Author: Dylan Brooks

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

Chasing Time

Age ain’t nothin’ but a number.

I’ve said this dozens of times before, because I know it to be true.

Sure, there are some physiological changes that go on at certain points in our life, and there are certain items we can only buy if we’re of a certain age. But all too often, the number of years we’ve been on the planet has less to do with our place in this world than we think.

Of course, we collectively bungle this truth all too often. That’s why we splurge on the bright orange sports car in response to our “mid-life crisis.” And it’s why we throw ourselves lavish parties for a milestone birthday.

There’s an expectation that the number we’re associated with should impact the way we live our lives. It’s the expectation that leads us to think “Now that I’m 55, I need to become a different person,” and then either accept or rebel against that statement.

This is understandable. After all, our society emphasizes the importance of age on a foundational level. It’s one of the reasons we go to school with kids our age. It’s one of the reasons why we must wait until we’re old enough to be able to vote, drink or rent a car. It’s one of the reasons why amazed by the 24-year-old in upper management, yet look with scorn at the 22-year-old with two kids.

In short, we act as if our society is a meritocracy, with age as its currency. This is why we expend so much effort chasing time — celebrating the passing of the years while letting that occurrence impact our behavior.

If only we could open our eyes.

For the truth is, it’s not how long we live that matters. It’s how we live that does.

How responsible we are. How we treat others. How we carry ourselves. We have an obligation to keep these consistent — and consistently positive.

This obligation remains with us, whether we’re 8 or 80. And our adherence to it can help determine our legacy long after we pass on.

I’ve taken this mantra to heart for several years. It’s one of the reasons why I don’t care much about my birthday (aside from showing gratitude to well-wishers), and why I refuse to let my age dictate my destiny. It’s one of the reasons why I evaluate those around me by their thoughts and actions, rather than their age. And it’s one of the reasons why I always try and act righteously and responsibly.

This is a much more productive and open-minded way to make it through life than worrying about how long we’ve been on the planet. And a productive, open-minded approach is much needed in a time when our society seems more distrustful and divided than ever.

Let’s break down one of these worthless barriers omnipresent in our society. Let’s stop chasing time and start focusing on life.

Playing the Cards

The bus came to a stop two blocks south of New York’s LaGuardia Airport and opened its doors. The chilly fall air rushed in, accompanied by the dueling sounds of highway traffic and an airplane taking off.

As I treasured this peaceful moment, I gazed out the window at the house across the street. It was a decent sized home, complete with a garage and a balcony that was now bathed in afternoon sunlight. It seemed like a decent enough place to live — aside from the constant roar of jet engines and whoosh of highway traffic.

“Who would ever want to live here?” I asked myself. “Maybe this is where people in New York get houses on the cheap.”

My mind drifted east, to a home about two miles past the end of the airport’s other runway. That’s where my mother grew up, and where my grandparents lived for 60 years. That modest rowhouse was no stranger to the roar of jet engines either. In fact, as the story goes, the first time my father set foot in the house, he ducked each time he heard a plane overhead.

As I write this, my grandparents’ longtime home is in the process of being placed on the market. My grandfather has passed on, and my grandmother moved into an apartment in Manhattan with my parents a few months ago. The neighborhood has changed too — what was once a majority white is now predominantly Chinese — and this shift has sent housing prices skyrocketing. So, despite my musings, I know that proximity to the roar from Runway 13 doesn’t bring down housing prices.

Still, I posit that living under a flight path is a nuisance. Which leads to a key question: If we make our own destinies, why would we settle for a scenario with unwanted variables?

Much of our decision has to do with playing the cards we’re dealt.

Consider this. From the day we’re brought home from the hospital, the house we live in is just home. As children, we don’t know what all went into our parents’ decision on where to purchase their home, or the hoops they might jump through to maintain it financially.

But as we grow older and move out on our own, we think about things from a more practical perspective. What do we want our living space to look like? What do we want easy access to? Who must we be near to? And — perhaps most importantly — how much can we pay for all of this?

The answers to these questions help determine our actions, even if it means moving to a tiny, overpriced studio apartment with no counter space, or getting a roommate or three.

These situations might be perplexing to me, as I rent a decent sized apartment in North Texas. But if living in New York City — or San Francisco, or Austin or Uptown Dallas — is important to others, they’ll be willing to sacrifice space, privacy, amenities and even peace and quiet. Heck they might not even notice what they gave up in the process after a spell of time has passed.

It all comes down to perspective.

For example, when my grandparents moved into their home in 1957, it was almost considered a move to the suburbs. The home had everything a suburbanite might need — a garage, a nice enough kitchen and access to a highway built under the brand-new Interstate Highway System. The airport was there, but air travel wasn’t nearly as pervasive as it is now, and many of the loudest jumbo jets had yet to be created.

In 2017, it’s expensive to live anywhere in New York City. Yet the demand is there, particularly on the neighborhood level. Even with the small size of my grandparents’ longtime home, and the adjacent noise and traffic issues, someone will pay a premium for it, as it provides access to living in a coveted neighborhood.

Perhaps the people who live in that home two blocks from LaGuardia — the one I saw from the bus — perhaps they have a similar story to my grandparents, where they bought the home generations ago. Or perhaps they’re like the eventual owners of my grandparents’ home, where they found what might seem to the layperson as an untenable location to be anything but. Perhaps members of that family work at the airport, or for the airlines, and location trumps peace and quiet. Who knows.

What I do know is this: When it comes to where we live, and how, not all is how it appears on the surface. It’s a reflection of the hand we’re dealt, and the cards we play.

Respecting Our Rivals

Competition is a hallmark of our society. We view our world in terms of winners and losers, haves and have-nots. The moment of truth is upon us in everything we do — for us to achieve our objective, someone else is likely going to fail at attaining it.

However, not all competitions are viewed as equal. Rivalries stand apart on the playing field, in the political arena and in our neighborhood.

Whether due to proximity or competitive spirit, rivalries are notably intense — so much so that foiling a rival’s objective is seemingly more important than obtaining what both sides so desperately seek. As such, angry words are often exchanged and lines are drawn in the sand. No wonder unaffiliated commentators often describe the conflict as “good, old fashioned hate.”

Yes, rivalries are quite the spectacle. We’re drawn to them because they get us hot under the collar. Some would even say they’re a necessary emotional outlet.

But all too often, they go too far.

Recently, the emotional tensions of rivalries have been at least partially responsible for the savage beating of a San Francisco Giants fan in the Dodger Stadium parking lot and the contentious post-election rallies both for and against President-Elect Donald Trump. Going back even further, the Hatfield-McCoy feud wiped out a substantial portion of each family — mostly for trivial reasons.

These tragic incidents have a common theme — unchecked emotion. Opposing sides have viewed their rival as their enemy, and then used that identification to justify actions that crossed the line.

Sadly, these examples are far from the only ones of a rivalry going too far. By glorifying the contentious nature of rivals going at it, our society enables us to go to the point of no return, time and again.

It’s like setting a fire and then dumping a full canister of gasoline on it; the flames are sure to burn out of control.

It needs to stop now.

And it can. We just need to change our perspective.

I understand this well. As a University of Miami alum, I have no warm or fuzzy feelings for Florida State University. Both schools have had a long and contentious football rivalry, but the contempt goes deeper than that. A difference in perceived academic standards and student demographics has helped turn even general discussions about Miami and Florida State into situations where participants must choose one or the other.

Perhaps the most poignant example of this was a phrase I learned as a freshman at Miami: “Friends don’t let friends go to Florida State.”

The salty relationship between the two schools permeated my soul. Long before I put a kibosh on the term, I actively stated that I hated Florida State. I talked a lot of smack and belittled people I didn’t even know just because they wore garnet and gold.

However, things changed slightly by the end of my college days. On Labor Day weekend of my senior year of school, I drove up to Tallahassee to watch Miami and Florida State face off in football. Parking was scarce, and I ended up finding a space in a bank parking lot.

As I set up my tailgating gear, three people who had parked nearby started chatting me up. They were Florida State fans from Fort Lauderdale, and we quickly got to talking about our common home region. Soon enough we were drinking beer together, despite rooting for rival teams.

This situation taught me a lot. I learned that I can have a lot in common with people who make different choices than I do, and that it’s possible to respect my rivals.

I can honestly say that I take a different perspective involving rivalries now. When Miami takes on Florida State each year, you can bet I want nothing more than to see my Hurricanes come away with the W. But I also think about what a blessing it is to see my team share the field with an old rival, with both teams giving it everything they have. I think about how fortunate both Miami and Florida State fans are to inextricably be a part of so many classic games and legendary moments. And I think about how, win or lose, life goes on for both fan bases.

At the end of the day, I’m honored to have the chance to circle the Florida State game date on my calendar every year.

As a client of mine — who’s a Florida State alum — once told me, the Florida State-Miami rivalry is a respectful rivalry. Although there are always going to be quite a few bad eggs out there in the stands, I truly believe that statement to be true.

I think it’s important that we take this perspective with all of our rivalries. Our country is far too divisive right now, and it’s sending us spiraling backwards. Fanning the flames with unbridled contempt does us no good.

We cannot move forward as a unified society if we can’t stand to communicate with those whose views differ from ours. While we might not all have the same perspective, we should at least share common decency to view each other as people, not targets.

So, let’s work on respecting our rivals. For at the end of the day, we all are sharing this planet.

Gratitude Through Turmoil

The holidays are here once again. As we prepare to feast on copious amounts of food, reconnect with loved ones and stress about shopping, a sense of finality is starting to set in.

Yes, although the calendar makers might not have gotten everything right — 30 days have September, April, June and November? Are you kidding me?! —they at least had the common decency to ensure the holiday season puts a tidy bow on the year.

As holidays ramp up, it’s natural to count our blessings. That’s what Thanksgiving was originally about, and it remains a central theme throughout the entire holiday season (along with lights, Santa hats and caroling).

However, I sense something different this time around. In the wake of a particularly trying year — one that has culminated in the most contentious election of our lifetime — a sense of angst has seemingly replaced that of gratitude.

This is far from unexpected. Division and mistrust have been central themes from coast to coast this year, often resulting in anger and violence. We’ve seemingly spent more time pointing the finger at others than we’ve spent trying to heal our fractured society. And we’ve given no indications that we plan on finding collective solutions to these problems anytime soon.

All of this is discouraging. But what upsets me the most is seeing people I look up to sitting in the corner with their head in their hands.

Too many of us are giving up. And that’s unacceptable.

I’ve put myself through the fire multiple times throughout my life, and I know that the moments that test our mettle are the ones that define us. It’s not about being backed into a corner; it’s about how we respond.

Those of us who believe in morality, acceptance and empathy have had a rough go of it recently. This is clear. And the principles of collectivism and inclusiveness have never seemed more like a pipe dream fantasy.

However, we should stop looking at the glass as half-empty. Even in times of turmoil, there is much that’s worthy of our gratitude.

We should be thankful that we hold the principle of decency dear in our hearts. That we pass them along to our children. That we live what we preach.

And we should appreciate that our collective predicament presents a giant opportunity. An opportunity to live our lives righteously, as we have always done. An opportunity to lead by example. And an opportunity to slowly get our society back to one that espouses values that connect and strengthen, rather than divide and weaken.

There is much work to be done. But we have the power to do it.

For that, we should be eternally grateful.

Into the Abyss

Fortune favors the bold.

I believe these four words because I have lived them, time and again. But nothing was quite as bold — or as trying — as my move away from the news industry and into a future of unknowns.

Some have asked what led me to abruptly walk away from a career I’d devoted so much to, but quick explanations can only go so far.

This article delves deeper.

November 15, 2012

It was a normal Thursday in the newsroom at KMID Big 2 News, the ABC affiliate in Midland, Texas. Eight days had already passed since President Barack Obama had won re-election, and the shine of pulling off flawless election coverage had finally worn off. Thanksgiving was a week away and a busy ratings period was winding down.

As I got to work putting together the 5 PM newscast, I felt as if the finish line was in sight. As KMID’s Executive Producer, I had devoted a lot of time and effort into making sure election coverage went to plan — an important initiative, as previous years’ election newscasts had been doomed by technical glitches and other blunders. I’d also followed that triumph with a trip to Oklahoma for a college football game, so I had little left in the tank on this particular Thursday. However, I happened to be working a half-shift, so some long-needed R & R was finally in sight.

Or so I thought.

It was about 4:40 PM — 20 minutes from the start of the 5 PM newscast. I was doing my final check of news scripts when the police scanner went off.

All units be advised. Accident with train. Garfield and Front.

There was no time to think. I instinctually went into breaking news mode.

I sent a cameraman to the scene and called Midland Police to get more information. I quickly learned that a Union Pacific train had collided with a parade float carrying military veterans and their spouses.

It was a truly horrific incident, but this was no time to reflect. There was much more to be done, and precious little time to do it all.

I immediately broke the story on the station’s website and Facebook page, rearranged my newscast and wrote new scripts to account for the new lead story. Then I let everyone — production staff, reporters and news anchors — know what was changed, and what I needed them to do. I did all of this in less than twenty minutes, and the ensuing newscast went off without a hitch.

When I got back to the newsroom, my office phone was ringing. It was ABC News in New York — producers with the national program were calling to ask me for information.

That when it hit me: I’d hit what some producers might call “The Jackpot.” I’d nailed a breaking news event that went national.

It was the greatest achievement of my career.

But I don’t recall a feeling of exuberance during this defining moment. Instead, I recall a feeling of pain.

These painful memories remain vivid.  I remember a reporter calling me from the accident scene and crying uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the pressure and gravity of the situation. I recall the ruthless race by our crews to get more information and interviews, even though the victims understandably wanted no part of a TV camera in their face. And most of all, I remember the pit I felt — and still feel — in my stomach, knowing veterans who had been wounded in duty in Iraq and Afghanistan lost their lives in a parade held in their honor.

These images and sentiments stuck with me when I finally drove home around midnight, at the end of what turned out to be a full 9-hour shift. As I lay in bed, I remember asking myself for the first time if the career I’d chosen was the right one.

At my career apex, I’d never felt more low.

November 16, 2012

A breaking news story is like an earthquake. After the initial devastation is over, there are waves of aftershocks.

In the case of the 2012 Midland train wreck, those aftershocks came courtesy of the National Transportation Safety Board.

Now, anyone who’s seen the movie Sully knows that the NTSB arrives quickly after a disaster but investigates slowly and deliberately. As investigators set up camp in Midland and began a series of daily briefings, our station worked diligently to keep up with the latest developments. Suddenly, I found myself working 7 of the ensuing 8 days. There was no weekend for me, no Thanksgiving. My job beckoned, early and often.

By the time Black Friday was over, most of these new developments had mercifully dried up — but so had my energy. As I went into my first extended period of free time in two weeks, I was so tired that I couldn’t do much more than curl up in the fetal position and sleep.

The next day, I did something I would have considered inconceivable just weeks earlier — I started applying to jobs outside of TV news.

December 14, 2012

It was a Friday morning that started the same as any other. I woke up and checked my phone for what I missed overnight. Such is the life of a producer.

As I scrolled through my Facebook feed, something caught my eye. It was a friend’s status that read: “What the hell is wrong with people?”

Knowing something was up, I powered up my laptop and checked the ABC News website. That’s when I learned that a gunman had shot up an elementary school in Sandy Hook, Connecticut — killing several first graders and their teachers.

The pit in my stomach returned. Then I went numb.

After staring into space for who knows how long, it hit me.

I’m going to be cover this horrifying story at work later.

My heart sank.

That day turned out to be the most difficult one of my working life. Even though the incident happened 2,000 miles away from West Texas, spending a full day keeping up with developments in a real-life nightmare was pure torture. There was no silver lining; by reporting on the sickening events of Sandy Hook, we left our viewers as upset as we all were. Yet it was our duty as media members to report the story, even if no one really stood to benefit from it.

It was the ultimate no win scenario, one that seemed to play out in slow motion.

When the day mercifully came to an end, I went home, collapsed on the couch and cried.

At that moment, I knew there was no future for me in news.

March 6, 2013

It was a Tuesday that was anything but ordinary.

When I arrived at the station, I walked into my boss’ office, closed the door and handed him a signed letter — the only letter of resignation I’ve ever drafted.

I told my boss when my last day of work would be and we shook hands.

As I walked through the newsroom, the evening anchor turned to me, a look of sadness on her face.

“Dylan, did you just…?”

I nodded and continued on to my desk. I didn’t want to be a distraction.

Truth be told, I’d known this day was coming for a few months. I just didn’t know when.

After taking some time to enjoy the holidays, I had begun my job search in earnest in the first moments of 2013. I zoned in corporate communications and Public Relations jobs in Dallas — knowing there were plenty of opportunities there — and I applied to as many job openings as I could find each morning before heading to work.

I had it all planned out. I’d get a job offer, put in my two weeks, move to Dallas and get started in my new profession. It was all so simple.

There was only one problem. I didn’t get a single job offer.

With 20-20 hindsight, this makes sense; no hiring manager worth their salt was going to give an unproven commodity living 300 miles away the keys to the castle. But in early 2013, it felt as if the walls were closing in with each failed job application.

Soon enough, the hourglass did run out of sand. As my KMID contract and apartment lease neared expiration, I knew I wasn’t about to renew either. So on the first Tuesday in March, I formally announced my intentions.

Job or no job, I was heading east.

March 30, 2013

There’s no day quite like moving day.

As the morning dew glistened off my car windshield, my father and I loaded my personal possessions into a U-Haul van. I dropped off my apartment keys at the leasing office and we headed for the highway — my father in the moving van, me in my car.

About 5 hours later, we unloaded the contents of the truck at their new home — a storage unit outside of Fort Worth. I then checked into an extended stay hotel, and my father flew back to his home in the Northeast.

I was on my own, facing an uncertain future.

“This too will pass,” I told myself. “A couple of weeks from now, I’ll have a 9 to 5 job and my own apartment.”

Not so much.

July 1, 2013

I turned the key in the lock, opened the door and set foot in my apartment for the first time.

After months of struggles, I’d finally made it.

You see, the two weeks I’d figured I’d need to land a job had turned into three months, as company after company turned me down. But after applying to more than 600 jobs, depleting my savings account and nearly maxing out my credit card to cover basic living expenses, I finally got a job offer. And now I had a place to call home.

I set up a chair in the living room, sat down and thought of the journey I’d been on, along with the new adventures that lay ahead.

It was sobering and exhilarating at the same time.

November 16, 2016

As I look back at all of these moments, one thing is clear.

I made the right decision leaving the TV news industry.

Sure, the road I took was highly unconventional and full of struggles that could test anyone’s will. But it was a road that needed to be taken.

You see, TV news was my passion early in my adult life. It was my career, my future, my dream. But the stress and angst I felt on the job in those fateful last months of 2012 served as a powerful warning. Maybe news wasn’t right for me, or I wasn’t right for it.

The decision to switch careers saved my life, or at least prolonged it. I now have a greater sense of purpose in my life, along with a renewed sense of balance. And I’m forever free of the monumental stress associated with producing TV newscasts — stress that I estimate would have shortened my lifespan by three years if I hadn’t left the newsroom behind when I did.

Much has changed in the past few years since I made this decision. I’ve matured. I’ve become more self-accountable. I’ve made massive inroads in a new career. And, most of all, I’ve gained a world of perspective.

But even with all of these changes, I think back constantly to the decisions I made to get me to where I am now. I understand that they’re a key ingredient of my story, and always will be.

It’s been a wild journey, and it will continue to be one. But I wouldn’t trade one second of it.

The Control Illusion

I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.

Truer words might never have been spoken. But is it all an illusion?

As a general rule, we are captivated by control. Ensconced in it. It’s why we wear our lucky jersey when we watch our favorite team play, why we head out to vote, why we lock our doors and park our vehicles in well-lit areas.

We are addicted to control because the unknown is disturbing. The possibility of disappointment or failure leaves us vulnerable, cold and unprotected. So we shield ourselves from danger by convincing ourselves we have a say.

We don’t.

Think about the first thing you did this morning. You opened your eyes to a brand new day, and you’ve likely felt in control of your actions ever since.

But what caused you to open your eyes? Was it the sun through the blinds? The beeping of an alarm clock. Some silent cue you can neither recall nor explain?

Truth is, you had no control over that primary action in your day. Something else — God, nature, circadian rhythm, who knows — something else was responsible.

And it goes far beyond that. We’re all riding on a spinning ball orbiting a blinding light, with no seat belt to protect us. As such, we have far less of a say in how factors of time, space, weather, physics or circumstance will alter our immediate destiny than we’d like to believe.

So we set up smoke screens. We jump into the Matrix and convince ourselves we’re at the helm, that our actions will lead to desired outcomes.

It’s comforting, reassuring — and preposterous.

Our one vote won’t swing the election. The jersey we wear when we watch our favorite team won’t help them win. And that safe, well-lit parking spot probably won’t protect your ride if the sky fills with hailstones.

Why must we spend all kinds of karmic energy trying to grasp control of these unknown variables, when it won’t do us a lick of good in the end?

There’s a better way. It requires us to accept the profound, and refocus our controlling tendencies in areas where we really can make a difference.

The kind of person we are. The decisions we make. The ways we act towards others. These are the factors we should be controlling; they can help us positively contribute to our society and improve our well-being.

Sure, shifting our focus in this direction means leaving the outcomes of many other events we care about to chance — and that’s scary. But we’ve never really had control of these independent variables anyway; we just blinded ourselves from the truth with the illusion that we did.

So let’s double down on controlling how we contribute to our family, community and society. For at the end of the day, the outcome of that pursuit is how we’ll be defined.

The ball’s in our court. It’s on us to pick it up.

Taking Stock

Why do we spread our focus so thin?

It’s a question we don’t often ponder. But maybe we should.

I know that personally, I’ve overloaded myself on insignificant items of interest in recent years. I’ve been determined to catch every episode of every TV show I liked, watch every game my favorite teams play, read every article my favorite Internet marketing publications ever put on the web.

It hasn’t been FOMO driving this pattern — I’ve made my feelings clear on that — but rather, an all or nothing mentality. In essence, I’ve given myself an ultimatum: “Either I will take in all I can consume of a subject, or I will take in none of it.”

All too often, I’ve taken the first option.

Now this was all well and good at first — this immersion demonstrated a consistent dedication to the subjects I cared about, one that would lead to benefits in either my career or well-being (yes, I know I bashed leisure time once, but it can still have therapeutic benefits).

But over time, this dedication has become a burden. There are only so many hours in a week, and I’ve found myself planning mine around factors out of my control, such as the schedule of a pro sports team or the article count of an online publisher.

The more I talk about this, the more ridiculous it sounds. But much like a train, it’s hard to stop this pattern once it gets rolling.

Or at least it has been until recently.

***

For various reasons, I’ve shaken things up in recent months. Although I’m generally averse to change, I’ve swallowed my pride and sacrificed some of my carefully crafted weekly routine in order to better myself professionally.

With these changes in motion, I’ve found myself with far less free time than I once did. As a result, I’ve been spending less time watching sports, keeping track of every show or reading material that may or may not be interesting.

But it goes much further than that. I’ve focused precious little time on fantasy football, and I’ve been wasting less energy on pointless exchanges with friends through text messages or social media.

I’ve given up a lot of things I once enjoyed. And you know what? It feels liberating.

You see, I’ve taken stock of my life. The time squeeze I’ve found myself in has forced me to subconsciously evaluate what truly matters to me.

And what does truly matter to me? Only a finite list of things: maintaining my relationships with those closest to me, writing articles like this one, cooking good food, exercising, spending quiet moments outdoors, advancing my career — and yes, occasionally watching football on fall weekends.

Renewing my focus in these pursuits, and these pursuits alone, is liberating. I have control over my destiny — not the calendar or some TV programming executive somewhere. And whatever I choose to devote myself to in a specific moment receives my full dedication, attention and passion. It’s a win-win.

***

This model represents how it should be, but seldom how it is.

Whether it’s our own competitiveness, FOMO or a drive to lay claim to watercooler conversation, we find reasons to worry about too many things that are far too insignificant in the long run (fantasy football, anyone?).

We’re doing no one any favors with this behavior, yet we persist.

But we have what it takes to break the chain, to stop ourselves paper-thin. So let’s take stock of our lives, figure out what’s truly important, and then double down on that.

Our destiny is in our hands. It’s time to grasp it.

A Year of Wow

This week marks the one-year anniversary of Words of the West. The decision to launch this website was both the realization of a dream and a call for responsibility, and it was a decision I sat on for months until I felt the time was right.

It’s been liberating to share my stories, my reflections and my perspective with the world at large. And the significant task of adding fresh pieces of wisdom every week has kept me both sharp and grounded. But these sensations are just the tip of the iceberg. I’ve learned so much through this experience, in so many unexpected places. And as Words of the West is all about sharing wisdom, I felt compelled to share what I’ve learned so far here.

  • Time Is The Boss: I’m not going to lie — sticking to a weekly schedule is tough. Writing inspiration doesn’t come with a clock; on some weeks, conjuring up fresh ideas was a challenge. While I’m fortunate to have a robust swipe file of ideas, there were definitely some moments where I felt as if I was going through the motions. But I knew that Words of the West deserved my best every week, and that challenge helped keep my writing to a high standard, even on days where natural inspiration was lacking.
  • Consistency Breeds Quality: Looking at some early Words of the West articles and some recent ones, I noticed one major difference — length. The early articles were significantly shorter than recent ones. (In fact, if this was an early Words of the West article, it’d be about over by now. Additionally, many those early articles more poetic in nature — the words had a nice rhythm, but readers had to connect the dots. Over time, the articles became both clearer and more comprehensive.
  • Emotion Is Real: I’ve been writing for most of my life, in one format or another. But I’d never before experienced anything quite like what I felt when I posted Darkness in the Light. As I prepared to publish the article — a firsthand account of the events of September 11th, 2001 — my hands were shaking and my heart was racing. Yes, the process of putting words onto the Internet can be a deeply emotional experience.
  • Think On Your Toes: On a hot summer night, I spent hours writing an article extolling the virtues of Dallas — prose meant to quash the national perception of Big D as a “City of Hate.” But as I was putting pen to paper, 20 miles away, a sniper was taking aim at Dallas Police officers patrolling a Black Lives Matter protest. By the time the sun came up the next morning, five of those officers were no longer with us. Not surprisingly, the article I’d drafted up never saw the light of day — replaced instead with a personal reflection of the event that shook our region to its core. Everything doesn’t always go to plan; it’s important to be prepared for anything — even something terrible.
  • It’s About You: The stories, thoughts and reflections shared on Words of the West have originated from my memories and perspectives. But the process of putting them on this website has changed their purpose; the goal has become to share, not to tell. I realized this early on, and I’ve tried to ensure all articles have a valid takeaway for you, the reader. This has made the writing process a bit more complex, but I do hope it’s been worthwhile for y’all.
  • Tech Is Tough: Writing weekly articles for a website is one thing. Maintaining the site is quite another. Over the course of the year, I’ve made some technical changes, tweaked the website theme, switched to self-hosting and worked around several issues with broken code. While I’m an Internet marketer by trade, rolling up my sleeves and dealing with these technical issues wasn’t easy, and sometimes took several hours at a time. However, these trips down the rabbit hole have been useful; I now understand how to navigate some deeply technical and syntactic components of websites — a skill that will prove useful in the long run.

Looking forward, I’m excited to tackle some new challenges I aim to improve at distributing Words of the West, so that more readers have access to the wisdom contained in these articles. I hope to further customize the website design and get rid of the little quirks that keep me up at night. And, of course, I’m ready to tackle the ongoing challenge of adding high quality writing for y’all to read, week in and week out.

Thanks for reading, and stay tuned. The best is yet to come!

Dig Deeper

Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.

The late Jim Valvano uttered those words when I was I was far too young to understand their significance. But I’ve seen the highlights of his 1993 ESPY speech several times. And each time, they’ve moved me to tears.

Here was an accomplished basketball coach dealt a cruel blow — a cancer diagnosis in an era where treatment was far less effective than it is today. He had every excuse to shut it down, to prepare for the seemingly inevitable, to quit.

But he didn’t.

Jimmy V decided to devote his life to raising money for cancer research, in hopes of saving millions of people in a future he knew he wouldn’t be around for. He refused to let his wit, his humor and his exuberance for life fade away, even as he fought a battle more grueling than most of us could ever imagine. And he combined his mission and his virtues into one of the most important and inspirational speeches I’ve ever come across — a speech he delivered energetically at a time when he barely had the physical strength to stand.

It was inspirational, emotional and powerful. And it continues to remind us that quitting should not be an option.

***

Things ain’t always rosy. That’s a fact. Over the course of our lives, we all have times of struggle — times where it feels like everything’s spiraling out of control and we just want to throw our hands in the air and say “Screw it all.” I know I have.

Now, the cause of this outburst might very well be mundane in the long run, but that won’t stop our blood from boiling due to the frustration. It won’t stop us from thinking that throwing in the towel is the most feasible option. After all, self-preservation is an instinct we all share.

In moments like these, we must heed the words of Jimmy V.

Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.

There is always more we can give, more we can do, more we can try. A no can lead to a yes, an untenable situation can yield a more suitable one — and yes, a rainbow might be hiding behind that storm cloud.

We can — and should — iterate. We can learn from our current stress-inducing predicaments to build a more efficient and smooth future for ourselves.

But what we can’t do is give up.

***

Now, this is not to say that we should keep smoking, just because kicking the habit involves the word “quit.” And if our job is leading to nothing but misery, moving on might be prudent. I once left a job and moved 300 miles without having a new employer lined up; while the struggle was quite real at first, it ultimately paid major dividends.

But does axing a nicotine fix or saying sayonara to an untenable position really count as giving up? I’d say no, as each is but a small step in concrete plan to improve our well-being.

On the other hand, when a project we undertake turns out to be more difficult or exhausting than we’ve anticipated, we must not entertain the notion of quitting. We must fulfill our obligations, even if the end result is not quite to our expectations. For completing what we undertake gives us the satisfaction of closure, as well as the strength to rise to the next challenge.

***

Life is linear — and our path through it will be littered with challenges, frustrations and self-doubts. These are opportunities. Opportunities to see what we’re made of. Opportunities to grow. Opportunities to dig deeper than we knew we could.

A generation ago, a man with seemingly nothing left to give devoted everything he had to saving and inspiring future generations. What’s your excuse?

Leisure vs. Obligation

“I don’t have time for that.”

I’ve heard this time and again.

It’s cop out, an excuse — and a bold-faced lie.

Truth be told, we generally do indeed have time to satisfy more requests, to add obligations. But we’d rather not, so we make ourselves believe we don’t.

Why do we play this Jedi Mind Trick on ourselves? It all circles back to a misguided perception — one stating that mixing in leisure time with our daily obligations is important for maintaining good health.

Newsflash: It’s not.

***

If we put our minds to it, we could all be more productive. We could do more to expand our knowledge, serve our community, maintain our fitness and build our career. After all, there are 168 hours in a week — and 72 of those remain after you deduct 7 full nights’ sleep and 5 full days of work.

But filling those hours with productive activities is tedious. It’s mundane. It’s not fun.

So we fill much of that time with leisure instead — we watch TV shows, go out to dinner or drop a pretty penny at the mall.

At first, this might not seem so bad. But leisure is like a gateway drug — it sucks you in and clouds your perception of reality. Over time, we find ourselves devoting more and more of our time and money to leisure — and then rationalizing our increasingly reckless behavior by saying it’s necessary for our own well-being.

It’s not how the world works. It’s how we want it to work.

***

The sad reality is that our enthrallment with leisure is actually detrimental to our well-being. Leisure serves both as a mindless distraction and an enabler. It dulls our mental acuity and laughs in the face of responsibility. Worst of all, leisure creates a culture where we’re allowed to spin the narrative without reproach by generating endless excuses in its defense.

Ultimately, leisure serves as a tantalizing roadblock — one that prevents us from reaching our full potential. Its presence also robs the community around us — as it limits the amount of energy we can expend on making the world a better place.

Such a debilitating cycle, all starting with “a little fun.”

***

It’s time to stop the madness.

Let’s claim back our lives, and prevent leisure from running amok. We can do this by treating our leisure time like an obligation — planning for it and fitting it into a finite window — and by continually asking ourselves the tough question: “Is this activity going to make me more productive?”

The way we spend our time matters. It’s high time we regain control over it.