Category: Thoughts

How Will You Be Remembered?

Legacy.

It’s just one word, and three syllables.

But that word is anything but simple.

Legacy describes the lasting image of us after we’ve left the frame. It describes how we’ll be remembered.

And that can be a tricky subject to broach.

Much like an onion, there are layers to the concept of legacy.

There’s the layer of mortality. Of knowing there will be a time when we’ll no longer be able to add chapters to our story. This truth is as inconceivable as it is inevitable, and many of us struggle to come to terms with it.

There’s the layer of ego. Of obsessing over what others think of us and our accomplishments. Many of us are afflicted with this obsession to some degree, even as society frowns on such selfish fixations.

And then there’s the layer of control. Of when and where we have agency over our narrative.

This layer is the most complicated of the three.

It’s impossible for us to maintain complete control over our legacy, since it lives on long after our heart stops beating. After our light fades, how we’ll ultimately be remembered is anyone’s guess.

We might have a hunch, sure. But as the decades pass and societal norms evolve, what once seemed crystal clear becomes much murkier.

There are many examples of this phenomenon throughout the years. In fact, there’s now a well-known term for it — revisionist history.

And while it’s not a given that our legacy will be rewritten in this manner, it’s certainly a distinct possibility.

Even so, we do have some ability to influence our legacy. The way we live, the values we espouse, and our consistency of purpose can all feed the story others will tell of us.

Shaping that narrative is important work. It’s our only opportunity to have our say, which is why we take on the task so vigorously — even if there’s a chance it will end up fruitless.

It’s this delicate balance, this act of weaving a tale we have no final judgment over, that makes the subject of legacy so intriguing.

And it’s what makes How will you be remembered the most maddening question we face.

The matter of shaping our legacy often comes down to four words.

Do the right thing.

It seems like straightforward advice. Or even common sense.

But the right thing is open to interpretation.

In religious circles, it might mean attending a house of worship, following a certain diet and remaining abstinent until marriage.

In the world of organized crime, it might mean not telling the authorities about your co-conspirators, or not getting behind on your debts.

In the world of politics, it might mean prioritizing your base, or sticking it to the other side of the aisle.

In each instance, those following the code are doing the right thing. They’re staying on the right side of their community’s code of conduct. And they’re ensuring that community will look upon them fondly.

Many of us channel this spirit within our own day-to-day lives. We might not be religious zealots, or mafiosos, or members of the C-suite. But we still fixate on doing what our moral compass deems to be proper.

Through discipline and devotion, we take steps to build our narrative. And we use the community around us as a mirror to gauge our success.

Often times, we’ll use this confirmation bias as a sign of self-righteousness. We’ll assert that our version of the right thing is the one the world will approve of. We’ll believe that we’ll be remembered fondly for years to come, so long as we stick to the path we’ve been following.

But this is delusional.

Our version of the right thing might not be viewed by others as criminal, intolerant or unethical — the way the worlds of organized crime, religion or politics often are. But that version is still heavily biased by our specific worldview. And by the contours of the times we live in.

For instance, smoking was once considered fashionable. Buoyed by public popularity and reinforced by opportunistic advertising, packs of cigarettes were as commonplace as smartphones are today. Restaurants and bars billowed with cigarette smoke, and lighters were everywhere.

Around this time, the number of women in the workforce was increasing. But by and large, women found themselves confined to clerical roles. Hiring women based on their looks was considered acceptable behavior. And so were other practices we now consider discriminatory or abusive.

These days, we would not consider any of this the right thing.

Sure, there are plenty of smokers out there. And there is, sadly, plenty of misogynistic behavior as well. But these behaviors now come with a social stigma — a stigma that could impact our legacy.

Our world is better off because of this evolution. But that doesn’t give us license to act self-righteous.

For even if we’re don’t smoke or abuse women, we’re not doing everything right. There are parts of our day-to-day lives that future generations will look at just as unfavorably as we now look at smoking or gender discrimination.

Our legacy will be rewritten over time. And parts of it might end up tarnished.

There’s no way around it.

 

So, how should we approach the topic of legacy?

We can start by reframing the question.

We can stop concerning ourselves with how we’ll be remembered, and start thinking about how we’d like to be remembered.

This small tweak puts the power back in our hands. It gets everything back to two dimensions.

By looking at the question this way, we can imagine an ideal future. One unencumbered by the shifting of society and the razor’s edge of revisionist history.

Then, we can imagine how this ideal future would entertain our memory if we were no longer around. And we can work toward bringing that vision to fruition.

This is the way I approach the thorny question of legacy. It’s what grounds me. It’s what inspires me. And it’s what drives me to do my best each and every day.

We can all take a page from this book.

How will you be remembered is insignificant. How would you like to be remembered is everything.

The Planning Paradox

I love it when a plan comes together.

If you’ve ever seen The A Team, you’ll find this phrase familiar. Colonel Hannibal Smith uttered it dozens of times — in both the 1980s TV series and the 2010 film adaptation.

The phrase resonates with us because we find it serendipitous.

It’s a magical feeling when everything just works. But it feels ever more satisfying when we play a part in making that outcome happen.

We are better positioned to make the most of our good fortune. For the groundwork has already been laid.

This is why many of us obsess with planning. With envisioning the possibilities and putting in the work to make them a reality.

We fill our calendars, set budgets and forecast possibilities. We give ourselves marching orders and then follow them religiously.

It’s dutiful work. Routine work, even.

But it might be a waste of our time.

 

God laughs at your plans.

This phrase makes me wince.

Not because I’m one to question God’s work. Far from it.

No, this phrase makes me wince because of the utter futility it describes. Specifically, that of making plans and seeing them go to waste.

For I am a planner.

I relish the opportunity to prepare for what lies ahead. In fact, one could say I obsess about it.

I chart out my meals for the upcoming week even before I make my way through the supermarket aisles. I get tickets to sports events or concerts weeks ahead of time. I show up to the airport two hours early to ensure my checked luggage makes it on the plane.

I even regiment my days. I set an early alarm on weekdays so that I can work out, freshen up and take care of other household tasks before I even head out the door to work. And I make sure to wake up with the sun on weekends so that errands don’t eat up too much of my day.

My calendar is my compass throughout this process. I want to make sure I’m on time, on budget and on top of things.

Above all else, I want to maintain control. After all, such tendencies are in my nature.

Still, I know I’m fighting an uphill battle.

For all measure of obstacles lie in my wake — from real-time changes in the weather forecast to daily fluctuations in my health. There’s no sure way to see these coming, which means advance preparation for them is, at best, half-baked.

Even on the micro level, unpredictability abounds. Friends and family can put together last-minute events. A sudden traffic jam on the highway can make that trip to the airport take twice as long as it should. A supply-chain issue can leave many of the supermarket shelves barren at the moment I’m pushing my cart down the aisle.

And when it does — when God laughs — it can be utterly frustrating.

I’ll seethe as I think of all the energy I’ve wasted preparing for a future that turned into pure fiction. I’ll lament being blindsided by the current reality. And I’ll second guess every plan that led me into the current predicament.

This is not the best response to unpredictability. But when you obsess over planning, it’s often Live by the sword. Die by the sword.

And all too often, I find the bitter end of that proverb.

Is planning futile?

Not exactly.

Certainly, an overarching reliance on a plan can hurt. My own experience bears that out. So does the failure of the Centralized Economic Planning philosophy under the Soviet bloc.

But going without a concrete plan can be just as devastating. When Napoleon invaded Russia in 1812, for instance, there was no plan for how his army would handle the upcoming winter. The harsh conditions decimated the troops nearly as much as the Russian forces did, leading to a humiliating defeat.

The overarching lesson is that planning is important. But only to a point.

We have to be ready for what should come to pass. But also to expect the unexpected.

I call this The Planning Paradox.

The Planning Paradox is an uncomfortable concept.

For it demands that we do our due diligence, yet still be ready to turn on a dime.

Few of us are naturally that agile. On the contrary, we tend to fall into one of two camps: The Planners and the Reacters.

Planners do what they can to control their environment ahead of time. Reacters analyze the environment in the moment and respond to it ad hoc.

In order to find success in life — in work, in relationships and elsewhere — we need to use each trait. But only one of them is inherently dominant in each of us.

Personality tests help surface that dominant trait by forcing us choose between them on each question. They embolden us to circle the wagons around our position of strength.

But The Planning Paradox challenges us to broaden our approach.

The Planning Paradox first encourages us to embrace the dark side. To learn how to manage the approach we naturally repel.

For Planners, this means accepting the chaos and going with the flow. For Reacters, it means taking the time to prepare for future outcomes.

Then, The Planning Paradox requires us to combine the two approaches into a single protocol. One that sets the rules of engagement, and then determines the conditions for breaking those rules.

This is not an easy ask. And the ambiguity of it can weigh on us. But the strain is for our benefit.

For such an exercise encourages us to think on our feet. To get comfortable with the uncomfortable. To add slack to our rigid approach.

These are the muscles we need to flex. These are the skills we need to master in order to thrive in a world that’s equal parts routine and unpredictable.

So, let’s stop fighting the Planning Paradox. Let’s stop ruing the energy we waste on plans that go bust. Let’s stop wishing that the world did away with schedules altogether.

Let’s get out of our corners. Let’s get used to thinking outside the box.

That is our only way forward in this perfectly imperfect world.

The Power of Thank You

Sometimes, words carry extra weight.

Think of Abraham Lincoln delivering The Gettysburg Address. Ronald Reagan demanding Mr. Gorbachev, Tear Down This Wall. Jim Valvano imploring Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.

These speeches have captivated our society. These words helped change our perspective and even altered the course of history.

They are powerful indeed.

But the most impactful words out there are actually quite simple: Thank you.

Thank you is brief and ubiquitous. We say it reflexively at times. We add it to our letters and emails by default.

Viewed this way, thank you looks like a formality. An expression of politeness, to be sure, but a formality nonetheless.

But don’t be fooled. These two words have a far deeper meaning than that.

In a world where we are quick to assert our independence, saying thank you indicates humility. It reminds us that we can only get so far on our own. And that the assistance of others is critical to our success.

Recognizing that, and expressing our appreciation, means everything.

In our culture of individualism, we all too often treat reliance on others as a sign of weakness.

As a compromising flaw in the human condition. As a bug in our software.

But reliance is no bug. It’s a feature.

We have relied on others throughout our history. As far back as ancient times, humans have banded together to avoid falling prey to lethal threats surrounding them.

Protecting the future of humanity has always been essential. And the best way to achieve that objective has been to avoid going it alone.

Even the earliest books of the Bible allude to this principle.

When Moses parted the Red Sea, he wasn’t simply going his own way. He was liberating his people from bondage.

Conversely, when Eve wandered alone in the Garden of Eden, she came upon the serpent of temptation. She bit into the forbidden apple, and humanity was cast out of paradise.

The lesson is stark. Going it alone is a recipe for disaster.

As I write this, Western society is fraught with unprecedented divisiveness.

Isolationism is at its peak, and polarization has poisoned public discourse. Facts are under attack, eclipsed by partisan theories and agendas.

Self-reliance is having a moment right now. And those Thank yous in our daily conversations and our email threads have never felt more hollow.

We don’t often think about the paradox this presents. After all, this behavior is now considered normal. And we find little inherent need to cross-examine normalcy.

But the irony grows thicker toward the end of the year, when gratitude is baked into our schedules.

In November, we celebrate those who serve in our military and then have a big meal in celebration of each other. In December, we shower each other with gifts before making a toast about the year to come.

It’s an intriguing eight-week run. One that causes us to reflect on what we have, why we have it and what we have to look forward to.

But our toxic divisiveness has turned this once-joyous period into a chore.

Appreciating veterans for their service has been turned into a litmus test for patriotism. Or a verdict on foreign policy.

Sitting down for Thanksgiving dinner now means going to battle with those at the table who have different views. Or perpetuating our filter bubble if no differences in opinion are present.

Unwrapping gifts on Christmas now means reviving the debate over whether America is a Christian nation. Even as the Constitution clearly separates religion from governance.

And ringing in the New Year now means lamenting how awful the prior year was, and approaching the new one with skepticism.

Our quest to reach self-reliance has reached its destination. And the misery it sows is now swallowing us whole.

We blame The Other for our plight. After all, is what the self-reliance playbook tells us to do.

But that only further deludes us from the truth.

Many years ago, a group of English settlers sat down for a feast on a chilly fall day.

The settlers had left England on some wooden ships, escaping religious persecution there. They crossed the Atlantic Ocean, hoping to land in the recently established Virginia territory and set up a colony there.

But this was centuries before GPS or motorized vessels, and the voyagers drifted off course. They ended up more than 500 miles up the coast from Virginia, in the region that would come to be known as Massachusetts.

The settlers were ill equipped for the frigid winters of the region, or the way the climate hardened the soil.

The attempts to go it alone had failed miserably. Many died of cold and starvation in that first winter. And the survivors seemed doomed to face the same fate, sooner or later.

Yet, the settlers reversed course. They turned to native tribes in the area for assistance in planting crops and building weather-resistant shelter.

Once the harvest was done, the settlers invited the natives to share in a feast of appreciation. A feast that is replicated each year. And one that will take place once again on the week I am writing about this.

Looking back now, this all seems quite remarkable. For we know what happened next.

The fledgling settlements in Virginia and Massachusetts grew into English colonies. Those colonies broke free of England and became the United States. The new nation expanded westward, the surge led by pioneers and frontiersmen out for their own interests. And native tribes like the ones who sat down for that first Thanksgiving dinner were villainized and confined to reservations.

Yes, our entire history has been defined by a divergence from that moment. From the point we thanked others for helping us survive to our current edict of Individualism-At-All-Costs.

We have forgotten our roots. We have abandoned the inclination to rely on each other, and to appreciate each other.

And in the process, we have become lost.

It doesn’t have to be this way.

The power to change our narrative remains in our hands.

We can start by expressing gratitude, as we do each year amongst heapings of turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce and pie.

But we must dig deeper.

We should consider what a Thank you represents. Namely, appreciation for the assistance of others.

We should swallow our pride, and stop running from this assistance. Instead, we should seek it out when we are in need. And we should return the favor to others in need.

These actions represent humanity at its most efficient. These actions show humanity at its best.

Gratitude can be the gateway to this ideal. But only if we open our hearts and our minds to the principles it espouses.

There is great power in thank you. It’s time that we start using it.

Dueling Interpretations

Not long after I started working in television news, I encountered a strange term.

HIPAA.

This acronym might sound like something you’d see at the zoo. But it actually stands for the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act.

HIPAA protects personally identifiable health information. And as a news producer, HIPAA meant that health records were a no-fly zone for me.

If someone was injured in an accident or crime that made my newscast, I couldn’t give any updates on their status.

I couldn’t do this because I didn’t have access to the victim’s health records. Those were protected from journalists like me by the regulation.

I accepted this.

For I recognized there was a good reason for HIPAA. And I figured that the regulation would fend off other entities looking to access sensitive information as well.

So, imagine my surprise when I learned recently that Google has access to these classified records.

It’s true. Google has been partnering with a healthcare network called Ascension to gather the personal health information of millions of people.

The partnership has been dubbed Project Nightengale. And unlike other health data sharing agreements, the information Google has been receiving from Ascension has not been anonymized. That means patients’ names and dates of birth are present in the data set.

While I left the news industry long before this story broke, I was still rankled by it.

That’s illegal, I thought. That arrangement violates HIPAA.

But I was wrong.

Since Google is considered a business associate of Ascension, the tech giant is in the clear. HIPAA specifically allows health providers to pass data to third parties in order to improve patient care. And, lo and behold, that was the stated objective of Project Nightengale.

Of course, the cynics among us — myself included — see right through this façade. We can point to Google’s traditional intentions — profit through advertising revenue — and start musing about how the company might cash in off our most sensitive data.

It’s an upsetting thought. But not one without merit.

And there’s not much we can do about it.

There is no chance that lawmakers had an arrangement like Google’s in mind when they drafted HIPAA in 1996.

After all, Google hadn’t even been founded yet. And the Internet consisted mostly of America Online CDs and those iconic dial-up connection tones.

But even if legislators could have seen this nascent issue brewing, they likely couldn’t have done much to prevent it.

For Google has taken a deft approach to entering the healthcare market. The Silicon Valley behemoth has leveraged its advantages in data management to secure the Project Nightengale partnership. And it has done all this in the name of improving the healthcare process.

These types of opportunities are within the bounds of HIPAA. This is a main reason why Project Nightengale was allowed to proceed.

But Google’s true intentions as a company — growth in advertising opportunities, revenue and profit — run counter to the entire act.

HIPAA was specifically designed to keep marketers, advertisers and salespeople from exploiting our sensitive health information. But Google now has open access to just that.

In other words, Project Nightengale is a Trojan Horse. It’s allowed the fox into the henhouse.

The Project Nightengale loophole is a prime example of a broad interpretation of a regulation.

Broad interpretations encourage free enterprise. They provide ample opportunities for people and companies explore and create. But that’s not always a good thing.

Indeed, many use a broad interpretation of a law to meet prioritize their own needs and objectives. They sidestep the spirit of a rule for their own selfish gain.

This might sound excessively sinister. But it proves itself true, time and again.

Consider the Rooney Rule, for instance.

This regulation states that whenever there’s a head coach opening in the National Football League, the team must interview a minority candidate as part of the hiring process.

The Rooney Rule was designed with the best of intentions — to get more African-American and Hispanic coaches a chance to get a head coaching gig. But in practice, it rarely works as intended.

These days, many NFL teams simply go through token interviews with minority candidates. They have little intention on following through with a job offer, as they already have their sights set on a different coach. One who’s older, more experienced — and whiter.

So, they do the interview with the minority candidate, and quickly move on.

This practice technically complies with the Rooney Rule. But it pierces a dagger through the spirit of it.

Minority candidates are still not given a fair shake. If anything, they’re being further exploited.

On the other side of the spectrum lies the narrow interpretation.

This is the literal expression of the rule. The letter of the law. The words on the page without any added context.

If the broad interpretation is easy to exploit, the narrow interpretation is quite the opposite. For the words on the page are as restrictive as they are unambiguous.

Think of the Ten Commandments. And all the Thou Shalt Nots.

Thou shalt not murder. Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not bear false witness against your neighbor.

Whether we’re secular or not, we take the narrow interpretation on these edicts as a society.

There is no wiggle room. We can’t keep in the spirit of the rule while we flaunt it. Murder, theft and lying are all forbidden acts. We must avoid them or face harsh consequences.

Over the years, many have embraced the narrow interpretation. Religious zealots have pounded the Bible. Conservative politicians have wrapped themselves in the Constitution. And exacting supervisors have demanded adherence to the employee handbook.

It’s easy to see why this view has such a draw. It provides authoritative clarity in a world that’s all too often murky and gray.

But don’t be fooled. The narrow interpretation is no panacea.

 

Some of the great Supreme Court justices have relied on the narrow interpretation. But so have some of the most legendary mobsters.

Indeed, our obsession with by-the-book justice helped gangsters like Al Capone and Whitey Bulger become notorious.

Sure, under the narrow interpretation, Capone and Bulger would be considered rule breakers. In theory, they would be castigated as murderers, thieves and liars.

But Capone and Bulger did much of their bidding through associates. Through coded instructions and well-defined syndicates.

And under United States law, that made them nearly impossible to catch.

Yes, federal law enforcement officials went after them. But their hands were tied by the narrow interpretation of two words from the Constitution: Probable cause.

These two words made it difficult for the feds to get search warrants or arrest warrants. These two words effectively prolonged the reigns of terror of Capone and Bulger.

This is the problem with the narrow interpretation. It doesn’t adapt with the times. And because of that, it can be easily short-circuited.

It can keep us from killing each other. Unless our name is Al Capone.

So, which path should we allow to guide us? The narrow one or the broad one?

It’s hard to say.

Each has its benefits. But each has its drawbacks.

When I think of my sensitive health information in Google’s hands, I wish that the interpretation of HIPAA was narrower. I wish that I still had the final sign-off for sharing information about my own body.

But when I think of all the criminals who evade justice on a technicality, I wish the interpretation of the law was broader. I wish there wasn’t free license for mobsters and corruption to run unchecked.

With this in mind, it’s probably best to follow a hybrid interpretation. To go narrow when enforcing specific guidelines designed to protect us. And to go broad when enforcing the more general ones.

Going hybrid would require us to completely overhaul our approach.

Instead of focusing on the regulation itself, we would need to focus on the effect. On what activity the rule is prohibiting. And who would be harmed by that activity if it was allowed to remain unchecked.

This would take more due diligence. And it would open the door to more ambiguity.

But these inconveniences would be worth it.

For rules and regulations are more than text on a page. When drafted well, they serve as signals of intent to protect us.

It’s about time we honor that spirit. And govern ourselves accordingly.

Blank Slate

Every day is a new chance to start fresh.

That is what we’re told, from Day One. It’s what we believe.

After all, we live in a land built on liberty and opportunity. In a culture where we root for the underdog. In a society where we’re motivated by tales of redemption.

It’s invigorating knowing that we can write our own story. It’s revitalizing knowing that no matter how rough things might be today, there’s always the chance to start anew tomorrow.

Yes, the blank slate is central to our being. It’s how we define ourselves.

Yet, that very definition iss a myth.

 

We see it on the news all the time. Celebrities having a meltdown.

There’s that infamous clip of Tom Cruise jumping up and down on a couch during a taping of the Oprah Winfrey Show. There’s that avalanche of embarrassing Britney Spears headlines from 2007. There’s Antonio Brown — perhaps the most talented wide receiver in football — burning bridges with three National Football League teams in one year due to a series of off-field antics.

It’s a sad sight. People we recognize — people we think we know — hitting rock bottom.

Tom Cruise and Britney Spears have managed to revitalize their careers, and their images. The jury’s still out on Antonio Brown.

But in all cases, the slate isn’t exactly blank.

In the world of the 24/7 news cycle, of YouTube and of social media spotlights, those moments of infamy live on. Even if those involved have since moved beyond their lowest moments.

And this phenomenon isn’t restricted to this digitally-enabled millennium either. Politicians in the United States and Canada have recently been accused of wearing blackface in their younger years. While the evidence of these transgressions often comes in the form of grainy yearbook photos, the backlash remains fresh as the morning dew.

We can’t just wipe the slate clean. We can’t treat the past as it if didn’t happen. We can’t just start over.

For even if we don’t have paparazzi following our every move or a criminal record sullying our name, we have baggage.

The choices we’ve made have left a mark. Whether officially — such as on a credit report or resume — or unofficially.

No matter what we do to reboot, we have a history.

Time accumulates experiences. Those experiences become lodged in our memory banks, stimulating our senses and forever altering our perspective.

So long as our mind remains intact — that is, so long as we remain free of a traumatic brain injury — our judgment will be biased by what we have seen, felt and learned. Our past experiences — good and bad — will inform our future decisions, regardless of whether we’re sticking with old routines or looking to start new ones.

No matter how hard we try, the slate will never be clean.

I find the blank slate conundrum deeply personal. For I have encountered it, time and again.

I’ve moved to three new cities in my adult life. And I’ve cut my teeth in two different careers.

That’s a lot of change for anyone. But it’s particularly grueling for an introverted control enthusiast.

Why would I take myself so far out of my comfort zone? Why would I break with the routine I rely on, over and over?

Money and ambition are two reasons. I aspire for a brighter future, just as many do. And the bills don’t pay themselves.

But that’s only part of the story.

The true catalyst for the changes I’ve made has been the illusion of the blank slate. The myth of the fresh start.

At each turn, I’ve relished the chance to unleash my untapped potential. To explore new possibilities. To become a new man.

That often meant downplaying my prior history. It meant shunning my origin story. And it meant forgetting about all the left turns I took along the way.

After all, I didn’t want my past to define me. I was all about my present and my future.

It was only after years of adulthood that I realized how ridiculous this notion was.

I now recognize that the past is an indelible part of me. It’s allowed me to gain new friends, unforgettable moments and invaluable lessons at every turn. It’s what made me who I am.

These days, I can finally embrace that fact. A fact I should have understood a long time ago.

So now, as I reach an age where many second-guess the decisions of their youth, I refuse to do just that. For I can see that those decisions — and all that they unlocked — made me precisely who I am.

And I wouldn’t trade a thousand blank slates for that.

There is no moving on. There’s only moving forward.

This is the gist of Nora McInerny’s brilliant TED Talk about grief.

McInerny proves a powerful point.

After we lose someone we love, we can’t just turn the page. Our bond with that person remains a part of us, through our memories.

So, while we might yearn to start a new chapter, starting over is out of the question.

We move forward. But we don’t move on.

I believe this philosophy applies to life as a whole, as well.

For while our journeys may differ, we are all sure to face tough times now and then. We’re sure to face moments of doubt, of fear, of yearning.

In these moments, we’ll want to step away from the pain of the present. We’ll find ourselves magnetically drawn to the potential of a brighter future, and repulsed by the shackles of circumstance in our past.

We might take this leap. We just might break free from the ordinary and launch ourselves into the unknown.

But this break will not be clean. This will be a new chapter, not a whole new start.

That trusty rearview mirror will still guide us, for better or for worse. The joy, the pain, the gains and the losses will all provide direction for our next escapade — either vividly or subconsciously.

This is a beautiful thing. A powerful thing. A human thing.

So no, the blank slate does not exist. But we should be thankful for that.

For it is only through the its absence that we can truly experience what it means to be alive.

The Error Term

When you hear the word beautiful, what comes to mind?

Maybe it’s a golden sunset. Or a vista of snow-capped mountains. Or the elegant grace of wild horses running free.

Those are all beautiful sights, no doubt.

But when I hear the word beautiful, I think of something else entirely. I think of a regression function.

You’re probably thinking this is an odd choice. And you’re right.

Beauty is supposed to be about the majesty of nature. About the tenderness of emotion.

A regression equation seemingly has little of either of these sentiments.

It’s a string of numbers, letters and symbols. As cold and calculating as a movie villain. As dry as day-old ink on the page.

Still, there is a method to my preference.

How could there not be? After all, method is math’s bread and butter.

So, let’s break it down.

At its core, a regression function is an explanation.

It explains how one variable is impacted by others.

For instance, we could run a regression to see how interest rates impact home prices. Or how days with cold temperatures impact doctors’ visits.

We could even look at the impacts of two different variables. For example, how the local football team’s performance impacts the number of traffic accidents on the city’s streets and the amount of nightly revenues at the city’s restaurants.

With enough data, we can look at just about anything. The regression model is simply the tool we use to transform the data into something worth talking about.

Now, this data-driven explanation doesn’t necessarily show cause and effect. After all, a golden rule of statistics is that Correlation does not equal causation.

No, a regression equation simply shows how the variables are related. How two — or three, or four — elements tend to work together.

This knowledge is what allows us to make predictions. It can help meteorologists build 10 day weather forecast models. It can help political consultants handicap future election results. And it can help business managers make shrewd strategic pivots.

In all these cases, the data speak volumes. The regression equations provide evidence to guide the prognosticators in their choices. They seem to illuminate the path ahead, like runway lights at an airport.

But while a strong regression can give a forecaster confidence, the process is far from failproof.

We’ve all seen a time where the weathercaster was flat out wrong. Where the pollster missed the mark. Or where a company’s bold moves fell flat.

When this happens, we’re quick to assign blame.

We rush to shame the experts for getting it wrong. For leading us astray. For not being perfect.

This is ridiculous — for multiple reasons.

For one thing, perfection is not an attainable ideal. Mistakes are a fact of life, and we all slip up from time to time. There’s no need to call out others for being human.

But just as importantly, regression models themselves are not perfect.

If you were to write out a regression equation, it would likely look something like this.

y = ß0 + ß 1x1 + ß 2x2 + e

The y’s and x’s show the part of the equation that can be predicted. This section of the equation shows how a change in variable y tends to impact variable x1 or x2.

This is the part of the equation that prognosticators — weathercasters, pollsters, business leaders — rely on. And they’re right to do so — most of the time.

But that e at the end of the equation represents something totally different.

The e stands for the error term — the part of the model that can’t be predicted.

This is the randomness, the chaos, the side effects that can’t be explained.

Statisticians do their best to build models that reduce that e term as much as possible. To isolate the exact factors that explain a relationship between multiple variables.

Still, no matter how much they try and remove all error, it remains.

That might seem like a problem. But I believe it’s a good thing.

For the world is neither simple nor clean. It can’t be neatly organized in boxes, wrapped in paper and topped with bows.

No, the world is inherently messy. It can defy logic and be straight-up perplexing at times.

The error term captures this reality. It captures life in its purest form.

This is why I love the error term. This is why I associate a regression equation with beauty.

And this is why I believe the error term requires more attention from all of us.

Throughout our daily lives, we do our best to prepare.

We brush our teeth, shower and put on climate-appropriate clothing. We add appointments and events to our calendar. We map out our immediate and future spending needs.

We do what we can so that we’re ready to act decisively now and in the future.

I am no stranger to this behavior. Indeed, I tend to obsess over preparation and organization.

This laser-sharp focus is a net benefit. It allows us to be presentable and to make proper decisions.

But relying solely on this approach can get us off track.

For life is defined by the error term. By the instances when things take an unexpected left turn. By the moments we can’t possibly prepare for.

These changes of pace, these shocks to the system — they do more than spice things up. They test our mettle.

These are the moments that define our lives. These are the occurrences that unlock ingenuity and innovation. These are the opportunities for us to display our humanity.

We build emotional connections by navigating the error term. Those connections lead to storytelling, as we share accounts of our experience through visuals, through audio and through the written word. And those stories we tell ourselves — they help shape our culture.

It’s time we embrace the error term. It’s time we stop obsessing on all that can be explained, and that we come to terms with what confounds us.

This is what will allow us to live our lifes to the fullest. To treasure the journey with a clear and open mind.

To err is human. Let’s get back in touch with our humanity.

Being Deliberate

Speed.

It’s exhilarating. Intoxicating. Addicting.

We strive to use speed whenever we’re in action — whether we’re driving, running errands or making important choices.

We can’t help ourselves.

Time is money, as they say. And life’s too short for us to waste any of it.

So we go ever faster.

We engineer our lives to win the next sprint — whether it be a week, a day or a singular moment. We rely on technology to cut out the slack in everything from ordering food to managing our finances. And we prioritize snap decisions at every turn.

It might seem as if the sky’s the limit with this approach. As if our skyrocketing productivity can lead to skyrocketing potential.

But looks can be deceiving.

In an era where everything moves fast, few things stand the test of time.

But one movie does just that.

The movie is called 12 Angry Men. It was released back in 1957, but still remains relevant today.

Why? Because it focuses upon a time-honored American tradition — jury trials.

The concept of justice being determined by a jury of one’s peers dates back to the drafting of the United States Constitution. And each week, somewhere in America, a group of 12 people sit in a room and determine the fate of the accused.

I’ve yet to meet someone who enjoys this task. After all, the burden of consequence for the jury’s decision is profound. And these discussions generally come after grueling days of testimony.

For men and women who have sacrificed their job and family responsibilities in the name of civic duty, this decisive phase of the trial can seem excruciating.

Yet, there’s another reason a jury decision seems as pleasant as a root canal to many of those involved. It’s a reason that cuts to the crux of 12 Angry Men.

Moments like these force people to be deliberate.

Jurors must consider the facts at hand and weigh their veracity. Then, they need to come to a unanimous decision.

Quick decisions generally won’t work here. There is often too much ambiguous information to consider. Expecting 11 others to come to a consensus in less time than it takes to heat up some taquitos in the microwave is simply unrealistic.

No, jurors must take their time, hash everything out, and then make an informed decision.

Jury deliberations are great examples of what the Nobel Prize-winning economist Daniel Kahneman has coined Thinking Slow.

Although this phrasing might make it seem like slow thinkers are dim witted, this is actually not the case. They are usually quite bright.

The difference between slow thinking and fast thinking comes down to approach. Fast thinkers prioritize the speed of the decisions they make over the breadth of information considered. Slow thinkers prioritize the breadth of information over the speed of decisions.

To be sure, there are situations that call for each type of thinking. If military commanders are under fire in a war zone, for instance, they must make decisions quickly to keep their entire unit from getting killed. But when out of imminent danger, such commanders are best served considering all the possibilities before deciding whether to move forward.

There is a delicate balance — one defined by the contours of context.

This balance is critical. Yet, it seems to have shifted in recent years.

Indeed, away from the jury room, the military base or the chess table, it’s hard to find places where slow thinking is encouraged anymore.

And that is a significant problem.

I am a deliberate thinker.

I take pride in gathering all the information I can before making my move. Even if it takes me a while to take decisive action.

When I was applying to business school, I spent five days determining which school’s offer I would accept.

When my car was in the shop for an AC issue, I built a full financial model comparing the likely cost of the repair with the cost of paying off my loan and replacing the vehicle.

In both these instances — and many others — my approach has helped guide me to the right choice. Even if that choice might not have been evident at first glance.

By removing the emotional influence of initial impressions, I can make decisions that are logical. By taking the time to digest the relevant information, I can make decisions that are well-informed.

The end result is worth the extra time it takes to get there.

But in a world set up for fast thinkers and quick decisions, my mission is challenged at every turn.

Critical decisions are often thrust at me without advance warning. And supporting information is often withheld.

All of this is done in an attempt to get me to make a hasty, emotion-laden decision. The kind of decision that separates me from my wallet.

This behavior is not unexpected. Consumer purchasing power is the fuel for capitalism’s engine. So, it’s only natural that others would covet my attention, my loyalty and my money — even if they have to resort to Jedi Mind Tricks to get it.

If I were inexperienced at this fast thinking game, I’d be vulnerable. Fortunately, I have the tools to operate in it — thanks to the time I spent as a TV news producer.

But while I can navigate the treacherous waters of fast thinking, it’s not a task I enjoy.

So, I do what I can to flip the switch.

I use guile in order to make decisions my way. To give myself the opportunity to be deliberate whenever possible.

This often means considering the what ifs.

It means anticipating a repair cost before I get the estimate. It means thinking about downstream results of a potential decision, and pontificating on the new choices those results will bring me.

These types of mind games take ingenuity, an understanding of systems and a fair amount of paranoia. They require me to abandon any air of the naivete that comes with living in the moment — all so I can imagine a far more ambiguous future.

Yet, I find this sacrifice is worthwhile.

For it allows me to prepare for those fast-thinking moments. And it allows me to make the decisions that are in my best long-term interest.

We all can benefit from being deliberate.

It will make us more conscientious, more self-aware and savvier. It will allow us to broaden our time horizon when evaluating decisions. And it will allow our minds to find a greater equilibrium.

So, don’t be afraid to ease off the accelerator. To pause long enough for a deep breath. To consider all the options before making your choice.

Slower can often be better.

The Danger of Premature Celebration

There’s an indelible image that’s lodged in my mind.

It comes from a Monday Night Football game between the Dallas Cowboys and the Philadelphia Eagles that took place several years ago.

In the second quarter of the game, the Eagles quarterback drops back and unleashes a majestic throw. The ball spirals sharply through the warm Texas night, landing in the arms of receiver DeSean Jackson as he’s running at full-stride 60 yards downfield near the goal line.

Jackson raises his arms in jubilation as he prepares for his touchdown celebration dance. He then points mockingly toward the Dallas fans and starts dancing in the end zone, just beyond the silver paint that reads COWBOYS.

It was a moment of sweet jubilation for Jackson — making a highlight-reel play on national television.

There was one problem. He didn’t have the ball.

When Jackson raised his arms, he was still two yards from the goal line. The ball popped backward out of his hand and bounded away behind him.

There was no touchdown. Just a fumble.

With all that dancing and gesturing, DeSean Jackson was only making a mockery of himself — on national television.

I’m captivated by this image. For it is the ultimate cautionary tale for our most obnoxious character flaw.

Premature celebration.

 

Our culture is built upon celebration.

As a capitalist society, we continually indoctrinate ourselves in the ethos of Taking what’s ours.

This ethos has had several iterations over the years.

First, pioneers and frontiersmen pushed their way west from the Atlantic to the Pacific, clearing swaths of forests and decimating native tribes to lay claim to the land.

Journalists of that era named the process Manifest Destiny — a term that whitewashed the true ugliness of what was going on. Out west, frontier life was punctuated by brutal acts of celebration.

Murderous bandits roamed the prairie, claiming ever bigger scores of gold and glory. Native tribesmen collected scalps off of their captives. And public hangings drew crowds of hundreds, even in one-horse towns.

In each case, someone was taking what was theirs, but at another’s expense. And they weren’t shy in letting the world know about it.

As the lawlessness of the west died down, a new revolution started back east. Stock and bond trading went from a side industry to the mainstream, turning Wall Street from a city street to a cultural icon.

Those who got rich in the early years of this movement weren’t afraid to flaunt their wealth. They dressed to the nines and threw extravagant parties. The era became known as The Roaring Twenties, and the roar was resonant — until the 1929 stock market crash brought an abrupt end to the party.

As America emerged from the Great Depression and the ensuing World War, the art of celebration went national for the first time. Radio and television programs made it from coast to coast, and Hollywood had more cultural influence than ever before. As new generation became infatuated with entertainment, our culture of celebration truly took root.

Now, what was once a campfire has erupted into a full-on inferno. Today, we focus less on what we accomplish and more on how we celebrate those accomplishments.

For that is how we’ll be judged. That is how we’ll be remembered.

And that, I assure you, that is what was running through the mind of DeSean Jackson when he foolishly dropped the ball two yards from glory.

Swim through the wall.

These four words sound like terrible advice — if you take them at face value.

After all, the water has plenty of give. It parts itself as we cut through it, as if beckoned by Moses’ staff.

The wall has no give. It stands as firm as the Himalayas, demanding deference.

But from a different perspective, what seems like folly is pure gold.

Yes, metaphorically, Swim through the wall means Don’t let up.

Or, more specifically: Achieve now. Celebrate later.

It’s simple advice. But that simplicity doesn’t make it any less effective.

DeSean Jackson could have used that advice on that warm Texas night all those years ago. But truth be told, we all could use that advice.

For the act of claiming victory is more foolish now than ever.

There is always more work to be done. In an era when information and collaboration travel digitally, the next challenge beckons around the corner.

Changing tastes make what’s acceptable today unacceptable tomorrow. Relentless innovation accelerates the demise of those who refuse to adapt. And the existential threat of violent extremism persists, no matter how relentlessly we beat it back.

Yet, it seems we can’t help ourselves. We can’t stop raising our arms in triumph and beating our chests, even as the goalposts for these issues drift ever further away.

Don’t believe me? Consider this.

There was a time when entertainers like R. Kelly, Bill Cosby, Michael Jackson and Kevin Spacey were the toast of the town. We talked about their brilliance and their talent — and turned the other way as they abused the power of their celebrity.

There was a time when quarterly earnings from Sears and Kodak drew news coverage. We made the Sears catalog a staple of our holiday shopping lists and planned around Kodak Moments — dismissing the notion that such references would ever be obsolete.

And there was a time we spoke of the end of segregation, the end of toxic radicalism, and the end of hate — conveniently forgetting that such troublesome ideas are like a Hydra, and don’t just die with the body they’re housed in.

Over and over we’ve declared victory too early. And in each case, the collateral damage was massive.

We should know better than this. We should recognize that life can rarely be placed into neat little boxes, each topped with a bow.

No, life is a messy, unpredictable journey. A constant parade of experiences and challenges to claw our way through. An abundant set of opportunities for us to pick ourselves up and reach for something greater.

We’re better off embracing that climb, and the inevitable change that comes with it. We’re better off preparing for what’s ahead than celebrating what’s imminent.

So, let’s not make a mockery of ourselves. Let’s not get egg on our face.

Timing is everything. Best to get it right.

On Mortality

I ain’t here for a long time. I’m here for a good time.

Those words are from a song recorded by King of Country himself — George Strait.

Strait’s up-tempo, Western swing tune, taps into the cliché Live like there’s no tomorrow. That cliché, of course, is more well-worn than the country star’s signature Stetson.

We’re all in on being in the moment. On living life to the fullest.

But what about the other side of that phrase? What if there really were no tomorrow?

This is a more troubling proposition for us. So much so that we try not to consider it.

Yet, we’re doing ourselves no favors by acting in this manner.

I’ve thought plenty about life over the years. And I’ve shared a lot of those thoughts right here.

But I’ve also thought a great deal about death.

I was less than 10 miles away from the World Trade Center on September 11th, 2001. The horrors of that day served as a stark reminder that nothing can be taken for granted.

I have tried to make the most out of my life ever since that fateful day. To broaden my impact and not leave my cards on the table.

Still, no matter my approach, I recognize that everything could be over in an instant. One wrong step and I could be gone. One Act of God could be the end of me.

It’s admittedly a bit strange going through life fully transparent on Boogeyman lurking over my shoulder. But I don’t want to delude myself into a false sense of security.

For there is no such thing as total security. As I get older — and my body starts to betray me — I get ever more convinced of that fact.

Yes, safety is a fairy tale. It’s the story we tell ourselves so we can sleep soundly at night.

The sooner we recognize that, the better.

 

Not too long ago, a tragic incident in Dallas made national news.

An off-duty police officer returned her apartment building. She opened the door to what she thought was her apartment and found a man inside. She fired her service weapon at that man, thinking he was an intruder.

It turns out that the officer had parked on the wrong floor of the building’s embedded garage. She was not, in fact, in her apartment when she pulled her weapon. The man she shot was her upstairs neighbor. And that gunshot killed him in his own apartment.

There are no silver linings in the story. An innocent man is dead, and the erstwhile public servant who shot him has been convicted of murder and sentenced to 10 years in prison.

Stories like these are why I got out of the broadcast news industry years ago. I felt sick covering the most tragic acts of humanity.

Still as a fellow Dallas-area citizen, I do feel the need to reflect on this particular tragedy.

The now ex-police officer who fired the fatal shot is my age. She made the worst kind of mistake — one that cost an innocent man his life.

And the young man whose life she ended? He was an accountant with PwC, a devoted member of his church and an aspiring leader in the Dallas community. He was a better man than I. A better person than most.

His life was cut short because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But in this case, the wrong place was his own apartment.

I can only imagine how confused and terrified he must have been in his final moments. One minute, he’s sitting on the couch, eating ice cream and watching TV. The next, a stranger is in his apartment, firing a gun at him.

We can try and imagine how we might have reacted in that position. But the end result likely wouldn’t have been any different for us than it was for him.

A few years ago, I was standing in my kitchen slicing a bell pepper when I saw a man scaling my balcony railing and climbing onto my patio.

He was a maintenance worker who was giving the inside of the railing a fresh coat of paint. I had gotten an email alerting me to his presence, and I noticed ladders and workers all around the building when I came home from work an hour or so earlier. So, I should have been prepared for him.

Yet, even with that prior knowledge in hand, I was terrified for a moment when I first saw him.

As he pulled out his paint brush and waved at me, my fear subsided. I went back to slicing the bell pepper.

Still, my mind was racing.

What if that had been an intruder? What would I have done?

I probably would have attacked with the kitchen knife, I concluded. But how well would that strategy have worked?

I’m not trained in hand-to-hand combat, or on using a kitchen knife for any other purpose than slicing food. If an intruder had any skills in these areas, I’d likely be bleeding out on the carpet within seconds.

Yes, even if I mentally prepared for the worst-case scenario — by brandishing my kitchen knife like Crocodile Dundee and obsessively scanning the doors and windows for burglars —  there’s no guarantee I would survive a home invasion.

And if I was caught off-guard in that situation? Heaven help me.

What do I mean by all this? Well, that young accountant who was sitting on his couch after a long day at work? He never had a chance.

He had done everything right in life. But from the minute his door opened and an armed person walked in, he was doomed.

Safety is an illusion.

What does all this mean, in the grand scheme of things?

Everything. And nothing.

There are no patterns we can use to fully protect us from death. There’s nothing we can do to guarantee we will wake up tomorrow.

The timeline of our future is largely out of our control.

It is this vast abyss of the unknown that makes death so scary.

After all, death will be the terminal destination for all of our journeys. Yet, we are in no way equipped to reach that destination.

Every fiber of our being seeks to resist the inevitability of death. Our brains process pain signals from other parts of the body to shield us from lethal hazards. Our hearts pump blood throughout our bodies, keeping us lucid. Our lungs bring in fresh oxygen to fuel these functions.

Death runs counter to all of these processes. It’s fundamentally against our nature.

This is why the will to live is so strong. It’s why we fight, struggle and hang on for dear life when we feel imperiled.

Yet eventually, death will claim us all.

And the sooner we accept this fundamental fact, the better.

I don’t want to think that tomorrow could be my last day. Or the next day. Or the day after that.

But I know that it’s a possibility.

Coming to terms with all of this is oddly freeing.

It provides me a point of reference, as far as worst case scenarios go. And that allows me to shake off those instances when things don’t go as planned.

When my sense of security — emotional, financial or physical — gets knocked down a peg, I don’t despair. For I know, in the grand scheme of things, even my roughest days aren’t so bad.

The worst case scenario hasn’t hit me yet.

It’s not my place to preach as gospel the best way to approach the subject of death.

Fate doesn’t deal all of us the same hand. We are unique, each with our own set of fears and circumstances to navigate.

Yet, I do think there is a benefit to recognizing the presence of our mortality. And to make our decisions accordingly.

If we cease the search for non-existent guarantees — if we stop letting fear of the unknown paralyze us — our uncertain future suddenly becomes much brighter. Our impact on our community becomes that much greater. And the weight on our shoulders becomes that much lighter.

A life well-lived is one not wasted.

The destination might be ambiguous. But that should not keep us from enjoying the ride.

On Process

Brick by brick.

Those three words carry the weight of a metric ton.

We use them to describe the methodical nature of creating something big. To convey the importance of building on a solid foundation.

Most of all, we use them to talk about process.

Process is not the sexiest of words. It doesn’t have the sizzle or pizzazz to turn heads.

But process is not a word to be taken lightly. For it keeps the world turning.

When I was 6 years old, I went with my family to see the latest blockbuster Disney movie.

Its name: The Lion King.

The movie had everything a Disney production is renowned for.

I remember being captivated by the illustrations of the African savannahs, ensconced by the musical score and captivated by the storytelling.

But most of all, I remember one concept from the film: The Circle of Life.

That concept, of course, was immortalized by an Elton John song. But it was also part of the movie’s dialogue.

Early in the film, the great lion Mufasa warns his young son Simba — the movie’s hero — to understand the balance of the world around him and respect all creatures. Mufasa reminds Simba that even though lions feast on antelope in life, they themselves will eventually die and become part of the grass the antelope eat.

This cyclical pattern is not without precedent. Shakespeare featured it in many of his plays. And it manifested itself in history with the rise and fall of the Roman Empire.

Still, it was The Lion King that really drove the concept home for me.

I have been process-oriented ever since I left the theater that day. In fact, process has become part of my life’s mantra: Accept the challenge. Embrace the process.

Process has taught me the value of patience. It’s shown me the power of persistence. And it’s unveiled for me the majesty of the bigger picture.

Life-changing takeaways from a Disney movie, indeed.

I firmly believe the Lion King was the seminal movie of my generation.

Proof abounds to support this assertion.

The Lion King was the highest grossing Disney animated movie of the 1990s. Many of my peers have named their pets Simba, Nala, Mufasa and Sarabi. And friends and acquaintances have lifted up small animals or infants skyward with both hands, as Rafiki does to the newborn Simba at the start of the film.

Yes, the movie is a cultural staple — more than a quarter century after its release.

But I’m not sure if the Circle of Life metaphor carries that same level of gravitas.

Things move faster these days. And with that increased speed comes an acceleration of instant gratification.

Instant gratification would have been as far-fetched a term in the 1990s as smartphone. More of a pipe dream than imminent reality.

The world simply didn’t work that way back then.

When The Lion King was first released, people traveled to movie theaters to see it. Families waited in long lines at the box office and strode across floors sticky with spilled soda in order to claim the best seats.

After the theatrical release was complete, the film would disappear for a few months. Then, it would appear on store shelves as a VHS tape. You know — the physical cassettes you had to rewind once the credits stopped rolling.

Those videotapes would sell like hotcakes. For consumers knew that once the VHS release period was over, Disney would put the film into the mystical Disney vault — thereby blocking direct access to it for years.

Looking back, this was an incredibly inconvenient process. Still, there were few alternatives. The Internet was nascent and Disney had full control over distribution.

Families had to clear these hurdles to ensure they had on-demand access to the film.

Today, the barriers are largely gone. Disney still has distribution rights to The Lion King, but the entertainment giant has re-released it as a live action movie and a Broadway musical. And the company is on the verge of launching a streaming service that is sure to bring The Lion King to household TV screens worldwide at the click of a button.

The sticky movie theater floors? The rewinding of the videotape? Both are relics of the past.

For a nominal price, instant gratification can save the day.

My generation has soaked up this phenomenon outside of the Disneyverse as well. My peers have become obsessed with push-button solutions to their every beck and call.

Technology providers are more than happy to fill this void with streaming entertainment and smartphone apps for everything from food delivery to online dating.

Yet, even with the world at our fingertips, process doesn’t disappear.

The Earth still turns at the same speed, and our lives still follow the same familiar cycle.

It’s simply our patience for the big picture that has waned.

The instant gratification revolution has made our lives better in many ways.

It’s made shopping less of a drag and enabled our entertainment channels to travel with us. It’s allowed us to stay informed at every turn, and it’s freed up more time for us to be productive.

Yet, instant gratification is not a panacea.

There are plenty of areas where the slow hands of progress reign supreme — by design.

These include fitness and our relationships. But they also include the workplace.

I’ve heard of plenty of young adults these days entering the workforce with outsized demands. They want the keys to the castle from Day One, with all the bells and whistles.

Amazingly, in a historically tight labor market, many of these aspiring career launchers get much of what they ask for off the bat. But after a few months, the shine wears off.

These young employees get frustrated or bored and jump ship for another opportunity. The company fills the position with a new twentysomething, and the cycle perpetuates.

I don’t fault the young adults or the employers for this pattern. Both parties are adapting with the times in a society where the market climate dictates the terms of play.

However, I do take issue with the lack of regard for process in our working lives.

When I graduated college, I moved halfway across the country to take a challenging job as a TV news producer. My salary was less than those of the cashiers at the local Walmart, and my work schedule had me on-duty until 11 PM each night.

Yet, despite these obstacles, I came to work energized and determined each day.

I knew that I was young and inexperienced in the working world. And I understood that improvement would take time and consistent effort.

So, I focused on being better at my job each day than I was the day before. I embraced the process.

By the time I left television, I was far better as a producer than I was the day I started.

I’ve replicated this pattern in my digital marketing career, in my business school studies and in my volunteer leadership work. Even in environments focused heavily on the here and now, I’ve taken the long view in my approach. I’ve committed myself to the process.

This approach hasn’t always given me instant gratification. My increases in position and salary have been sporadic and modest.

But what it has given me is opportunity. An opportunity to look myself in the mirror each day with full knowledge that I’m building toward something greater.

This is what being process-oriented is all about. And, in my humble opinion, this is what careers should be all about as well.

So, in these fast-moving, on-demand times, don’t forget to consider the greater picture.

Take a step back to recognize the subtle beauty of process.

For if our lives are what we make of them, we can do better than endlessly pursuing hacks and short cuts. We’re better off building our future.

Gradually. Methodically.

Brick by brick.