My father shuffled the cards and dealt them out.
Face up on the table in front of me were a 6 of Diamonds and an 8 of Spades.
My sister and mother each also had two cards face up in front of them. I took a quick glance at the cards. But then, my father set me straight.
Don’t worry about them, he stated. The goal of this game is to beat the dealer. In this case, me.
I asked him how I might do that.
It’s simple, my father replied. Your cards just need be closer to 21 than mine, without going over 21.
My father went on to explain the rules of Blackjack.
Both my cards were face up, while one of his was face down. I’d have to add my cards together and determine if my hand was better than the dealer’s.
This was a guessing game as much as it was an exercise in arithmetic. But there still was some skill involved.
For each round, the dealer would ask each player if they’d like more cards to help their cause. If any of the players said Hit me, they’d get another card. If they said I’ll stick, they wouldn’t.
This meant that if I didn’t like my chances, I had ample opportunity to improve them. But I’d need to manage that opportunity artfully.
I looked at my cards again. They totaled 14, which was a far cry from 21. I’d surely need more to win.
So, when my father asked what I wanted to do next, I emphatically said Hit Me. He dealt me a 2 of Hearts, bringing my hand up to 16.
This still seemed too far from 21. So, during the next round, the words Hit Me again left my lips.
I got an 8 of Diamonds.
I had a higher card total than the dealer. But I’d also gotten my hand up to 24.
I’d busted. I’d lost.
I didn’t take my failure all that well.
But as I sat there sulking – as 8-year-olds do – my father took a moment to coach me up.
You don’t need to go ‘Hit Me’ on every turn, he said. Sometimes the math makes that too risky.
Sometimes the best way to win is to stick.
This stunned me.
I had never considered how not doing something could be more impactful than springing into action.
How could I have?
My entire life to that point was defined by motion. I bounced from activity to activity, at school, at home, and everywhere else.
Sure, there was plenty of downtime. Regimented bedtimes in the evening, regular naps in the mid-afternoon, and so on. But I had no recollection of the stillness, as I was unconscious throughout those quiet moments.
I’d never really gotten good at mastering the pause. At seizing the non-event. At embracing the absence of action.
All these years later, I still haven’t excelled in those areas. And I’m not alone.
You can’t prove a negative.
This is a common refrain. You hear it often during Monday Morning Quarterback sessions.
The point is straightforward. Time moves in one direction, and only on one track.
We can ponder what would have happened if we didn’t make a certain move, meet a certain person, or pursue a certain dream. We can muse about how much better or worse we’d be for choosing a different path or encountering a different fate.
But these are just pontifications. We can’t know for sure.
There’s plenty of logic behind this theory. After all, we humans have long been proficient in notating things. As we’ve evolved from stone etchings to silicon computing chips, we’ve kept the thread of recording events alive.
Those data points have proven essential to understanding our world. We recount history so that we might replicate successes and avoid repeating disasters. We keep scientific notations to prove hypotheses and spur innovation. And we look at numeric indicators to help prognosticate what’s to come.
Absent these readings, we have nothing. No data to ground our musings in. No substantive proof of how an alternative path would have played out.
And so, the prevailing wisdom has been to ignore the negatives. To avoid spending energy on what could have been. To proclaim Hit me when the dealer offers another round of cards, over and over.
Yes, away from the Blackjack table, the do-nothing option is too unproven to even be an option at all. No wonder we don’t pursue it.
But, at long last, that might finally be changing.
In recent years, a term has garnered some buzz.
Counterfactuals.
This term describes an alternative fact set. Not in the form of lies or half-truths, but more in the prevalence of empirical simulations.
Counterfactuals have existed for quite some time. But their use was traditionally limited to certain situations, such as courtroom testimony. (Think of the question from prosecutors in too many Law and Order episodes: And if that hadn’t happened, what would you have done?)
But now, things are changing. Thanks to advances in data science and artificial intelligence, we can take a fresh look at the past. We can change one input and see what the statistical outcomes were likely to have been.
This new age modeling has changed the game for decision making.
It’s broadened the scope of possibilities beyond the triumphs and failures of record. It’s helped us to preview occurrences without clouds of doubt. It’s allowed us to experiment free of the shadows of collateral damage.
Yet, this potential still comes with a cost. Namely, the cost of our innocence.
No longer can we be willfully blind to the road not taken. No longer can we shun the outcomes we – or our predecessors – had not experienced firsthand.
Those storylines now written in probabilities and code. The do-something- option, the do-something-else option, the do-nothing option – they’re all out in in the open.
It’s our obligation to look at them before choosing a path forward.
This might seem like a daunting task. An uphill climb. A joyless sojurn.
But it doesn’t have to be.
I am a huge fan of Malcolm Gladwell.
Longtime readers are familiar with my Gladwellian obsession. His bestselling books adorn my bookshelf. His acclaimed podcast fills my audio feed.
There’s a certain clarity in Gladwell’s work. A mix of eloquence and boldness in his statements.
But that’s not what draws me to him like a moth to a flame.
Malcolm Gladwell is somewhat of a contrarian. He’s embraced counterfactuals since long before it was cool. Before there was data science and advanced computing to back up his views.
Indeed, in those early days, Gladwell would often dive deep into obscure datasets and historical studies to support his claims. He would connect disparate dots in a manner that wouldn’t become clear until the story was nearly over.
Gladwell’s perspective was maddeningly uncomfortable to me when I first encountered it.
I yearned follow the prevailing winds. I desired to kowtow to custom. I wanted to go Hit Me on every round.
I had no appetite to upset the apple cart. I wasn’t buying what Malcolm Gladwell was selling.
Gradually, though, his well-informed perspectives won me over. I became less consumed by perspectives, and more enamored with getting closer to the truth – as unsightly as it might be.
The prospect of encountering counterfactuals became exciting, not exhausting. And my decision-making chops flourished.
I no longer play Blackjack. But if I did, I’m certain I’d be far more proficient at it these days. For I understand the subtle pull of the do-nothing option in an environment yearning for another card. And I’m willing to give it an audience.
Such power lies within all of us. I am sure of it. We just need to harness it.
And that starts with the right mindset. With embracing counterfactuals, rather than running from them.
Are you ready to take that quest?