Category: Thoughts

The Picture and the Frame

A picture’s worth a thousand words.

We’ve uttered this phrase millions of times, collectively, over the years. But do we really believe it?

I don’t. In fact, I feel it misses the point entirely.

You see, I love photography. It’s one of my great passions, along with cooking and writing. And it’s one of the reasons why a sweeping desert landscape greets readers as they come to Words of the West. I took that photo, and I’m as proud of it as I am my many blog articles.

Still, I feel photography is underappreciated and misunderstood. In our technologically advanced world, too many people see photos as a snapshot reminder of a moment in time — a crystal clear alternative to a thousand winding words of prose.

I feel it’s something far greater. To me, photography a blank canvas open to interpretation.

For there’s so much more to a photo than just the objects in it. There’s lighting, shadows and sky color. There’s depth of field and the signs of motion. There’s framing, balance and orientation.

All of these elements converge on one theme: perspective.

Perspective is what makes photography more than just a Polaroid of a time gone by. Perspective makes photography as much art as science, if not more.

But perspective has a unique place in the world of photography — as it’s twofold by nature.

First, there’s the perspective of the photographer. The artist who manipulates factors of light, time and frame to create his or her own window into a moment in time.

Then, there’s the perspective of the viewer. The person who takes in the image secondhand in a gallery or on an Instagram feed and makes that window all their own.

Both perspectives are significant. Both are unique. And both demonstrate that even the simplest snapshot is not so simple.

This dual narrative is what draws me to photography, what captivates me. There’s something uniquely beautiful and powerful when one relatable piece of imagery has the power to tell two stories.

Yet, there’s something sinister about equating this phenomenon with a measure of the written word.

It’s apples and oranges.

After all, writing serves a different purpose than photography. It’s about conveying a message through a protocol that both the writer and reader share — language. While effective writing can stir emotion, there is often a narrow frame of interpretation for the reader. The rules of written language make it so.

With no words to steer a course, photography is much more open to imagination. How something is captured — and what’s left out of the image — are key elements in the story. The frame matters just as much as the picture.

This is an important distinction — and one that stretches far beyond the camera lens. For in a world where technology makes it easy for all of us to broadcast, share and connect, framing matters more than ever.

We cannot take everything we see, hear or read at face value. Whether they’re filled with truth or alternative facts, the messages we consume are just one part of the story.

How we frame them matters. Our perspective matters — more than any 1,000 words can say.

So never forget the dual narrative in every experience. We have the power to shape the stories we consume. Best to use that power wisely.

A Foundation of Facts

There are few things in this world more concrete than facts.

The world is round. The sun rises in the east. The first one to the finish line wins the race. We inherently know these pieces of information, regardless of our interpretation of their meaning. While we might advocate vehemently for our perspective and our interests, we don’t mess with factual evidence.

Factual are indisputable, verifiable, proven. After all, there’s no plausible way to deny that 2 + 2 = 4.

But what if it wasn’t?

If there’s one theme from recent weeks, it’s that facts are negotiable. We can be hypnotized into believing that 2 + 2 = 5, and that anyone who says different has a dishonest agenda. We can suppress those who have taken the and due diligence to determine facts, and replace the void with opinion taken as absolute truth. With a mighty hand and blustery belligerence, we can take all that has been proven as “Just So” and make it “Anything But.”

This is as dangerous to humanity as it is ridiculous.

Facts serve as our foundation. Without our acceptance of these self-evident truths, humanity would long ago have gone extinct in a blaze of total anarchy. For if not for a common base of knowledge, we wouldn’t have the capacity to collaborate, build and evolve as a species.

A foundation of facts has led us to establish cities near plentiful water sources. It has helped us to accurately calculate profit margins for our business. And it has given us a jumping-off point as we seek to create ever more powerful microprocessors for our tech devices.

While it could be noted that an interpretation of specific facts could be directly attributed to these innovations, the point remains that humanity had to accept the ironclad nature of those facts in order to have a base to build from.

By attacking the fortress of factuality, we risk it all. With no semblance of order in our collective universe, those with the most power can coerce us into accepting their opinions as absolute. With no common core in our consciousness, we’re likely to jump off the figurative cliff, unwilling to accept the indisputable pull of gravity leading us to our demise.

We must fight back.

We must advocate for the presence of facts in our society, regardless of our views regarding them. We must separate fact from opinion, taking great care to evaluate each with the proper amount of weight. And regardless of our views, we must never let anyone rob us of the ability to think for ourselves.

These actions don’t represent the hallmarks of democracy. They represent the hallmarks of humanity.

And that’s something worth fighting for.

Avoiding Overblown

“It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.”

My mind has been fixated on these R.E.M. lyrics recently. How could they not be?

While the song comes from a time of VCR’s and Iron Curtains, it still resonates today for so many reasons:

  • The holidays are over
  • The National Football League playoffs are nearing their emotional apex
  • America’s most polarizing president has recently taken the oath of office

Yes, the dead of winter seems to be high time for an emotional diaspora. Some of us will look at these events and say the world is ending, while others will act as if they’ve never felt finer.

There is no middle ground.

This all might be a reflection of our increasingly divided society. It could also be an inevitable outcome in a world where technology gives us all a platform to raise our voice, and our culture demands we do so as boldly as possible.

But in the midst of the hot air, the juxtaposed emotions, the feverish debate around these events, we must ask ourselves:

Isn’t this all a bit overblown?

To be sure, proceedings in the White House matter. The actions on a gridiron matter. The changing of the seasons matters.

These events can all be uplifting or distressing, depending on your perspective. After all, we’re emotional beings who have great passion for our city, our country and our views — along with those who we feel represent them in the realm of competition. However, these events shouldn’t be viewed as the sign of the apocalypse, or as cause for physical ailments.

That’s taking it too far.

For regardless of how we might feel at the moment, the sun will rise tomorrow morning in the east and set tomorrow evening in the west. It’s done this for millions of years, and will continue to do so for millions more.

This is more than the manifestation of an inevitable pattern. It’s a reminder that no matter how dark the night, the first light of dawn is just around the corner. A beacon illuminating that this too shall pass.

Yes, humankind and the world itself have been through trials and tribulations. Yet both have persevered, time and again.

So, let’s avoid overblown. Let’s step away from the hyperbole, from the punishment we inflict on ourselves when things don’t go the way our heart desired them to. If we refocus that energy on aspects of life we can directly control, the world will be better for it.

And so will ours.

Three to Four

What’s the best way to make a difference?

My answer takes all of four words:

Turn three to four.

What does that mean?

I’m talking about turning selfish into selfless. Taking those last three letters, and making them four new ones.

It’s a switch that takes less than ten seconds to make. But it’s anything but simple — and it’s far from meaningless.

You see, there are many ways to make a difference in the world, but they’re all based on one, solid foundation — our mindset. Before we can even think about imparting change, we must decide which mindset we will embrace.

In particular, we must choose between being selfish or being selfless. Between focusing on our own benefit and putting others first.

Far too often, we go with the first option.

This is understandable, of course. We have needs that must be satisfied, and we’re acutely aware of their importance; by nature, they follow us wherever we go. And when we feel taken care of, our self-esteem, confidence and ego stand to benefit.

But no one can truly make a tangible difference by being selfish.

No, this outcome requires a broader perspective —  the willingness to put others first.

It takes a lot to embrace this mindset, including:

  • Adaptability —The ability to pivot, to serve the varied needs of others.
  • Empathy — The inclination to care, to carry the emotional burden of others as one’s own.
  • Courage — The willingness to be vulnerable, to feel uncertainty but move forward just the same.

Most of all, it takes connection.

If we are to truly be selfless, then we must be willing to interact with others. To share in order to build.

This is a challenge, a threat to our self-serving nature. But it’s one worth pursuing.

For by accepting this challenge, we open our heart, broaden our mind and dare to look at change in a new light.

We’re still involved in this process — hence the self. But by changing ish to less, by turning those three letters into four, we’re allowing others to benefit too.

So, let’s all aspire to add on, to pledge to serve the world with a selfless mindset.

For turning three to four adds so much more than an extra character from the alphabet. It gives a chance to make a lasting impact the world will appreciate.

The Millennial Problem

There are few things that annoy me more than being called a Millennial. While it’s true that I was technically born at the start of what is now considered the Millennial era, I try and dissociate myself from Millennial culture as much as possible. I do this because I find that Millennial culture contradicts my values and the essence of who I am.

Why? Well, like many critics, I consider Millennial culture to promote narcissistic, entitled, self-absorbed and childish behavior. As someone who believes in building a community upon principles of selflessness and connection, I find these behaviors to be a significant roadblock in obtaining that objective.

These prototypical Millennial behaviors can be explained, of course. In the most comprehensive critique of Millennial culture I’ve seen thus far, Simon Sinek makes the point that generation-wide failures of both parenting and education have helped shaped the characteristics of Millennials.

Sinek explains that by creating a system of placation — personified in the dreaded participation trophies that are increasingly common in youth competitions — parents and teachers have failed to extoll a crucial concept within the minds of a generation of young adults. Namely, that the world is not fair, and that nothing is just given to you in adulthood.

Of course, tell this to a savvy Millennial, and they’ll point out that innovators like Mark Zuckerberg and Evan Spiegel have gotten rich before finishing their college degrees. And while not everyone will create the next Facebook or Snapchat — social networks that have only accelerated the development of Millennial behavior — there’s no doubt that the age of technological disruption has made it more difficult for Millennials to believe that achievements must be earned gradually over time. After all, if these young Silicon Valley bigwigs can provide instant gratification — both for themselves and for the masses, through their products — why does anyone have to “Embrace The Suck” anymore?

Therein lies the fundamental issue with Millennial culture. Not only do many Millennials, to quote Queen, Want it all and want it now, but they also seem unwilling to accept the possibility that something must be earned, built or cultivated over time. In their mind, there’s always another “Life Hack” — or shortcut — out there to provide instant gratification. And if there isn’t one, there soon will be.

Quite simply, many Millennials believe there’s no need to draw upon the way it was. The way it is and will be is all that matters.

This break from tradition helps explain the unsavory narrative heaped upon Millennials by older generations — one that conveys them as lazy and petulant. And while I don’t fully agree with this narrative, I do have major issues with the Millennial perspective.

As the son of a history teacher, I believe that ignoring the lessons of the past is dangerous. As someone who has worked hard to earn a foothold in two different careers — instead of demanding the corner office and three months’ vacation on Day 1 — I find demands for instant gratification within social constructs to be deeply offensive.

Our life, our career, our friendships and relationships — each is a process. And it should be that way.

Each step in this process gives us an opportunity to learn and grow. And by holistically building trust and value over time, we’re able to contribute to our communities in ways that resonate.

So, while many critics ask that we kowtow to Millennial culture in order to bridge the generational divide in shared settings like the workplace — for instance, Sinek has proposed that laws and regulations be set for smartphone usage — my proposal is a lot simpler.

Stop babying Millennials.

Don’t bend over backwards every time a young adult demands instant gratification. Don’t let “me” come before “we.”

Call out behavior that can be perceived as lazy, anti-social or excessively narcissistic. Explain why some of the best things in life require patience and persistence.

Millennials are smart people, and good people. But high school is over, and it’s time to grow up. Given enough honest feedback and tough love, they will figure it out.

Are we willing to provide that guidance?

The Little Things

January is an interesting time.

The holidays have come and gone, the calendar has reset, and people are diving into those resolutions.

But while Out With The Old, In With The New is all the rage on these short, chilly winter days, it misses the point.

Yes, much of life is about improvement — improving ourselves and the world at large.

But it’s also about the little things. The moments and sensations that remind us what it is to be alive.

The reflection of sunlight off a passing car on a blue, sunny day. The feeling of hitting the water during the perfect cannonball. The warm fuzzies we get when we see a loved one smile.

These all should matter.

For while these things don’t help us achieve, they allow us to feel. And feeling is what both defines and protects the unique human brand of accomplishment.

Protecting our ability to achieve is vital, as machines are taking over tasks that were once manned by people. With the advent of Machine Learning, computer programs are now able to take on more complicated roles than ever before. While these developments certainly make things more efficient, they also eliminate job opportunities and make prosperity more difficult to come by for many people.

It might sound bleak, but have no fear. The dawn of Skynet is not imminent.

Why? Because machines can’t see the little things.

They can’t feel. They can’t build connections off of empathy. They can’t mend fences or solve the complex issues that the world faces.

They don’t get goosebumps on their forearm or chills up and down their spine. They can’t comprehend delight or despair.

They’re here to do a job, and that’s it.

We’re here for more than that. Not just to live, but also to know how it feels to be alive.

That’s what this shared ride called life is about, what it should be about.

So, take a moment to breathe in that crisp winter air, to gaze at that stunning sunset, to spend more time around the people who make your heart flutter.

The little things are a big deal.

Building Blocks

It’s far too easy to choose looking forward over looking back.

But why not choose both?

For years, I’ve focused nearly all of my energy on the road ahead, and what I would need to put into it to make it successful. For someone who has started over as many times as I have, looking back was considered giving up.

While few have walked as winding as path as I have — or at least few have by their own volition — many have also put blinders on to what’s behind them in favor of what lies ahead.

This behavior is intentional; our society seems to demand it. After all, the desire to improve, evolve, iterate, grow — it’s instilled in us at a very early age. Settling is akin to laziness; even if we’re in a good place, there is always more than can be learned, tried and achieved.

With this perspective in mind, it shouldn’t be surprising that we’d rather think of what comes next than what came before. The past is a scar that should remain under wraps — a reminder of a time when we were younger and more immature.

But there is a danger in this path. By never taking the courage to look back, we lose sight not only about how we got here, but also what makes us unique.

This is a big reason I’ve been spending more time recently pondering my past — from my time growing up in the northeast, to my college days in Florida to my previous career in West Texas. I’ve looked back not only at the golden sun-drenched memories, but also the embarrassing mistakes I made along the way —the times I thought I knew it all but had no clue.

I’ve owned up to it — all of it — not only when reminiscing with acquaintances from those times, but also when conversing with those I’ve met more recently.

This has been difficult for me to do. I don’t consider myself vain, but I am an introvert. Sharing my story with those I don’t inherently trust is uncomfortable — scary even.

But despite my nature, I’ve come to realize the importance of being more transparent, and the benefits it can provide both myself and the world around me. It’s a major reason why I started Words of the West, and also a prime reason why I’m more apt to bring up my past in conversations these days than I once was.

For life is like a set of Legos; you can build it up into something beautiful, but only gradually. The past serves as building blocks — not only in terms of foundational structure, but also in terms of art and innovation. The past is not only what helps you build that dinosaur or French chateau, it’s what helps make it that dinosaur or chateau.

Our path ahead is marked with desires and communal expectations. But the journey we actually take is innately our own. By building off the lessons and memories of our unique past, we can build our own roadmap for the continuation of our 1 in 8 billion expedition. We don’t just live our journey, we own it.

So, we must not shun those building blocks. Instead, we must utilize them — and continue to create.

Chasing Time

Age ain’t nothin’ but a number.

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only we could open our eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Playing the Cards

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It all comes down to perspective.

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

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

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

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

Respecting Our Rivals

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

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

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

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

But all too often, they go too far.

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

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

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

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

It needs to stop now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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