Dylan Brooks | Words of the West

I Believe

What happens when it all goes wrong?

We should know. We’ve been living that scenario for some time now.

Our society stands divided, perhaps more than it has in a generation. And our divisions have never been more visible or more evident.

There are no winners in a divisive society; we all stand to lose. If you don’t believe that now, take a closer look at what has happened to us.

Deceit and distrust have poisoned the bonds that once united us.
Loud voices have spurred on ugly bouts of name calling.
Racism and xenophobia have come to the forefront.
Anger has overtaken reason.

All of this is far from ideal — the polar opposite of it, in fact. By accepting a world where facts don’t matter, a world where the opinions of bullies drown out the truth, we set ourselves down a dangerous path. After all, an authoritarian view is seldom a representative view of a society.

The more we feed into this cycle, the worse it gets. Distrust is like mold — once it sets in, it’s hard to eradicate. Rebuilding the bridges we’ve burned will take time, and the project will become impossible if we lose our way completely.

Take all this into account, and our situation might seem dark. Hopeless even.

But I still believe.

I believe in righteousness. That Do Unto Others resonates deep down for us, and always will.

I believe in unity. That what brings us together is ultimately stronger than what drives us apart.

I believe in truth. That we will naturally gravitate toward our foundation of facts, even when they’re not in our favor.

I believe in joy. That anger and hatred are but temporary, and that love and happiness sustain us.

And most of all, I believe in good.

Why do I believe in all this? Because these attributes have driven us forward since the beginning of time. And because we’ve consistently chosen them for the long haul.

Think about it. While we can trace moments of evil all the way back to the Garden of Eden, they’ve been just that — moments. Horrifying, devastating moments, but moments nonetheless.

You see, evil is like a wildfire. It can spark suddenly and destroy everything in its path, but it will ultimately burn itself out.

But goodness is both sustainable and everlasting. It will rise above wickedness every time.

Goodness represents the path we should choose. And while we sometimes go astray, we always find our way back on course.

So, while our present might seem bleak, and while we have a lot of work ahead to mend those broken fences, we shouldn’t give up on tomorrow. For the promise of a brighter day is still ahead of us.

I believe this, with all my heart.

Do you?

Navigating a Complex Society

As I reflect on the state of our society, one thought lingers:

I feel lost.

Not in a dark and hopeless way. More in the sense of: Where do we go from here?

The roadmap used to seem so simple: Do the right thing, connect with each other, grow as one. But there are layers of complexity making that path much more obscure.

Consider this:

We aim to build bridges across cultural divides in pursuit of a common good. Yet, by ignoring those cultural divides altogether, we ruin all the goodwill we’ve built.
We strive to care about each other and share a goal of a brighter future. Yet, by caring too much, our partisanship serves to divide and alienate.
We seek to trust others and find solace in their best intentions. Yet, blind trust easily exposes us to exploitation.

Shades of gray are everywhere. And they make the principle of unity seem as unfeasible as it is noble.

You see, striving for a common good requires us to rally around what we share, and use empathy to connect over what we don’t. But that connection only goes so deep. As a white man in Texas, I can’t pretend to understand the plight of a black woman in California. There are barriers of geography, skin color, gender and upbringing — along with 400 years of ugly historical constructs.

I can’t break through that barrier; neither can she. Even as we each strive to build a better future for our collective society, our differences remain a visible scar.

How do we build off this? How can we accept and celebrate our differences without letting the presence of that divide – and its associated fear, mistrust and isolation — destroy us?

I don’t know. But I know we need to try.

We must seek to get a better grasp on the complexities of our society. We must discover what unifies us and what divides us. We must understand what we should rally around together and what we should respectfully leave be. And we must build upon what we share without whitewashing that which we don’t.

This process will be difficult and uncomfortable. But it will help us remove the divisive stench of racism, misogyny and xenophobia — three ugly results of our unwillingness to come to terms with a complex society.

It will take a lot more than truly understanding the real ground rules of how we create to each other if we want to build a brighter future for everyone. But we owe it to ourselves to at least take that first step forward.

The Picture and the Frame

A picture’s worth a thousand words.

We’ve uttered this phrase millions of times, collectively, over the years. But do we really believe it?

I don’t. In fact, I feel it misses the point entirely.

You see, I love photography. It’s one of my great passions, along with cooking and writing. And it’s one of the reasons why a sweeping desert landscape greets readers as they come to Words of the West. I took that photo, and I’m as proud of it as I am my many blog articles.

Still, I feel photography is underappreciated and misunderstood. In our technologically advanced world, too many people see photos as a snapshot reminder of a moment in time — a crystal clear alternative to a thousand winding words of prose.

I feel it’s something far greater. To me, photography a blank canvas open to interpretation.

For there’s so much more to a photo than just the objects in it. There’s lighting, shadows and sky color. There’s depth of field and the signs of motion. There’s framing, balance and orientation.

All of these elements converge on one theme: perspective.

Perspective is what makes photography more than just a Polaroid of a time gone by. Perspective makes photography as much art as science, if not more.

But perspective has a unique place in the world of photography — as it’s twofold by nature.

First, there’s the perspective of the photographer. The artist who manipulates factors of light, time and frame to create his or her own window into a moment in time.

Then, there’s the perspective of the viewer. The person who takes in the image secondhand in a gallery or on an Instagram feed and makes that window all their own.

Both perspectives are significant. Both are unique. And both demonstrate that even the simplest snapshot is not so simple.

This dual narrative is what draws me to photography, what captivates me. There’s something uniquely beautiful and powerful when one relatable piece of imagery has the power to tell two stories.

Yet, there’s something sinister about equating this phenomenon with a measure of the written word.

It’s apples and oranges.

After all, writing serves a different purpose than photography. It’s about conveying a message through a protocol that both the writer and reader share — language. While effective writing can stir emotion, there is often a narrow frame of interpretation for the reader. The rules of written language make it so.

With no words to steer a course, photography is much more open to imagination. How something is captured — and what’s left out of the image — are key elements in the story. The frame matters just as much as the picture.

This is an important distinction — and one that stretches far beyond the camera lens. For in a world where technology makes it easy for all of us to broadcast, share and connect, framing matters more than ever.

We cannot take everything we see, hear or read at face value. Whether they’re filled with truth or alternative facts, the messages we consume are just one part of the story.

How we frame them matters. Our perspective matters — more than any 1,000 words can say.

So never forget the dual narrative in every experience. We have the power to shape the stories we consume. Best to use that power wisely.

A Foundation of Facts

There are few things in this world more concrete than facts.

The world is round. The sun rises in the east. The first one to the finish line wins the race. We inherently know these pieces of information, regardless of our interpretation of their meaning. While we might advocate vehemently for our perspective and our interests, we don’t mess with factual evidence.

Factual are indisputable, verifiable, proven. After all, there’s no plausible way to deny that 2 + 2 = 4.

But what if it wasn’t?

If there’s one theme from recent weeks, it’s that facts are negotiable. We can be hypnotized into believing that 2 + 2 = 5, and that anyone who says different has a dishonest agenda. We can suppress those who have taken the and due diligence to determine facts, and replace the void with opinion taken as absolute truth. With a mighty hand and blustery belligerence, we can take all that has been proven as “Just So” and make it “Anything But.”

This is as dangerous to humanity as it is ridiculous.

Facts serve as our foundation. Without our acceptance of these self-evident truths, humanity would long ago have gone extinct in a blaze of total anarchy. For if not for a common base of knowledge, we wouldn’t have the capacity to collaborate, build and evolve as a species.

A foundation of facts has led us to establish cities near plentiful water sources. It has helped us to accurately calculate profit margins for our business. And it has given us a jumping-off point as we seek to create ever more powerful microprocessors for our tech devices.

While it could be noted that an interpretation of specific facts could be directly attributed to these innovations, the point remains that humanity had to accept the ironclad nature of those facts in order to have a base to build from.

By attacking the fortress of factuality, we risk it all. With no semblance of order in our collective universe, those with the most power can coerce us into accepting their opinions as absolute. With no common core in our consciousness, we’re likely to jump off the figurative cliff, unwilling to accept the indisputable pull of gravity leading us to our demise.

We must fight back.

We must advocate for the presence of facts in our society, regardless of our views regarding them. We must separate fact from opinion, taking great care to evaluate each with the proper amount of weight. And regardless of our views, we must never let anyone rob us of the ability to think for ourselves.

These actions don’t represent the hallmarks of democracy. They represent the hallmarks of humanity.

And that’s something worth fighting for.

Avoiding Overblown

“It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.”

My mind has been fixated on these R.E.M. lyrics recently. How could they not be?

While the song comes from a time of VCR’s and Iron Curtains, it still resonates today for so many reasons:

The holidays are over
The National Football League playoffs are nearing their emotional apex
America’s most polarizing president has recently taken the oath of office

Yes, the dead of winter seems to be high time for an emotional diaspora. Some of us will look at these events and say the world is ending, while others will act as if they’ve never felt finer.

There is no middle ground.

This all might be a reflection of our increasingly divided society. It could also be an inevitable outcome in a world where technology gives us all a platform to raise our voice, and our culture demands we do so as boldly as possible.

But in the midst of the hot air, the juxtaposed emotions, the feverish debate around these events, we must ask ourselves:

Isn’t this all a bit overblown?

To be sure, proceedings in the White House matter. The actions on a gridiron matter. The changing of the seasons matters.

These events can all be uplifting or distressing, depending on your perspective. After all, we’re emotional beings who have great passion for our city, our country and our views — along with those who we feel represent them in the realm of competition. However, these events shouldn’t be viewed as the sign of the apocalypse, or as cause for physical ailments.

That’s taking it too far.

For regardless of how we might feel at the moment, the sun will rise tomorrow morning in the east and set tomorrow evening in the west. It’s done this for millions of years, and will continue to do so for millions more.

This is more than the manifestation of an inevitable pattern. It’s a reminder that no matter how dark the night, the first light of dawn is just around the corner. A beacon illuminating that this too shall pass.

Yes, humankind and the world itself have been through trials and tribulations. Yet both have persevered, time and again.

So, let’s avoid overblown. Let’s step away from the hyperbole, from the punishment we inflict on ourselves when things don’t go the way our heart desired them to. If we refocus that energy on aspects of life we can directly control, the world will be better for it.

And so will ours.

Three to Four

What’s the best way to make a difference?

My answer takes all of four words:

Turn three to four.

What does that mean?

I’m talking about turning selfish into selfless. Taking those last three letters, and making them four new ones.

It’s a switch that takes less than ten seconds to make. But it’s anything but simple — and it’s far from meaningless.

You see, there are many ways to make a difference in the world, but they’re all based on one, solid foundation — our mindset. Before we can even think about imparting change, we must decide which mindset we will embrace.

In particular, we must choose between being selfish or being selfless. Between focusing on our own benefit and putting others first.

Far too often, we go with the first option.

This is understandable, of course. We have needs that must be satisfied, and we’re acutely aware of their importance; by nature, they follow us wherever we go. And when we feel taken care of, our self-esteem, confidence and ego stand to benefit.

But no one can truly make a tangible difference by being selfish.

No, this outcome requires a broader perspective — the willingness to put others first.

It takes a lot to embrace this mindset, including:

Adaptability —The ability to pivot, to serve the varied needs of others.
Empathy — The inclination to care, to carry the emotional burden of others as one’s own.
Courage — The willingness to be vulnerable, to feel uncertainty but move forward just the same.

Most of all, it takes connection.

If we are to truly be selfless, then we must be willing to interact with others. To share in order to build.

This is a challenge, a threat to our self-serving nature. But it’s one worth pursuing.

For by accepting this challenge, we open our heart, broaden our mind and dare to look at change in a new light.

We’re still involved in this process — hence the self. But by changing ish to less, by turning those three letters into four, we’re allowing others to benefit too.

So, let’s all aspire to add on, to pledge to serve the world with a selfless mindset.

For turning three to four adds so much more than an extra character from the alphabet. It gives a chance to make a lasting impact the world will appreciate.

The Millennial Problem

There are few things that annoy me more than being called a Millennial. While it’s true that I was technically born at the start of what is now considered the Millennial era, I try and dissociate myself from Millennial culture as much as possible. I do this because I find that Millennial culture contradicts my values and the essence of who I am.

Why? Well, like many critics, I consider Millennial culture to promote narcissistic, entitled, self-absorbed and childish behavior. As someone who believes in building a community upon principles of selflessness and connection, I find these behaviors to be a significant roadblock in obtaining that objective.

These prototypical Millennial behaviors can be explained, of course. In the most comprehensive critique of Millennial culture I’ve seen thus far, Simon Sinek makes the point that generation-wide failures of both parenting and education have helped shaped the characteristics of Millennials.

Sinek explains that by creating a system of placation — personified in the dreaded participation trophies that are increasingly common in youth competitions — parents and teachers have failed to extoll a crucial concept within the minds of a generation of young adults. Namely, that the world is not fair, and that nothing is just given to you in adulthood.

Of course, tell this to a savvy Millennial, and they’ll point out that innovators like Mark Zuckerberg and Evan Spiegel have gotten rich before finishing their college degrees. And while not everyone will create the next Facebook or Snapchat — social networks that have only accelerated the development of Millennial behavior — there’s no doubt that the age of technological disruption has made it more difficult for Millennials to believe that achievements must be earned gradually over time. After all, if these young Silicon Valley bigwigs can provide instant gratification — both for themselves and for the masses, through their products — why does anyone have to “Embrace The Suck” anymore?

Therein lies the fundamental issue with Millennial culture. Not only do many Millennials, to quote Queen, Want it all and want it now, but they also seem unwilling to accept the possibility that something must be earned, built or cultivated over time. In their mind, there’s always another “Life Hack” — or shortcut — out there to provide instant gratification. And if there isn’t one, there soon will be.

Quite simply, many Millennials believe there’s no need to draw upon the way it was. The way it is and will be is all that matters.

This break from tradition helps explain the unsavory narrative heaped upon Millennials by older generations — one that conveys them as lazy and petulant. And while I don’t fully agree with this narrative, I do have major issues with the Millennial perspective.

As the son of a history teacher, I believe that ignoring the lessons of the past is dangerous. As someone who has worked hard to earn a foothold in two different careers — instead of demanding the corner office and three months’ vacation on Day 1 — I find demands for instant gratification within social constructs to be deeply offensive.

Our life, our career, our friendships and relationships — each is a process. And it should be that way.

Each step in this process gives us an opportunity to learn and grow. And by holistically building trust and value over time, we’re able to contribute to our communities in ways that resonate.

So, while many critics ask that we kowtow to Millennial culture in order to bridge the generational divide in shared settings like the workplace — for instance, Sinek has proposed that laws and regulations be set for smartphone usage — my proposal is a lot simpler.

Stop babying Millennials.

Don’t bend over backwards every time a young adult demands instant gratification. Don’t let “me” come before “we.”

Call out behavior that can be perceived as lazy, anti-social or excessively narcissistic. Explain why some of the best things in life require patience and persistence.

Millennials are smart people, and good people. But high school is over, and it’s time to grow up. Given enough honest feedback and tough love, they will figure it out.

Are we willing to provide that guidance?

The Little Things

January is an interesting time.

The holidays have come and gone, the calendar has reset, and people are diving into those resolutions.

But while Out With The Old, In With The New is all the rage on these short, chilly winter days, it misses the point.

Yes, much of life is about improvement — improving ourselves and the world at large.

But it’s also about the little things. The moments and sensations that remind us what it is to be alive.

The reflection of sunlight off a passing car on a blue, sunny day. The feeling of hitting the water during the perfect cannonball. The warm fuzzies we get when we see a loved one smile.

These all should matter.

For while these things don’t help us achieve, they allow us to feel. And feeling is what both defines and protects the unique human brand of accomplishment.

Protecting our ability to achieve is vital, as machines are taking over tasks that were once manned by people. With the advent of Machine Learning, computer programs are now able to take on more complicated roles than ever before. While these developments certainly make things more efficient, they also eliminate job opportunities and make prosperity more difficult to come by for many people.

It might sound bleak, but have no fear. The dawn of Skynet is not imminent.

Why? Because machines can’t see the little things.

They can’t feel. They can’t build connections off of empathy. They can’t mend fences or solve the complex issues that the world faces.

They don’t get goosebumps on their forearm or chills up and down their spine. They can’t comprehend delight or despair.

They’re here to do a job, and that’s it.

We’re here for more than that. Not just to live, but also to know how it feels to be alive.

That’s what this shared ride called life is about, what it should be about.

So, take a moment to breathe in that crisp winter air, to gaze at that stunning sunset, to spend more time around the people who make your heart flutter.

The little things are a big deal.

The Year of Disconnect

Another journey around the sun is nearly complete.

While I have made my feelings known regarding our collective reaction to the innocuous changing of a calendar, the fact remains that many of us are quite reflective at this time of year.

With that in mind, I’ve taken a look back at what’s happened in the past 12 months, and what we can gather from it. While life is generally a mix of routine and random events that makes such an activity trivial, I quickly came to realize that this year has had a common, yet disturbing theme.

2016 has been the Year of Disconnect.

The sad irony of this statement cuts deep. We now live in a world where African tribal elders can access the Internet from the palm of their hand. It’s a world built for sharing and instantaneous collaboration. But at a time when technology has allowed us to connect more effectively than ever before, all we seem to want to do is disengage.

Whether we’re talking about the divisive U.S. election, the Brexit vote, deteriorating race relations in America or the seemingly endless parade of celebrity deaths, so much of 2016 seems to have been about the fracture of something once communal. It seems to have been about the loss of trust, decency and respect. About doubt and uncomfortable questions.

This is not the world I want. I’ve devoted my life to building communication, trust and connection because I believe those principles can make the world a better place. Humans are capable of both amazing and horrifying feats. The difference between the two so often lies in how well we can build connections with each other based on trust.

The steps we’ve taken away from connection in recent months have been discouraging, but all is not lost. If we can take heed of the direction we’re heading and make the right adjustments, we can steer ourselves back on course.

For me, this means removing hate from my heart, and from my vocabulary. It means preaching unity, even with those I vehemently disagree with. It means building connections upon empathy, and urging others to do the same.

For others, the tactics to rebuild what’s broken might be different. After all, we are all unique, and each of us has our own tools to build with. But if we can all work toward reinvigorating a culture of connection, we will get there.

Great things are ahead of us. But we must eschew the patterns we’ve championed in the Year of Disconnect in order to achieve them. Let us begin.

Building Blocks

It’s far too easy to choose looking forward over looking back.

But why not choose both?

For years, I’ve focused nearly all of my energy on the road ahead, and what I would need to put into it to make it successful. For someone who has started over as many times as I have, looking back was considered giving up.

While few have walked as winding as path as I have — or at least few have by their own volition — many have also put blinders on to what’s behind them in favor of what lies ahead.

This behavior is intentional; our society seems to demand it. After all, the desire to improve, evolve, iterate, grow — it’s instilled in us at a very early age. Settling is akin to laziness; even if we’re in a good place, there is always more than can be learned, tried and achieved.

With this perspective in mind, it shouldn’t be surprising that we’d rather think of what comes next than what came before. The past is a scar that should remain under wraps — a reminder of a time when we were younger and more immature.

But there is a danger in this path. By never taking the courage to look back, we lose sight not only about how we got here, but also what makes us unique.

This is a big reason I’ve been spending more time recently pondering my past — from my time growing up in the northeast, to my college days in Florida to my previous career in West Texas. I’ve looked back not only at the golden sun-drenched memories, but also the embarrassing mistakes I made along the way —the times I thought I knew it all but had no clue.

I’ve owned up to it — all of it — not only when reminiscing with acquaintances from those times, but also when conversing with those I’ve met more recently.

This has been difficult for me to do. I don’t consider myself vain, but I am an introvert. Sharing my story with those I don’t inherently trust is uncomfortable — scary even.

But despite my nature, I’ve come to realize the importance of being more transparent, and the benefits it can provide both myself and the world around me. It’s a major reason why I started Words of the West, and also a prime reason why I’m more apt to bring up my past in conversations these days than I once was.

For life is like a set of Legos; you can build it up into something beautiful, but only gradually. The past serves as building blocks — not only in terms of foundational structure, but also in terms of art and innovation. The past is not only what helps you build that dinosaur or French chateau, it’s what helps make it that dinosaur or chateau.

Our path ahead is marked with desires and communal expectations. But the journey we actually take is innately our own. By building off the lessons and memories of our unique past, we can build our own roadmap for the continuation of our 1 in 8 billion expedition. We don’t just live our journey, we own it.

So, we must not shun those building blocks. Instead, we must utilize them — and continue to create.

Author: Dylan Brooks