Category: Thoughts

Passing The Test

What do you remember from your time in school?

Classes and homework, most likely. But also tests.

Tests are a fundamental part of the education experience. They’re the prove it moments. The opportunities to show what we’ve learned by answering a set of specific questions.

This is especially the case later in the education experience. Test scores define grades, provide us admission to the next level of learning and even certify us to practice certain professions.

Tests require preparation. They demand focus. And they can cause students great amounts of stress and anxiety.

Why is that? Because of the high stakes, for sure. But also because of the lack of control.

In most testing environments, we don’t know what’s coming. We might have some ideas as to the topics and general focus. But we don’t know the exact questions we’ll be working with until we’re in the moment.

This makes the build-up process somewhat of a toss-up. Studying involves internalizing information, practicing sample questions, and taking educated guesses as to the actual questions we’ll see in prime time.

It also changes our expectations of the learning experience. We focus our attention solely on the topics that might be on the test. We synthesize most of the information we learn in the waning hours before the test. And we take our performance from the test as a full indication of our potential.

We might succeed in this endeavor. But we’re ultimately setting ourselves up to fail.

You see, the test-intensive education structure is focused on the wrong things. It looks solely at the outcome, at the destination. And it gives that outcome, that result, an inordinate amount of weight when it comes to opening doors to our future.

This setup sends the wrong messages to students.

For one thing, it systemizes gratification. We’re raised to believe If we do one thing, we’ll get something else. Yet, outside the classroom, doing one thing only gives you the opportunity to get something else.

The world is notoriously random and irrational. Building an expectation of fairness and gratification in impressionable young students is downright reckless.

But perhaps more importantly, this focus on outcomes undercuts the very efficacy of education.

You see, learning is more about the journey than the destination. Sure, it can provide great benefits — such as the ability to make more informed decisions and live a more prosperous life. But ultimately, learning is a process. One that is built up gradually over time.

A heavy-handed focus on a few specific data points unravels the entire ball of yarn.

Now, instead of focusing on steady, incremental growth, we emphasize a feast-or-famine approach. We encourage students to pack their brains with information right before a test, data dump it during the exam, and then quickly forget what they’ve just memorized.

The sheer ridiculousness of this cycle is clear. In fact, it’s valid to ask if students really learn anything at all through this process.

The answer, too often, is no.

And that’s a problem.

Because the world needs us to keep learning. It needs us to continually embrace the pattern of growth.

Not just for us to leave our mark on society. But for us to simply survive the day-to-day.

For every day is a series of tests. From the moment we wake up to the moment we hit the pillow, we face a series of new situations and challenges.

These tests don’t follow an academic course structure. We can’t do much to anticipate them ahead of time. We walk into them blind.

It’s on us to build off what we’ve previously learned to handle these situations well in the heat of the moment.

Sometimes we’ll pass with flying colors. Other times, we won’t.

But regardless the result, we can learn from the experience. And use the information we’ve gleaned to prepare us for the next challenge we face.

This is incrementalism at its finest. It’s a full-bore commitment to the journey over the destination. And it’s critical to our daily existence, no matter our walk of life.

We must get on board with growth mindset. Our future depends on it.

So, stop thinking in terms of big moments and gratification. Of tests and grades.

Look at the big picture. Embrace the process.

The journey will be more rewarding.

What’s Your Excuse?

What’s your excuse?

It’s surely out there, waiting on you to call it out.

There’s always something else we can blame when we don’t meet the expectations others have of us, or that we have of ourselves. There’s always a scapegoat — whether it be a person, an object or a set of circumstances — that we can point the finger at. There’s always something we can explain away as being beyond our control.

For our existence appears to us as a story. And when things don’t always go to plan, we can just shift the way that story is told.

That way, we’re the hero. That way, the odds are back in our favor. That way, we can do no wrong.

How do you paint your narrative?

What’s your excuse?

 

My friend Johnnie is a Veteran. He served as a combat controller in the United States Air Force.

On his second deployment to Afghanistan, Johnnie’s convoy hit an IED. Critically injured in the explosion, Johnnie’s life changed forever. He had 31 surgeries to save his legs, and he had to learn how to walk again. His active duty career in the military was over.

Johnnie was awarded a Purple Heart. George W. Bush painted Johnnie’s likeness as part of the Portraits of Courage series, and invited him to participate in his Warrior Open golf tournament for wounded veterans.

But along with all the accolades, Johnnie found himself on strange footing in civilian life. Surrounded by people who couldn’t possibly understand what he’d been through — people who’d never been through the trauma of armed combat, the grueling ordeal of multiple surgeries, the hours and hours of Physical Therapy — it would have been easy for Johnnie to be bitter, to blame the world for what befell him.

But he didn’t.

Johnnie is one of the most positive people I’ve ever met. He makes a point to thank everyone who helped him get back on his feet, and he tries to pay it forward by helping others in need whenever he can. In our second week of business school together, Hurricane Harvey ravaged Southeast Texas. Johnnie gathered what supplies he could from our class, and headed down to Houston to help with the rescue effort. There was no hesitation, only determination.

That’s who Johnnie is, even in the wake of an injury that turned his life upside down. There’s no wallowing in self-pity. Only a determined quest to spread positivity and help others in need.

What’s your excuse?

My next-door neighbor in my college dorm was a young man named Scottie. Living in close quarters, we became fast friends.

Scottie started college a semester after I did. Still, it was miraculous that he even was able to attend college at all.

As it turns out, Scottie had been battling brain tumors of most of his life. The first one appeared when he was only 8 years old. As a child and a teenager, he went through round after round of cancer treatment. Tumors would go away, only to come back months later.

It took a while for me to learn about Scottie’s plight. That was by design.

For Scottie didn’t want people to pity him. Not once did I hear him ask Why me?

His plight was just an obstacle to get past. It was not going to define the way he lived his life.

So, Scottie pursued a college degree, even as his treatments interfered with the process. He continued to cheer on his beloved Florida Panthers. He remained devoted to family and friends.

And he did all of this with a smile on his face and joy in his heart, even in the face of an unthinkable struggle.

Scottie lost his battle in 2014, months after marrying the love of his life. Before his tragic passing, Scottie published an autobiography, which I have yet to finish reading. (What’s my excuse?)

As heartbroken as all who knew him still are today, we can take some measure of solace in learning from the way Scottie lived his life. We can remind ourselves that the plights we face in our lives don’t have to define them. That we can choose the way we live, even in the midst of the gravest battles of our lives.

We can heed these lessons, because Scottie showed us the path.

That’s who Scottie was. And still is.

What’s your excuse?

If you’ve watched prime-time television in recent years, you’re probably familiar with Amy.

I’m talking about Amy Purdy. Snowboarder. Dancing With The Stars contestant. Model. Actress. Motivational speaker. Amy has many different roles.

I’ve never met her. But in a way, I have.

In a TEDx talk, Amy recounts her life. Outfitted in stylish jeans and boots, she confidently walks back and forth on stage as she describes her upbringing, hopes and aspirations.

Then, the moment of conflict.

At age 19, she gets what she thinks is the flu. It turns out to be bacterial meningitis, and lands her in the hospital. She goes into a coma, and wakes up to find her legs amputated below the knee.

Tears are rolling down Amy’s face as she harkens back to those first days after losing her legs. She recalls the despair in knowing that life as she knew it would never again exist.

Amy speaks of spending days on end sleeping with her prosthetic legs by her bedside. Of being too depressed to face her reality.

The raw emotion is palpable and resonant.

But then, something changes. Amy realizes that her condition doesn’t have to hold her back. That with a lot of drive and a little ingenuity, she can accomplish great things.

She starts snowboarding again, and ultimately finds herself in the Paralympics. Her career soars, and she ends up in the limelight.

As her star ascends, Amy looks to help others. She co-founds a non-profit to help individuals with physical disabilities get involved with action sports, art or music.

Amy could have given up when she lost her legs. But she didn’t.

Instead, she set out to achieve great things. And to help others do the same.

That’s who Amy is.

What’s your excuse? 

What’s your excuse?

It’s worth asking again.

What’s the insurmountable obstacle that’s preventing you from achieving your potential? What’s the circumstance standing in your way? What’s the scapegoat, the villain, the convenient alibi?

It’s not as real as you wish it was.

Johnnie, Scottie and Amy didn’t let excuses stop them, even in the wake of unthinkable challenges. So, why are you letting it stop you?

It’s time to get real. To take ownership. To recognize that regardless of the circumstance, you can define your own destiny.

This is your right. And your obligation.

It’s up to you to seize it.

If you feel you can’t, like it’s too much, think of the example Johnnie, Scottie or Amy set. And remember these three words.

What’s your excuse?

The Gift of Generosity

What is a giver?

Is it someone who is generous? Someone who goes above and beyond to serve others?

Perhaps. But that description only tells part of the story.

A giver is someone who is devoted to generosity, with no expectation of anything in return.

Someone who gives without taking.

This definition separates the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. It defines givers as a separate group from those who give.

Those who give can describe anyone who views giving as a transactional activity. Anyone who engages in an I’ll help you so you can help me arrangement. Anyone who sees generosity as a means to an end.

There are definite benefits to this model. Reciprocity can enhance networks, build trust and stoke collaboration.

Yet, it would be wrong to consider the transactional-minded people among us to be givers. The insincerity of their intentions makes the generosity ring hollow, even if it does benefit others.

A giver is not transactional. A giver is altruistic.

A giver’s energy is fully devoted to the act of giving. A giver’s focus is on the benefit their actions will provide others.

It’s not about putting oneself second. It’s about taking oneself out of the picture entirely.

This is the mentality that’s led to the anonymous monetary gift to fund so many critical institutions. To the volunteer who travels to a village in Africa to teach English. To the person who devotes their extra time and money to assist the less fortunate.

These actions have one thing in common. They were spurred compelled to help, but with no desire for recognition.

Everything else is irrelevant. The change the action provides for is paramount.

As such, expense is not a concern to givers. The act of generosity is worth what they pay in money, time and energy. If anything, the giver wishes they had more to donate.

And reciprocity is not a concern to givers either. Seeing others succeed provides givers their greatest thrill. It lifts their spirit and puts a smile on their face.

It’s all about the gift.

No strings attached.

This pureness is pretty straightforward. Yet, our society doesn’t know how to handle true generosity.

When we’re on the receiving end of a giver’s actions, we predominantly have two responses.

We either take advantage of the giver, or we seek to reciprocate.

The takers among us will gravitate toward the first response. In their minds, nothing needs to be exchanged. The giver is like a fire hose of free stuff. Might as well keep going back to the well.

For other recipients of generosity, conscience reigns supreme. These people recognize that the giver sacrificed something for their benefit, and they feel obliged to sacrifice something of their own to even up the score.

It might seem like one of these responses is worse than the other. But each is equally damaging to the giver.

You see, givers believe that a rising tide lifts all boats, and they’re committed to making a positive difference. They feel deep empathy for the cause they devote themselves to.

This is not a feeling they can just turn on or turn off. Every opportunity to help others in need is one they identify with. They simply can’t say no.

This empathy leaves givers open to being taken advantage of. Even if they recognize that they’re being used, givers identify with the plight presented to them more than the malicious intent behind it. They feel compelled to swoop in and save the day.

But this empathy also leaves givers open to being subverted. The one-for-you, one-for-me nature of a reciprocity offer undermines the giver. It wipes out any notion of common empathy in favor of obligation. And this makes the giver feel as if the purpose of their generosity was misunderstood.

When givers decline this quid pro quo offer, they will often follow up with a new act generosity toward the same recipient. The hope is that the second time is the charm. But this action unintentionally opens the door to more misunderstanding and potentially, further exploitation.

Both examples add to the emotional burden that givers carry. They make life harder for the giver. And they place the long-term viability of their actions that much more in doubt.

At some point, the load will be too much. At some point, the giver’s resolve will crack. And, tragically, these same recipients who have taken so much of what the giver has provided will turn around and ostracize them for breaking from their gratuitous pattern.

It’s a tragic cycle. But one that’s fully preventable.

And one that needs to me.

So, let’s change our mindset.

Let’s do right by the givers among us.

Let’s do what we can to grow the influence of generosity.

We can start this process by keeping things simple. When we receive the gift of generosity, we can respond with two words: Thank you.

This shows our appreciation to the giver, without roping them into another transaction.

But while we should demand less of the givers who have touched our lives, we should demand more of ourselves.

We should pay it forward. We should help others in the same manner that we were one assisted. And we should expect nothing in return.

If we get in the habit of doing this, we can become givers ourselves.

And the more givers there are, the more people there are to carry the burden of generosity. No longer will a saintly few will have to carry the emotional burden of so many.

These actions are within our reach. All we need to do is commit to them.

We can. And we must.

Generosity is a gift. Pass it on.

The Quiet Roar

The loudest message often comes from the quietest origins.

This might seem surprising at first. Especially since our culture lionizes the boisterous.

But those with the loudest voices all too often fail to win our hearts and minds. The sheer force of their vocal pitch causes us to take heed of what they have to say, but only for a moment.

In the long term, the loudest among us don’t win our attention. All that bravado eventually comes off as white noise, about as memorable as our morning coffee from three weeks ago.

This is surely not what those vociferous speakers want. But all too often, they confuse commanding the room for creating influence. And when they fail to capture hearts and minds by projecting their voice, they generally overcompensate by talking even louder.

These actions send these booming orators into a dark spiral. One where they’ll get a reputation as a loudmouth with nothing of substance to say.

It’s a reputation that fully undermines any remaining chance they have of causing influence.

There are a couple reasons why this paradox occurs.

One reason is that we’re poorly equipped to handle continual shouting. Our bodies act defensively when we encounter large bursts of noise. While it might seem as if a loud talker has captivated the room, a more likely explanation is that they’ve startled others into momentary silence.

Some of us do handle noise better than others. For example, some people are comfortable hanging out at large concerts or crowded bars. And if those of us who live under an airport flightpath — as my grandparents did for six decades — gradually tune out the sound of the high-pitched jet engines overhead.

But regardless of how well we acclimate to a noisy environment, loud noise is still a shock to our system. Our bodies just don’t handle it well.

If you don’t believe me, watch the late R. Lee Ermey in Full Metal Jacket. Consider how you’d feel if you were continually getting yelled at by someone standing six inches in front of your nose.

So yes, our defensive posture to noise is a barrier that prevents the loudest speakers from meeting their objectives. But there’s another reason why more noise does not equal more results. One that can be defined in six words.

Volume is the enemy of rhythm.

Yes, the key to resonance is not only knowing how loudly to speak. It’s also knowing when to speak.

Our attention follows cyclical rhythms. We are more likely to remember a massage when it’s part of a mixed pattern of silence and noise.

This silence most frequently comes in the form of a well-timed pause. Storytellers use these pauses to build dramatic tension. Great communicators use them to underscore their point.

Why? Because pauses illicit wonder in an audience. They allow minds to wander and silently ask What if? questions. They unlock a world of possibilities.

By the time the communicator is ready to share their message, the audience is waiting for them with anticipation. The captive audience members are wondering whether the message will resolve the stream of questions running through their mind.

If it does, the audience members will feel accomplished. They’ll feel as if they unlocked the mystery that floated through the silence.

If it doesn’t, the audience members will feel awed. They’ll feel as if they learned something new and unexpected.

Either way, the message resonates. The communicator wins.

All without lifting their finger or raising their voice to a full shout.

It’s an art form, for sure. So, what’s needed to master this art?

A hefty dose of patience and observation.

It takes the ability to read the room and chime in at the appropriate time. It requires the contextual chops to understand a situation and respond in a thought-provoking way. It demands context over bluster, wit over brute force.

And it favors those with a quieter disposition.

Think about it: Those best at this art must listen before they speak. They must recognize patterns and understand how to leverage them. They must embrace the silence as an ally, not an enemy.

This is the realm of the quiet, the soft-spoken. It’s the domain of the thoughtful speaker, the empathetic communicator.

But even while this pattern skews towards those who say little, it’s not exclusive to introverts or the more reserved. We all can use the rhythm of attention to our advantage when sharing our messages.

In fact, we all should.

Adopting this practice might require a leap of faith for the most gregarious of us. But the results will benefit everyone.

White noise will fade away. And we’ll have more chances to captivate and inspire.

So, let’s leave the myth of loud voices behind. It’s time to embrace the quiet roar.

Prioritizing Time

Which matters more: Time or money?

Many of us would go with the first option. But we have a strange way of showing it.

In reality, we tend to put our bank accounts first. We know that money is a finite resource and live within our means.

Yet, we fail to treat time with the same care.

We overload our schedules, meet our obligations with haste and act as if there’s no tomorrow.

All to earn more money, more accomplishments or more prestige.

It’s as if we consider time to be a maximizable asset. Something that can provide us an outstanding return on our investment if we play our cards right.

After all, we can’t pay for a burger with time. Or buy our dream house with it. So why not leverage time the most efficient way we can?

But thinking this way is a fool’s errand.

After all, time is not something that can be sped up. Or slowed down. Or packed and stacked to meet our agenda.

It moves at a constant rate.

Like the dripping of a faucet, that tick-tick-tick of the clock is relentless in its consistency. Always headed forward, but never in a hurry to get there.

Yes, it turns out time is the most finite form of currency there is.

Once a moment is gone, it can’t be recovered. Its only remnants lie in the banks of our memory. But the passage of time can cruelly take back those memories from us.

And of course, our existence itself is finite. Our hourglass will run out of sand someday. Yet, the tick-tick-tick of the clock, the rising and setting of the sun — those patterns will continue on.

Maybe that’s what terrifies us.

The lack of power and control. The inability to have final say over our destiny.

Perhaps this is why we feel we must dice up time like a tomato. Even if it’s better to mold time like a ball of clay.

Perhaps this is why we live in micromoments, run ourselves ragged for 19 hours a day, and become slaves to our email inboxes and phone calendars.

Perhaps this is why we continually race that tick-tick-tick of the clock, as if it’s Mario Andretti at the Indy 500.

All this running around might keep us stimulated. It might keep our cash balances replenished. It might help us get on the fast track to bettering our situation.

But there are significant tradeoffs for these outcomes.

When we run ourselves ragged, fatigue becomes normalized. Our attention spans erode. And regret eats away at us like a cancer.

This behavior doesn’t help us make the most of our life. It destroys it in the most brutal and calculating of ways.

The hour has come to end this destructive cycle. To give time the priority it deserves.

The hour has come to view time as a gift that’s given. Not a resource to be mined into oblivion.

The hour has come to value time more than money. Or any other factors competing for our attention.

We might lose some productivity when we commit to this shift in thinking. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

By prioritizing time, we gain freedom and fulfillment.

And that’s certainly worth striving for.

Offshoot Effects

What’s your mission statement?

Your purpose in life. The words that define your everyday actions.

If you do have a defined mission statement, chances are it hasn’t always been set in stone. It’s evolved over time.

Why? Because values change with experience. Often in unpredictable ways.

Look at the corporate world. For years, blue-blood companies followed the ethos of providing quality products and services. These companies had systems in place to deliver products efficiently. And consumers had both a need for those products and few alternative means of getting them.

Thus, the most powerful companies maintained long reigns of control. And their mission statements only required three words: Trust through quality.

But then some college dropouts tooling around in a garage changed everything. Technology upended the apple cart, first with PC’s, then with the Internet, then with smartphones.

As these innovations took hold, the control companies had long maintained over the buying process went out the window. Consumers now had tangible alternatives. And they no longer had to put up with shoddy customer service, delays or other pain points.

Trust through quality was no longer enough. The companies who evolved their mission statements to meet this new reality maintained their prestigious status. The others withered on the vine.

I call this paradigm shift The Offshoot Effect.

Offshoot effects don’t necessarily force you to do a full 180. But they do require you tweak your modus operandi in order to adapt to a changing situation.

While the corporate world has had to come to terms with offshoot effects for the past quarter century, we, as individuals, have dealt with them our entire lives.

Every time an event in our lives has changed our perspective, it’s left a mark on our mission statement.

Business as usual has no longer been sufficient.

I have seen this firsthand.

My mission statement has long focused on the core concepts of helping others excel and building connections. As a writer, and an introvert, these concepts have seemed the most in line with what I do and who I am.

Outside Words of the West, I’ve largely stayed out of the spotlight. I’ve poured my heart and soul into making the lives of those around me less isolated and more fulfilling. But I rarely took a public stand or made a public statement.

Then Charlottesville happened.

In mid-August of 2017, a group of Neo-Nazis descended on a college town in Virginia to protest the removal of Confederate monuments. The protesters carried torches as they spewed hate and bigotry. Counter protesters soon showed up, and violence ensued. By the time the dust cleared, one counter-protester and two Virginia state troopers had lost their lives.

From far away in Texas, I followed the events with horror. I’d been in the South for more than a decade at that point, and long defended it. This wasn’t the South I knew.

I remember thinking of what friends and family up north would say. See, it’s like we said. They’re all racist and despicable.

That rankled me.

All I had experienced in the South was warmth and kindness. Sure, I had seen the videos of the marches and the violence of the Civil Rights Era, but that was more than a generation removed.

I had seen no inkling of it with my own eyes, until that fateful day. And I didn’t know how to reconcile what I saw, and how I felt.

I reflected for a few days, until I came to a powerful realization.

The story had not been fully written.

Sure, the events of Charlottesville had grabbed all the press, and made other corners of America resent the South ever more. But the South I knew — the land of kindness and decency — was tangible and real. If I could embody those principles and inspire others to do the same, I could change the narrative — even if only by a little.

So, I went back and revised my mission statement, adding the following:

Be a better Southerner and cultivate the goodness that lies within.

Every day, I live into this statement. I make it my purpose to represent what my region has been and can still be.

It has made me more involved, more engaged and more aware of the impact of setting a good example for others.

Yes, as horrifying as the Charlottesville situation was, it served as an inflection point. It created an offshoot effect that has transformed both my personal mission statement and the purposeful journey that accompanies it.

I am not alone in this regard.

We each have our own inflection points that create offshoot effects. Perhaps not as public and horrifying as mine, but no less significant.

The key is to heed the message these sea changes bring to our lives. To use those offshoot effects to adapt our missions and amplify our impact.

For regardless whether we have a mission statement in place or not, we have the capacity to leave our mark on the world. So long as we can adapt to it.

Let’s use that power wisely.

Down and Dirty

How badly do you want to know all the details?

The inner workings of a process, a product, an organization, or anything else you might cross paths with in life.

This information can be valuable. But buyer beware.

You might get more than you bargained for.

In 1906, Upton Sinclair’s novel The Jungle shook America to the core.

The book was an inside look at the meatpacking industry. Sinclair, a muckraking journalist, spent several months working undercover in meatpacking plants as he gathered material for the book. And readers were not ready for his no-holds-barred expose of what life was really like behind the curtain.

The Jungle detailed oppressive working conditions and unsanitary health practices in meatpacking plants. As Americans read the book, they suddenly found their steaks, pork chops and Bratwursts to be far less appetizing.

It turned out, learning how the sausage gets made was a bit too much information. Uproar over the book eventually led to codified employment protections and food handling procedures. But the stain it left on our consciousness was permanent.

The Jungle changed the way we look at the details. And it sparked an interest not only in knowing the details of a process, but also in ensuring they’re up to par with our expectations.

That’s why the book is still talked about, more than 100 years later.

Times have changed, but the message remains the same.

Today, we’re obsessed with how the sausage gets made. We crave transparency throughout the supply chain. No longer is ignorance bliss.

We now demand control over every step of the process. And we demand accountability, by threatening to turn elsewhere if even a single link in the chain doesn’t meet our standards.

This phenomenon isn’t restricted to the companies we buy from, the governments we vote for or the entertainment options we patronize. It extends to our own interactions as well.

In the age of social media, we can learn all we can about everyone we know, and everyone we don’t. We soak this information up like a sponge. And use it to associate, or disassociate, with others.

The point is clear: Details matter. The more transparent and clean those details are, the more likely we’ll support the person, product or organization behind them.

We’ve reshaped societal behavior with this principle. But are we demanding too much?

Are we headed to a point of no return?

You see, our requirements for transparent details comes at a premium. A cleaner, more ethical process doesn’t come cheap.

Yet, we can’t stomach paying more for the convenience. In money, trust or social capital.

We’re hard-wired to search for the discounts. To get the most bang for our buck.

This chasm between what we demand and what we’re willing to give up for it is problematic. It leads providers to get down and dirty to meet our expectations. But once we find out about these tactics, we shame the offending providers and move to greener, cleaner pastures.

It’s a brutal cycle. And one that’s entirely unsustainable.

So, where do we go from here?

Do we dare take accountability for our own skewed expectations? Do we dare devote more time, money or energy to people and entities that go the extra mile for quality?

It’s unlikely. The Why pay more? question is too deeply embedded in our consciousness.

With that in mind, maybe it’s better if we don’t know how the sausage is made. If we focus more attention on the end result, instead of scrutinizing the intermediate points to no end.

Obviously, we’d still need to be aware of some details — particularly as they pertain to health and safety. But otherwise, peering behind the curtain might do us more harm than good.

Whichever way we turn, one thing is clear. Transparency comes with a cost.

If we aim to know all the details, we best prepare to get down and dirty.

The Mirage of Relief

A cloud lifted.

This is the sensation we often feel when we can avoid making a decision our heart’s not fully invested in.

That decision often comes as we prepare to enter into a commitment that’s unfamiliar and scary.

It could be heading off to college, signing a mortgage, or committing to a new job.

Regardless of which type of tough decision we face, we react the same when we turn and walk away.

We feel as if the cloud has been lifted. We feel relief.

Relief is soothing. Relief is reassuring. And relief is extremely dangerous.

You see, there’s a misgiving embedded in relief. One that makes us believe we were right to run from our tough decisions or unpleasant commitments. One that says those choices were wrong for us, and that we provided our own salvation from them.

In essence, we treat relief as a White Knight. As the sensible way forward in a world of unpleasantness and confusion.

But this elevation of purpose is all kinds of wrong.

You see, relief is no savior. No, it’s actually a mirage.

Much like visions of water in the desert, it’s a reaction to our own hopes and dreams.

These hopes, these dreams — they’re heavily biased by our desires and fears. As such, they’re hardly objective at all.

Treating them as the voice of righteousness is like building a house of cards. They’re bound to come crashing down.

The truth is as follows: What makes us feel good isn’t always right. Sometimes, what’s difficult is what’s needed.

Think about it. What are we trading off for walking away? What is the price of comfort and uninterrupted happiness?

That price is the potential for something greater.

By playing it safe and letting our sense of relief win the day, we sacrifice our ability to grow and prosper. We cede the opportunity to make mistakes and learn from them. We give up the chance to live at the edge of our comfort zone.

There’s nothing admirable in that.

Now, that’s not to say that walking away is the always the wrong thing to do.

There are no absolutes here. The choices we make are heavily impacted by our temperament, along with the specific situations we face.

Some of these situations may carry a heavy toll for walking away. Others might not.

But regardless, when we do decide to balk, we must not mistake relief for validation.

Instead, we must take the time to exhale and move forward. All while disposing of all in-the-moment sensations.

For if we do not do this, we will cloud our judgement for future decisions. We will continue to champion what’s comfortable over what’s most beneficial.

And should we do that, we’ll be hurting ourselves. And ruining our potential.

So, find solace in relief. But beware of the mirage.

Illusions can cut deeper than the sharpest dagger.

Self-Doubt vs. Self-Worth

Go forth with confidence.

Some sage advice you might have heard.

It can be useful at times. But there’s a fine line.

You see, if we display too much confidence — if we act too boldly — we might come off as arrogant, egotistical or not self-aware.

We might look as if we lack humility. Or that we don’t contain empathy for others whose paths we might cross.

In any case, we’ll look like we’re out of touch.

It’s far better for us to convey self-doubt than to act as if we know it all.

Wait, what?

Yes, this advice likely flies in the face of just about anything we’ve ever heard on the subject of confidence.

In fact, we spend considerable time trying to root out self-doubt. For we view uncertainty to be the antithesis of strength.

A fundamental question lies at the heart of this prevalent viewpoint.  If we don’t believe in ourselves, who will?

But using this question to remove self-doubt is a fool’s errand. It’s better suited for questions of self-worth.

And while those two phrases might sound similar, there’s actually a large chasm between them.

Self-doubt is a natural function of life. In an uncertain world where decisions don’t always pay off, it’s perfectly valid to question our own decisions.

After all, there’s likely someone out there with better qualifications, enhanced knowledge or more luck than us. And even they might not get it right all the time.

Self-doubt recognizes this gap between possibilities and reality. When used sporadically, it can serve as a powerful gut-check and a humbling reminder of our inherent imperfection.

Self-doubt keeps us honest. It keeps us grounded. It keeps us human.

Self-worth, on the other hand, takes this phenomenon a bridge too far. It questions not only our capability to perform a task, but also our viability for existing at all.

While self-doubt is akin to a spiritual awakening, self-worthlessness is a cry for help.

Unfortunately, many people can’t see the difference between self-doubt and self-worth. They can’t tell that a healthy reality check is not synonymous with a declaration of despair.

As such, our society tends to throw the baby out with the bath water. To consider any displays of humility and doubt to be signs of weakness.

Perhaps the confusion lies in the along the fine line that separates self-doubt and self-worth.

After all, self-doubt can be the first step in a downward spiral to self-worthlessness. But not always, and not often.

That’s the outlier case. A potent and devastating one, but an outlier nonetheless.

No, we far more commonly use self-doubt to define our boundaries. To see where the walls of the racetrack are. And to adjust accordingly.

Sometimes, we’ll take the effort to break through these boundaries. Other times, we’ll use them as guideposts to keep ourselves between the lines.

In either case, self-doubt can be healthy. And if it’s channeled in the right places, it can even be productive.

So, forget what you heard about fortune favoring the bold. And don’t trip over yourself to Go forth with confidence.

Our true power lies in our vulnerability.

The Forewarned Disadvantage

Does knowing the risks ahead of time make something worthwhile?

For the longest time, I would have said the answer to yes was this.

After all, mental preparation can be critical. If you know ahead of time that something bad might happen, you’ll ideally be prepared for it. Or at least you won’t feel blindsided by it.

This means you’ll be better prepared to navigate your way out of the trouble you encounter.

You’ll spend less time wondering What happened? and more time determining What’s next? Which can make all the difference — particularly when facing potentially lethal danger.

Of course, there’s an unspoken expectation that goes with this reasoning. One that assumes those with knowledge of the risks will somehow be less affected by them.

That somehow, these well-informed risktakers will take the lion’s share of the associated jolt at the point when they read the list of side effects. Not when trouble is at their tail.

This is why the term They knew the risks is so commonly used by those pundits who analyze the aftermath of disaster.

The translation? At least they were prepared.

This, of course, is ridiculous.

Nothing will soften the blow when something goes wrong. No prior knowledge can truly prepare you for the in-the-moment sensation of the train going off the tracks.

I know this firsthand. Not too long ago, I enrolled in a medical program that carried both great risk and reward.

By sticking to the program, I could eradicate my seasonal allergies. But the potential side effects of this program were grave, even lethal.

I was well aware of these side effects going into the program. I had to go through extensive training on warning signs and protocols. I was even given an EpiPen for emergency use.

But yet, I moved forward.

For several months, I saw no ill effects from the program. If anything, I could sense my health improving.

Cat dander no longer set my eyes watering. And the start of spring no longer gave me the sniffles.

But one day, my chickens came home to roost. The side effects I had learned about became all too real.

I knew immediately that something was terribly wrong. Being forewarned of the risks gave me that advantage.

Yet, while I was able to act quickly to stem the tide of trouble, doing so gave me no peace of mind. It didn’t remove the sickening feeling of my body spiraling out of control, or the sheer terror of being on the brink.

The symptoms I felt were just as raw and vivid as those of food poisoning or other surprise ailments. Knowing the risks ahead of time didn’t comfort me one iota in the moment.

There’s no telling if I’ll start the program again. The decision is out of my hands.

But even if it weren’t, it would be far from a slam dunk decision for me to continue. My urge to climb back on the horse is tempered by the sensation of once bitten, twice shy. A life-threatening ailment will have that effect on you.

Either way, I now think far differently about the significance of being forewarned.

I now think the conventional wisdom is wrong.

You see, all too often, we lionize those who feel the fear and do it anyway. We downplay the danger while promoting bravery.

It’s as if being brave makes us Superman. As if seeing the brick wall around the corner will keep us from breaking our bones when we slam into it at full speed.

This narrative is simply not true.

The risks we expose ourselves to are real. The pain is real. The ensuing emotions are real.

Forewarned or not, we’re bound to experience them all when trouble rears its head.

Perhaps ignorance is bliss. Perhaps being forewarned is actually a disadvantage.

I guess it all depends on our perspective.

But either way, it’s important to note that bracing for impact will only get us so far in the event of disaster.

Proceed accordingly.