Dylan Brooks | Words of the West

Lessons from Intensity

What do you think of when you see the word intensity?

I think of aggression, stress and other unsavory traits.

I think of a crowd of commuters on a New York City subway platform. All in a hurry but with nowhere to go.

Yes, I’ve long seen intensity as a problem. A self-inflicted wound that damages our health and sabotages our relationships with others.

In my view, a laid-back attitude is ideal. It represents nature in balance.

There’s only one problem. I don’t practice what I preach.

It turns out that I am an incredibly intense person. My motor is always running at full speed.

My intensity is the fuel that drives many of my defining characteristics. It’s led me to be a control enthusiast and a chronic planner. It’s inspired me to stay active and engaged at all times. And it’s also made me incredibly self-critical.

These results are a mixed bag. Some have helped me do great things and connect with those around me. Others have been detrimental or offputting.

In the past, I’ve focused on the problems my intensity has caused. And I sought to remedy them with wholesale changes.

I tried to adapt a more laid-back lifestyle. I aspired to live more in the moment. And I devoted time to relaxing and leaving the worries of the real world behind — even if only for a little while.

It didn’t work.

It turns out I can’t change the way I’m wired. My intensity, much like my introversion, is encoded in my DNA.

I’ve had to learn to get comfortable with this fact. And to recognize that intensity doesn’t necessarily equate to pushiness or rudeness.

Yes, I’ve discovered that even the most intense people can still find a productive balance. It comes from channeling that intensity inward and exuding empathy outward.

I now strive to achieve that balance. And the results thus far have been transformative.

I push myself harder than ever. And I demand a level of perfection that I know I’ll never reach.

Yet at the same time, I aspire to treat others with care and kindness. To appreciate them for who they are, and how they are.

This might all seem a bit strange and disjointed. But I consider these opposing approaches to be connected.

The way I see it, my purpose is to make a positive difference in the lives of those around me. And by channeling my intensity inward — by demanding ever more of myself — I can live into that purpose.

It is this narrative that has provided me peace of mind, at long last, when reflecting my intensity. All while providing me something to strive for.

I believe this is a powerful lesson to carry forward. Because regardless of whether we love intensity or consider it abhorrent, we must recognize that context is everything.

We shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. There are plenty of applications of each trait we possess that are healthy and productive. And plenty of others that are dangerous or problematic.

The power is in our hands.

Our traits are our superpowers. Use them widely.

The Journey to Situational Awareness

How well do you know yourself?

I mean really know yourself.

It can be relatively easy to recognize your key traits. To understand whether you’re shy or outgoing. Confident or tentative. The center of attention or the one in the shadows.

But that’s only part of the equation.

You see, for us to truly understand ourselves, we must delve deeper than our personality traits. We must layer in context.

We must consider our situational awareness.

This is one of the trickiest concepts to master. Yet, it’s one of the most critical.

For how we respond to the contextual cues around us impacts how others see us. And how they choose to interact with us.

This can open doors for us. Or shut them.

It all hinges on how we read and react to the situations we encounter in real time.

Get this right and others will speak of us glowingly. Get it wrong, and they’ll cringe at our indiscretion.

But how do we learn to read situations right? How do we prepare to have the right response at every turn?

Through trial and error.

There are simply no shortcuts. Reading the room happens in real time, and our reactions bubble to the surface in that exact moment.

It’s only by failing that we succeed. By being cringeworthy and learning from the experience.

This process requires introspection. It requires humility. And it requires a willingness to change.

This is a big ask. Many of us don’t like second-guessing ourselves. And we don’t like to embarrass ourselves.

But by taking the plunge, we set ourselves up for success. The lessons we learn can help us gain social capital. And the actions we take help us build character.

Take it from me.

Growing up, I was notoriously bad at situational awareness. I looked and felt out of place on more than one occasion. And my social life — or lack thereof — reflected my contextual blindness.

I wasn’t even tone-deaf. I was clueless.

Fortunately, as time went on, I was able to flip the script. I made friends who assessed me honestly and pointed out my situational awareness flaws. And I developed the courage to identify my mistakes and learn from them.

I’m far from perfect today. But I find myself out of place far less often. And my peers regard me a lot more highly than they did in my younger years.

This transformation started with the courage to look within. To understand my deficiencies and work to make them strengths.

The journey that ensued has helped define me.

It’s not too late for your journey to start.

Do what you can to maintain situational awareness.

Learn the cues. Have the humility to grow through your mistakes. And get to know yourself far better than you might ever have imagined.

Your social future is at stake. Make it a great one.

The Value in Sharing Knowledge

What value does knowledge hold?

Some would say it holds infinite value. That the more knowledge one accrues, the better off they are.

They may be right. But only to a point.

You see, the true value in knowledge lies not in how much of it one can gain. No, it lies in how much of it one can share.

Sharing represents full utilization of knowledge. It represents taking what one has gained and using it to help others. To bridge gaps, build communities and make the world a better place.

This is where value is created. This is where legends are made.

If you don’t believe me, consider how few rewards are given simply for accruing knowledge.

It might get us into Harvard, give us the grand prize in Jeopardy or help us ace the exam.

But then what?

We won’t be remembered for how much we can remember. And we likely won’t be able to make a career out of what we retain in our heads.

We need to do more to leave our mark. We need to be actionable with what we’ve learned. To use our knowledge to solve real world problems.

This is what the world expects of us. And it’s what we must expect of ourselves.

Yes, collaboration a fundamental attribute of humanity. Our society is built upon the value of sharing knowledge. Of taking ideas, building upon them and maximizing their impact.

It’s how we’ve evolved from caves to computers. It’s how we’ve gone from walking through jungles amongst saber-toothed tigers to flying above the clouds in jumbo jets.

If the minds behind these innovations hadn’t shared them, we’d still be in the Stone Age. Or maybe even extinct.

In fact, if we hadn’t shared our accrued knowledge, our entire existence would be anonymous. History, after all, is solely the result of shared knowledge.

Fortunately, those before us have taken on the burden of sharing their ideas. And, in doing so, they’ve provided us with previously unimaginable luxuries.

We can now live longer than our ancestors did. And we can now live in greater comfort than previous generations could ever have imagined.

But we cannot drop the ball.

In an era where endless information is available in our pockets, we cannot afford to act as if our brains are intake valves.

We must remember the importance of taking it in to share it out.

We must share what we know.

We must advance the conversation.

We must leave the world a better place than we found it.

This is our purpose. And our responsibility.

So, let’s commit to it. Together.

Taking Decisive Action

If there are two words of advice I could provide for decision making, they would be Don’t Waffle.

Simple. To the point. And all too often ignored.

When we’re faced with an important choice we’re tempted to pause. To consider the risks and the alternatives we’re giving up in the process. And, subsequently, to get trapped between the paths forward.

Yes, it can be beneficial to be deliberate when facing a grave decision. But excessive deliberation leaves us stuck in neutral. It leaves us on the path to nowhere.

We understand this. But we fall into the same trap, time and again.

Why?

Because of our fear of imperfection. Of having to own a subpar result.

Even if we’re the only ones who know we chose the lesser option, it eats at us. Visions of what could have been serve to remind us that the grass is greener on the other side. Regrets abound.

This angst is so pronounced that we factor it into our decision-making process. Often long before we know what the results of our decision might be.

And therein lies the fatal flaw.

Most decisions are made ex ante, before the results are known. We can anticipate the results of our choice based on past results, future forecasts or our gut instincts. But there’s always a chance that things won’t go according to plan. There’s always a chance that we’ll be wrong.

There’s really no way of knowing that with certainty now. With all respect to psychics, Biblical figures and Tarot card readers, the future is unpredictable by nature.

Yet, our fear of undesirable outcomes causes us to gloss over this point. To take expected results as reality. To treat these ex ante decisions as ex post — or after the fact — ones.

It’s only at the point of no return that we realize how uncertain these outcomes are.

So, we pause. We agonize. We leave ourselves — and everyone waiting on our decision — in limbo.

This monster we create does no one any good. So, it’s best to slay the beast.

It’s best to take decisive action.

To treat our decision as a necessary step to move forward. And to commit wholeheartedly to our choice.

I’m a huge fan of the decisive action approach. It’s simple, yet all-encompassing.

Taking decisive action is about far more than just coming to a decision.

It’s about embracing the finality of our decision, regardless of how it turns out.

It’s about taking responsibility for everything that happens ex post. Including making reparations or apologies for anything that goes wrong on account of our choice.

It’s about continually learning from the results of our decisions. Using good outcomes to inform subsequent decisions.

Now, it’s not about throwing caution to the wind. It’s still critically important to prepare, so that we can make an informed decision.

But when the moment of truth is upon us, it does us no good to freeze.

So, let’s break the ice.

Let’s stop waffling. Let’s start moving forward.

Let’s take decisive action.

An Ode to Utility

Utility.

What does it mean?

On a basic level, it means usefulness. It means everything having its place, with nothing going to waste.

On a personal level, it means my life philosophy.

You see, I’m utilitarian to a fault. The idea of wasting money on resources I don’t need bothers me. And the thought of wasting the day away doing nothing makes me nauseous.

The way I see it, resources are way too strained for me to go off-script with a day or an item. Everything must have its purpose and nothing should be left to neglect.

This also means I must maintain internal discipline at all times. I can’t shut off my brain for a day or mindlessly chase a thrill now and then. My mind is always working, my joy always tempered by my sense of responsibility.

This can drive those in my inner circle crazy.

“Live a little,” they say.

But I’ve lived a lot. Long enough to know that there are no shortcuts.

All of our actions balance out in the end. Better to be cognizant of this construct throughout than to live in a boom or bust cycle.

Yes, as great as it might be to live carefree, we have many responsibilities to manage. Our possessions, our bank account and our well-being are just a few. Forgetting about these for a while means we’ll need to work extra hard to tend to them later.

I’d rather do the hard work before I commit. To stay agile and think lean.

This keeps me on task and on purpose. Which helps me live a more fulfilling life. One that’s worth the grind.

So, how do I do it? Well I start by considering the use case. Then I consider the cost.

If I can’t find a good, regular use for what I’m considering, it’s not worth getting. It will simply waste away as clutter, and my hard-earned dollars will be better spent elsewhere.

And if something is prohibitively expensive, I don’t pursue it. Utility is about living within one’s means, and budgets do matter.

Of course, there are exceptions to these rules. Gifts and family heirlooms are not always utilitarian, but they are valuable. And sometimes I feel a financial splurge is necessary, even if it stretches beyond my means.

But I balance out these moments of excess with frugality. After all, the ultimate goal is utility. And utility requires a return to my purpose-driven normal.

Now, I realize my reality is a bit extreme. Not everyone has my laser focus when encountering each decision. Many don’t want to have it.

That’s understandable.

But we would all benefit by looking at the big picture now and then.

We would all benefit by considering our footprint. Of how we use what we obtain and what value that brings us.

We would all benefit by thinking of our purpose. Of how our lives fit into our grander plans.

And we would all benefit by recognizing that the little things can make a big difference.

We are all blessed to walk this earth.

Let’s live each day with purpose. And act with utility.

Character or Action?

How should we evaluate people?

This is a concern we all have.

It’s difficult to find the right attributes to benchmark others by, particularly when our heart conflicts with our head.

It’s a challenge to differentiate between character and action.

The divide between character and action is similar to that between effort and execution. We lavish praise for one, yet make important decisions based on another.

In essence, we love to talk about how great people are, and how great they make us feel. But we don’t ultimately judge them on those attributes.

Or at least we shouldn’t.

You see, far too often we hear a familiar refrain.

They haven’t been holding up their end of the bargain, but they’re such a nice person. So, I’m not going to do anything.”

Wait, what?

By relying on a person’s character when making a decision in this scenario, we do more than merely let them off the hook for inaction.

We shortchange ourselves.

Character is good. Character is important. But in a results-based society, character cannot be paramount.

Regardless how strong someone’s character might seem, it’s their actions that make the biggest impact. These actions can help us or hurt us. And we owe it to ourselves to avoid that second outcome.

On a basic level, we understand this delineation. We recognize that we must be firm and objective when evaluating options and making decisions.

But in practice, it’s hard to follow through. After all, we don’t want to appear as cold and heartless. We’d rather not rebuke the kindness we’ve received with a sharp “No thanks.”

So, we put character on a pedestal. We place the soft-skill of likability over the measurable attribute of productivity.

This makes us feel good. It makes us feel like we’re contributing to society, and that we care about others. But these sensations blind us to the damage we’re doing to ourselves.

Yes, despite what folk tale wisdom might say, leading with the heart can be very dangerous.

Quality character should be table stakes in our society. There’s no reason for us to treat others badly. We all deserve kindness and respect.

Sadly, not everyone demonstrates this level of character. So, it becomes an object of our desire.

This starts the vicious cycle that send our values out of whack. That prioritizes bedside manner over results.

We must correct course.

We must remember that actions speak louder than words. That character is no substitute for results.

We can continue to promote quality character, of course. To instill it in the hearts and minds of others. Making the world a better place is always worth doing.

But we must leave it there. And not forget where our priorities must lie.

Character speaks loudly. Action speaks loudest.

Reflection on Inflection

What is your inflection point?

The point that changed everything.

Mine came about 15 years ago, in a musty community hall in Folcroft, Pennsylvania.

My family had come to town that evening for my grandfather’s retirement party. After 40 years of serving the town’s medical needs, he was leaving the practice he’d built behind.

I knew what my grandfather did for a living. I remember going by his office from time to time, helping set up EKG’s for his patients.

But none of that could have prepared me for what I was about to experience.

The room where the party was held was packed with people I’d never met. I then watched in awe as person after person spoke of how much of an impact my grandfather had on their lives.

I was floored.

Coming into that party, I was an average teenager. I wore a backwards baseball hat, sought a good time at every opportunity and found the idea of growing up to be soul-crushing.

But by the end of the night, my entire life had changed.

I saw the impact my grandfather had on his community and felt inspired.

In that moment, I found my purpose. That purpose was to positively impact the lives of others, just as my grandfather had done.

That purpose has driven all of the major decisions I’ve made in my life and career. The college degrees I’ve pursued, the jobs I’ve worked, the places I’ve lived — all have been within the framework of profoundly impacting the lives of others.

Yet, it’s almost odd that this is the moment I circle as my inflection point. After all, I experienced the horrors of 9/11 firsthand, moved halfway across the country and made a daring career switch — all by the age of 25.

Those events changed the trajectory of my life, no doubt. But they were almost too direct.

There was no getting around the changes those events brought about. Whether by God’s will or my own, the status quo no longer existed. I had to come to terms with my new reality.

I felt small in those moments. And I felt powerless.

On the other hand, my grandfather’s retirement party didn’t have to change my life. I didn’t find myself facing the abyss, the point of no return. I could have gone on living my life as I had before, and no one would have batted an eye.

But that didn’t happen. I saw the the emotions my grandfather’s life’s work evoked in his community and decided to devote my life to helping mine.

I still felt small in this moment. But this time, I felt powerful.

I knew I had the power to live into my newfound purpose. But I had to do my part to make it reality.

There was clear buy-in required. And I was all in.

I believe this buy-in is key when it comes to our inflection points. After all, the most impactful moments in our life are not those that change us. They’re the ones that inspire us to change ourselves for the better.

So, when searching for your infection point, don’t focus on the changes you’ve endured. Search instead for your earliest moments of inspiration.

The smallest moments might be more impactful than you think.

Ideal or Real?

Wouldn’t it be great if…?

We’ve started a sentence or three this way before.

The premise is simple: The status quo stinks and there’s a better reality to strive towards.

In other words, there is a gap between what’s real and what’s ideal.

This gap is a reality for all of us in an imperfect world. Life doesn’t go our way all the time.

Whether we have a lot or a little, there are things we want improved. There are days we wish we had a mulligan on. And there are times when we’re not feeling our best.

We bridge this gap through imagination and communication. By conveying to others our utopia, our ideal situation. Our Wouldn’t it be great if…? moment.

Yet, our perspective on the chasm between where we are and where we want to be can differ greatly from person to person.

Some of us approach this gulf as idealists with realist aspirations. And others look at is as realists with idealist aspirations.

Idealists with realist aspirations look at their current situation with a mixture of hope and regret. By expressing their best-case scenario for the present but then doubting its feasibility.

They might state something like the following: I wish I had enough money to buy a nice house in the suburbs. But let’s be real, that’s not going to happen anytime soon.

Realists with idealist aspirations are more blunt. They admit the imperfection of their current state but express a belief that their fortunes might change down the line.

They might say something like the following: I don’t have enough money right now to buy a nice house in the suburbs. I might not have it for a while. But hopefully I’ll get a raise and a promotion eventually, and this will change.

Neither of these perspectives is inherently wrong. They’re just two different perspectives of the same reality.

That said, there is a common misconception that idealists with realist aspirations are more optimistic than realists with idealist aspirations. I believe the opposite is true.

Admitting the less-than-ideal realities of our world doesn’t qualify as pessimism. It’s simply brutal honesty.

On the other hand, wishing for a utopia yet doubting its feasibility reeks of pessimism.

This approach is particularly bleak because it offers up an alternative reality, but punts on providing a path to get there.

This lack of initiative is concerning.

For if we want to close the gap between how it is and how it should be, we need to work at it. And we need to believe that our work can make a difference.

We need to have hope. For hope brings action. And action brings about change.

These principles are true regardless of the way we look at our current situation. Whether we consider it from a realist perspective or an idealist one, we must commit to change we want to enact in our lives.

By committing to this change, we can close the gap between our reality and our utopia. We can find the joy and contentment we seek. And we can discover the fulfillment that comes from working at determining our own destiny.

The power is in our hands. We simply need to make use of it.

So, let’s not just ask: Wouldn’t it be great if…?

Let’s make it so.

Effort vs. Execution

Try hard.

We’ve heard those words time and again.

The implication is clear: Put in the effort and the results will follow.

There’s only one problem.

It ain’t true.

Now, don’t get me wrong. There’s certainly some value to trying hard. To putting the maximum effort into whatever you do.

But ultimately, we’re not being judged on our effort.

We’re being judged on our execution.

This is a difficult concept for us to grasp. Largely because we’ve spent an entire generation praising and incentivizing effort.

My generation grew up thinking we could be whatever we wanted, as long as we tried. Our parents reinforced that theory by telling us we were special, and that a little initiative would go a long way.

Schools and extracurricular activities gave us participation ribbons, simply for making the effort to compete. Gatorade told us that if we wanted to be the next Michael Jordan, all we had to was put in the work — and drink their product. (Yes, sweat and a sports drink were all we needed to Be Like Mike.)

We carried this message like a William Wallace battle cry. Try hard and the rest will take care of itself.

Then we grew up, and reality hit us in the face like an Arctic wind.

You see, the real world doesn’t care how hard you try. It cares about results.

And if you can’t deliver those results, you will be held accountable for your failings.

I use the word failings here intentionally. For lack of execution is failure.

It doesn’t matter if you poured your heart and soul into something. If you didn’t get the needed result, you failed.

This is a harsh lesson for us to learn.

After all, we’ve conditioned ourselves to find silver linings, to tilt toward empathy in the times when things don’t go as planned. In doing so, we’ve made effort into a security blanket that covers us from the cut-and-dry nature of accountability.

But in reality, effort guarantees us nothing.

Someone with superior talent can roll out of bed and execute on a task better than we could, even with hours and hours of trying. And in a task-execution-based society, they get all the benefits. It’s as if we didn’t try at all.

So why put in the effort?

Because it builds character and demonstrates integrity.

Those attributes are valued in the long run. And they’re within your control.

Yes, execution is more highly valued in the short run. But the chances of success are determined by more than your talents.

There are elements out of your control that can negatively impact your ability to execute. If you don’t believe me, try pitching a tent in a gale-force wind.

Effort, on the other hand, is firmly within your control. And much like your attitude, it’s something that can speak volumes.

So, it makes sense to try. To give your best effort day in and day out.

But it also makes sense to focus on execution. To look for areas where you have a chance to make an impact and devote your maximum effort there.

This will give you the best chance for sustained success. And that success can help drive society forward.

Execution drives results. Are you ready to take the wheel?

Writing It Down

Have you ever loved something, but were afraid to fully admit it?

That’s how I’ve traditionally felt about writing.

The best way to describe my relationship with the art of writing over the years is It’s complicated.

You see, I’ve always had a knack for the written word. Putting words on paper has come easily to me.

And those words have struck a chord in others. I know this because of the comments people have shared with me on my writing, and the grades I have received on written assignments in school.

Writing my greatest natural talent. It is to me as basketball is to Michael Jordan, or string theory is to an astrophysicist.

Yet for many years, I resisted the label of writer. I tried to convince others that I was no different than anyone else when it came to putting words on paper.

Why was that? What was I afraid of?

That answer too is complicated.

Quite simply, there were many elements of writing that didn’t jibe with me.

First, I viewed writing as a solitary activity. One where you’re chained to your computer screen or the pages of a notebook. Earlier in my life, I wasn’t as comfortable with that solitude as I am now. Although I’m an introvert, I still wanted to be around people all the time back then.

Second, I had a healthy dose of imposter syndrome. I’ve long known that the best writers are voracious readers. But I’ve found reading books to be a challenge. Lengthy chapters and huge chunks of text have given me anxiety. They’ve caused me to lose my place and reread the same passage over and over again.

This deterred me from reading over the years. And since I didn’t read as much as I wrote, I considered myself a writing fraud.

Third, I didn’t see a future for myself in writing. Growing up, my parents implored me to consider becoming a journalist, but the thought of writing on a deadline for a living terrified me. I was worried I’d run out of story ideas, and get fired.

And I didn’t find the published author route appealing either. I knew didn’t have the creativity of a Dan Brown or a J.K. Rowling. I recognized I was more of a structured thinker than many great novelists, and rolling the dice on a book release every year or two would be dicey.

With all this in mind, I buried my writing talents. I focused on far-fetched dreams of playing professional baseball or directing movies.

By the end of my first semester of college, I realized these dreams were fantasies. I’d already been cut from my high school baseball team a few years before. And while I went to college as a film major, I quickly discovered that directing required the very creativity I lacked.

I was lost at a very vulnerable time in my life. I didn’t know where to turn for a career, I was surrounded by the distractions of college life, and I had no one to hold me accountable.

But writing saved me.

I’d already been volunteering with the weekly sports show at the campus TV station for a semester when I hit my crossroads. I signed up with the TV station because it gave me an opportunity to be involved with sports, which was my passion. But I quickly discovered a new passion — broadcast journalism.

I loved the process of taking sports news and writing it into small blurbs that could be read on air. I thoroughly enjoyed writing to video. And I felt great satisfaction formulating 30 second highlights that could evoke emotion within TV viewers.

Because of sports and television, I was back on speaking terms with writing again.

I quickly changed my major to broadcast journalism. I started volunteering for the news show at the TV station, and set my sights on becoming a TV news producer. And I did ultimately become a producer at the ABC affiliate in Midland, TX for my first three years of my post-college life.

Sadly, my passion for TV news waned after I had to cover some emotionally scarring news stories. I switched careers and became a digital marketer, at a time when content marketing was coming into vogue.

I leaned on my writing to gain a hold in my new career. I had little confidence in my marketing abilities at first, as I had no prior experience with the discipline. But I recognized that my writing talents were my gift, and that it was my obligation to share that gift with the world.

Still, I felt something was missing. There was so much more that I wanted to share through writing that didn’t fit within my job function. That’s what led me to create Words of the West.

When I launched Words of the West, I made a commitment. I committed to write a fresh article every week. I committed to open up and share my thoughts and reflections. I committed to use my unique talents to help make a difference.

It’s all come full circle. Everything I once feared about writing I now demand of myself.

Why? Because I love writing.

It turns out my talent is my passion. It just took me a long time to realize it.

But I’m so glad I finally did.

Author: Dylan Brooks