Dylan Brooks | Words of the West

Substance Over Flash

We love flash.

Flash is cool. Flash is glamourous. Flash stands out.

Flash invokes our fantasies and impacts our behavior. After all, we want to be cool, to be glamourous, to stand out.

This fascination with shiny objects is the catalyst for our salacious culture and for our waning attention spans. It’s what created the 24-hour celebrity news cycle, the Oregon Ducks’ jersey series and the term “Trending on Twitter.” It made materialism, and its associated habitual overindulgence both acceptable and expected.

Plus, flash is irresistible. Just say that name out loud. Flash. Doesn’t it sound like a red Ferrari zipping by? And who wouldn’t want a Ferrari?

I mean, long before the Internet was a thing, and even before hundreds of channels filled our cable boxes, we had Flash Gordon, and that mesmerizing theme song by Queen.

Yes, flash has been in for so long that even our parents thought it was cool. And somehow that fact doesn’t diminish our fascination with it.

But here’s the thing: Flash won’t last.

It is, by its very nature, a one-time attraction. A fleeting moment of glory. An adrenaline high.

Life is too long to base off of flash. And those that try — by drawing themselves to the bright lights over and over — all too often end up empty inside.

Indeed, everything from gambling addiction to personal bankruptcy can all too often be directly attributed to flash. We find ourselves consumed.

Like moths to a flame, only ashes remain.

This is not the way to be. We don’t build our houses with Styrofoam. So we shouldn’t build our lives out of a sensation that ends up in the dumpster just as quickly.

We must instead focus on substance.

Now, making this point is a hard sell. After all, substance is bland, dry and unremarkable. It requires dedication, hard work and consistency.

Still, while shifting to substance is bitter pill to swallow, it’s an essential dose to take. For even though substance doesn’t sparkle like flash, it can make you to shine in the long run.

Think of substance as the process of unearthing a diamond. It demands introspection and perseverance, but can lead to a lasting gleam.

It means being true to ourselves and staying the course. Doubling down on what’s essential and cutting out the distractions.

It ensures our messages are filled solely with meaning, and not overloaded with metaphors. (Sorry y’all. Still behind on practicing what I preach.)

This is what we should strive for. This is what we should be.

Substance over flash. It’s the only way.

Order Matters

We live in a turbulent era — a time where order has been challenged. And for good reason. Our most fundamental right — the one that allows us to live — has been challenged by some of those sworn to protect it. And all too often, skin color is at the center of these tragic incidents.

As this grave issue has gained notoriety, related ones have come to light as well. We’ve collectively shown outrage at the blatant inequalities of our justice system, reopened discussions as to how we actually view black and white, and mourned disturbing acts of retributive violence that have rocked our communities.

We’re certainly a polarized nation. If you don’t believe that, look at the varying responses to NFL player Colin Kaepernick’s decision not to stand for the national anthem — a protest coined to shed light on race relations. Most of the support for the move has come from the black community; the white community has been much less forgiving.

Situations like these show our nation’s current predicament. We must fix these societal problems — but we need to do this in a unified, orderly fashion. This is a difficult feat, since there’s a crisis in confidence with our system of order at the moment. But it’s something we must pull off— as a world without order is fraught with danger.

***

I understand this as much as anyone. A short time ago, I went to a college football game in Oklahoma with a friend. Our seats were right next to the Oklahoma student section, and we decided to move over five feet and watch the game with the student body. While I was at first apprehensive about standing on the narrow metal bleachers with the student — especially considering it had just rained — I soon found out I had other concerns to contend with.

Shortly after kickoff, I felt something pushing against my back. It turns out the drunk guy behind me had dropped the cap to his pint of Jack Daniels, and he had knocked into me as he clumsily tried to pick it up. Moderately amused, I turned my attention back to the game. But a few minutes later, I found myself in the line of fire again — as the same guy started jawing with someone a row in front of me. As the argument got more and more heated, my focus for the evening drastically changed. I was no longer worried about watching the football game. I was instead worried about leaving the stadium in one piece.

Unfortunately, my fears soon became reality — although not courtesy of Mr. Jack Daniels. A man two rows above me had been trying to start fights all night. Someone finally obliged, shoving him and sending him flying; the man knocked me down a row as he fell, leaving me with a twisted ankle. When I looked up, he was charging through the crowd throwing haymakers.

It was only at this point that police and security showed up. They ultimately decided not to throw anyone out, but most of the troublemakers left on their own accord, as the game had become a blowout.

***

This experience was eye opening for me. A trip to a football game had become Jungle Law, simply because there was no one around to restore order. The situation was incredibly dangerous — although my minor ankle injury appeared to be the extent of the damage.

Take this scenario outside the walls of a football stadium, and the consequences are even more dire. While I certainly believe that Black Lives Matter and absolute power can corrupt absolutely, it’s clear that a complete lack of order is just as lethal as a corrupted system of order — maybe more. For when ill-meaning characters are allowed to run amok, we are all in the crossfire.

So we must not shun order completely. Instead we must work together to improve our system for everyone. We must ensure not only that innocent people are not victimized, but also that actual troublemakers are held accountable.

Restoring our confidence in order is not a black issue, or a white issue. It’s a gray issue.

It’s a challenge that affects all of us, but it’s one we’re compelled to take on directly.

Let us begin.

The Grill Brigade

Describe an accomplishment you’re proudest of.

I’ve come across this statement several times — often in a professional setting.

Having held positions at three different companies throughout my adult life, I’ve become adept at answering this question in a manner that conveys my passion and devotion to my career.

The accomplishments I’ve described — either on an application form or in an interview — have helped open doors to new opportunities. And they are things I’m immensely proud of.

But not proudest of.

You see, if I were to answer this question with the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth (so help me God), it would do nothing for me professionally.

That’s because the accomplishment I’m proudest of is the weekly football tailgate I organized in college.

***

Football season is back. As crisp fall days make their triumphant return, so many of us are thinking about gridiron traditions — rivalry games, packed stadiums and miles of tailgaters filling the air with smoke from charcoal and propane grills.

As much as I love the game of football itself, those tailgating scenes are what captivate me like nothing else.

There’s something about the smell of burgers and brats in the air, something about the sight of thousands of people cooking out in a parking lot, that just gets me, every time. It doesn’t matter if I head to the game on a full stomach — that scene never ceases to make me hungry.

At first, these tailgating scenes were torture. My family didn’t have a strong football-watching tradition growing up, and when I went to NFL games with my father in high school, we didn’t bring a grill with us. My father couldn’t justify doing all that preparation and cooking just for two people, and his reasoning was sound. But the smell of grills throughout the long walk to the stadium was like a siren song, leaving me feeling empty and jealous.

“Someday, I’ll have my own tailgate,” I told myself.

***

When the University of Miami announced its football team would be moving to the Miami Dolphins’ stadium for my junior year of college, I saw an opportunity.

While so many fellow Hurricanes fans were (justifiably) lamenting the loss of the historic Orange Bowl — hallowed grounds for so many moments in The U’s dynasty years, including a college-record 58 game home winning streak — I was focused on what surrounded the team’s new home. Namely, a sea of parking.

While driving to the OB was nearly impossible, driving to Dolphin Stadium (as it was called then) was nearly inevitable. Since I had a car and an off-campus house at the time of the move, I knew the time was right to fulfill my tailgating destiny. I bought a student parking pass, spread the word about the tailgates to my friends and got ready to grill out.

There was only one problem: while most tailgaters haul their wares on gameday in a Ford F-150, I had a meager Saturn SL-1. Fitting a grill, chairs, a table, food, drinks and condiments — plus 4 passengers — in my compact car was going to be a challenge.

Undeterred, I bought an accordion folding table, some canvas chairs and a camping grill. Then for the first Saturday home game, I packed the truck tightly. Real tightly.

There was so much ambiguity in my mind. Will everything fit? Did I get too much food? Will my friends even show up? Will the grill light properly? What if I undercook the burgers? Will I have enough time to pull this off and make it to the game? But ultimately, the tailgate was a success — so much so that the ensuing game was a blur.

***

I became addicted to tailgating that day, and it instantly became a regular staple of my football experience. Each week I would try and get more people to join in (and chip in). I grilled in the rain and the muggy Florida heat. On weeks where the Canes had an early kickoff, I pivoted to breakfast food.

The following season, I took my show on the road — grilling in a drive-through banking lane that had been converted into a parking lot Miami-Florida State showdown. And for one home game, I ran a tailgate party with my parents and 10 of my friends — a feat that left my father in awe.

But nothing lasts forever. After I totaled the Saturn in a highway wreck during my senior year, I was left without a vehicle for 2 weeks. A friend graciously helped me pull off the final tailgate of the year using her vehicle, but my tailgating days were done. I brought the grill and table with me to West Texas, but I only used them for cookouts at my apartment. When it came time to move to Dallas, the grill only made it as far as the dumpster.

***

As I reminisce my tailgating days, I’m filled more with pride than sadness. I’m proud because I lived a dream beyond my wildest imagination. I went from being seduced by the smell of smoke in the air to cooking out for up to a dozen people each week. Unlike most college students, I found my own tailgates to be my favorite parties.

But I accomplished so much more through these tailgates. For the first time in my life, I undertook the burden of true leadership. I also overcame countless obstacles and learned how to communicate with others productively. These traits have all come in handy as I’ve forged my path in adulthood.

So yes, my time organizing a weekly football tailgate has been my proudest accomplishment so far. After all, it’s been so much more than just grilling out.

The Branding of Us

I’ll never forget my first encounter with branding.

I was about 7 years old, plodding around the playground at recess in my Converse High Tops. But all I wanted was a pair of Nikes.

My shoes were comfortable. They were functional. And, in hindsight, they were hip!

(Plus, my mother probably saved a fortune on them at Marshall’s.)

But none of that mattered. My friends had Nikes. MJ sported Nikes. All I wanted were Nikes.

A few years later, I got my coveted pair of Nikes. And, aside from one pair of cross country running shoes, every pair of sneakers I’ve ever owned since then has either had a Swoosh or a Jumpman logo on it.

Branding is real.

***

I’ve harkened back to this playground scene a lot recently. It’s been getting more and more difficult for me to find Nike shoes that meet my fashion standards and fit my wide feet. And when I do, I end up paying a fortune for a product that frankly isn’t worth the extra money.

Yet, I keep coming back, as reliably as Pavlov’s dog.

Despite my knowing better, I’m loyal to Nike. It’s my look — and that makes it my only choice, for better or for worse. When the University of Miami switched apparel providers from Nike to Adidas in 2015, I quietly mourned the decision; I’ve since significantly cut back on the amount of t-shirts I’ve bought from my alma mater.

Nike is part of how I express myself. And — though it loathes me to admit this — Nike matters to me.

***

What keeps me coming back to the Swoosh? I could list any number of marketing psychology terms, but I’ll focus on one aspect — the narrative.

Stories are a powerful component of our lives, and branding is a key part of our personal stories — although not in the way corporate branding executives aim for. (Sorry Nike, I don’t think buying a pair of your cross-trainers will make me run like Usain Bolt.)

No, branding serves as a supporting actor in the feature production that is our lives. The styles we wear, the tech we buy and the food we eat at different points in the story — these are all impacted by branding. Either we’re loyal to certain brands or we’re consciously fighting the grip that a company name can have over our lives. In each case, brand influence is a factor in our personal brand.

***

And personal branding is significant. We are constantly sending a message — actively or passively, consciously or subconsciously. How that message is perceived can impact our destiny; this is why we try and take ownership of our own brand identity.

But where should we turn for inspiration when undertaking this task? I feel the best answer to that question is actually…companies like Nike.

You see, the impact of corporate brand influence on our lives is twofold. On one hand, it can embed itself in the story we tell. On another, it can provide us a reminder of which principles to master when crafting our personal brand.

Specifically, it can demonstrate how to build connections to our hopes and dreams. It can show us that how we act, how we dress, what we say and what we do can help us attain the life we desire — whether that be the job we dream of, the family we aspire to build or the circle of friends that we seek to maintain.

The foundation of the life we strive for might already be in existence. But until we take ownership of the narrative, our story is being written on autopilot.

***

It’s time to take control of the branding of us. Whether this means strengthening the connections we already have or breaking with them to build new ones, we must take the helm in writing the narrative of our lives.

We’re obligated to take on this task, because doing so can reap benefits for so many. A properly managed personal brand can help drive us forward, and positively impact those we come across. It can allow us to speak to our community in a way that truly resonates. It can help make the world a better place.

The branding of us is within our grasp. But it’s on us to make it happen.

An Exercise in Improvement

Exercise is one of the things I’m most passionate about.

I believe it’s important to devote oneself to it. That’s a key reason why I’ve worked out at least twice a week for the past three years.

Hitting the weight room. Working up a sweat on the treadmill. Walking for miles around the neighborhood on a sunny day — these are all irreplaceable components of my week, no matter if it’s January or July.

Vacations? Holidays? I’ll alter my workout schedule around them to make sure I stay in shape.

Exercise is that crucial to me. And I believe it should be to everyone.

Now, I’m aware of the that this statement might ruffle some feathers. Say the word “gym,” and images of testosterone-laden jocks come to mind. Or maybe the stigmas of appearance and body shaming that poison our society. These are not appealing mental images, and they shoo away people from a workout routine more effectively than garlic deters vampires.

But those are not the reasons why working out is a worthwhile endeavor. For the true benefits of exercise can be found on the inside.

There’s the physical side of things — getting your heart rate up, getting the blood flowing. I’m no doctor, but I know these processes can certainly be beneficial in the long run.

But just as important is the mental side of things. The commitment to a routine. The discipline and focus you must exhibit as a workout warrior. And the immense satisfaction upon completing what you set out to do.

Exercise provides a scenario where you’re in in control of your own improvement. But it provides so much more than that.

It provides an outlet. A productive opportunity to unload the mental pressures of stress, and to rectify the detrimental effects of sitting at a desk for hours on end.
It provides a rhythm. A pattern of coordinated motions that keeps your body and mind in sync.
It provides solace. An escape, a break — no matter what curveballs life throws your way, you can forget about it while working up a sweat.

These are benefits we need. Benefits we deserve.

I know this as well as anyone.

In the time since I started working out regularly, I’ve felt healthier than ever. But this feeling hasn’t come from how many miles I’ve run, or how much I’ve lifted. No, that rejuvenated feeling I carry with me has come from a renewed sense of balance. When times have been good, I have my workout to keep me grounded. When the road has been rough — such as the period after I was laid off of my previous job — exercise has served as a necessary distraction.

In fact, I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that I wouldn’t be who I am today without exercise.

So ignore the old standby about exercise being for a six-pack, or to fit into a certain size of jeans. Working out should be about the attributes we strive for — discipline, commitment, perseverance — and less about superficial distractions.

So get out there and get active. Your mind, body and soul stand to benefit.

The Regulate Debate

Life doesn’t come with a map. But sometimes, there’s a guide.

Whether at the ballgame, the beach or the courtroom — chances are, you’ve come across someone assigned to regulate.

The name might change — umpire, referee, lifeguard, judge — but the motive remains the same. Namely, to view the event in an unbiased manner and ensure the rules are followed.

Step away from these venues, and the story changes drastically. Not only is formal regulation uncommon, it’s also deemed to be anything from a nuisance to a grave danger.

Indeed, throughout history, large-scale overregulation has led to everything from bureaucratic inefficiencies to the perils of authoritarianism. It’s a threat to our freedom, a death knell to individualism.

Quite simply, it’s something we want no part of — apart from a few finite situations. And it’s mostly accepted in those situations to keep things moving at an acceptable pace or to help us avoid deadly dangers.

The culture of self-regulation we’ve demanded is ripe with opportunities, yet fraught with challenges. Whether we’re on the golf course, in the board room or merging onto the highway, we must make the right calls to ensure everything progresses in an orderly fashion. We have the double responsibility of getting ahead while ensuring the playing field is not disturbed. One misstep, one blown call, and mayhem can ensue.

But therein lies the problem. Errors do happen. And it’s only natural that they do. After all, we are imperfect beings attempting the impossible. Although the rules of the road, baseball or a court of law were forged by other people, they were still intended to be followed to perfection — an expectation that belies our human condition.

Even computer regulation has proven to be less than flawless. For all the near-perfect capabilities of technology, there remains one fatal flaw — it was created by humans.

So given these constraints, these challenges — what should we do?

Well, we certainly shouldn’t throw in the towel.

It’s our responsibility — both collectively and individually — to make our system of self-regulation work. That means adhering to the rules to the best of our abilities, and — just as importantly — ensuring that we stay true to the spirit of those rules.

It’s all too easy to be immoral and selfish when given the keys to self-regulation, but all this behavior does is start a vicious downward cycle. And — as proven in our recent Recession — irresponsible regulatory behavior can make everyone suffer.

We must be better. We have the tools — a solid understanding of right and wrong, combined along with the power of influence. Now, it’s our obligation to use these abilities to keep everything moving forward.

This is the way to power and prosperity. This is the way to regulate.

Owning It

The thought of owning something doesn’t often cross our minds.

Sure, when we get the keys to a house or buy a new car, it’s at the forefront of our consciousness. But rarely anytime else.

Yet, ownership was front and center in my mind the other day, as I assessed my CD collection. Nearly two decades old, my pile of CDs has become completely obsolete, as all the music has been added to my laptop and backed up to my iPod, external hard drive and the cloud. My SUV has a CD port, but I’ve yet to use it — as I’ve been able to play music on the road through my smartphone, using voice commands.

Technology has made the process of playing music seamless; no more of those bulky music players at home, no more CDs roasting in holders on car visor flaps in the Texas heat. Yet, my collection remains intact.

It remains because I own it.

Yes, the only thing keeping those unsightly discs out of a dumpster is the fact that I paid for the right to own the music contained within them. (Although, in keeping with my new mantra of letting go, it might be worthwhile for me to get rid of those CDs after all.)

***

Ownership matters to me. Not because of the power it provides, but instead because of the sense of responsibility it instills in me. Maintaining something I’ve paid for requires an investment of consistency and care, an investment that builds character.

Sadly, it’s an investment fewer and fewer of my peers are willing to undertake.

Sharing is more in vogue than ever before. Ridesharing, streaming, leasing — these are staples of the Millennial generation. The movement towards a shared economy has been lauded with terms like efficiency and sustainability, but I think the revolt against ownership is actually a cop-out — a wide scale attempt to avoid the burdens of leadership.

You see, the more people leave their music to Spotify, their movies to Netflix, their transportation to Uber and their living arrangements to their landlord, the less the onus falls on them when things go wrong. There’s always someone else to blame if the server goes down or the AC goes out.

This new wave of pass-the-buck convenience is both lazy and counterproductive. And if it remains unchecked, our leadership void will continue to deepen.

***

If we’re to grow as adults, as community leaders, as spouses or as parents, we must be willing to take responsibility. We must be able to take initiative, to solve problems as they arise and to shoulder the blame when it’s warranted.

We must take ownership. And while the individual elements of the sharing economy are largely innocuous — heck, I lease an apartment and subscribe to Netflix — they shouldn’t be a replacement for our obligation to practice this skill.

Actually owning something is the best way to demonstrate responsibility and accountability. There is simply no substitute.

So buy that car, shop for that dream house, download that song or plant that garden. But no matter what you choose, make sure you’re owning it.

The Golden Narrative

As the summer winds down, we once again find ourselves captivated by the Olympic Games. Against the stunning backdrop of Rio, we’ve watched the grace of gymnasts, the dominance of swimmers, the pure speed of sprinters — and so much more.

But it’s not the athletic feats that pique our interests, or even the superstars who perform them. No, it’s something far greater, yet so fundamental, that draws us in.

Stories.

Yes, narrative envelops the games, from start to finish. Broadcasters focus their coverage on it, athletes live it, and the world discusses it long after the Olympic flame stops burning.

Narrative defines the road the athletes take to reach the world’s pinnacle event. It helps define these competitors as more than the flag they represent. It helps show that even when achieving world record athletic feats, these athletic stars are just as human as the rest of us.

Narrative weaves the emotional components of these competitors’ journeys throughout the games as well. Swagger, revenge, grace, power, agility, adversity, resurgence, dominance and sportsmanship are just some of the ingredients that can be mixed into a juicy storyline.

And narrative is what makes a limited-run event live on forever. While the Summer Olympics occur as frequently as our presidential elections, they have an uncanny ability to resonate for eternity.

I’ll never forget the first Olympics I watched — the 1996 games in Atlanta. I was only 8 years old at the time, but moments from those games will stay with me for life. Moments like a Parkinson’s stricken Muhammad Ali lighting the caldron in the opening ceremony. Moments like Kerri Strug sticking the landing on an injured ankle to help lead the U.S. women’s gymnastics team to their first gold medal — on home soil, no less.

These moments are powerful because of the narrative. With the world watching, stories are told, adversity is overcome, and legends are forged. A moderately significant event — such as the lighting of a torch or the execution of a gymnastics vault — becomes timeless.

We should never lose sight of the power of the Olympic narrative. We should always remember that stories are the force that connects the world and allow it to overcome.

Let’s continue to share our narrative. Let’s use the power of the story to transcend borders and cultures for a common good. That’s the real meaning of Going for Gold.

The Art of Letting Go

Keep it or throw it out?

It’s not quite Shakespearean prose, but I reckon I’ve heard it more often than any line from Hamlet — from the voice in my head alone.

This time, the words were my mother’s. My parents are in the putting their house on the market, and part of that process includes cleaning out 26 years of assorted items. Even though I left the nest more than a decade ago, plenty of mementos from my childhood and adolescence stayed behind— which is why I got daily “Keep It or Chuck It” messages as my parents sorted through everything this summer.

With a few notable exceptions, the answer has always been the same:

Get rid of it.

***

It hasn’t always been this way. In fact, it rarely has.

Long before hoarders were immortalized on TV shows, I was on a mission — a mission to keep anything and everything. But I didn’t want to make a mess, so I would stuff cabinets, closets and out-of-sight storage spaces with piles of things I wanted to hold on to.

There were two reasons I obsessive took this approach. First, I wanted to preserve memories in a visible way. Second, I loathed the mental image of anything I’d bought or created wasting away in a landfill.

These sentiments are fine on a small scale — this is how scrapbooking and recycling came to be. The problem was that I felt this way about everything.

It started with physical items, but my mission quickly degraded my relationships with family and friends. I was constantly adding on, saving memories, maintaining everything I had accumulated.

I was afraid of letting go. And I was suffering because of it.

***

Letting go is an undervalued part of life. It’s something we all must do — after all, we don’t live forever — but it’s also something we try and avoid in our everyday lives. Breaking up is brutal, losing touch is unbecoming, and getting fired indicates failure. Our memories are the only part of the past we take with us to the present; those we share those memories with serve as the bridge between the two worlds.

So we hold on, incessantly. We become sentimental. We fixate on the past.

We cling to every detail of How It Was, so it can serve as the foundation for How It Is.

But all we’re really building is a burden. A bigger footprint, more items to keep track of, more meaningless details to weigh down our mind.

We must stop this madness.

***

If the past informs the present, and the present informs the future, we must move on from anything that doesn’t move us forward. We must master the art of letting go.

We must rid ourselves of the static. Let go of all the memories that leave us lost in Yesterday without a ticket back to the Here and Now.

We must move on from the mementos that don’t tell a story, or those we can’t tell a story from; they alone tell us nothing.

For growth guides us down the current of life; we can’t afford to be anchored in place by a fear of letting go. We must free ourselves and live unburdened.

The Key to Happiness

What makes you happiest?

There are few questions that bring out our individuality more than that one.

Some people might mention a beach vacation, or watching their favorite sports team win the championship. Others might mention gifts they’ve received, or time spent with their significant other.

My answer is a bit more complex: When the people I care about are happy, so am I.

I know that might sound like a bit strange, so let me explain.

Happiness, like many other emotions, tends to skew personal. This means that what makes us the happiest are often things we individually stand to gain from.

This fact, by itself, is not terribly dispiriting —after all, the saying goes, “Tis better to have than to have not.” But prolems arise when those personal gains that bring us happiness come at the expense of others.

Happy you got the job offer? Plenty of other candidates got a rejection email. On Cloud 9 cause your favorite team won the title? Fans of the other team are in agony.

These considerations don’t often cross our minds in moments of bliss, but they should. For when we don’t approach joy with empathy, we’re often left feeling hollow and even depressed once the elation wears off.

The good news is that empathy can be built. It just takes commitment to a perspective of selflessness.

I know this statement to be true because I’ve lived it.

As a kid, I felt happiest when opportunities and experiences in my life directly benefited me. It was a primitive, ugly way to view my interactions with the world — one that left me prone to mood swings when my personal needs and desires weren’t being addressed.

Luckily, I was able to evolve out of this pattern. I had the good fortune of being surrounded by many selfless, empathetic people throughout adolescence and early adulthood. Those values rubbed off on me — particularly as I exposed myself to a great amount of adversity on account of my life decisions.

I learned quickly just how fulfilling putting others first can feel. How putting their feelings ahead of mine could build an emotional connection with them and simultaneously allow me to approach the ebbs and flows of my personal life with a steady mind.

This focus on empathy made me feel wholesome and empowered. I could celebrate the successes of my friends and family right along with them, and truly be there to help them through the hard times. I could shake off the disappointment of being passed up for a certain opportunity by feeling genuine happiness for the person who did — even if I didn’t know them personally.

Empathy has helped me grow, and it’s become a staple of who I am.

But more than that, genuine empathy is key to unlocking true happiness. Pursue it wholeheartedly, and you stand to benefit more fully than you could ever imagine.

Author: Dylan Brooks