an edge case. A grave one, but an edge case nonetheless.

For the most part, we have the power to fast forward. To consider what comes next in order to right our wrongs, build off our achievements and iterate toward a brighter future.

We seldom use this power. And when we do, it’s all too often secondary to our root cause analysis.

It’s time to change that.

Even in an ambiguous world, the direction we head is still largely in our control.

But it starts by asking the right questions.

Let’s do so.

The Elite Conundrum

If you read Words of the West frequently, you’ve probably noticed that many of the topics covered converge on one central theme.

Inclusivity.

I’ve long talked about the importance of doing things together. Of the strength of working as one for mutually beneficial causes.

I’ve spoken of breaking down barriers that stand in the way of our success. Of pushing past selfish thinking that, at scale, can hold us back.

No matter what angle is covered, the underlying message is the same.

Together we rise.

Yet, for all I’ve written of the virtues of inclusivity, I’ve done a poor job of practicing what I preach.

I live with my own blind spots. Only they’re not all that blind.

In fact, they’re out in the open.

I’ve long spoken of a simplistic concept. One where there are two types of people in the world — those who go after the results they seek, those who wait for these results to be given to them.

In essence, this theory splits our society into two groups — one that views the world as an ongoing grind and one that views it as a meritocracy.

Which one do I prefer? Ideally, the answer should be neither. But read a few articles of Words of the West, and it’s clear I lean toward the mindset of affecting change. Of actively going after what we seek.

Implied in this preference is an air of elitism.

By actively promoting those with a certain drive, I create a boundary of my own. I state, This is the mindset I associate with. These are the types of people who can help us forward to the brightest future.

This, of course, says just as much about those I don’t associate with. Those I identify as the problem, not the solution.

It assumes working with these people will send us on a path to nowhere.

And right within that statement lies a major issue.

If I consider myself above those with a different mindset, I can never fully live into the objective I speak of.

And if that I becomes a we, our hopes of achieving an inclusive society dwindle. The wedge between the haves and have-nots grows wider.

Worse still, an air of snobbiness can be associated with this elitist thinking. One that will make unifying the sides of the divide we’ve created even more challenging.

So, what’s the solution?

Should we suppress any inherent biases we have toward a particular mindset or attitude, and simply make the best of the situation? This model could drive us toward greater inclusivity, but everyone would not necessarily be pulling in the same direction.

Should we consider keeping things as is? This could help us promote the change we seek, but at the risk of alienating those who don’t buy in to our vision.

I believe the answer lies somewhere in the middle.

We must be more inclusive. We need to commit to breaking down the barriers we all know exist, and breaking through the inherent ones we might create in the process.

But we also must be wary of carrying too much of the load. Of taking initiative on behalf of those whose attitude, mindset or temperament don’t jibe with the vision we promote.

In other words, we should give everyone an opportunity to participate in the culture we build. But we shouldn’t look with scorn on those who go a different way.

This strategy, by nature, won’t bridge the divide completely. But it’s a step in the right direction.

I need to buy into this as much as anyone. And I’m game to do so.

Are you?

Aspiration Inspiration

Every year, around this time, we play a starring role.

We dress up in elaborate costumes, eat way too much candy and decorate our homes as a hotel for the afterlife.

We dim the lights and turn up the creepy music. All in an attempt to spook and scare.

Yes, Halloween traditions are in full swing. And while these festivities are ostensibly for the kids, adults get in the spirit plenty.

This should come as no surprise. After all, children didn’t originate the tradition of dressing as a pumpkin, or a lion, or a Storm Trooper on the last day of October every year. The first time many kids wore a costume, they were too young to even understand what they were dressed up as.

And going door to door, asking for candy from strangers? If kids came up with that idea, parents would certainly veto it.

No, the culture of Halloween most certainly started with grown-ups. As adults, we cherish this holiday. Not only to eat all that leftover candy, but also to pass the message to the next generation that we can be whatever we dream of being.

For one day a year, this is true.

But what about all the others?

When the clock strikes midnight and the calendar shifts to November, we go from dressing like pumpkins to becoming them.

The slipper no longer fits. There’s a glass ceiling in its place.

I’m not talking about the glass ceilings formed by experience gaps, gender or ethnicity. Our society is taking some long overdue steps to shatter those barriers. (And it’s about time!)

No, I’m talking about the glass ceiling we’ve formed for ourselves.

For all our talk of aspirations, how much have we backed up that talk with action? For all the times we tell kids If you can dream it, you can do it, how often do we follow through?

Probably not as much as we’d like.

There are many times when our dreams might be untenable. Only the most talented baseball players make the major leagues. Only a chosen few can see their name in lights in Hollywood.

But there are plenty of other times that we make our dreams untenable.

You see, for all we make light of ghosts and goblins and spookiness, we all too often let fear hold us back. We let what could happen get in the way of what might be.

This is horribly unfortunate.

Fear only has power over our lives if we let it. The more we run from it, the more we turn our aspirations into daydreams.

Punting on our aspirations sets a poor example. One that the next generation feeds off of.

Over time, this makes it harder and harder for people to view their aspirations as a potential reality. The more we’re surrounded by a culture that self-imposes a glass ceiling, the more real that barrier becomes.

It’s time to break through.

Let’s go after our aspirations. Let’s inspire others to do the same.

Let’s use our actions, not our words, to promote a society where the sky really is the limit. One where we don’t have to resort to dressing up once a year for our soul to be free.

If we can do this, we can change everything.

Aspirations are powerful. Let’s use that power for the better.

Uncovering the Unknowns

There are known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns – the ones we don’t know we don’t know.

These famous words were uttered by Donald Rumsfeld, the former United States Secretary of Defense.

The year was 2002. And barely five months after 9/11 shook America to its core, Rumsfeld was briefing the press. The topic? Whether Iraq was supplying weapons of mass destruction to terrorist groups.

Rumsfeld could have provided a boilerplate non-answer. He could have been a steel wall, hiding behind military clearances and other bureaucratic walls. He could have rattled off a bunch of jargon to throw us all of the trail.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Rumsfeld rattled off this now-iconic line.

Some ridiculed it. After all, this sound bite came off clunky and evasive. And once the U.S. did go to war in Iraq, the statement got even more scrutiny.

There were no WMDs, it turns out. Many members of our military lost their lives in a war we entered under faulty pretenses. And Rumsfeld’s line seemed to be the epitome of those pretenses.

Yet, if you strip away the politics and revisionist history surrounding the statement, you might find Rumsfeld’s words to be eerily profound.

I certainly do.

Three years ago, I started Words of the West with a purpose and a promise. The purpose was to share my truth through the power of the written word. The promise was to do so weekly.

For 156 articles, I’ve kept that promise. I’ve fulfilled that purpose.

But facts and figures doesn’t tell the complete story.

For the past three years I’ve taken heed of Rumsfeld’s words. I’ve delved into the world of unknown unknowns and made them a little less confounding.

You see, I’ve viewed every topic I’ve covered here as a chance to gain clarity. No matter what I’ve shared, I’ve learned even more through the process of putting it to paper.

For no matter how certain I seemed about a particular topic, I’d quickly learn that there was a lot I hadn’t been aware of.

There were plenty of unknown unknowns.

This was true for big idea topics. I didn’t know that the Rock Bottom paradox could be so pervasive. Or just how many challenges were that next great opportunity.

But it was just as true for retrospectives. I didn’t know that sharing my memories of 9/11 would help bring solace. Or that recounting all that went into my career switch would inspire confidence.

I didn’t know what I didn’t know. But now I do.

 

Words of the West has helped me grow. By sharing my truth, I’ve expanded my understanding of so many aspects of life. In a world that can often times be turbulent, I’ve been able to chart a steady course. One grounded in the musings I’ve shared with the world each week.

I’ve been blessed to undertake this journey. And blessed that you, the reader, have been able to take it with me.

My hope is that you’ve taken something valuable from these articles. That you’ve found some clarity. That you’ve uncovered an answer to your unknown unknowns.

I look forward to us exploring more of the unknown in the articles to come. To us making the unexplored and overlooked less confounding and more actionable. To us helping make the world a better place — even in some small way.

The journey has just begun. Come along.

Sunken Opportunities

How much do you know about sunk costs?

Perhaps you’ve heard of the sunk cost fallacy. That’s the false belief that you must salvage any remaining value from a decision gone bad. The illusion that there’s even anything to be salvaged in that situation.

The sunk cost fallacy leads us to hang on to items we have no purpose for. It causes us to maintain subscriptions we’ve never made use of. And it compounds poor decision making with more poor decisions.

The conventional wisdom is to ignore sunk costs. To throw out the baggage weighing us down and not think about the price tag.

But as with most concepts, this advice is far more straightforward on paper than in reality.

One reason for this is emotion. It’s difficult to make a logic-based decision when you let your feelings get in the way.

Decisions that didn’t go as planned carry an emotional toll. It’s hard to throw away the sensations that went through our hearts and minds when making our initial decision. And it’s especially difficult when money is involved in those decisions.

Our finances are tied to our feelings of security. Casting away something we spent our hard-earned money on is a bitter pill to swallow.

So, our emotions can lead us to hang on. Even when we know we shouldn’t.

Another reason why we hang on to sunk costs is to avoid the implication that we erred beyond reproach. That we failed, wholly and completely.

You see, we don’t like failure. It eats at us. It terrifies us.

This is why we’re so attuned to silver linings. It’s why we believe in moral victories.

We feel that if we can take away something from a bad experience to help us down the line, then perhaps the blunders will be worth it.

Of course, casting off sunk costs flies in the face of this theory. There’s nothing to take away. Just an opportunity to cut the dead weight and head on down the trail.

The idea echoes an entrepreneurial tagline: Fail fast and move forward.

But this might not be the right approach.

I certainly understand the benefits of starting anew. I recognize the power of progressing unencumbered by the ghosts of poor decisions past.

Yet, without a process in place to learn from our mistakes, we only assure that we will repeat them.

We will stay sloppy. We will remain wasteful. And we will build a culture that casts accountability aside.

This is not the type of world we want to live in. This is not the future we want to build.

But where do we draw the line? How do we reconcile between ignoring sunk costs and keeping ourselves from iterating and improving?

Some critical judgement is needed.

We must recognize that not all sunk cost situations are the same.

Some are predominantly the result of chance, of known risk. The forces that lay your resources to waste are beyond your control.

If you invest in a grill and deck chairs, and it rains all summer long, the cruel side of chance is to blame. Same deal if you buy a warm jacket and ski boots for your vacation in Colorado, only to encounter record high temperatures all week.

There is nothing to be learned from these misfortunes. Nothing that you could or should have done differently.

Risk is omnipresent and unpredictable. We can’t plan around it, nor should we try to.

Best to cast off the sunk costs and move forward.

On the other hand, many sunk cost situations are actually efficiency opportunities in disguise. They’re decisions you can’t have back, but might rethink the next time around.

Those season tickets you bought but didn’t use? That’s one of them.

You can’t get your money back, but you sure as heck can avoid repeating that decision next year. Cast off the sunk cost with discretion.

Same goes for any golden handcuffs situation you might find yourself in. Leaving those perks behind might be gut-wrenching. But knowing what to look for next time around can spare you the ignominy of dealing with the same situation later.

The key, then, is recognition. It’s taking a close look at those sunk costs and determining which ones are purely a matter of chance, and which ones provide an opportunity for growth.

It’s understanding the difference between letting go and learning. It’s coming to terms with the duality of purpose.

Getting to know this distinction is a worthwhile mission. One that allows tomorrow to be better than today.

So, don’t despair at sunk costs. There may be sunken opportunities within them.

The Danger Of Inaction

What is the cost of doing nothing?

Of standing pat? Of deciding good enough is good enough?

Sometimes the cost is not that high. The only real factor is opportunity cost — the value of possibilities that might have existed if we only went for them.

Other times the consequences can be grave, even deadly.

When armed forces are under attack, a lack of action can lead to mass casualties. One need only to see the end of Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End to get a cinematic view of this.

The implications of inaction are clear in this situation. But what about situations where they’re not as direct? How do we act then?

In a word: Poorly.

Consider this.

When we go out and have a good time, one companion is often in the middle of the action. Alcohol.

Booze helps us lighten up. It removes our inhibitions. It gets us feeling good.

And it’s a cultural staple. One inextricably woven into nearly all kinds of get-togethers.

But alcohol provides significant dangers. It affects our behavior, slows our response times and alters our decision making.

At their worst, these effects can ruin lives — or even end them.

Many of us learn about these dangers well before we take our first legal sip of alcohol. Drivers education classes are littered with warnings about drinking and driving. College orientations alert students to the dangers of binge drinking.

But even with these warnings in tow — not to mention the electronic “Don’t Drink and Drive” signs up and down the highway — we still make alcohol-induced decisions that put others at risk.

If those risks come to fruition, we have a ready-made excuse.

But I was drunk.

 This excuse is bogus, and even insulting to those harmed by alcohol-fueled behavior.

Having a few drinks shouldn’t give us a free pass to harm others. To victimize and traumatize. To deprive people of their God-given rights.

Yet, it does. Because we, as a society, let it.

We sanctify the act of throwing one back, or having a couple cold ones. Just as we sanctify the flawed principle of Let boys be boys.

We ignore the consequences of defending these principles, because we don’t want to live in a world that deprives us the change to indulge ourselves.

But the danger of inaction is grave.

It impinges justice. It silences victims. And it makes us all complicit in tragedy.

We can do better.

We can do right by those harmed by this behavior.

We can save countless future would-be victims from their fate.

But we can only do so by taking action. By destroying the façade that says having a good time is beyond reproach. By tossing out the flawed defense of youthful innocence.

We don’t need to give up drinking, as I have. We don’t need to put an end to partying.

But we need to lean in to accountability. We must hold everyone responsible for actions that harm others. We have to prevent the root cause of harm from being treated as an immunity defense.

The actions we take matter.

Inaction is no longer an option.

The Character Choice

He’s not a bad person. He just has a character flaw.

You might have used this line before. Or heard of someone else who did.

This line has been used for those who smoke or drink too much. For those who act out on occasion or demonstrate a bad temper. For those who lose interest or focus at times when it’s needed.

The point? That the most unsavory characteristics of our behavior can be written off, or explained away.

That the good can cancel out the bad. Or at least make us forget about it for a while.

It’s our way of lightening up. On focusing on the positives rather than dwelling on the negatives. On seeing the good in people rather than dwelling on the bad.

It’s why we have Boys Will Be Boys. Or Girls Just Want To Have Fun.

No harm, no foul.

Shame on us.

This attitude shrugs aside incidents that can ruin lives. It gives a free pass where none is warranted. It leaves us complicit in the abdication of fair treatment.

Worse still, it misinterprets what character truly means.

 

Character is not a flaw. It is a choice.

Think about that statement for a moment. Then think of someone you consider to have character.

What comes to mind?

The way they carry themselves, most likely. The way they act and the things they do.

But if your character role models are anything like mine, another word comes to mind as well.

Consistency.

High-character individuals don’t talk the talk. They walk the walk.

They live the values they embody. Every minute of every day.

There’s no room for flaws in judgment. Character is a choice they make, and one they commit to abide by at all times.

Showing up with the right attitude every day is not as noticeable as flying off the handle now and then. Taking the right actions is not always as noteworthy as screwing up.

Yet, over a wider time frame, it stands out.

People remember what they don’t see from high-character leaders. The lack of meltdowns, embarrassments and lapses in judgment. And that lack of red marks can garner respect and adulation.

Character is not a flaw. It is a choice.

So, how can we get there?

How can we aspire to improve our character? To live into the type of behavior we idolize?

We can start by kicking the free-pass to the curb. By no longer writing off lapses in judgment. By instead yearning for something greater.

For our legacy is measured by its entirety, not its majority.

When we reduce the threshold of acceptable behavior to that second level, we all stand to lose.

We can do better than that.

We must do better than that.

So, let’s stop compromising.

Character is not a flaw. It is a choice.

Choose wisely.

The Upward Shift

Betting on oneself.

It’s become a cliche.

Whenever we expose ourselves to the uncertainty of change, we roll out that familiar rhetoric like a red carpet..

Sure, it’s a risk. But I’m betting on myself.

It’s as if our self-certainty is our superpower. As if it’s the constant that makes the changes we encounter adapt to us.

By counting on ourselves in the face of change, we feel we can overcome adversity.

Nothing can stop us. We can walk out on the tightrope without a safety net and make it through.

There are good reasons why this narrative has wings. It’s inspirational, dramatic and ultimately satisfying.

But there’s one big problem.

It’s not accurate.

You see, we can’t meet the challenge of new and disruptive change simply by betting on ourselves and plowing forward.

We need to level up.

Charting our way through new challenges requires a new set of skills. Mere survival demands growth and adaptation.

What was working before has no jurisdiction over future success. The landscape is too unfamiliar. The obstacles ahead are too imposing.

There must be an upward shift.

I have seen this time and again through my own experience.

I went from sitting in my college classes under the palm trees of South Florida to running a TV newsroom in the desert of West Texas in a matter of months.

When my news industry days had played themselves out, I moved to Dallas and switched careers. All with only a modest savings, a credit card and an abundance of hope to steer me through.

Several years later, I committed to hitting the books once again — starting business school while still maintaining my full-time job.

These were all significant left turns in my life trajectory. Business as usual no longer applied.

I had to make significant changes to meet the challenges that lay in front of me.

I had to level up.

Now, this process wasn’t always apparent to me when I was going through it. The path ahead was more of a gradual incline than a rugged cliff face.

And besides, I was so focused more on the six inches in front of my nose that I was oblivious to my steady climb. Only when I had a moment to look back did I realize I’d gained elevation.

But regardless of when I came to recognize it, that upward shift had occurred. I’d done was needed to not only survive, but also thrive.

There had been a transformation of perspective. My skillset for navigating life’s experiences had become broader and more multifaceted.

But I hadn’t gotten to this point solely by betting on myself. No, I’d molded myself into a person equal to the task of what lay before me.

I’m far from unique in this experience. Plenty of us have upped our game to meet the heightened stakes in our path.

Yet, for whatever reason, we are loathe to credit the upward shift. Whether due to ego or pride, we indulge our self-importance. We brush aside the twists and turns we endure along the path to something greater.

But those lessons, those adaptations — they’re what make us stronger. They’re what make us smarter. They’re what prime us for success.

We should take the time to recognize the change that lies ahead of us. We should embrace the learning opportunities embedded in our next moment of ambiguity.

For only when we consciously commit to leveling up do we unleash the full potential of our growth. It’s only then that we leverage the true benefit of new experiences.

So, embrace the upward shift. What lies within it make it worthwhile.

Scope of Perspective

What is the essence of life?

Which element do you focus on most? What do you consider most important?

Some might say the people matter most. That regardless the environment, the opportunity for human interaction is invigorating.

Some might say status matters most. That the opportunity to earn respect on the basis of prestige is what they live for.

And some might say the setting matters most. That our placement in relation to the rhythms of our surroundings sustains us.

People. Status. Setting.

All three are critical in establishing a rich and fulfilling life. But assigning priority to one over the others is like trying to find the right answer to a Rorschach test.

It all depends on your perspective.

The people perspective is the most refined. It focuses on the company we keep. What people have to say and share with each other matters more than who they are or where the interaction occurs.

As social beings, we are most naturally drawn to this dynamic. We crave social interaction. We demand trust. And sometimes, we even value intentions over actions.

Connection is at our essence. It’s why we’re so fascinated with interesting personalities. It’s why cocktail hour is such a time-honored event. And it’s why we insist on documenting every social gathering these days with a group picture on social media.

Yet, not all of us embrace human interaction equally. Those who are more reserved or less comfortable in social settings are inclined to take a wider view.

This starts with the status perspective. This level focuses on our achievements relative to others. Where we have access to that others don’t. What we achieve that others can’t.

This is the impetus for first class seating on airplanes. For gated communities of mega-mansions. For Platinum credit cards.

This all might sound a bit snobby and elitist. But in practice, many of us consider this aspect of life to be mission critical.

If you don’t believe me, consider the last time you avoided someone with different political views. Or recall that last time you spent time on the other side of the tracks. There’s a good chance this encounter wasn’t recent.

Yes, status is our middle ground. Our opportunity to soak up social interaction on our terms. To build a culture of association, and to assimilate ourselves to it.

But this coziness comes at a cost. Status is context-specific, and cultural divides can lead to closed-mindedness. Our perspective is limited by our blind devotion to measuring sticks and self-defined boundaries.

The challenge, then, is to take our perspective one level further, to the perspective of setting.

This is the Bird’s Eye View — but with a twist.

It’s where we take a 360-degree view of our surroundings, and consider how we interact with them.

When we focus on the setting, we observe the weather, the lighting, the peripheral sights and ambient sounds we encounter. We value these details as much as the interactions that take place within them.

It’s hard to operate at this level. It’s not easy to pay such close attention to detail, but also be aware of the big picture. It’s challenging to have enough humility to realize we’re part of a bigger narrative, and that we should give that narrative its due.

This is why the perspective of setting is so often reserved for those who choose to remove themselves from the din of social connection. It’s why it’s so often tied to intellectuals, introverts and authors.

These groups are predisposed to taking the wider view. But by no means do they have a stranglehold on it.

There’s much that can be learned by taking this scope of perspective.

It can make us more well-rounded. It can make us more situationally aware. And it can make us more conscientious.

These benefits are worth the work needed to adapt our mindset toward them.

So, while there’s no clear choice as to which element of life has the highest priority, there is a clear directive.

Broaden your scope of perspective. Reap the results.

The Competitor Within

Is competition a zero-sum game?

I say no.

Sure, there’s plenty of rhetoric out there about vanquishing our rivals. On how There Can Be Only One or If You Ain’t First, You’re Last.

We’ve taken that to heart more than ever these days. From the ballfields to Capitol Hill, from the job market to social media feeds, partisanship is as vicious as ever.

Competition has brought out the worst in us. It’s poured lighter fluid on the vitriol of groupthink. It’s caused us to dehumanize anyone who’s not on our team. It’s eviscerated any empathy we might otherwise have for those who lie in the path of our selfish desires.

In the relentless quest to win, it appears we have all lost.

Yet, it doesn’t have to be this way.

We can still compete without causing each other carnage. Without drawing lines in the sand and causing further chasms in our society.

We just need to shift our focus.

I’m a highly competitive person.

I grew up playing baseball and watching Luke Skywalker lock light sabers with Darth Vader. The win at all costs mantra was strong within me.

Then, things changed.

I was 13 when the Twin Towers came down, and the skies above New York and Washington filled with fire and smoke. It was a horrifying, unfathomable event. Amidst my grief, there was confusion. How could the free world I knew have suffered such a brutal loss, out of the clear blue sky?

Of course, I wanted to punish those who took thousands of innocent lives. I supported the U.S. military’s operations in Afghanistan, and still do today. Petty as it was, I smiled when Seal Team 6 took out Bin Laden a decade later.

But my view of competition had changed. Going after the terrorists didn’t constitute winning. We had already lost something we could never get back.

As I moved into high school, I was lost. Disillusioned with the Zero-Sum game of competition and the horrors I’d seen come from it, I held myself back. I did my best to blend in at the expense of standing out.

By the time I was 16, my mother was fed up with my act. You’re lazy, she told me.

Those two words lit a fire under me.

The competitiveness that was long-dormant in my soul roared back to life. And I sprung into action.

I improved my grades enough to get multiple acceptance letters from colleges across the South. But upon choosing which school to attend, I didn’t let up.

I continued to strive for greatness through college, and the two careers that followed. Good enough wasn’t sufficient for me. I could always do better.

In fact, I was obligated to do better.

You see, I came to realize that by bringing out the best in myself, I could provide more to those around me. That I could help make the world a better place.

I came to realize the best kind of competition isn’t a Zero-Sum game.

When we shift our competitive focus inward, we change the game.

Think about it.

By demanding the best of ourselves, we play the role of both coach and critic.

We achieve what we might not have thought was possible before. We push our boundaries. We grow. We iterate.

Better yet, by turning the fires of competition inward, we can connect with others. We can respect our rivals, embrace our differences and focus on helping each other through a common drive for better.

Everyone wins in this scenario. In fact, the only casualty of self-competition is complacency.

So, let’s stop the blood feuds, the name calling, the nastiness. Let’s shift our competitive focus to a more productive place.

Let’s embrace the competitor within.