Notorious

Come on! Aim for the edges.

My grandfather gave the order from across the ping pong table. I paused for a moment, unsure of myself.

This was my paternal grandfather – my dad’s dad. I had spent less time with him in my youth than I had my other grandfather – my mother’s father, who I’ve written about extensively. As such, I couldn’t quite get a read on him.

My grandfather held a sizable lead in this ping pong match. So, what was behind his command?

Was he trying to coach me up? To let me back into the game? To mess with my head and finish me off?

The first explanation seemed the simplest – and the least sinister. So, I let the words Aim for the edges wash over me.

I took a deep breath. I readied my paddle. And I served the ball across the table with confidence.

My grandfather volleyed the ball back to me, and I angled my paddle toward the far edge of the table.

One well-placed swing sent the ball screaming toward the white stripe at the table’s edge. The ball hit that stripe flush, just beyond the net. Then it careened further and further away from the table.

It was a perfect shot. The best one I’d ever hit.

But my grandfather refused to let it go uncontested. He lunged to his right, trying to salvage the point.

This was ill-advised.

Not only did my grandfather fail to reach the ball, but he also failed to keep his balance. He fell like a Ponderosa Pine, landing with full force on his right shoulder.

That landing spot was triple padded. Carpet on top of rubber on top of foam. Such are the luxuries of setting up a ping pong table in a condominium’s aerobics room.

But it didn’t matter.

The sheer force of impact broke my grandfather’s shoulder in two places.

The game was over. And so was life as I knew it.


My grandfather recovered from his injury in a matter of months.

But for years, family gatherings got a bit testy.

So, you’re the one who broke your grandfather…over a game of ping pong, my relatives would exclaim to me. Why would you do that?

The critique seemed a bit tongue-in-cheek. But I quickly learned that these relatives were not joking.

I couldn’t find an explanation that would ease the tension. No one wanted to hear that the injury was an accident, that I won that point, or that my grandfather told me to hit the ball where I did.

Despite my best intentions, I felt like Persona Non Grata. I was notorious.

Eventually, my family moved on. I stopped getting grief and started to attend these gatherings uninhibited.

But this whole experience cast a long shadow.

I still don’t think I’ve played ping pong since my grandfather’s injury decades ago. And I’m wary about engaging in any athletic actitivies with my relatives.

What if I get hurt, or get someone else hurt? I’ll never hear the end of it.

An unfortunate sequence of events has literally shifted family dynamics.

And this experience is far from unique.


There’s a famous Internet image of a young girl staring, nonplussed, away from the camera.

The image has been dubbed Side Eyeing Chloe, after the then-toddler it profiles. And it’s been repurposed for countless memes and GIFs.

The backstory behind this image is relatively ordinary. Chloe’s parents surprise her by saying that the family is heading to Disneyland. But instead of letting out a gleeful shriek, Chloe stares off to the side, her mouth slightly agape.

No one quite knows what young Chloe was actually thinking at the time. Was she confused? Concerned? Secretly elated?

It doesn’t really matter. The Internet saw the side-eyed glance and filled in the blanks.

Now, toddler Chloe’s face is one Google search away. She’s notorious. And real-life Chloe – now a teenager – is trapped in that notoriety.

I’ve never met Chloe. But I feel for her.

It’s no fun to have your narrative co-opted. To be typecast for one image, one depiction, one outcome you set into motion.

It can lead you to abandon an activity you’re just starting to master. It can strain relationships with those you share a last name with. It can drag you through the dirt out of the blue.

Notorious is no way to be.


Not long ago, I traveled with my father and my paternal grandparents to a small town in Missouri.

My father was born in this town, while my grandfather was in medical school. But the family moved away shortly thereafter.

The medical school’s homecoming was going on while we were in town, and the school hosted a 5K race as part of the festivities. Despite not knowing the town or the terrain, I signed up.

The race was old school, with the director firing a starting gun and noting finishing times on a stopwatch. The course proved to be a challenge, with a vast section of it traversing thick woods on the edge of town.

I was up against it. But in the end, I was the first to break the tape. I received a large plaque for my efforts – a plaque that sits front and center on my mantle today.

Winning that race was certainly a thrill. But the first emotion I felt after crossing the finish line was relief.

I’d just won a race down the street from both my father’s first home and the medical school my grandfather had attended.

In a strange way, my grandfather had given me this opportunity to excel athletically. And I’d honored that opportunity by bringing the family name to the winner’s podium.

Maybe the ping pong debacle wouldn’t hang over me for eternity. Perhaps I’d be notorious in family circles for something positive.

I hope my experience is not an anomaly. I hope others made notorious get a chance at redemption.

Yet, that hope carries a burden to become reality. A burden with two sides.

It’s on the notorious to seize the opportunity at a fresh start. But it’s also on all of us to offer them an open mind and a second chance.

Chloe deserves to be more than Side Eyeing Chloe, just like I deserved to be more than The guy who broke his grandfather’s shoulder playing ping pong.

Let’s stop willfully tying a snippet from the past to the infinite future. Let’s give each other the grace we deserve instead.

Notorious no more. That’s something worth getting behind.

Of Words and Weapons

Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words will never harm me.

So goes one of the quintessential schoolyard retorts.

Kids can be brats at times, calling other kids names in order to get under their skin. The sticks and stones phrase has long given the aggrieved an opportunity to blunt these attacks.

Sure, it’s a mouthful. But that’s precisely the point. Its complexity gives the tormentor pause. And this lowers the temperature.

This pattern has repeated itself for years. But things are different now.


Not all words are created equal.

Some bring joy. Some bring sadness. And some are so inflammatory that they’re considered taboo.

Growing up, I knew what these off-limits words were. They were so scandalous that people referred to them by their first letter. The F-word. The S-word. The N-word.

I was not born with this knowledge, but I picked it up quickly.

For instance, when I was 7 years old, I asked my father about a word I’d read in Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn. My father implored me not to use that word — which was negro. In the same breath, he warned me to never use its uglier, more inflammatory derivative.

Looking back now, it strikes me just how strange this all was. In order to teach me which word not to use, my father needed to use it.

But I learned my lessons well. I steered clear of bad words with a precision that would have made Mormons proud. By the time I got to high school, my best friend — who dropped the F-words and S-words into most sentences — even ribbed me for being so square.

Truth be told, it was easy to avoid these terms. There was a rich ecosystem of synonyms I could draw from to avoid swearing. And that’s precisely what I did.

But these days, it’s trickier to steer clear of the landmines.


Trigger warning.

It’s one of the terms that’s emerged in this newfangled era.

Trigger warnings guard against information that might upset us. They prepare us for the shock, horror or emotional distress ahead.

The premise of this phenomenon is sensible. We shouldn’t be blindsided when facing disturbing topics, particularly since many of us have experienced trauma in our lives already.

Words can in fact harm us, particularly if they reopen wounds that haven’t fully healed. Trigger warnings are our last line of defense against such catastrophe.

Yet, as our society gets more polarized, the number of terms deemed worthy of a trigger warning only seems to grow. Racial slurs and descriptors of physical assaults aren’t the only sources of consternation anymore. Now, phrases that upset our worldviews make the list as well.

Some of these terms do have ties to partisan politics. Global warming became climate change thanks to a focus group put together by conservatives, for instance.

Still, many phrases with a trigger warning label lack obvious political ties. It’s the associations we draw from these terms that so deeply aggrieve us.

This leaves us with a bevy of words that have turned radioactive. And this time, there are no simple substitutes for them.

We can take the long way and describe the words without using them — a real-life version of the game Taboo. But in an era of dwindling attention spans, these efforts are likely to fall short.

And so, with no clear path forward, we avoid these terms — and their associated topics — altogether. And by doing this, we invoke a sense of shadow censorship.

That should trigger its own warning.


Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

So reads the first amendment of the United States Constitution.

Scholars, justices, and activists have broken down those 45 words countless times. They’ve attempted to determine what rights people have to express themselves.

But these dry interpretations miss a key angle. Namely, the intent of those who put those 45 words on paper.

The First Amendment was part of the Bill of Rights — a set of personal freedoms afforded to all Americans. These rights were foundational, rebutting the censorship that was commonplace in the colonial era.

The founding fathers wanted us to use our voices without fear of silencing. In their view, words were not weapons. And opening one’s mouth shouldn’t be treated as an act of war.

While the courts have imposed limitations in a few situations, freedom of expression largely remains intact today. Yet, we now find ourselves restricting our own speech.

By making more and more terms taboo, we are limiting discourse. We are narrowing our perspective. And we are failing to address crucial societal concerns.

Sure, shadow censorship might make us feel more secure and less aggravated. But ignoring the uncomfortable topics around us won’t make them go away. The elephant in the room remains.


It’s time to end the shadow censorship. It’s time to stop treating words as weapons.

Yes, some select words are truly vulgar. And we absolutely should avoid those words whenever possible.

But, by and large, words are not the concern. It’s the actions associated with those words that pose the gravest danger.

This is a point that we seem to miss.

Let’s consider what is really spurring the trigger warnings. Do these difficult phrases trigger emotional distress? Or do they trigger us to acts of aggression?

Both effects are troubling. But words shouldn’t shoulder all the blame for these adverse outcomes. We need to take some responsibility as well.

We have the agency to face our trauma head-on and to help the scars heal. We have the ability to keep dialogue from erupting into violence.

Taking phrases out of circulation doesn’t absolve us of these duties. It only deludes us further.

So, let’s stop with the smoke and mirrors. Let’s rid ourselves of the shadow censorship. And let’s commit ourselves to have important discussions, even if they might be a bit uncomfortable.

This is our best path forward. Let’s not squander it.

But Then What?

As I got walked across the parking lot, I saw noticed a strange sight.

It was dusk in West Texas, and my eyes could only make out so much. But off in the distance, there was a wall of storm clouds in the distance.

That’s odd, I thought. There’s no chance of rain tonight.

I would know.

For this parking lot was outside the TV station where I had just produced the 5:00 newscast. And during the weather segment, there was nary a mention of stormy weather. Not today, and not anytime soon.

Such was life on the West Texas plains, a desolate landscape that barely averaged a foot of rain a year.

So, I shrugged off what was on the horizon. It was probably just a random cloud deck that would be gone by morning, I figured. Nothing to worry about.

I got in my car and headed to town to pick up dinner. But once I hit the highway, everything changed.

The wind started howling, jostling the vehicle around. The road ahead of me — flat and straight as an arrow — faded from view. And my windshield got plastered with dirt.

I was driving into a dust storm.

I’d never encountered a dust storm before. And somehow, I knew what to do. I slowed down, turned on my hazards, and let my memory guide me forward.

I had driven this road dozens of times before, heading to and from work. I had a sixth sense as to where the traffic lights should be, and where the danger spots lay .

I would have to rely on this knowledge to get me through since I couldn’t see much beyond the 6 inches in front of my face. And I would have to hope that I wouldn’t rear-end a slower driver ahead of me.

By the time I made it to Sonic, my adrenaline was pumping. As I rolled down the window to place my order, a plume of dust settled on the bill of my Texas Rangers baseball cap.

I didn’t mind. I had made it.


Many of us have never driven through a dust storm.

They’re common in the desert or on the high plains. But those parts of America are sparsely populated.

Yet, even if we haven’t encountered sand-colored skies, we know how to handle such a circumstance. For we’ve been doing it just about every day.

We live by the doctrine of first-order effects. Of being in the moment. Of actions and reactions.

Many of our decisions help us respond to something thrown at us. Others are meant to force a response from someone else.

Our short game is masterful. We can rise to meet the occasion. We can harness the power of the moment to promote change.

But the long game? That’s woefully lacking.


I’m writing this article in the shadow of a monumental event. An investing gold rush that’s brought Wall Street hedge funds to their knees like never before.

Spurred by social media threads and enabled by smartphone apps, scores of people have bought shares in struggling companies. This has caused the value of these companies to rise. And it has damaged hedge funds betting on those stocks to fall.

These developments haven’t hurt anyone outside of Wall Street. Individual investors have seen the value of their “meme stocks” skyrocket. They’ve given themselves a new tool to pay off debt or stay afloat in a tough economy. And they’ve found a way to stick it to a system that has long kept inequality in place.

Still, the second-order effects of this development percolate. And they are troubling.

Taxes are one such concern. The amateur investors leading the charge are often young and new at playing the market. They might not realize that a portion of their gains go back to the government through taxes. And that means they might not budget properly for their investment — particularly if they borrowed money to buy shares.

Then there’s the bubble effect. After a scorching start, the market has already shown signs of cooling off. If these “meme stocks” lose value, will these investors have the know-how to sell in time?

Both these concerns impact investors alone. But the most ominous second-order effect of this frenzy impacts all of us.

Hedge funds were betting against the “meme stocks” for a reason. Those stocks represented companies with outdated business models, poor financial performance, or a flagging consumer base. They were pieces of companies set up to fail.

But because of the recent gold rush, these companies have a new lease on life. Their value now outpaces their viability.

This sets a dangerous precedent for the greater business community.

Money is the oxygen of the corporate world, and the North Star of business strategy is maximizing a company’s value. Generally, such a quest focuses on viability — producing something consumers crave, marketing it properly, and yielding sustainable revenue. Both the company and the consumer sector stand to benefit.

But in an environment where flailing businesses are overvalued, the quest for value no longer includes viability. Companies stop worrying about how to best serve consumers, as such endeavors no longer impact the stock price.

If the “meme stock” movement goes on to bankroll other flailing companies, this might be the future we see. A world full of overvalued companies making products that don’t meet our needs.

I doubt the investors seeking to dethrone the hedge funds thought of this when they started their escapade. But they should have.


In the movie The Godfather, there is a man who often sits near Don Corleone.

His hair is reddish-brown. His skin is pale. And his name is not Sicilian at all.

Tom Hagen might seem out of place at first. But he plays a critical role in the family business.

Hagen is a lawyer who serves as the Don’s advisor, or consigliere. Like a chess Grandmaster, his role is to think many steps ahead. His charge is to consider the second-order effects. His mission is to ask But then what?

As consigliere, Hagen maintains a quiet presence. Yet, his coolheaded advice keeps the Corleone family from countless pitfalls throughout the film.

In a sense, Tom Hagen is the silent hero for much of The Godfather.

The role of consigliere is profound. But it needn’t be limited to the silver screen.

I believe it’s critical that we find our inner consigliere. That we consider the second-order effects of the ventures we undertake in our own lives. That we remember to ask But then what? in advance of all we do.

Doing this won’t stop the turbulence of the times. But it just might cut down on the collateral damage. It might spare us from the disasters we were too shortsighted to anticipate.

Preventing such calamity doesn’t require much.

A cool head. Critical thinking. And the courage to ask a simple question.

But then what?

The Err of Bluster

The team is staring down a challenge.

Great opportunity lies ahead. But so do obstacles. Obstacles determined to keep this opportunity out of reach.

With the fog of adversity looming, a leader steps in front of the group and gives a fiery speech. The words energize the team. They overcome the odds and reach their goal.

Chances are, you’ve seen this situation unfold. Maybe you experienced it in real life. Or you saw it in a movie about sports or war.

It’s become the de facto playbook for wide scale leadership.

Bluster on. Rally the troops. Achieve victory.

It sounds good on paper. But that playbook has a fatal flaw.


Speak softly and carry a big stick.

If you weren’t nodding off in history class, you might remember that this quote comes from Teddy Roosevelt.

Roosevelt talked the talk. But he also walked the walk.

He made his name in the Spanish-American War, when he led his regiment — the Rough Riders — in a daring charge up a hill in Cuba. He often ventured out to the Dakota wilderness to hunt ferocious animals. And he treated the United States as a global power — even though it was yet to truly be one.

Roosevelt became the 26th President of the United States in 1901, when his predecessor was assassinated. And he instantly stood out. For in its 125 previous years, the U.S. had never quite seen a leader with his level of bluster.

Indeed, the three other presidents immortalized on Mount Rushmore with Roosevelt — George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and Abraham Lincoln — conducted themselves much differently.

Washington led the fledging Revolutionary Army to victory over the British. But he didn’t achieve this feat by charging at the enemy in broad daylight. Instead, he used a series of skirmishes and retreats to lure them into a trap.

One need only look at the most famous painting of Washington to understand that he was more about guile than bile. That painting shows him and his troops crossing a frigid river for a surprise attack.

As President, Washington maintained his understated style. Despite the divisiveness all around him in the early days of the nation, he refused to resort to bravado.

The same went for Jefferson. As President, he’s perhaps most famous for purchasing land from the French. All the bluster was reserved for Vice President Aaron Burr, who got into an infamous duel with Alexander Hamilton.

And Lincoln? He led the United States through a Civil War with candor and compassion. His most famous speech — The Gettysburg Address — was more solemn than boisterous.

Yet, Roosevelt blazed a different path. And in his stead, a new form of leadership emerged.

The blustering style was in to stay.


Bluster has had a long run. Nearly 125 years in the daylight, to be precise.

But now, the sun might be setting on it.

Indeed, as a global pandemic tears its way through humanity, the virus at its center punishes defiance. And yet, many leaders have felt compelled to bluster on.

One of these blustering leaders was Boris Johnson, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. As the virus ravaged nearby nations — first Italy, then Spain, then France — Johnson seemed convinced that those in the British Isles had nothing to worry about.

Johnson blustered on about the strength of those across the UK. He continued to shake hands. And he resisted initial calls for a national lockdown.

This behavior all seemed reckless. But Johnson was not one to bow down to an opponent. He preferred the familiarity of a rally-the-troops style — even if it put his nation on a collision course with disaster.

Then, Johnson caught the virus.

He carried on with his duties at first, albeit remotely. But his condition worsened. Soon, he ended up in an Intensive Care ward at a London hospital, his life in the balance.

Johnson pulled through, and ultimately recovered from the virus. But he emerged from the ordeal deeply humbled. His brush with death had seemingly convinced him that the virus couldn’t be scared away with bold talk.

Johnson’s messaging has since taken a more pragmatic tone. And his voice has seemed to carry more weight.

The situation in the UK has remained dire. But the nation has avoided calamity, even as others have dealt with surging caseloads.

Perhaps this is a coincidence. But I think not.


It shouldn’t have to come to this.

Leaders shouldn’t have to risk falling in the abyss to see the light.

For the truth lies in front of us. Bluster just doesn’t work.

Sure, bluster might seem tantalizingly shiny when times are good. But when the going gets tough, all that glitter is as good as lead paint.

It’s dangerous. Even fatal.

Yes, when uncertainty takes hold, when fear and doubt infest us, we don’t look for the loudest voice in the room. We look for the steadiest hand.

We choose a Lincoln over a Roosevelt. Every time.

And yet, those in power can’t help themselves. After all those years watching war movies and all those months on the campaign trail, their egos have deluded them.

Noise becomes their most trusted tool. Their only trusted tool. And in the teeth of a crisis, they just turn up the dial.

It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. A prophecy in the form of a doom cycle.


Crises are good for precious few things.

But a fresh start is one of them.

The global pandemic has forced us to part with life as we once knew it. It’s compelled us to sacrifice so much that we once considered essential, in the name of survival.

So, why should we cling to a warped notion of leadership? Why should we tolerate the err of bluster?

Now is the time to celebrate a new class of leader. A leader who speaks through actions, rather than a bullhorn. A leader who is more deliberate than forceful. A leader who embraces humility over hubris.

Such a leader might not bring an aura. Their story might not catch the eye of Hollywood script writers.

But they will be the one that we follow out of the darkness.

It’s on us to make sure we continue to follow them in the light as well. That we make it clear precisely what we will tolerate from our leadership — and what we won’t. That we snuff out bluster once and for all.

Our future depends on it. No more. No less.

The stakes are high. Let’s make sure we meet them.

Faded Glory

It was so much better back then.

This is the great lament. The pang of regret, of longing, of melancholy nostalgia that eats at many of us from time to time.

When the present seems uncertain or uncomfortable, it’s all too natural to look backward. To rewind to a moment that seems more familiar and less scary. To gaze upon the shiny glow of that moment and believe in its superiority.

But as the saying goes, All that glitters is not gold.


When I look at the world around me, I tend to take the long view.

After all, the structures around us are built to last. Highways, homes and infrastructure have been designed to stand the test of time. And the average life expectancy in the developed world is going up too.

Yes, there are notable exceptions to these standard measures. But on the whole, things seem to be designed for the long-haul. And so, I focus on how we can continue to better ourselves over an extended time period.

But even as I stare toward the horizon, I’m keenly aware of what lies 6 inches from my nose. The short-term might not be my main focus, but it still matters.

In recent times, that fact has been more evident than ever.

A dangerous virus has forced us to upend our patterns of social interaction. A recession has left millions without an income. And longstanding tensions from race relations and political divisiveness have threatened to boil over.

The sun may still be shining in America. But it’s been hard to feel the warm glow.

As I’ve watched the short-term outlook deteriorate, I’ve found myself yearning for better days. Not in the uncertain future. But in the distant past.

I’ve found myself nostalgic for the 1990s.


The 1990s. What a time it was.

I was only a kid back then, but I recall things being harmonious. There didn’t seem to be as imminent threats out there. And there didn’t appear to be as much division and despair as what’s commonplace these days.

We could just live back then. At least that’s the way I remember it.

But take a wider view, and it’s clear that my rosy memories of that era are incomplete.

For one thing, there was still plenty of division. It was just underground. The Internet as we know it was in its nascent stages. And with no social media channels or smartphones, it was all but impossible for the divisive bickering of that era to reach today’s levels of public consciousness.

For another thing, there was plenty of despair to be found. While the United States government was running a budget surplus, unemployment numbers were often still above 5 percent. Plenty of people were poor, hungry and without a path to a better tomorrow. The angst that bands like Nirvana channeled in their music those days was real.

But these facts weren’t hitting me in the face at that time. For I was in a middle-class household under the care of  attentive parents. I was insulated from the darkness of those days.

Well, mostly.

My family did get the print version of the New York Times. And on my way to scanning the sports section, I would see the front page headlines.

The partisan bitterness during President Bill Clinton’s impeachment trial. Instances of racial profiling amongst the New Jersey state troopers. The horrific murder of James Byrd, who was chained to a pickup truck by racists in rural Texas and dragged for nearly three miles.

I would look at these stories in horror. But after a day or two, the routine of life would kick in — school, homework, family dinner — and I would forget all about the ugliness that lurked all around me.


There is no blissful ignorance. Not anymore.

Recent events have laid bare the disharmony of life. The gulf of distrust between us. The presence of vile hatred in pockets of society. And the inequality of opportunity.

In the past several years, we’ve been asked to part with our rooted assumptions. To change our behavior in order to promote equity and ensure safety.

We should be up for the challenge. After all, this task has been asked of us for the entirety of the millennium. Or at least since the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks.

And yet, we’d still rather escape to a rosy memory than tackle the beast in our midst.

Even as that rosy memory remains illustrative fiction.


Hindsight may be 20-20. But the benefit of clarity comes at the cost of context.

It may be easy to look back on a previous era and call it friendlier. But if we could hop in Doc Brown’s DeLorean and travel back there, the situation on the ground would look much different.

I may be look happily on the 1990s now. But truth be told, I wasn’t all that happy back then. I was saddled with anxiety and battling depression. My joyful memories help hide the acute pain I felt in that moment.

And I wasn’t alone. Plenty of people with more life experience than me were also miserable. And they yearned for an era that had passed them by. Even in the afterglow of the Iron Curtain’s collapse, many didn’t feel the present was a step forward.

This pattern has continued to perpetuate. In the social media age, people like to brand each year the Worst Year Ever. This branding stuck in 2009, when Michael Jackson died unexpectedly and a recession decimated the economy. But such a moniker also stuck in 2010, 2011, 2012, and so on.

In the fog of the moment, we are incapable of finding the right does of perspective. And that can become a major problem.


The moment now facing us is unprecedented.

It’s uncomfortable to have to abandon such hallmarks as social interaction or in-person entertainment. It’s disconcerting to think that a trip to a grocery store could ultimately kill us. And it’s excruciating to stumble through the mist with no idea when this moment will be over.

Just about no one is looking at this era with a smile on their face.

But we can do better than seeking an escape.

We can search for the silver linings. We can build for a brighter future. We can focus on our actions and mute our laments.

We can reshape our situation in a manner we can be proud of for years to come.

Nothing’s stopping us from doing this. Nothing but ourselves.

So, let’s break free of the hamster wheel.

The past might be comforting. But the present is still being written. And the future is up for grabs.

Let’s seize the moment.

Righteous Resonance

There’s nothing I could say.

Chances are, these five words have crossed our mind on occasion.

For no matter how outgoing or socially adept we are, there are instances where communication fails us. Where words seem wholly inadequate.

This could be at moments of great elation. It could be at times of extreme shock. Or it could be in periods of profound sorrow.

I remember being speechless in the aftermath of 9/11. I recalled the events of that day viscerally. And yet, I felt powerless to put those memories into words. It took more than a decade before I was finally able to share my story.

I don’t regret taking so long to find my voice. After all, I had been mere miles away from major tragedy — one which was unfolded during the age when I was most emotionally vulnerable. Trauma like that doesn’t just come out in the wash. It takes its time to heal.

But there have been other times where I’ve stayed quiet. Like so many others, I’ve had moments where I determined I couldn’t understand what others were dealing with. Moments where I stopped trying. Moments when I mistook absenteeism for action.

Those instances are far too frequent. And they fill me with regret.


 

Several times I week, I go for a run through my neighborhood before dawn. I devote my days to my profession, without fearing it will drive me to a hospital bed. And whenever I venture out of my home, the worst outcome I might face from a law enforcement officer is a speeding ticket.

These might seem like normal activities or expectations. But they’re actually signs of privilege.

I am not wealthy. But I am a man of great fortune. And while I enjoy the advantages this brings, I do so with great guilt.

For there are so many who have been dealt a brutal hand. Who have seen their lives threatened by two insidious cornerstones of our society — medical disease and racism.

These two strains poison the well of equity. For they each cast an uneven burden — one indiscriminately and another full of discrimination.

Both medical disease and racism can tear families apart. They can deny opportunities. And they can exacerbate the divides between us.

Those of us who haven’t experienced this devastation have no reference point for it. There’s no way to know how it feels to live with the weight of injustice crushing us. There’s no way to simulate what it’s like living in constant fear.

We are living in an alternative reality. The connection is lost. And with it, our empathy.

So, we delude ourselves into silence. We determine we have nothing useful to share with the afflicted, and we slowly fade into the background.

Often, we make such moves under the guise of respect. We determine that it would be improper to inject ourselves — and our privilege — into another’s suffering.

But there’s hardly anything more disrespectful than remaining quiet.


As I write this, both medical disease and racism are top of mind in our society.

They have both been present on our shores for more than 400 years. But they haven’t always captured our collective consciousness the way they have now.

For the events of recent months have been tragic.

A lethal virus has swept across America, claiming more than 100,000 lives and decimating minority populations. And a spate of incidents involving law enforcement and vigilantes has left several unarmed African-Americans dead.

The veil has been lifted on these systemic problems. And yet, those of us not directly affected by this round of devastation are falling back into old patterns.

We’re convincing ourselves that since we can’t relate, we can’t help. We’re focusing on saving face instead of saving lives.

I know these patterns because I’ve lived them.

As the virus intensified, I stayed silent — even as the reports of death poured in from coast to coasts. Then, as a spate racial violence spurred widespread protests, I kept myself muzzled.

But gradually, I came to my senses.

I checked in with my friends of color to see how they were, and how I could assist. I spoke candidly about inequity and my subtle role in perpetuating it. And I vowed to make changes in my own life that would make the lives of others that much less difficult.

All of these gestures were small. But they were far from trivial.

For instead of passively observing the problem, I was actively trying to be part of the solution. Instead of obsessing over words, I was putting my weight behind my actions.

These actions won’t bring back those who have already been lost. And on their own, they’ll do little to change the state of affairs.

After all, I am just one dot on a map. One data point out of 300 million.

But if more of those dots take the same small steps, it will build a movement. A movement that can support the more boisterous one making the headlines. A movement that can lead to a better future.


Lasting change doesn’t come from a singular voice.

Government officials, faith leaders and scientists might provide us with the tools to enact change. But it’s on us to take the ball and run with it.

Martin Luther King Jr. gave us the dream to end centuries of legalized segregation. Jonas Salk gave us the means to defeat polio.

But if the people hadn’t adopted Dr. King’s message, the Civil Rights Movement would have died in obscurity. If the people hadn’t taken Dr. Salk’s vaccine, polio would still be rampant today.

Not everyone who advocated for civil rights had to sit on the back of a city bus. Not everyone who got the polio vaccine had to watch a loved one wither away from the disease.

But they leaned in anyway. And they helped the world change for the better.

Now, as we face new challenges among familiar fronts, we should follow the path they blazed. Instead of focusing on what to say to make things better, we should focus on what we can do.

Regardless of our background, we have the chance to make a difference. Our actions can yield righteous resonance.

But all of this can only happen if we allow it to.

So, let us not be silent.

We might not have the perfect words to bridge the gap. But our actions speak volumes.

Within The Lines

Color within the lines.

It’s one of the earliest things we’re taught. Right around the time we’re first handed a crayon and a coloring book.

The objective: Follow the rules and good results will follow.

This mantra follows us into adulthood. We’re continue to be told that staying above board will lead to a positive outcome.

This carrot and stick routine is a powerful way of maintaining order within society.

It’s also completely bogus.

For as much as we’d like to believe it, life is not a meritocracy. Bad things happen to good people all the time, and the most deserving person doesn’t always reap the reward.

Those with connections or money can cut the line. Conversely, years of good deeds paired with chronic misfortune can leave us with nothing but heartbreak.

Why then, do we insist on coloring within the lines? On not taking the shortcuts and liberties others have gotten away with?

It has everything to do with balance.

You see, if we all decided the rules were not worth our attention, we’d leave ourselves in a very vulnerable state. While we’d have much to gain by putting our own interests first, we’d also lose the blanket of protection that the aura of order implies.

This is a prime reason why bouts of anarchy have been more of a pop-up thunderstorm than a Category 5 hurricane throughout history. We can only accept vulnerability for so long; once the initial jubilation of rebellion subsides, the risk outweighs the reward.

Continually fending off those trying to take advantage of us is stressful and exhausting. It’s far more comfortable to insulate ourselves in a structure that protects us against harm while rewarding us for our compliance.

This is not to say that we’re oblivious to the absurdity of our idealism. By and large, we understand that the world is not, in fact, fair. And we know that a steadfast belief in karma — good or bad — as an equalizer is more wishful thinking than reality.

But it gives us piece of mind to know where the lines are, and what it should mean if we stay on the right side of them.

It also makes us better members of society. After all, if we share a common understanding of the rules, we can commiserate freely without worrying about being stabbed in the back.

Indeed, the ideal of playing by the rules is no fallacy. It’s a necessary construct to provide us with the attributes key to our survival — comfort, protection and social connection.

These are attributes worth fighting for. So, let’s keep striving to color within the lines, even as others leave their crayon marks astray.

The Double Edge of Virality

Virality is in.

What was once 15 Minutes of Fame is now something far more timeless.

Ever since the early days of YouTube, making it big on the Internet has meant instant recognition. Today, it’s an obsession.

We can’t help ourselves. We want to be known, to be popular. It only takes one lasting visual —one that’s accessible by billions of people in an instant — for us to achieve that goal.

So, we trip over ourselves to star in creative moments. We do outlandish and embarrassing things on camera to build our global name. We master the art of the Meme and the GIF — two terms only geeks knew of 15 years ago — in order to plaster our face on them in head-turning ways.

Since virality is our golden ticket to instant stardom, sacrificing our dignity for an eternity in the sun seems worthwhile.

But it cuts both ways. Are we really ready to live with that double edge?

I’m not talking about the consequences of being eternally known as the person who screwed up an exercise ball trick. Or as one of the soldiers who gave a monkey a loaded AK-47. (For the love of God, do not try this. Ever.)

Those infamous videos are the result of poor decisions. As far as I’m concerned, the people who humiliated themselves in them can reap what they sow.

No, I’m talking about the Pandora’s Box our viral obsession unleashes.

You see, our continual quest to stoke our ego has turned virality into an untamed beast. We can now go viral at any time, even when we’re not looking to. And if we’re caught in a moment of misfortune with cameras rolling, we could end up wearing that unwanted humiliation like a scarlet letter for the rest of our lives.

Consider Dr. David Dao. If you don’t recognize that name, you’re part of the problem. Dr. Dao is the man you saw being yanked out of his seat and violently dragged off of a United Airlines plane so that other extra airline employees could take his seat. You saw it because another passenger posted a harrowing video of the ordeal on Twitter, a video that immediately went viral.

This incident led to universal outrage. United’s stock prices took a beating, and they stand to lose hundreds of millions of dollars in future business because of their tarnished reputation. The longstanding procedure of overbooking flights — by both United and its rival airlines — has also come into question.

But, do you know what wasn’t discussed? How all of this would affect Dr. Dao.

Sure, there were the musings of how much money he would stand to gain from an upcoming lawsuit against United Airlines. There was the press conference, where Dao’s lawyer claimed Dao was more terrified as he was being dragged off that flight in Chicago than he was when he fled Saigon in 1975. There was some journalistic muckraking in regards to his troubled past.

What there wasn’t was compassion for the man’s predicament as a victim of virality.

Now, maybe I’m more empathetic than most, but I feel that’s not right. No amount of money from United’s coffers will ever reconcile Dr. Dao’s unwanted moment of fame. He will be known for the rest of the life as the bloodied man being dragged down the aisle of a plane by airport police as passengers watch in horror.

His chances of making a more dignified name for himself are ruined.

Dr. Dao most assuredly didn’t want any of this. He just wanted to make it back to Louisville and get on with his life.

Thanks to a callous bout of misfortune, a smartphone video camera and a societal thirst for virality, he will never have that chance.

That’s a damned shame.

So, let this be a lesson. One that teaches us to be cognizant of the cost of our viral obsession. One that illustrates the point that virality can not only improve lives, but also ruin them.

For while it’s easier than ever for us to connect and build a name for ourselves in the era we live in, we must understand that this rising tide does not lift all boats.

Proceed with caution.

The Wreckage Of Radical Thinking

These are trying times.

Our way of life is under attack by those we cannot understand, and who refuse to understand us. Undocumented people within our borders cause uncomfortable situations, while a booming international drug business is causing problems on multiple fronts. The color of our skin can be a de facto death sentence in certain encounters with law enforcement. Our rights to self-defense, privacy, speech and religion are threatened by — of all things —our own actions.

These are turbulent times indeed, compounded by our collective difficulty grasping one key concept.

Complex problems can’t be solved by simple solutions.

A concise rational statement. But we seem to have lost all rationality these days, as many are  convinced that by simply removing a set of people from our midst, we’ll make everything better.

It doesn’t work that way. Why? Because no matter how you classify us — black, white, Asian, Hispanic, Muslim, Jewish, Christian, cops, businesspeople, journalists — we have rights in this country. We have rights to live and defend ourselves. We have rights to spiritual beliefs and to free expression. We have rights to moments of privacy. We have rights to public safety. And, provided we don’t unduly impinge upon the safety of others, we have a right to freedom.

Change is good. Progress is good. But when radical responses to injustice catch fire, an entire subset of our society is denied these inalienable rights — and everything that we should stand for goes up in flames.

It ain’t progress when we ostracize all law enforcement officers for the abhorrent actions of several bad ones. It ain’t progress when we propose disarming our entire society completely, even in the wake of senseless tragedies. It ain’t progress when we threaten to kick out all the Mexicans, or all the Muslims.

For when we do all this, we succumb to closed-mindedness. We regress into an ugly past where some human beings within our borders were considered three-fifths of a person based on the color of their skin. We open the doors for those with the lethal combination of ultimate power and evil intentions to order a mass exterminations of a subset of our population. We threaten to shun our societal values — the unique mixture of cultural diversity and universal rights that has allowed our culture to transform the world.

So, when it comes to pushing our culture forward in the wake of tragic setbacks, we should not let our emotions goad us into radical decisions. Instead, we should show restraint and take a more moderate, central path toward improvement.

By staying true to who we are, we can ensure that who we will be is so much better.