Category: Thoughts

The Evolution of Beats

Is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you’re in my head? Cause I know that it’s delicate.

Isn’t it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it?

These are some lyrics from a Taylor Swift song called Delicate.

As you see them, you might experience any range of emotions — from delight to disgust and anything in between. Like any musician, Taylor Swift is a polarizing figure.

But when I see these lyrics, there’s only one thing in my head.

The pounding drumbeat that serves as a baseline for the entire song.

It’s hard to put a drumbeat into words, but my best approximation would be as follows.

BOOM. Ba da ba. BOOM. Ba da ba.

The drumbeat is persistent enough to be annoying, yet not overpowering enough to be a nuisance.

Over the course of the four-minute song, you could even get used to it. Like the hum of a clothes dryer or the whoosh of cars on a nearby highway, it might sink into the background after a while.

That might work for you. But not for me.

Each time I hear that song, that beat takes over. And much like an Eskimo in the middle of the Arizona desert, I get the feeling that it’s out of place.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved listening to music.

My first memory was sitting in the back of my parents’ station wagon, listening to You Can’t Always Get What You Want from the Rolling Stones.

I must have been a year old, or even less. I know I was young because I remember thinking the song was about hot air balloons. (Perhaps because of the heavenly choir solo at the start of it.)

As I grew older, my tastes evolved. Soon, I was listening to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Then the Gin Blossoms and the Goo Goo Dolls. Then Hip-Hop and rap.

And eventually, I turned my attention to Reggaetón.

I was in high school at this time. I had just gotten my driver’s license, and I was taking any opportunity I could to get behind the wheel. The radio was my soundtrack for these expeditions.

Unfortunately for me, the Emo trend was in full swing at this point. So, the alt-rock stations I’d grown up listening to were serving up a never-ending buffet of whiny music by bands with names like My Chemical Romance, New Found Glory and Plain White T’s.

That was the last thing I wanted to listen to. So, I flipped over to the Spanish language station — which was starting to feature Reggaetón.

I was immediately drawn to the underlying drumbeat.

BOOM. Ba da ba. BOOM. Ba da ba.

 The Reggaetón artists would rap over the beat in barely intelligible Spanish. I was taking Spanish classes in school, but that didn’t help me understand the lyrics one bit. There was too much slang, and too many of the words were slurred.

Still, it didn’t matter. The beat had me hooked. And that was all I needed.

I listened to Reggaetón incessantly for a year or two. Then, I stumbled upon some translations of the lyrics to some of the hit songs.

I recoiled in horror.

That slurred, slang-filled Spanish I was hearing in these songs? It was full of offensive and misogynistic references. I would even go so far as to say some of these lyrics graphically described sexual assault.

I’d had enough.

I deleted the Reggaetón from my music collection and said goodbye to that distinctive and addictive beat.

Or so I thought.

When I first heard Delicate, I was perplexed. What was Taylor Swift doing with the Reggaetón beats I’d listened to nearly more than a decade earlier?

It didn’t seem to fit.

Here was Taylor Swift — singer-songwriter turned country star turned pop icon — mixing some Caribbean beats into her latest hit. But not just any island drumline.

No, one of the most powerful women in music was appropriating the same beat artists once used to denigrate women.

It was absurd.

What was it that attracted Ms. Swift to this beat, anyway? When it was first making the rounds, she was just cutting her teeth in Nashville. She most likely wasn’t listening to the same music I was back then.

No, the return of the Reggaetón beat had to be part of a larger trend.

And indeed, it was.

By the time Delicate hit the airwaves, the fervor from two other songs was just starting to die down. One was a Katy Perry song called Chained to the Rhythm. Another was a Luis Fonsi song called Despacito.

Those two songs had little in common — one was a disco-pop hit in English and the other a Latin pop hit in Spanish. But both of them were wildly popular at the same time. And both of them had elements of that Reggaetón beat mixed in.

Taylor Swift simply took the beat and laid it under her entire song.

It was the next step in an evolution.

As times change, so do tastes.

There was once a time when people used the word Swell to express approval for something desirable. Eventually, that term was replaced by words like Rad, Far Out and Off The Chain. As I write this, terms like Lit and Woke are in vogue.

This is no accident.

As our society is based upon freedom and self-expression, culture is destined to be a moving target. Trends are perpetually shifting, as we seek to explore new avenues at every turn.

Yet, we are still rooted in our sense of community. Even in the most divisive of times, our cultural experience is meant to be shared.

Family matters. Friends matter. Traditions matter.

The pace of change cannot outstrip these constants.

So, our shifting trends and cultural norms take a cyclical pattern. High fashion from the 1990s sees a revival three decades later. Young adults flee the inner city en masse, only to return in force a generation later. And a drumbeat used in some trashy Reggaetón songs one decade becomes the backbone of a pop hit in the next decade.

Looking from this vantage point, the drumbeat from Delicate seems less jarring. Its presence is simply a reminder that culture evolves, and our perceptions can shift over time as well.

It’s important to keep an open mind. To be aware of the constants of change, and to embrace them wholeheartedly — no matter how vulnerable that makes us feel.

For someday, it might not be a hit song that surprises us with its evolution. It might be something even more impactful.

It’s in our best interest to be prepared.

Shell Games

The roadside sign caught my eye as I drove past.

New homes starting in the $300s.

Could it be? Brand new houses that cost less than an airline ticket?

No, of course not.

The 300 on the sign stood for $300,000. A princely sum, but hardly outrageous for real estate.

Still, as the sign got smaller in my rearview mirror, only one thought came to mind.

Wow, that’s a lot of money.

You see, I’m a numbers guy. But I’m also a pragmatist.

When I mowed the lawn growing up, my parents would give me $10. I knew that money could get me two McDonalds quarter pounders.

It was tangible. An hour sweating in the sun with the push mower equaled two tasty burgers.

Years later, with much larger paydays in my present and McDonalds in my past, I can still visualize where my income is going.

Bills and rent are less savory than burgers, but visualization is no less effective.

But $300,000? That’s not tangible. That’s Monopoly money.

 

I wondered if others reading that roadside sign felt the way I did. I wondered if the sheer volume of money in play blew their mind.

If they did, the sentiment surely didn’t last long.

There are new homes popping up everywhere these days. I see them on my morning run, on my drive to work and on my way to the grocery store.

These homes all hit the market with six figure price tags. Price tags that start with a 300 or a 400. But that doesn’t stop people from scooping them up in a flash.

In many respects, these homeowners are like me.

They work for a living. They have credit cards. They drive Fords and Chevys.

Yet, they have done what I have not. They’ve suspended their disbelief and taken the plunge. They’ve signed on the dotted line for a bank loan that they’ll spend 30 years paying off. All for access to a shiny new property on their own plot of land.

Monopoly money indeed.

The housing market is the most tangible example of a phenomenon that’s taken over our society.

A phenomenon I like to call shell games.

For anyone not familiar with the term, it comes from carnival lore. A midway proprietor would put a ball under one of three hats (the “shells”), and then rotate them around in a dizzying array.

When the motion stopped, carnival goers would try and guess which hat was hiding the ball. Invariably, their guess would be wrong.

Slight of hand is key to an effective shell game. All the movement and misdirection disconnects players from what’s tangible.

That’s why so many participants guess wrong, allowing the proprietor to line their pockets with ease.

The same goes for the housing market and similar types of investments. The illusion is so great, we often lose track of what’s real.

For years, Americans of modest means have been able to sign paperwork granting them keys to a property worth more than their current assets.

It’s like they’re playing poker and telling the world they’re bluffing.

Yet, unlike the carnival game, they still win in the end.

The banking system facilitates this victory, of course. Mortgages give banks some skin in the game, locking homeowners into decades of monthly payments.

By the time that last payment is made, the game is over. The full price has been paid, and the claim to homeownership is completely tangible.

But how often does that scenario actually play out?

It’s hard to find many people under the who’ve lived in a home for 30 years these days. My parents got close — reaching the 26 year mark — before selling theirs.

No, homes are treated like trading chips these days. In the age of Fixer Upper, people are buying houses in hopes of flipping them for profit. Even at the point of purchase, they’re thinking of the impending sale.

That sale could come in five years or ten. Either way, there’s little chance that the homeowner will have actually paid in full by the time they turn the keys over to someone new.

Instead, that homeowner is using the sale as an exit strategy. They’re divesting of their remaining financial obligations, and using the proceeds of the sale to invest in a new property.

It’s a shell game nested inside another shell game, much like a Russian doll.

What’s tangible is insignificant. Numbers on a scoreboard are all that matter.

I don’t own my home. Even as many of my friends become homeowners, I’m happy to maintain the lease on my apartment.

Sometimes, my friends tacitly protest my choice. They tell me that I’m burning equity by delaying homeownership. They remind me that I’m paying a premium for a space I can’t truly call my own.

They have a point. Homeownership has its perks — including the ability to enjoy some peace and quiet. (I know, I’m a grumpy old man at heart.)

But the leasing life has its benefits too — a dedicated maintenance staff and an on-site gym and swimming pool.

Still, all these factors are secondary in my decision.

The biggest reason I remain a renter is that I still haven’t gotten over my aversion to the shell game phenomenon.

Like many, I lived through the Great Recession. And the scars run deep.

I was in college in 2008 Lehman Brothers went under and the government bailed out Wall Street. My friends and I were renting a house off-campus back then. But suddenly, we started seeing foreclosure notices in the mail, addressed to our landlord. We got uneasy.

The landlord told us not to worry, but we weren’t taking any chances. We broke the lease and moved to a new rental home a couple of miles away.

At first, I thought the foreclosure notices we saw that fall were just an exercise in corporate greed. That the banks were treating some college kids’ lives as collateral damage in their never-ending quest to extract more money from homeowners.

Yet, it wasn’t long before I became aware of the growing calamity. The housing bubble had burst and the financial markets had crashed. Foreclosure notices and widespread layoffs were simply a sign of the times.

While we’ve all moved on from those days, the lessons remain vivid as ever. My biggest takeaway from the recession is that dealing in shell games is playing with fire.

So, I don’t.

My investment profile is conservative. I don’t trade stocks. And I still hesitate to take the plunge into homeownership.

Someday, that will change. But only when I have more to offer than my good name or a promissory note.

Is this the best tact to take? Perhaps not.

After all, shell games have solidified their place in our society. And they’ve helped form the modern economy.

Sooner or later, they are inevitable.

Even so, I believe it’s important to grasp on to what’s tangible. To avoid getting too big for our britches, if we can help it.

For practicality helps us keep our promises. It promotes a culture of fairness. It engenders trust and goodwill.

These attributes are far more important than a bigger house, a fancier car or a more robust portfolio. They pay far greater dividends, no matter the state of the market.

So, deal in shell games if you must. But proceed wisely.

The Systems Thinking Advantage

How do you look at the world?

It depends on your perspective.

Some might focus on the unpredictability therein. On the surprise occurrences — good and bad — that can either make our day or ruin it.

The temptation here is all too often to find a pattern in the random noise. To turn to a higher power — be it faith or superstition — to explain it. Or else, to turn to pessimism and declare that managing life’s volatility is a fool’s errand.

Others might focus on the constants. On the rising and setting of the sun. Or the feeling of fresh air in our lungs.

This view is fixed at the macro level. It’s far too tempting to ignore the ups and downs altogether — even if some of them can be quite significant. And it’s far too easy to check out from everyday life.

In reality, both of these ways of looking at the world — divergent as they may seem — share a common issue.

Both seek to place responsibility on a single entity for the adventures we encounter.

Whether we’re screaming at the driver who ran the red light and almost T-boned our car, or we’re thanking God for the beautiful weather, we’re placing all blame or praise in one place.

It’s just us and them. Nothing in between.

We act as if we have a ledger, and we’re making sure everyone knows the score.

But there’s no way that everyone knows the score. Because each person has their own scorebook.

The experiences we face are unique. Each of us faces our own reality each and every day.

And when our realities collide with those of others — literally or metaphorically — standing around and pointing fingers does no one any good. On the contrary, this only serves to sow divisiveness and mistrust — the dual viruses that happen to be plaguing our society more than ever these days.

So, when we find ourselves in this position, what should we do?

We should take a step back. And we should look at the underlying architecture.

 

Awhile back, I took a professional assessment. A questionnaire that looks at how someone thinks, and how that thought process jibes with their personality archetype.

Many of the results of the assessment didn’t surprise me all that much. But one floored me.

There, on the summary page were four words: Thinks like an engineer.

I looked at those words and laughed.

I fancied myself the furthest thing from an engineer. I despised math growing up, and I gave up on science before I could even get to physics.

I seemed to be missing all the ingredients needed to be a halfway-competent engineer, let alone a savant.

Yet, the more I thought about it, the more I realized this proclamation wasn’t about the craft of engineering at all.

It was about adherence to systems.

Engineers adopt systems thinking. They distill a volatile environment into a more manageable series of systems. Then, they design solutions that meet the specifications and constraints of each system.

This is the secret to engineering success. And engineering success has transformed our world.

While there have been some notable engineering gaffes over the years, they’re dwarfed by the number of successful projects and designs. One need only drive on an interstate highway, cross a bridge over the Mississippi or ascend a Chicago high-rise to see the brilliance of engineering.

Systems thinking has worked its magic, time and again.

Yet, systems thinking is not only an engineering phenomenon. It can also be used to deal with political drama and understand the makeup of entire industries.

The more we consider the landscape of the environment we’re probing, and the more methodically we can chart our moves, the more successful we’ll be. That’s how the systems thinking theory goes.

I believe in this theory, and have practiced it for years. I just didn’t realize it until I took that assessment.

What does systems thinking look like in day-to-day life?

It can vary, depending on the situation.

But in general, it requires taking a look at the underlying structure of whatever we’re facing, and seeing how this structure could have caused the scenarios you encountered.

As an example, let’s take a look at the workplace. If you’re like millions of other gainfully employed citizens, you might spend a few of your hard-earned wages at Happy Hour with your colleagues or friends.

And what do you do at Happy Hour? You complain about work!

You make a big fuss about how you’re overworked, underappreciated and underpaid. About how much your 9 to 5 life stinks, and how much those in charge are leading to your misery.

I know this pattern, because I once lived it.

When we feel underappreciated at work, it’s easy to blame our boss — either tacitly or at impromptu Happy Hours. It’s basically an American pastime at this point.

Yet, our boss likely has a boss. As such, they might be dealing with similar issues and frustration from up in the ranks.

In fact, even if your boss is the owner or the CEO, they still have people or standards to answer to. These might be customers, investors or the company legacy itself.

Yes, a business is a massive system. A system with many moving parts that must remain synchronized to see sustained success.

Understanding the dynamics of this system can help you assess the situation you face and rationalize actions or decisions.

Perhaps your boss is not actively working to snub you. Perhaps they’re dealing with a full plate themselves. Or perhaps they trust you enough not to micromanage you.

And perhaps, with everything functioning the way it should, the issue you face is not as significant as you’re making it. If you’re contributing to the mission, being compensated fairly for your efforts and not at risk of being shown the door, you’re in a good spot. Visceral approval from your boss is more icing on the cake than a fundamental need.

Better not to make a mountain of a molehill.

Did you notice what happened there? By applying systems thinking, we diffused the situation. Instead of our grievance being a budding confrontation between ourselves and our supervisors — an Us vs. Them scenario — it became a systems problem. And then, suddenly, it wasn’t much of a problem at all.

This type of collectivist thinking can help in many other situations too. When we understand the system, it’s much easier to recognize that we’re all in this together. We’re less likely to have an urge to spar — unless we’re confronted by someone who’s truly acting selfish or malicious.

So, let’s change our perspective. Let’s stop looking to pin blame or praise in one place. Let’s take the time to look at the underlying architecture instead.

Systems thinking works. Let’s see how it can work for us.

The Dunning-Kruger Reality

One of my favorite psychological concepts is the Dunning-Kruger effect.

This effect — named for the psychologists who discovered it — explains a common cognitive bias.

In particular, it describes the gap between how we think we perform at a task and how we actually perform at that task.

The Dunning-Kruger effect proclaims that those who are the most confident in their performance are, in fact, all too often overconfident.

For example, if someone is convinced they crushed an exam, there’s a pretty good chance they got a B instead. And if someone thinks they’re the best at the task they do, there’s a good chance they’re actually solidly above average.

This effect is more pronounced in men than in women. And since it’s a metacognition error, the person affected has no way of recognizing the predicament they’re in.

To borrow some old-school Hip-Hop lingo, those afflicted by the Dunning-Kruger effect are acting a fool, with no ability to check themselves before they wreck themselves.

There are many reasons to be intrigued by the Dunning-Kruger effect.

For one thing, it can serve as karmic justice who talk a big game yet fail to deliver. For another, it can provide scientific backing to the Schadenfreude we feel when those with the biggest egos get knocked down a few pegs by reality.

Most of all, can make us seem slightly less cruel when calling out people for their misplaced hubris. After all, saying You Dumbass is subjective. Saying You made an error in judgment that any of us could have also made is objective.

Yet, this is not what intrigues me about the Dunning-Kruger effect. For I see this effect as more than just a vehicle for derision.

I see it as an explanation of where we are as a society today.

If you’ve been paying attention to the news in recent years, you’ve likely noticed two themes.

Powerful men in media and entertainment have seen a reckoning, as the women they’ve exploited have held them to account. And powerful men in politics have acted more brazen and boisterous than ever, with seemingly no one in place to hold them to account.

It’s a strange dichotomy. One group of powerful men falling, and another group seemingly becoming infallible.

Yet, while these men are on opposing career trajectories, they have one thing in common: A large group of detractors.

The detractors despise these men. For who they are, what they’ve done and what they’re still doing. As such, they haven’t been shy in voicing their displeasure.

Yet, when these detractors describe their sworn enemies, they all too often use E words.

Entitled. Egotistical. Evil.

I think these detractors are off track. The word I think more accurately describes the powerful men in question starts with an O.

Overconfident.

I believe these men are mired deep in the quicksand of Dunning-Kruger effect. So deep that they’ve become delusional.

The ingredients are all in place for this explanation.

These men were raised in the early generations of Bro Culture. Many of the transgressions of their youth were often dismissed with the phrase Boys will be boys.

As they grew up, success seemed to follow them anywhere they went. Whether through talent or connections, they were able to make it to the next level with relative ease. Fame and fortune followed.

The result was predictably toxic.

A group of men who never learned boundaries with an outsized sense of confidence and too much power. The Dunning-Kruger effect on the biggest of stages.

The transgressions and blunders that followed were, sadly, predictable. Whenever that much unchecked overconfidence is in place, delusion sets in, and collateral damage piles up.

Tragically, that collateral damage has ruined many women’s lives and jolted international diplomacy and trade. It’s led to an era marked by mistrust, anger and polarization.

The world as we know it is getting sucked into the maelstrom. All because of a destructive condition we can’t control.

Or can we?

 

I am a terrible dancer.

I know it. I believe it. And I’m not shy in admitting it.

Whenever I’m at a party, I make it abundantly clear that I’m not going to be dancing.

I do this for self-preservation. It’s not just that I can’t bust a move. I’m literally afraid to try and do so.

Yet, as the night goes on and my friends get a few drinks in, they inevitably drag me onto the dance floor.

And each time, something interesting happens. I find out I’m not as bad at dancing as I thought I was.

I’m no Patrick Swayze or Bruno Mars, of course. But I can hold my own.

This revelation represents the other side of the Dunning-Kruger effect.

In Dunning and Kruger’s initial studies, they not only found a large group of people who were overconfident in their performance on a given task, but they also found several people who underestimated their abilities on the same task.

There are several explanations for this. On a basic level, people exhibiting this behavior might have experienced failure before, along with the dreaded sensation of FUD (Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt). These feelings, on their own, can raise apprehension and lower confidence.

But when you factor in all the overconfident people out there — the very ones who are exposed as frauds by the Dunning-Kruger effect — things get interesting.

Could it be that the underconfident people equate confidence with ability? That they see the people with the biggest bravado and exclaim There’s no way I’m at that level?

It could be so. And indeed it is.

Underconfident people often battle something called Imposter Syndrome. Even when they see visceral success, they often believe they are not truly qualified for the task, and it’s only a matter of time until they’re found out.

I myself frequently battle Imposter Syndrome — in my job, in my social life, and even occasionally when writing these articles.

It’s a crippling phenomenon. One only exacerbated by the Dunning-Kruger effect.

Someone battling Imposter Syndrome is likely to see an overconfident person as a standard bearer for achievement. While the actual gap in performance between the two might be small or nonexistent, the underconfident person will feel as if they just don’t measure up.

This thinking is problematic in our culture. Our society favors boldness and self-belief; Imposter Syndrome is all too often viewed as a self-created roadblock to realizing our own potential — one that must be eradicated at all costs.

Yet, given what we now know about Dunning-Kruger effect, I wonder if that’s the right tact to pursue.

If boldness makes us delusional and causes a trail of collateral damage that polarizes our society, is it really the best ideal to strive for?

Perhaps it would be better to let that FUD slip into our lives. To put ourselves in position to fail now and then so that we know where the guardrails lie. To estimate our abilities off our own experience, rather than the flawed self-assessments of others.

If we can do all that, then perhaps someday Dunning-Kruger effect wouldn’t be the catastrophe-maker it currently is. It could become a quaint psychological term to describe the select few who resist their better angels. The few who would still insist on talking the talk without walking the walk.

The rest of us would be grounded in reality. The reality of life in its rawest, purest form.

I’d sign up for a future like that. Would you?

Chasing vs. Accepting

Shoot for the stars.

Go for gold.

Dream it. Do it.

We’ve probably heard some advice like this over the years.

We are hard-wired to be relentless. To go full-throttle after that which we seek in order to achieve it.

It’s a cultural legacy.

From our earliest days, we’re being conditioned to chart our own destiny.

Parents, teachers and mentors tell us to dream big. To try hard. To ignore doubts and fears.

This is the same advice their parents, teachers and mentors once told them. And it’s the same advice we’ll likely tell our own kids.

The idea behind this advice is harmless enough. If we set a goal and work towards it, we can sustain success.

Yet, even the noblest of causes can lead to complications. And this advice is not immune to such problems.

Chief among them is the issue of chasing vs. accepting.

Dreaming big is a noble cause. But it’s also decidedly one-sided cause.

If we truly lean in to this advice, we become chasers. We find ourselves chasing after our dreams and desires, which always seem to lie a few steps ahead of us.

We might end up realizing some of these dreams. But likely not all.

For example, many boys in America dream of playing Major League Baseball. I was once one of them.

I set my goal and worked toward it. But I wasn’t talented enough to make it.

I know that now, of course. Truth be told, I knew that then. But I was so focused on the dream it, do it doctrine that I kept chasing my objective until the trail went cold.

Around the time all of this was going on, Michael Lewis released a book called Moneyball: The Art of Winning an Unfair Game. The book chronicled the 2002 Oakland Athletics, who claimed a division title without a lineup of high-priced star players.

It was an underdog story with a twist.

In near desperation, the Athletics turned to advanced analytical models to assemble their roster. This practice bucked 100 years of tradition in terms of scouting and evaluating talent. It also allowed the A’s to field a winning team on a shoestring budget.

In the years since Moneyball, many other teams have adopted these principles. Teams now have advanced analytics departments, often staffed with twentysomethings who probably would have ridden the bench in Little League.

These employees might have had the same dreams I did as a kid. Given the fact that they work for professional baseball teams, I would imagine that many did.

But, unlike me, they accepted their shortcomings. They recognized where their skills truly lay, and managed to parlay them into a new version of success.

Many of us would do well to follow their lead.

One of my favorite pieces of literature is the Serenity Prayer.

God, give me grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed, Courage to change the things that should be changed and the Wisdom to distinguish one from another.

Here, in 31 words, is a roadmap for bringing dreams into reality.

The Serenity Prayer hits us with the hard truth. There are some things we have control over, and others that will forever remain beyond our grasp. It’s up to us to recognize where that dividing line lies, and not to cross it.

Yet, I fear that we are all too often deluded into believing that there is no divide. There is nothing that we should accept. There is still more that we do to be the change we seek.

This is foolish.

For, if one person out there achieves their dreams under this doctrine, there are likely four others who will waste years of effort on what can ultimately be classified as a delusion.

Their talents are better exercised elsewhere.

This doesn’t have to be a nail in the coffin of their hopes. Much like the baseball analytics employees, they might even be able to parlay their latent talents into a role that achives their goals in a new way.

But it starts with accepting that which cannot be changed, as early as possible. And then pivoting accordingly.

How have I followed the advice of the Serenity Prayer in my own life?

Not well at all.

Well, at least not until recently.

I have always had a knack for writing. While I didn’t grow up a bookworm, writing has always come easy to me, and I’ve enjoyed putting thoughts to paper.

Even so, my dreams generally lay elsewhere.

First, I wanted to be a baseball player. Then, I wanted to be a movie director.

I saw both roles as a path to notoriety, and shock therapy for my introverted nature. I could be the person I believed society expected me to be, all while producing work that people could refer to.

It was only in college when I recognized my delusions and shifted course accordingly.

I ended up getting my degree in broadcast journalism. Then I spent three years as an executive news producer at the ABC affiliate in Midland, Texas.

By finally accepting that which I could not change and chasing that which I could, I realized the dreams I hadn’t realized I had.

Yet, I quickly found that dreams are not all they’re cracked up to be.

For while I was passionate about assisting my community through the newscasts I put together, I was crumbling under the stress, odd hours and low pay. And the tragic nature of the news stories I covered ultimately gutted me.

I got out of the industry and started over. In doing so, I went right back to chasing dreams.

But what dreams? Aside from a stable lifestyle, I had no idea what to pursue.

My winding journey led me to the world of digital marketing, where I am now a seasoned veteran. It also eventually led me to pursue an MBA while working full-time — something I would have considered preposterous just years earlier.

But in the midst of all this chasing, I found room for acceptance as well.

I realized I missed writing. I missed sharing my words with the world.

I accepted that. But I also acted on it.

I launched Words of the West after making two promises to myself: I would share my truth with an eye toward improving society and I would publish regularly. Ultimately, the promise to publish regularly became a commitment to put out a new article each week.

This is the 200th of these articles.

This feat has not been easily attained. Showing up 200 weeks in a row is challenging in any context.

Yet, by accepting that writing will always be an important part of my life and chasing an ambitious goal related to it, I have persevered.

Yes, this forum has finally allowed me to live into the tenets of the Serenity Prayer. And my life is better for it.

So, what’s the actual secret to success? Determination? Passion? Talent?

I believe the answer is actually a healthy mix of accepting and chasing.

When we accept what we cannot change, we can set adequate boundaries. We can determine what’s worth chasing after, and how to pursue it most effectively.

Doing this might clip the wings on our sense of freedom. It might threaten our ability to dream as wide as the Texas sky.

But ultimately, it will help us fulfill our destiny faster. With fewer fits and starts along the way.

Chasing. Accepting. They’re two sides of the same coin.

It’s about time we recognized that.

The Truth To Power Paradox

Speak Truth to Power.

It’s an American rallying cry.

These words have come through as gospel time and again throughout our history, from the Boston Tea Party to the Civil Rights Movement. They’re even anchored in our Constitution, courtesy of the First Amendment.

We have long admired the truth-tellers, the rabble-rousers, the muckrakers. They have helped give a voice to the voiceless and keep corruption in check.

Indeed, the underdog is a particular favorite of our culture for this very reason. The ability to speak truth to power gives us hope.

Yet, this phrase carries with it an inherent irony.

For success in this case is subversive.

The ultimate goal of speaking truth to power is to evoke change.

Yet, the initiative in question is not the only thing turned on its head by this shift. So are the power dynamics.

Think about it.

Those who speak truth to power and succeed often end up toppling those on high. In doing so, they assume the figurative position of the fallen.

They fill the vacuum. They become the power.

And with that role change comes the hefty weight of responsibility.

The eyes of others remain on the ascendant truth to power speakers. But now, those eyes look with suspicion.

For within that crowd lies the next wave of truth-tellers. If an opportunity arises, they will strike swiftly and ruthlessly.

Those with power and influence will fall. The new breed will rise.

And so the cycle perpetuates, like the ebb and flow of a tide.

This might sound ruthless. Even cutthroat. But it is inevitable.

Those that take the escalator of accountability to prominence will eventually find themselves cut down. Much like our own existence, our time of influence is not unlimited.

This process cannot quite be summarized by the phrase Heavy Lies The Crown. After all, many truth-tellers are simply seeking transparency, not prestige.

No, this process is instead akin to The Principle Overrides The Person.

The system we have cultivated is bigger than any of us. It has to be.

Much like America itself — a grand experiment in constitutional democracy — the ability to speak truth to power is meant to be timeless.

The people who exercise this right with agility are mere footnotes to the greater ideal. In the grand scheme of things, they’re pawns to be used and disposed of.

I recognize this idea is controversial. Maybe even distressing.

But having cut my teeth in the ultimate truth-to-power profession — journalism — I’ve found it to be the truth.

As a young TV news producer, I prodded at the gatekeepers. I did my best to ensure the local police and sheriff’s offices were above board, civic governance bodies were transparent and major employers were not exploiting the community.

This was not a difficult task in West Texas during the midst of an oil boom. The entire community rallied around its Cash Cow product. Big city crime and corruption were hardly to be found.

Still, I took my job seriously. I kept prodding.

At first, I didn’t realize the power that I was wielding with this approach, or the weight it carried. After all, my check-ins with the movers and shakers of the region were only one part of my job, interspersed with coverage about knife fights at a local Whataburger and teenagers doing donuts in the median of the highway in stolen Jaguars.

(Yes, both of those stories really happened.)

But I soon came to understand the full weight of my responsibility.

One day, about 18 months into my tenure, I found a treasure of a story to include on the evening newscast.

Down near Big Bend, a woman had rescued a bunch of severely malnourished horses from across the Rio Grande in Mexico and nursed them back to health. She was preparing to adopt them out when I caught wind of her exploits.

Unfortunately, I had been working 14 hour shifts for much of that week, and I made an egregious typo on the news script for the story.

Instead of writing the word adoption, I put auction.

The error made it onto the 5 PM newscast. A few hours later, word got back to the woman, who called the station irate and threatened to sue.

We collectively did what we could to right the wrong. We made corrections and did our best to make amends. But the damage had been done.

Until that moment, I had been speaking truth to power. Now, I was the one being called into account. My job and my good name were on the line, because of a typo I whiffed on catching.

Ultimately, I survived. I got written up, but was able to keep my job.

Still, I will never forget that feeling where the tables turned on me. When I felt the heat of the spotlight I had so brazenly cast on others previously.

I can only imagine how the true veterans of the Truth to Power paradox feel.

People like John Lewis.

Lewis was a key figure in the Civil Rights Movement. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. might have gotten the notoriety — and rightly so — but John Lewis was right there with him.

After spending his youth fighting for and attaining civil rights, John Lewis has spent three decades fighting for the people in the U.S. House of Representatives. He has gone from speaking truth to power to becoming part of that power machine.

During his time on Capitol Hill, Lewis has served with dignity and grace. He has put the people first.

Yet, when people call out Congress as a body, they call out John Lewis. He is one of the 535 lawmakers in the Capitol. Even he, a national hero, is not immune to the Truth to Power paradox.

So, how can we improve this process? How can we make the world a better place without ending up as the villain?

I think we can start with a new perspective on power dynamics. By understanding the unique pressures those on high face, but also the boundaries they should not cross. By recognizing when to hold those above us in account and when to back off.

This perspective can make leadership desirable, instead of a fool’s errand. It can provide a forum for aspirations to flourish, while providing a needed barrier against exploitation.

This is only one potential solution. It might not be the best one. But it’s a start.

Ultimately, one thing is clear. Speaking truth to power, in itself, is not a panacea.

Let’s keep searching for better.

On Smoking

When I was growing up, eating out usually meant one thing.

A trip to Red Robin.

I loved Red Robin.

I remember the chicken fingers and steak fries. The helium machine the staff used to inflate balloons for my sister and I. And one question the restaurant host would never fail to ask when my parent asked for a table.

Smoking or non-smoking.

The answer was always the latter. Even if it meant a 30 minute wait with two hungry and impatient children in tow.

I always found it strange that the other side of the restaurant — the one behind a pane of glass — was so empty, while we were forced to wait by the host station with only those balloons as entertainment.

Many years later, I found out exactly what I was missing out on.

As a young TV news producer, I would often go to the Buffalo Wild Wings in Midland, Texas to watch football games or grab a drink with co-workers. Whenever I did, an unwelcome visitor tagged along — cigarette smoke.

The Midland Buffalo Wild Wings didn’t have a smoking section. The entire place was the smoking section. The same went for just about any other bar or restaurant in West Texas back then.

So, after a night out, you would need to throw your clothes in the wash. Or else, you’d smell like a chimney for days to come.

I mention these memories because of how quaint they seem today. We live in a world where smoking sections in restaurants have gone the way of payphone. Which is to say they’ve all but disappeared.

Yet, the act of smoking has not.

I don’t understand the tradition of smoking.

How could I?

In my life, I’ve only ever smoked three cigarettes.

All were during my freshman year of college, when my poor decision making was at its zenith.

Frankly, I’m surprised that I even got to three cigarettes. Because I didn’t enjoy the experience anytime I lit up.

The thick tobacco smoke clogged my lungs, making me cough. With each drag, it felt like tar was constricting my airway. (Fitting, because tobacco residue is frequently called tar.)

I found none of this pleasurable. Frankly, I felt dirty inside and out once I’d disposed of the cigarette butts.

Even if I hadn’t despised the experience so much, it’s unlikely I would have tried to light up much more. Even in my college years, I had no desire to add a nicotine addiction — and its long-term health risks — to my repertoire.

After all, my family had a longstanding aversion to tobacco. There was a reason my parents avoided the smoking section at Red Robin like it was the bubonic plague.

My grandfather — the one I’ve written about extensively before — had a heart attack when my mother was 4 years old. Formerly a heavy smoker, he gave up the habit cold-turkey after that. Something unheard of in the Mad Men era of the 1960s.

On my father’s side, my grandfather is a longtime family physician. He knows too much about the dangers of smoking to have ever picked up the habit. To my knowledge, neither of my grandmothers have ever smoked either.

So, in an era where cigarettes were as popular as fashion or candy, my parents grew up in tobacco-free homes. And while my mother had a rebel streak in her adolescence, buying cigarettes by the pack was never part of the equation.

Two generations in, I grew up in a segregated world — smokers and non-smokers. The cultural war was in full swing. And I was raised on the tobacco-free side of it.

As I neared adolescence, that side closed in on victory.

The United States government sued the pants off of Phillip Morris — and won. Cigarette ads went into hiding. A mockumentary lampooned Big Tobacco and its lobbyists. And cities and states started to ban smoking in bars and restaurants.

A half-century after smoking was a cultural standard, society was largely smoke-free. And even though I dabbled with cigarettes in college, I had no desire to linger any more on the wrong side of history.

Yet, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Don’t call it a comeback.

Really, please don’t.

Years after the fall of Big Tobacco, smoking seems to be back in vogue.

Young adults who were toddlers when the government beat Phillip Morris are smoking Marlboros today. If not that, they’re taking a puff from their Juul e-Cigarette.

This has me perplexed, and more than a bit concerned.

For the formal manipulations designed to turn vulnerable young adults into cash cows for the tobacco companies have eroded. Gone are the neon signs, the magazine ads, and the ashtrays every 10 feet.

There is no good reason to assume our rising generation is getting duped into something dangerous. And there are only so many bad actors out there using peer pressure to get others to light up.

No, I believe the rise in new tobacco is part of a broader cultural shift.

For decades, young adults have wanted it their way, without compromise. But often, the intersection of society and logistics stood in their way.

It was hard to have a night out on the town without risking a DUI on the way home. It was challenging to connect with people based far away. And it was nearly impossible to speak out and demand a change in cultural values.

Even after needed change swept the country with civil rights legislation, societal values remained conservative. The old guard tradition of the working man and the picture-perfect family stood tall.

Yet, with the rise of the Internet and smartphone technology, much has changed.

Young adults can now connect with nearly anyone, anywhere. They can party until dawn and then hail a ride home with a stranger, using the computer in their pocket. And they have a megaphone that cuts through the static of tradition and allows their voice to be heard.

Young adults have it all. There’s nothing and no one to hold them back.

This is a good thing. It’s led to openness and change throughout society.

But that power does not discriminate.

So, if young adults want to vape from an e-Cigarette, or smoke a traditional one, no one’s going to stop them. Haranguing them on the risks is tantamount to restricting their freedom.

The issue is that the risks are real.

Nicotine is an addictive substance, no matter the form it comes in. And addictions are destructive.

Smokers risk their health — physically or financially — each time they take a drag. While that is their right and their choice, it is not solely their responsibility.

We have a chance to put a cap to this second wave of smoking. To curb the spread of e-cigarettes — and the slow creep of traditional ones — by indicating that such behavior is not desirable in our society.

It is on us to take responsibility. It is our duty to take these actions.

I say this not just because of my own opinions on smoking — those should be clear by now. No, I say this because we are the final hope to deal the final blow against the ills of tobacco.

The future is in our hands. Let it not slip away.

On Excess

How much is too much?

That’s a loaded question. One that varies by where you come from and who you are.

In collective cultures, what is enough to provide for your immediate circle is the upper limit. That means what’s enough to keep your family clothed, housed and fed. The bare necessities.

In individualistic cultures, what’s enough to live the good life is often the upper limit. That means enjoying more than just the requisite. It means taking advantage of fine cuisine, art or entertainment.

And in America? Well, there is no upper limit.

Our society is one built on excess. On taking all we can, and then taking some more.

It’s part of our heritage. Our westward expansion in the 1800s was dubbed Manifest Destiny. That wording transformed the forceful relocation of native tribes and the wars over Mexico’s northern territories from acts of savagery to actions ordained by God.

That spirit has stuck with us to the present day. Drive around Malibu in California or cruise around Star Island in Miami and you’ll see the temples we’ve built to celebrate excess. Mansions owned by the uber-rich — many of whom maintain lavish homes in other locations.

If you were to look in the master closets or garages of these mansions, you’d probably find extravagant clothes that are never worn and sports cars that are rarely driven.

If a utilitarian were to look at this scene, they’d consider it a waste of resources. But that’s precisely the point.

Excess is part of our DNA. It tells the story of who we are better than anything else.

Excess is what popularized the all-you-can-eat buffet and the 30 page menu at The Cheesecake Factory. Excess is what spawned the endless array of TV channels and smartphone apps. Excess is what built the city of Las Vegas into the shrine of decadence it is today.

Excess has appeal. Visitors from other societies find themselves drawn to it, by pure novelty, if nothing else. And emerging cities around the world have even emulated it, through the creation of elaborate skylines and other lavish features.

But excess has severe risks as well.

It’s unhealthy, it’s self-serving, and it’s unbecoming.

If we seek to be treated with dignity and build a legacy filled with reverence, our tendency toward excess is the biggest obstacle to realizing our dreams.

For excess makes us seem primal. Even animalistic.

How so? Consider a tangible example — alcohol consumption.

Imbibing alcoholic beverages has been a time honored tradition throughout human history. Tales of drinking stretch as far back as the Bible. And they’re featured prominently in ancient Greek mythology.

Even in the disjointed world that preceded transcontinental trade routes, alcohol consumption was common in several corners of the globe.

However, the way cultures approached the activity varied. And those variances have persisted into the modern era.

Collective cultures predominantly drink as a form of status. The context of the occasion tends to matter most — particularly in Asia, where familial social customs are critical in maintaining honor and identity. The fact that the beverage consumed at these gatherings happens to be alcoholic is immaterial.

Individualistic cultures predominantly drink for artisanal reasons. Think of the French pairing the right wine with their dinner, or the British enjoying a pint at the pub. Beverages are meant to be savored, even cherished. The attributes of the beverage chosen — taste, smell and fullness — matter as much as the act of drinking it.

And then, there’s America. Where pure volume consumed is the only measure that matters.

Our culture has turned drinking into an ugly form of competition. One replete with a tradition of overbearing peer pressure and a total lack of accountability.

Go to any lake or river and you’ll find people downing drinks by the dozen. Go to the club and you’ll find people ordering bottle service. Go to a wedding or holiday party and you’ll find people cycling back to the open bar, over and over.

Somewhere along the line, we’ve been taught to drink, drink and drink some more. To spend our free time hitting the bottle until we can’t taste what we’re putting into our bodies anymore. To transform our social interactions into inebriated soirees that we won’t remember the next day.

Those critical of this behavior have placed the blame in many corners. But I can find only one such source that best explains it — our culture of excess.

In a society that bends toward decadence, Go big or go home is a rallying cry. Not taking it to the max is considered a sin.

So, we don’t savor cold boozy beverages on a hot day. We force them down our throats it the way Kobayashi or Joey Chestnut inhale hot dogs. And then we down 5 more.

We keep at it until our bodies give in. Even if the end result is a raging headache and a list of regrets, it’s still better than the scorn we’d get for only sticking to a drink or two.

Both collective and individualistic cultures look at this behavior with horror. Getting drunk can be akin to losing face. And downing drinks three at a time is the antithesis of the artisanal credo.

Is it any wonder why American culture is frequently lampooned outside its borders? While other cultures are fascinated by the idea of excess, they’re also disgusted by our implementation of it.

Just as critically, our culture of excess is destroying us from the inside out. The prevalence of binge drinking has caused a trail of collateral damage that has destroyed lives. Our oversized food portions have helped lead to several health crises, from obesity to heart disease. And our desire for more, more, more has helped us get addicted to everything from caffeine to opioids.

By any measure, things are moving in the wrong direction. But there’s an easy way to reverse this trend: Embrace moderation.

This doesn’t mean giving up what we enjoy. It just means giving up on enjoying it endlessly.

It means taking a stand. No more will we clamor for more than we need. No longer will we succumb to the social and marketing pressures telling us that enough is never enough.

When we have enough to be comfortable, we should be comfortable enough to say no to temptation. To use our powers to help others rather than denigrate ourselves through needless decadence.

Some may call this un-American. And they might be right. After all, they have two centuries of history to point to as evidence.

But look around. Excess has caused more harm than good. We — the society that has it all— find ourselves more broken than ever these days.

Let’s put ourselves back together again. Let’s chart a new course.

One that starts with three words.

No. That’s enough.

Are you up for the challenge?

The Favorability Conundrum

It doesn’t matter if people like me, so long as they respect me.

We’ve likely heard this phrase before.

It’s a statement of priorities. A clear proclamation of what we stand for, when push comes to shove.

But it also has an underlying manifesto.

That manifesto claims that popularity is childish. That currying for favor only serves to compromise our integrity.

It’s better to act within our character, this philosophy claims. That way, we will remain respected, even by those unlikely to cheer us on.

And with that respect comes synergy. Others can work with us and for us, without the destructive patterns of overt subversion.

There are many figures in our society who treat this philosophy as gospel. Figures who espouse a degree of authority.

School teachers. Military commanders. Sports coaches. Mafia bosses.

And while I have far less influence than any of these figures, I tend to espouse the same philosophy.

I don’t concern myself with how many people like me or loathe me. I don’t think I’m greatest thing since sliced bread, so why does it matter whether others do?

It’s far more important to me that I am treated with respect. That others give me the benefit of the doubt and provide me the opportunity to deliver on the promises I make.

I’ve long managed my life this way. While others have expanded their social circles for camaraderie and companionship, I’ve generally expanded mine exclusively to discover new opportunities to prove myself. While others yearn to be the life of the party, I seek to be just visible enough that I don’t get trampled.

Let the social butterflies bask in the glow of adulation, I say. Trust is the catnip for my soul.

While I won’t win any popularity contests this way, I don’t feel I need to. So long as I maintain my dignity, I will continue to move forward.

Yet, this philosophy I cherish appears to have hit a dead end. For no matter how much I try and deny it, two words ring true.

Favorability matters.

In a world that changes by the minute, there seem to be few ideals that can be classified as timeless.

Beauty and personality are among those few.

These concepts appear in some of the earliest literature, including the Bible. And some of the most powerful examples of them can be found in Homer’s epic The Odyssey.

The Odyssey is one of the greatest travel narratives of human history. It follows Odysseus as he sails back from the conquest of Troy, running into exotic adventures each time the wind changes direction.

One of the most poignant challenges Odysseus faces comes when he nears the Sirens — beautiful women who sing in harmonic voices. The beauty of the Sirens has lured many a seafarer off-course, causing their ships to splinter on the rocky coast and their crew to perish.

Odysseus has heard rumors of the lethal danger of the Sirens, but he is too charismatic to chart a new course to avoid them. He wants to hear their songs and live to tell others about them.

So, Odysseus orders his crew to chain him to the ship’s mast. And he fills the ears of the crew members with wax, so that they may not be led astray by the divine voices as they sail by.

Thanks to these preparations, Odysseus hears the Siren Song and doesn’t pay for the experience with his life — or the lives of his crewmembers.

He survives to tell the tale. And Millenia later, we still love him for it.

Odysseus’ Siren adventure demonstrates why beauty and personality are timeless. For they can spice up just about any story. And we’re addicted to stories.

The problem is that beauty and personality have been used in countless stories since the Odyssey. They’ve become staples of narrative, gradually conditioning us to the fallacy that good looks and a powerful personality are the keys to success.

This is a myth — a vain and shallow one, at that. But it’s a myth we fully believe in.

So, we aspire to be the cool kid in our school. We spend hours of effort to look our best. And we read How to Make Friends and Influence People in order to fine-tune our personality.

All to achieve the Holy Grail of reverence, and the social status that comes with it.

Yes, being likeable is a societal prerequisite these days.

Favorability matters.

Our bias toward likability has its benefits.

It elevates connection in our society. It promotes friendliness. And it reminds us to do the right thing.

These attributes are a package deal. After all, morality and decency are prerequisites for favorability. Throughout humanity, we’ve found jerks and tyrants repulsive.

But while favorability brings out the best in us on a macro level, the finer details are far less rosy.

For we are a diverse set of people who like many different things. And this divergence of favorability has led directly to the polarization infesting our culture.

If there are some who like our views and tastes, it safe to assume there are others who loathe us for the same qualities.

There is no escaping this quandary. If we take a neutral position and become our own private Switzerland, we end up marginalized and forgotten.

We find ourselves barred from opportunities where likeability is a prerequisite. Which these days is just about any opportunity.

This is hopelessly discouraging to those of us who would rather be struck by lightning than pander to the crowd.

For it proves that merit means next to nothing. That we have far less control over our destiny than we’d like to believe.

Yes, all too often, the doors to our success are manned by others. Others who have the discretion to let us in or keep us out.

If these gatekeepers like us, our window of opportunity remains open. If not, we have no chance.

While we do our best to influence that perception, the truth of the matter is we ultimately do not have control over it. Our destiny is out of our hands, hanging tenuously on a single attribute.

Favorability matters.

With this in mind, what should we do?

Should we build a persona? Should we try and be the person others adore, even if it makes us feel hollow inside?

Should we let it ride? Should we maintain our authenticity and take advantage of whatever opportunities come from it.

I’m honestly not sure. I don’t have the right answer, because I don’t believe there is one.

I’ve seen various approaches work in certain cases. And I’ve seen them go down in flames in others.

So, your mileage may vary.

It’s on you to tinker. To experiment and determine what works best for you.

But no matter what approach you take, keep one thing in mind.

Favorability matters. Proceed wisely.

No Rest

I’m wide awake.

The dulcet tones of Katy Perry reverberated through the taxi as it pulled away from Chicago O’Hare Airport.

It was a chilly, rainy morning in early fall. One of those dreary days where a cup of Starbucks and Katy Perry on the radio would be a nice proxy for an alarm clock.

Yet, I had been awake for six hours already. I had caught two separate flights while traveling from Texas to Illinois to visit my sister. And I’d done all this on three hours of sleep.

Hearing I’m wide awake over and over again in that vehicle was like a cruel joke. I wasn’t having it.

No! I thought. I am NOT wide awake!

Yet, I soldiered through.

I survived the long ride to Evanston, where I rendezvoused with my sister — at the time a senior at Northwestern University. We then headed down to Chicago for some sightseeing, culminating our trek with dinner at my favorite restaurant.

It was a great day. A glorious day. Yet, my only ammunition to ward off exhaustion was iced coffee and a catnap.

So, by about 8:30 PM, I was toast. I passed out on my sister’s couch.

 

I think about this day often, for two reasons.

First, it ruined a perfectly good Katy Perry song.

Second, it encapsulates the past decade of my life.

I’ve kept my days busy. I’ve achieved a lot in a condensed period of time.

But what I’ve not done is get enough sleep.

This is partially due to logistics. Working an evening shift in my TV news days — and, years later, taking business school classes at night — meant I had to get used to jetting out of town at the crack of dawn when I wanted to travel.

This is partially due to necessity. I could tackle my tri-weekly two-mile outdoor run on a scorching Texas summer afternoon, I suppose. But running at dawn — when the heat is less oppressive — seems like a safer bet. And that requires getting up early.

And this is partially due to my nature. I’m a morning person who would rather be out and about than sleep in.

But regardless of the cause, all of it is an issue.

Don’t count the days. Make the days count.

Those powerful words come from the late Muhammad Ali. They’ve been quoted time and again.

But with great power comes great responsibility. And we’ve been using The Greatest’s words in vain.

Entrepreneurs — particularly those in Silicon Valley — invoke Ali when they treat sleeplessness as a badge of honor. The gig economy encourages millions of people to work 18 hours at a time. And many of us — including me — pack our days with activities, whether it’s a workday or not.

This is asinine.

We are humans, not machines.

We perform best when we’re most energized.

Yet, we only have a finite amount of energy. Energy that depletes over time and must be replenished.

Much as it takes time for our smartphones, laptops and other electronic devices to recharge, our bodies take time to replenish energy.

Traditional wisdom has said we need eight hours of uninterrupted rest. I’m lucky if I get six hours in an average night. Many others are even worse off than I am in this regard.

And no matter what some might say, we can’t make these hours up. Binge-sleeping doesn’t undo the damage of chronic exhaustion.

This is an issue. A major issue.

And motivational quotes about our productivity culture aren’t helping it one bit.

There is a prevailing narrative that as long as we’re awake, we’re capable of great things.

This is a myth.

When we’re exhausted, we’re compromised.

Sure, we’re able to see, to walk, to speak. But we’re also more easily agitated, more prone to error and a danger to ourselves and others.

Drowsy driving can be as devastating as drunk driving. And those heated late-night arguments with loved ones are extra vicious because our emotional control mechanisms are compromised

Even the toxic culture found at companies like Uber in recent years likely has roots in exhaustion. A company built on long days and sleepless nights doesn’t, by itself, spark misogyny. But the lingering corporate culture can spread acceptance system-wide.

Yes, there are profound dangers to our always-on culture.

Rapid advancements in technology might have made 24/7 commerce possible. And drinks supercharged with sugar and caffeine might have extended our daily time horizons.

But our bodies still rely on circadian rhythms. They’re in our nature.

We can try to innovate around this, but the results are inevitable. Inevitable and devastating.

As Dr. Malcolm says in Jurassic Park, Nature will always find a way.

So, what can we do to right ourselves?

It’s pretty simple. Commit to more sleep.

And while some might take this as an excuse to sleep in more, or work later shifts, I believe in the opposite.

I believe the answer lies in going to bed earlier and rising with the morning light.

For the sun is our ultimate guide. In the days before electricity and blackout shades, it had profound influence on our schedule.

Today — in the age of bars, nightclubs and late night TV — that pattern is reversed. We burn the midnight oil. We fight the sun, rather than work with it.

Getting back on the right track means getting attuned with nature.

And while I find this edict challenging as I balance a job and night classes, I am taking steps in the right direction.

I am committed to going to bed earlier on weekends, and on weekday evenings when I’m not in class. I even took a break in writing this article to get some shut-eye. At 10 PM on a Saturday when I had nothing on my schedule for the next day.

The result? I get my eight hours of sleep more often than I used to. And I wake up fully recharged more often as well.

We can all see benefits from following a policy like this one.

Sure, there will be sacrifices. No more midnight movies. No more taking advantage of cheap fare on red-eye flights.

But the benefits outweigh the costs.

Not only for us, but for everyone we come in contact with.

So, let’s do what we can to get the right amount of rest. Consistently.

That way, I’m wide awake can be more than a line in a Katy Perry song. It can be a universal reality.