Dylan Brooks | Words of the West

The Quiet Roar

The loudest message often comes from the quietest origins.

This might seem surprising at first. Especially since our culture lionizes the boisterous.

But those with the loudest voices all too often fail to win our hearts and minds. The sheer force of their vocal pitch causes us to take heed of what they have to say, but only for a moment.

In the long term, the loudest among us don’t win our attention. All that bravado eventually comes off as white noise, about as memorable as our morning coffee from three weeks ago.

This is surely not what those vociferous speakers want. But all too often, they confuse commanding the room for creating influence. And when they fail to capture hearts and minds by projecting their voice, they generally overcompensate by talking even louder.

These actions send these booming orators into a dark spiral. One where they’ll get a reputation as a loudmouth with nothing of substance to say.

It’s a reputation that fully undermines any remaining chance they have of causing influence.

There are a couple reasons why this paradox occurs.

One reason is that we’re poorly equipped to handle continual shouting. Our bodies act defensively when we encounter large bursts of noise. While it might seem as if a loud talker has captivated the room, a more likely explanation is that they’ve startled others into momentary silence.

Some of us do handle noise better than others. For example, some people are comfortable hanging out at large concerts or crowded bars. And if those of us who live under an airport flightpath — as my grandparents did for six decades — gradually tune out the sound of the high-pitched jet engines overhead.

But regardless of how well we acclimate to a noisy environment, loud noise is still a shock to our system. Our bodies just don’t handle it well.

If you don’t believe me, watch the late R. Lee Ermey in Full Metal Jacket. Consider how you’d feel if you were continually getting yelled at by someone standing six inches in front of your nose.

So yes, our defensive posture to noise is a barrier that prevents the loudest speakers from meeting their objectives. But there’s another reason why more noise does not equal more results. One that can be defined in six words.

Volume is the enemy of rhythm.

Yes, the key to resonance is not only knowing how loudly to speak. It’s also knowing when to speak.

Our attention follows cyclical rhythms. We are more likely to remember a massage when it’s part of a mixed pattern of silence and noise.

This silence most frequently comes in the form of a well-timed pause. Storytellers use these pauses to build dramatic tension. Great communicators use them to underscore their point.

Why? Because pauses illicit wonder in an audience. They allow minds to wander and silently ask What if? questions. They unlock a world of possibilities.

By the time the communicator is ready to share their message, the audience is waiting for them with anticipation. The captive audience members are wondering whether the message will resolve the stream of questions running through their mind.

If it does, the audience members will feel accomplished. They’ll feel as if they unlocked the mystery that floated through the silence.

If it doesn’t, the audience members will feel awed. They’ll feel as if they learned something new and unexpected.

Either way, the message resonates. The communicator wins.

All without lifting their finger or raising their voice to a full shout.

It’s an art form, for sure. So, what’s needed to master this art?

A hefty dose of patience and observation.

It takes the ability to read the room and chime in at the appropriate time. It requires the contextual chops to understand a situation and respond in a thought-provoking way. It demands context over bluster, wit over brute force.

And it favors those with a quieter disposition.

Think about it: Those best at this art must listen before they speak. They must recognize patterns and understand how to leverage them. They must embrace the silence as an ally, not an enemy.

This is the realm of the quiet, the soft-spoken. It’s the domain of the thoughtful speaker, the empathetic communicator.

But even while this pattern skews towards those who say little, it’s not exclusive to introverts or the more reserved. We all can use the rhythm of attention to our advantage when sharing our messages.

In fact, we all should.

Adopting this practice might require a leap of faith for the most gregarious of us. But the results will benefit everyone.

White noise will fade away. And we’ll have more chances to captivate and inspire.

So, let’s leave the myth of loud voices behind. It’s time to embrace the quiet roar.

Prioritizing Time

Which matters more: Time or money?

Many of us would go with the first option. But we have a strange way of showing it.

In reality, we tend to put our bank accounts first. We know that money is a finite resource and live within our means.

Yet, we fail to treat time with the same care.

We overload our schedules, meet our obligations with haste and act as if there’s no tomorrow.

All to earn more money, more accomplishments or more prestige.

It’s as if we consider time to be a maximizable asset. Something that can provide us an outstanding return on our investment if we play our cards right.

After all, we can’t pay for a burger with time. Or buy our dream house with it. So why not leverage time the most efficient way we can?

But thinking this way is a fool’s errand.

After all, time is not something that can be sped up. Or slowed down. Or packed and stacked to meet our agenda.

It moves at a constant rate.

Like the dripping of a faucet, that tick-tick-tick of the clock is relentless in its consistency. Always headed forward, but never in a hurry to get there.

Yes, it turns out time is the most finite form of currency there is.

Once a moment is gone, it can’t be recovered. Its only remnants lie in the banks of our memory. But the passage of time can cruelly take back those memories from us.

And of course, our existence itself is finite. Our hourglass will run out of sand someday. Yet, the tick-tick-tick of the clock, the rising and setting of the sun — those patterns will continue on.

Maybe that’s what terrifies us.

The lack of power and control. The inability to have final say over our destiny.

Perhaps this is why we feel we must dice up time like a tomato. Even if it’s better to mold time like a ball of clay.

Perhaps this is why we live in micromoments, run ourselves ragged for 19 hours a day, and become slaves to our email inboxes and phone calendars.

Perhaps this is why we continually race that tick-tick-tick of the clock, as if it’s Mario Andretti at the Indy 500.

All this running around might keep us stimulated. It might keep our cash balances replenished. It might help us get on the fast track to bettering our situation.

But there are significant tradeoffs for these outcomes.

When we run ourselves ragged, fatigue becomes normalized. Our attention spans erode. And regret eats away at us like a cancer.

This behavior doesn’t help us make the most of our life. It destroys it in the most brutal and calculating of ways.

The hour has come to end this destructive cycle. To give time the priority it deserves.

The hour has come to view time as a gift that’s given. Not a resource to be mined into oblivion.

The hour has come to value time more than money. Or any other factors competing for our attention.

We might lose some productivity when we commit to this shift in thinking. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

By prioritizing time, we gain freedom and fulfillment.

And that’s certainly worth striving for.

Offshoot Effects

What’s your mission statement?

Your purpose in life. The words that define your everyday actions.

If you do have a defined mission statement, chances are it hasn’t always been set in stone. It’s evolved over time.

Why? Because values change with experience. Often in unpredictable ways.

Look at the corporate world. For years, blue-blood companies followed the ethos of providing quality products and services. These companies had systems in place to deliver products efficiently. And consumers had both a need for those products and few alternative means of getting them.

Thus, the most powerful companies maintained long reigns of control. And their mission statements only required three words: Trust through quality.

But then some college dropouts tooling around in a garage changed everything. Technology upended the apple cart, first with PC’s, then with the Internet, then with smartphones.

As these innovations took hold, the control companies had long maintained over the buying process went out the window. Consumers now had tangible alternatives. And they no longer had to put up with shoddy customer service, delays or other pain points.

Trust through quality was no longer enough. The companies who evolved their mission statements to meet this new reality maintained their prestigious status. The others withered on the vine.

I call this paradigm shift The Offshoot Effect.

Offshoot effects don’t necessarily force you to do a full 180. But they do require you tweak your modus operandi in order to adapt to a changing situation.

While the corporate world has had to come to terms with offshoot effects for the past quarter century, we, as individuals, have dealt with them our entire lives.

Every time an event in our lives has changed our perspective, it’s left a mark on our mission statement.

Business as usual has no longer been sufficient.

I have seen this firsthand.

My mission statement has long focused on the core concepts of helping others excel and building connections. As a writer, and an introvert, these concepts have seemed the most in line with what I do and who I am.

Outside Words of the West, I’ve largely stayed out of the spotlight. I’ve poured my heart and soul into making the lives of those around me less isolated and more fulfilling. But I rarely took a public stand or made a public statement.

Then Charlottesville happened.

In mid-August of 2017, a group of Neo-Nazis descended on a college town in Virginia to protest the removal of Confederate monuments. The protesters carried torches as they spewed hate and bigotry. Counter protesters soon showed up, and violence ensued. By the time the dust cleared, one counter-protester and two Virginia state troopers had lost their lives.

From far away in Texas, I followed the events with horror. I’d been in the South for more than a decade at that point, and long defended it. This wasn’t the South I knew.

I remember thinking of what friends and family up north would say. See, it’s like we said. They’re all racist and despicable.

That rankled me.

All I had experienced in the South was warmth and kindness. Sure, I had seen the videos of the marches and the violence of the Civil Rights Era, but that was more than a generation removed.

I had seen no inkling of it with my own eyes, until that fateful day. And I didn’t know how to reconcile what I saw, and how I felt.

I reflected for a few days, until I came to a powerful realization.

The story had not been fully written.

Sure, the events of Charlottesville had grabbed all the press, and made other corners of America resent the South ever more. But the South I knew — the land of kindness and decency — was tangible and real. If I could embody those principles and inspire others to do the same, I could change the narrative — even if only by a little.

So, I went back and revised my mission statement, adding the following:

Be a better Southerner and cultivate the goodness that lies within.

Every day, I live into this statement. I make it my purpose to represent what my region has been and can still be.

It has made me more involved, more engaged and more aware of the impact of setting a good example for others.

Yes, as horrifying as the Charlottesville situation was, it served as an inflection point. It created an offshoot effect that has transformed both my personal mission statement and the purposeful journey that accompanies it.

I am not alone in this regard.

We each have our own inflection points that create offshoot effects. Perhaps not as public and horrifying as mine, but no less significant.

The key is to heed the message these sea changes bring to our lives. To use those offshoot effects to adapt our missions and amplify our impact.

For regardless whether we have a mission statement in place or not, we have the capacity to leave our mark on the world. So long as we can adapt to it.

Let’s use that power wisely.

Down and Dirty

How badly do you want to know all the details?

The inner workings of a process, a product, an organization, or anything else you might cross paths with in life.

This information can be valuable. But buyer beware.

You might get more than you bargained for.

In 1906, Upton Sinclair’s novel The Jungle shook America to the core.

The book was an inside look at the meatpacking industry. Sinclair, a muckraking journalist, spent several months working undercover in meatpacking plants as he gathered material for the book. And readers were not ready for his no-holds-barred expose of what life was really like behind the curtain.

The Jungle detailed oppressive working conditions and unsanitary health practices in meatpacking plants. As Americans read the book, they suddenly found their steaks, pork chops and Bratwursts to be far less appetizing.

It turned out, learning how the sausage gets made was a bit too much information. Uproar over the book eventually led to codified employment protections and food handling procedures. But the stain it left on our consciousness was permanent.

The Jungle changed the way we look at the details. And it sparked an interest not only in knowing the details of a process, but also in ensuring they’re up to par with our expectations.

That’s why the book is still talked about, more than 100 years later.

Times have changed, but the message remains the same.

Today, we’re obsessed with how the sausage gets made. We crave transparency throughout the supply chain. No longer is ignorance bliss.

We now demand control over every step of the process. And we demand accountability, by threatening to turn elsewhere if even a single link in the chain doesn’t meet our standards.

This phenomenon isn’t restricted to the companies we buy from, the governments we vote for or the entertainment options we patronize. It extends to our own interactions as well.

In the age of social media, we can learn all we can about everyone we know, and everyone we don’t. We soak this information up like a sponge. And use it to associate, or disassociate, with others.

The point is clear: Details matter. The more transparent and clean those details are, the more likely we’ll support the person, product or organization behind them.

We’ve reshaped societal behavior with this principle. But are we demanding too much?

Are we headed to a point of no return?

You see, our requirements for transparent details comes at a premium. A cleaner, more ethical process doesn’t come cheap.

Yet, we can’t stomach paying more for the convenience. In money, trust or social capital.

We’re hard-wired to search for the discounts. To get the most bang for our buck.

This chasm between what we demand and what we’re willing to give up for it is problematic. It leads providers to get down and dirty to meet our expectations. But once we find out about these tactics, we shame the offending providers and move to greener, cleaner pastures.

It’s a brutal cycle. And one that’s entirely unsustainable.

So, where do we go from here?

Do we dare take accountability for our own skewed expectations? Do we dare devote more time, money or energy to people and entities that go the extra mile for quality?

It’s unlikely. The Why pay more? question is too deeply embedded in our consciousness.

With that in mind, maybe it’s better if we don’t know how the sausage is made. If we focus more attention on the end result, instead of scrutinizing the intermediate points to no end.

Obviously, we’d still need to be aware of some details — particularly as they pertain to health and safety. But otherwise, peering behind the curtain might do us more harm than good.

Whichever way we turn, one thing is clear. Transparency comes with a cost.

If we aim to know all the details, we best prepare to get down and dirty.

The Mirage of Relief

A cloud lifted.

This is the sensation we often feel when we can avoid making a decision our heart’s not fully invested in.

That decision often comes as we prepare to enter into a commitment that’s unfamiliar and scary.

It could be heading off to college, signing a mortgage, or committing to a new job.

Regardless of which type of tough decision we face, we react the same when we turn and walk away.

We feel as if the cloud has been lifted. We feel relief.

Relief is soothing. Relief is reassuring. And relief is extremely dangerous.

You see, there’s a misgiving embedded in relief. One that makes us believe we were right to run from our tough decisions or unpleasant commitments. One that says those choices were wrong for us, and that we provided our own salvation from them.

In essence, we treat relief as a White Knight. As the sensible way forward in a world of unpleasantness and confusion.

But this elevation of purpose is all kinds of wrong.

You see, relief is no savior. No, it’s actually a mirage.

Much like visions of water in the desert, it’s a reaction to our own hopes and dreams.

These hopes, these dreams — they’re heavily biased by our desires and fears. As such, they’re hardly objective at all.

Treating them as the voice of righteousness is like building a house of cards. They’re bound to come crashing down.

The truth is as follows: What makes us feel good isn’t always right. Sometimes, what’s difficult is what’s needed.

Think about it. What are we trading off for walking away? What is the price of comfort and uninterrupted happiness?

That price is the potential for something greater.

By playing it safe and letting our sense of relief win the day, we sacrifice our ability to grow and prosper. We cede the opportunity to make mistakes and learn from them. We give up the chance to live at the edge of our comfort zone.

There’s nothing admirable in that.

Now, that’s not to say that walking away is the always the wrong thing to do.

There are no absolutes here. The choices we make are heavily impacted by our temperament, along with the specific situations we face.

Some of these situations may carry a heavy toll for walking away. Others might not.

But regardless, when we do decide to balk, we must not mistake relief for validation.

Instead, we must take the time to exhale and move forward. All while disposing of all in-the-moment sensations.

For if we do not do this, we will cloud our judgement for future decisions. We will continue to champion what’s comfortable over what’s most beneficial.

And should we do that, we’ll be hurting ourselves. And ruining our potential.

So, find solace in relief. But beware of the mirage.

Illusions can cut deeper than the sharpest dagger.

Self-Doubt vs. Self-Worth

Go forth with confidence.

Some sage advice you might have heard.

It can be useful at times. But there’s a fine line.

You see, if we display too much confidence — if we act too boldly — we might come off as arrogant, egotistical or not self-aware.

We might look as if we lack humility. Or that we don’t contain empathy for others whose paths we might cross.

In any case, we’ll look like we’re out of touch.

It’s far better for us to convey self-doubt than to act as if we know it all.

Wait, what?

Yes, this advice likely flies in the face of just about anything we’ve ever heard on the subject of confidence.

In fact, we spend considerable time trying to root out self-doubt. For we view uncertainty to be the antithesis of strength.

A fundamental question lies at the heart of this prevalent viewpoint. If we don’t believe in ourselves, who will?

But using this question to remove self-doubt is a fool’s errand. It’s better suited for questions of self-worth.

And while those two phrases might sound similar, there’s actually a large chasm between them.

Self-doubt is a natural function of life. In an uncertain world where decisions don’t always pay off, it’s perfectly valid to question our own decisions.

After all, there’s likely someone out there with better qualifications, enhanced knowledge or more luck than us. And even they might not get it right all the time.

Self-doubt recognizes this gap between possibilities and reality. When used sporadically, it can serve as a powerful gut-check and a humbling reminder of our inherent imperfection.

Self-doubt keeps us honest. It keeps us grounded. It keeps us human.

Self-worth, on the other hand, takes this phenomenon a bridge too far. It questions not only our capability to perform a task, but also our viability for existing at all.

While self-doubt is akin to a spiritual awakening, self-worthlessness is a cry for help.

Unfortunately, many people can’t see the difference between self-doubt and self-worth. They can’t tell that a healthy reality check is not synonymous with a declaration of despair.

As such, our society tends to throw the baby out with the bath water. To consider any displays of humility and doubt to be signs of weakness.

Perhaps the confusion lies in the along the fine line that separates self-doubt and self-worth.

After all, self-doubt can be the first step in a downward spiral to self-worthlessness. But not always, and not often.

That’s the outlier case. A potent and devastating one, but an outlier nonetheless.

No, we far more commonly use self-doubt to define our boundaries. To see where the walls of the racetrack are. And to adjust accordingly.

Sometimes, we’ll take the effort to break through these boundaries. Other times, we’ll use them as guideposts to keep ourselves between the lines.

In either case, self-doubt can be healthy. And if it’s channeled in the right places, it can even be productive.

So, forget what you heard about fortune favoring the bold. And don’t trip over yourself to Go forth with confidence.

Our true power lies in our vulnerability.

The Forewarned Disadvantage

Does knowing the risks ahead of time make something worthwhile?

For the longest time, I would have said the answer to yes was this.

After all, mental preparation can be critical. If you know ahead of time that something bad might happen, you’ll ideally be prepared for it. Or at least you won’t feel blindsided by it.

This means you’ll be better prepared to navigate your way out of the trouble you encounter.

You’ll spend less time wondering What happened? and more time determining What’s next? Which can make all the difference — particularly when facing potentially lethal danger.

Of course, there’s an unspoken expectation that goes with this reasoning. One that assumes those with knowledge of the risks will somehow be less affected by them.

That somehow, these well-informed risktakers will take the lion’s share of the associated jolt at the point when they read the list of side effects. Not when trouble is at their tail.

This is why the term They knew the risks is so commonly used by those pundits who analyze the aftermath of disaster.

The translation? At least they were prepared.

This, of course, is ridiculous.

Nothing will soften the blow when something goes wrong. No prior knowledge can truly prepare you for the in-the-moment sensation of the train going off the tracks.

I know this firsthand. Not too long ago, I enrolled in a medical program that carried both great risk and reward.

By sticking to the program, I could eradicate my seasonal allergies. But the potential side effects of this program were grave, even lethal.

I was well aware of these side effects going into the program. I had to go through extensive training on warning signs and protocols. I was even given an EpiPen for emergency use.

But yet, I moved forward.

For several months, I saw no ill effects from the program. If anything, I could sense my health improving.

Cat dander no longer set my eyes watering. And the start of spring no longer gave me the sniffles.

But one day, my chickens came home to roost. The side effects I had learned about became all too real.

I knew immediately that something was terribly wrong. Being forewarned of the risks gave me that advantage.

Yet, while I was able to act quickly to stem the tide of trouble, doing so gave me no peace of mind. It didn’t remove the sickening feeling of my body spiraling out of control, or the sheer terror of being on the brink.

The symptoms I felt were just as raw and vivid as those of food poisoning or other surprise ailments. Knowing the risks ahead of time didn’t comfort me one iota in the moment.

There’s no telling if I’ll start the program again. The decision is out of my hands.

But even if it weren’t, it would be far from a slam dunk decision for me to continue. My urge to climb back on the horse is tempered by the sensation of once bitten, twice shy. A life-threatening ailment will have that effect on you.

Either way, I now think far differently about the significance of being forewarned.

I now think the conventional wisdom is wrong.

You see, all too often, we lionize those who feel the fear and do it anyway. We downplay the danger while promoting bravery.

It’s as if being brave makes us Superman. As if seeing the brick wall around the corner will keep us from breaking our bones when we slam into it at full speed.

This narrative is simply not true.

The risks we expose ourselves to are real. The pain is real. The ensuing emotions are real.

Forewarned or not, we’re bound to experience them all when trouble rears its head.

Perhaps ignorance is bliss. Perhaps being forewarned is actually a disadvantage.

I guess it all depends on our perspective.

But either way, it’s important to note that bracing for impact will only get us so far in the event of disaster.

Proceed accordingly.

Forward Motion

Take a hit and keep moving forward.

If you’ve come across challenges in your life, there’s a good chance you’ve heard this advice.

I’m not sure where the phrase comes from. But it likely found its origin in the world of sports.

You see, in football, hockey, lacrosse and a myriad of other sports, you’ll run into some physical contact on the way to your goal. You could get tackled, hit, upended or crunched into the boards by an opponent.

All of these outcomes can abruptly put a halt to your progress. But this stoppage need not be permanent.

If you can shake off the hit, get up and keep on going, there’s a good chance you’ll reach your goal – bruises and all.

All of this provides a good allegory for life as a whole.

If you can handle the adversity you face, unbroken and undeterred, you can reach that which seek.

So, it’s important not to give up when life knocks you on your hind side. It’s better to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep moving forward.

Of course, this is much easier said than done.

After all, getting knocked down is humiliating. Demoralizing even.

And no matter how many times we listen to that Chumbawamba song, out first instinct is likely not to get right up again.

But yet, we do.

What drives us ahead? What propels our forward motion, even at times when every fiber of our being wants to grind to a halt?

The answer varies.

Some of us are driven by persistence. By locking in on the end goal in moments of struggle and shaking off the setbacks, those of us in this boat take the long view.

Some of us are driven by retribution. By turning a no into a yes, proving the doubters wrong and showing it can be done, those of us in this boat take an adversarial tone.

And some of us are driven by necessity. By heeding the fear of being left high and dry – by recognizing that folding to all instances of adversity gives them no viable path forward – those of us in this boat rely on survival.

These are three very different approaches. But all provide the same result.

We are inspired to ride on. We are encouraged to propel ourselves toward something greater. We are driven to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and move forward.

And in the process, we learn, grow and experience in ways we never would if there were never those bumps in the road.

Yes, while the destination remains the same, the journey becomes ever more valuable.

So, even if we fall down seven times, we owe it to ourselves to get up eight.

Forward motion is worth the effort.

Accepting The Blame

It’s our fault.

The way the world treats us. The opportunities are given and taken from us. The narrative that we see in the world around us.

It all comes back to us.

It’s tempting to blame others for our misfortunes. To blame our bosses for not giving us the raises we feel we deserve. To blame corporate executives for escalating prices on the services we rely upon.

It’s tempting to blame others for exposing us to risk. To blame self-interested investors for hitching our collective destiny to the uneasy wagon of the stock market. To blame banks for taking on bad debt risk and tanking our economy.

And it’s tempting to blame others for leaving a bad taste in our mouths. To blame Mark Zuckerberg for giving away our data to bad actors. Or the media for providing us story after story of blood and guts, deceit and divisiveness.

But it all comes back to us.

We’re responsible.

You see, our capitalist society is built upon more than the principle of free enterprise. It’s built in our image.

Yes, a system built on the tenets of supply and demand reflects our desires. Oftentimes, it reflects the best aspects of humanity. But other times, it speaks to the darkest parts of our nature.

Namely, our overindulgent, win-at-all-costs tendencies.

These flaws lie within all of us, regardless of character. While some of us outwardly display them more than others, they’re certainly omnipresent.

One look at the capitalist structure proves that.

The pursuit of the almighty dollar owns all in this society. The exchange of money plays a fundamental role in our everyday lives.

On a basic level, we trade money for the services needed to survive. That’s a value exchange that benefits both sides of the transaction.

But we’re not okay with staying at that basic level. We want to live into The American Dream.

We want the bigger house, the nicer car, the flashier amenities. We want more, more, more — regardless of the collateral damage that comes with it.

This setup speaks to overindulgence. To a game with winners and losers that continually requires us to get an edge.

The corporate world reflects these values we espouse.

It has to.

Companies come into existence to satisfy our needs. Our overindulgence keeps them alive and thriving – as it provides fledgling companies an abundance demand to serve.

All until companies reach critical mass, and become mature. At that point, the goal becomes to keep that edge. To grow that demand even further, in order to satisfy their investors and keep their competitors at bay. Just as with our individual pursuits, there can never be enough.

Humanity inevitably gets lost in this process. Companies prioritize profits over people. Customers become commodities and employees become expendable.

It’s easy to vilify faceless corporations or their executives for being heartless, greedy and cruel when we feel the sting of these decisions. But it’s far more likely that the real villain is in staring back at us in the mirror.

We are the engine that drives business. Our needs, wants and desires impact the outcomes we see.

We have the voice and power to stem the tide, to turn things in a brighter, less ugly direction.

But we must accept the blame.

We must let go of the narrative that we are good and the world is evil.

We must recognize that the flaws we have within us impact the results we see without.

And we must work to exhibit restraint. To resist overindulging or winning at the expense of others.

No more scapegoats.

The key to a brighter, warmer kinder world lies within.

Let’s seek it out.

The Context of Focus

A few months ago, a received a compliment that totally floored me.

I was told I had a great ability to focus.

I was caught off guard by this comment, because this was a trait I didn’t quite see in myself.

I’m notoriously self-critical, and don’t like to dwell on my strengths. But I do know what they are.

Or, at least I thought I knew what they were.

Now, I’m reconsidering.

You see, I’ve long bemoaned my lack of focus, more than anything. I’ve considered my struggles reading books or maintaining attention when watching TV at home. And I’ve dwelled on the trouble I’ve had conversing with others with a lot of noise and movement around me.

This regret has eaten away at me, like a powerful acid.

After all, focus is my goal. A laser-targeted focus could help me achieve my objectives more efficiently and effectively.

I’ve likened this idyllic focus to being early-career Tiger Woods on the golf course.

Tiger had an uncanny ability to tune out all the noise around him and hone in on the task at hand. It helped him dominate a field of the world’s best golfers and tame the toughest courses — even in the harshest of conditions.

I’ve actually experienced this sensation of hyper focus before — although not on Sunday at The Masters, with the whole world watching. And not for as prolonged a period.

No, this sensation has come when I was in what some psychologists call a flow state. That’s a period where all distractions and time melt away. A period where one can truly hone on what needs to be done, and then execute upon it.

As a control enthusiast and intensely task-motivated person, I consider flow states to be pure gold. They are the essence of my greatest productivity.

But they’re also highly elusive. I can’t just snap into one on command.

And that constraint has darkened my entire outlook on the subject of focus.

It’s led to consternation when I’ve struggled to get more than a chapter into a book. It’s caused queasiness every time I’ve found myself paying more attention to the conversations around me than the task at hand. And it evoked dismay and disappointment when the writing of this very article spilled into a second day.

In short, it’s what’s led me to consider focus a personal liability for many years.

But now I wonder, do I have it all wrong?

Perhaps the young lady who lauded my ability to focus was right. For, in certain scenarios, I clearly can stay locked in. I certainly can execute on my objectives with ruthless efficiency in those moments.

I’ve demonstrated this many times throughout my life. And I most assuredly wouldn’t be where I am today if I hadn’t.

But truth be told, I’m not the only one with these abilities. Surely, we each have our moments of focused brilliance, just as Tiger Woods once did on the links.

The key word here is moments. For focus is context-specific.

None of us can stay hyper-focused all the time. If we did, we wouldn’t be human.

So instead, we operate in waves. Of productivity and aloofness. Of efficiency and inefficiency. Of good days and bad ones.

This is the natural balance of our lives. And the sooner we get accustomed to it, the better.

There’s no point in trying to own every moment. It sets the bar far above what’s realistically achievable and only sets us up for disappointment. I know this as much as anyone.

Better to own the moments that mean the most.

Focus matters. But context matters more.

Author: Dylan Brooks