Tag: collectivism

In Color

There are many great images of America. But one of the most poignant ones came courtesy of Robert Frank’s camera lens.

The cover image of the 1958 photo journal The Americans offers a glimpse at riders on a New Orleans streetcar. They stare out the open windows at Frank as he snaps the shutter.

There are many reasons why Frank’s image is iconic. The vintage look of the streetcar.

The various expressions of the riders. The bifurcation of white and Black commuters in the segregated Deep South.

But to me, what stands out most was that the image was taken in black and white.

Now, this is as much a matter of circumstance as anything else. Color photography was a novel concept in 1958. So most photos were taken black and white back then.

And yet, this basic fact adds depth to the picture. Without real-world colors to guide us, we are left to ponder the interplay between light and shadows.

Yes, there’s something timeless about black and white photography. Something this equal parts subtle and powerful.

But this sensation, like the black and white image itself, is falling out of favor.

There’s one constant in my early memories. Color.

I remember drawing with Crayola crayons and mixing hues of Play-Doh in Pre-K. I recall holding up an edge of a multi-colored parachute at recess. And I reminisce on the debates my classmates would have over which Power Ranger was the best. (I favored the Blue Ranger.)

This is no coincidence.

Color identification is one of the staples of early education in America. Through the classroom and the toy market, kids are geared to build a color palette before picking up such skills as reading comprehension and arithmetic.

I’m sure there are cognitive benefits to all this. Few industries put their own product on trial as much as educators do. The color-first orthodoxy has made it through that crucible time and again. So, there must be something there.

Still, I find myself questioning the practicality of it all.

After all, numbers and words are building blocks. As we grow up, they can help us manage our finances and share our thoughts with others. But we can also use them to forge innovations that can change the world.

Color doesn’t have the same untapped power. Yes, it can help us read a traffic light or differentiate water and dry land. But beyond that, it’s mostly fluff.

It would seem to me that we’d want to double down on the areas that will prove most impactful — both as children and adults. But that is far from the case.

Not long ago, I came across an eyebrow-raising New York Times article. It chronicled the newest frontier in the so-called Sneaker Wars — color psychology. This is the phenomenon that’s led to the spate of acid lime, aqua blue, and neon pink footwear out there.

In the article, reporter Mark O’Flaherty explains how shoe conglomerates court attention and promote individualism through unique color palettes. One of the industry executives O’Flaherty interviews even has the title of Head of Color at their brand.

I’m a marketer and a systems-minded thinker. So, this phenomenon should be right up my alley.

But I see the endeavor as nothing more than a gigantic waste of resources.

I’m readily aware of the power of branding. And I understand the emotional impacts different hues can bring. Red-colored items tend to slightly raise the heart rates of people who see them, for instance. Blue-colored items have the opposite effect.

Still, such knowledge is mostly trivial. As individuals, we tend to think of color palettes precisely one time a day — as we get dressed. And companies only switch up their visual branding once in a blue moon. Color doesn’t get much play beyond that.

Shoe companies know this, and they’ve long followed a similarly conservative pattern. When I was growing up, the color choices for athletic shoes tended to be black, white, and gray. Occasionally, I’d see a different color on the shoe’s brand mark, but it would appear nowhere else.

A few years ago, though, I noticed things were starting to change. I was looking for a new pair of all-black Nikes, and I found only two options in the entire store. The rest of the shoes looked to me like a Smurf had vomited on them.

It was clear shoe brands had gone off the deep end. Instead of focusing on fundamentals, they were creating Head of Color positions and devoting themselves to finding the next viral hue.

As someone who favors a reserved wardrobe, I don’t like any of this. Not one bit.

But my concerns go far beyond my own preferences.

Looking at the cover of The Americans from a 21st century angle, it’s hard to fight the temptation to fill in the gaps.

What colors were the riders’ shirts? What about the streetcar itself? Was it a sunny day when Frank took the picture or was it overcast?

We’ll never know the answers to those questions. But we really don’t need to.

The photo is not about the individual details. It’s about the collective body that is American society.

Our societal endeavor is far from perfect, as the image plainly demonstrates. But the shared nature of our experience is critical. The fact that people from different backgrounds and perspectives can both share a streetcar and unite in a glance out of that streetcar — that matters.

We are taught to look beyond the black and white, to search for the shades of gray. Such nuance provides us a better understanding of the world and our unique place in it.

But when we take individualism to the other extreme — when gray become lime green and cotton candy pink — we launch ourselves out of orbit. And, in doing so, we neglect our obligation to build a better society together.

It’s time we come back to Earth. It’s time to eschew the flash and revisit time-honored principles. And it’s time we build upon those principles to make a more equitable, innovative society.

The shine and sparkle of color will always be there to tempt us. But there are more important places for us to focus on.

Let’s find them.

Of The People

We the people.

So begins the United States Constitution, with those three words.

It’s fitting and unusual at the same time.

After all, we are not a collectivist society. We are as individualistic as it gets. Spurred by capitalism and boundless ambition, we forge ahead in search of our own destiny.

And yet, when it comes to protecting our gains, we rely on collective action. We elect politicians to be our proxies. And we abide by the laws they put into action.

We each have our own journey, our own perspective, our own dreams.

But the essence of our nation? That’s of the people.

For years, I’ve had a simple belief.

I was certain that if one could win the support of the people, they could not go wrong in life.

Basic logic brought me to this conclusion. If such a quality allowed our democracy to endure countless moments of strife, it would certainly work on a narrower scale.

But now, I’m questioning that belief.

For the voice of the collective — the people — it doesn’t always support an equitable society. How could it, when each member of that collective is in it for themselves?

No, courting such an audience is not the panacea it’s made out to be. If anything, it represents selling out — trading our own values for others’ self-serving desires.

And yet, we cannot repel ourselves from the voice of the people. For if we stand too far apart, we find ourselves isolated, ostracized, and supremely vulnerable.

It’s a sticky situation. A high-stakes Catch-22.

So, what is our best path forward?

Back in grade school, my teachers assigned me several books to read.

One of my favorites was Inherit The Wind.

This script covered the events of the Scopes Trial from 1925. In the trial, a teacher in small-town Tennessee was accused of introducing the theory of evolution to his class.

Such an action was unheard of in the South at the time. So unheard of that it was against the law. That’s how the trial came to be.

The Scopes Trial was notorious for the caliber of its attorneys. Clarence Darrow represented the defense, while William Jennings Bryan represented the prosecution.

Bryan was a famed populist — a man of the people. A skilled orator with the ability to reach the everyman, he had run for the U.S. Presidency three times, but never won election.

Now, Bryan was representing the everyman again. But this time, it was in order to protect Creationism. To be of the people, Bryan was trying to keep the theory of evolution from ever seeing the light of day in Tennessee schools.

This all seemed arcane to me. After all, when I read Inherit The Wind, I myself was a student. A student who had learned both the theories of evolution and creationism in class.

More than that, I lived in a region where a museum had a simulated model of the Big Bang. All while the church down the street preached the virtues of creationism.

In other words, I had access to information. My viewpoint on how we got here would come not by educational mandate, but by my own free will.

And yet, a century earlier, I would not have had such liberties. And that irked me.

How could our nation have been so closed-minded? What gave religious zealots the right to dictate the truth? And why did Bryan get such acclaim when he was clearly sporting an autocratic agenda?

At least he lost the presidency, I told myself. And maybe the South just didn’t get it back then.

Fast forward several years.

My school years were done, and adulthood loomed. I had just moved to West Texas and taken a job as a TV news producer.

Within weeks, I was covering yet another science-vs-religion quarrel — this one about sex education.

The county I was in had banned sex education for high school students in favor of abstinence counseling. But such messaging had little sway on the adolescent crowd. Teen pregnancy rates in the county were among the highest in the state.

I thought the whole matter was dumb. I had sat through sex education classes in high school. It was uncomfortable, but it also prevented me from making a life-altering mistake.

I wondered if the single-mindedness of the local educators was failing the community. After all, no amount of preaching wholesome values can prepare a family for the moment when their teenage daughter finds pink lines on a pregnancy test.

But I was heartened by the way families handled this situation. They did not punish their children for violating the abstinence mandate. They supported them.

This was not the land of The Scarlet Letter. The region was not full of destitute teenage mothers. It was stable because the community had set up a system to protect its belief system against all opportunities.

It was at that moment that I came to terms with the thinking of 1920s Tennessee. It was at that moment that I grasped the allure of William Jennings Bryan.

I might not have agreed with it. But I understood it.

And such an understanding allowed me to better fit into my new community.

Being of the people has had its flaws over the years. But the risks were not all that dire.

Perhaps it meant that a group of students wouldn’t get to learn about evolution. Or that high schoolers would become parents. But such setbacks were unlikely to permanently ruin lives.

Recently, though, a dangerous brand of populism has emerged.

The structure of this movement has remained the same — charismatic figures seeking the tribal embrace of the people. But the foundation has shifted.

The collective is filled with mistrust and divisiveness. Partisanship and misinformation have us pointing fingers rather than rallying around a common cause. And we seem determined to push others down in order to raise ourselves up.

Yes, being of the people today means absolving personal responsibility. It means stiffing our neighbors. It means making our society less equitable, not more.

This is the path that we’ve chosen. But it’s not too late to change course.

It’s no secret that times have been tough recently. Illness, isolation, and financial hardship continue to abound.

Fighting through this strife has been no picnic. It’s not pleasant watching those around us suffer.

But perhaps such an experience can help us get back on track.

As we plow forward, we have a great opportunity. An opportunity to keep such suffering from becoming endemic.

If we reframe our mission toward helping our neighbors — and not just ourselves — we stand to gain. We can improve equity, forge unity and build community.

Of the people will realize its promise. And we will regain ours.

Such a future is within our reach. So what’s stopping us?

The cards are in our hands. It’s time to go all-in.

We Rise

If I had to distill my overall life philosophy into three words, it would be the following.

Together we rise.

It means that success is not a zero-sum game. That we can work together to see the change we aspire to achieve.

In essence, this philosophy is an extension of the old adage A rising tide lifts all boats. Yet, in this case, the observed change does not come from the whims of Mother Nature. Instead it’s driven by the will of our nature.

The rise comes from a place of selflessness, sharing and compassion. From a place of sacrifice and humility. From a place of recognition for the unmatched potential of societal change.

And it comes from a basic realization. We did not get here alone.

It’s a simple fact. But it’s one that can gradually take the air out of us, like a slow leak in a tire.

Why? Because we feed off a narrative of self-made grandeur. Of pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps and driving our own success. Of independent prosperity.

This narrative, of course, is ridiculous. We’re not born knowing how to walk, talk, eat solid food or clean up after ourselves. We’ve had help from Day One. And that assistance has often stretched into adulthood.

Yet, the self-made man narrative is pervasive because it has roots in our heritage. Frontier settlers in early America did indeed get by on grit, guile and perseverance.

Still, for all of the stories of Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett, there are countless others that are left untold. Stories that ended with frontier settlers scalped, starved or frozen to death.

That would have been the story of the Pilgrims too, had the local natives not helped provide them the tools to survive the brutal winters of present-day Massachusetts.

No, despite tales to the contrary, our society itself did not get here alone. Despite the tall tales of glory, a healthy dose of humility is in the offing when we reflect on what’s allowed us to innovate, iterate and prosper over the past four centuries.

This is why we celebrate Thanksgiving around this time each year. It’s why we maintain an air of kindness and generosity as the calendar winds down.

It’s a noble cause. One that summons the best in all of us.

But why can’t it be omnipresent the entire year around?

We’d be better served putting our oversized egos away, no matter the season. We’d be better off if we considered achievement in the context of We Not Me.

This would require a shift in attitude, from feeling the euphoria of receiving to attaining the satisfaction of giving. It would require more bandwidth, from looking out for ourselves to looking out for others. And it would require a mix of patience and persistence, as improvement does not always come at a constant rate.

But these changes would be well worth it.

No longer would our success come at the cost of others. No longer would our achievements widen the dividing line between the haves and the have nots.

Instead, we would be building shared equity in improvement. We would be forging stronger ties with our community. And, in doing so, we would help solidify our legacy in a way that resonates long after we’re gone.

I’ve long said that when my time is done, I would want my headstone to read: He had a good heart and he cared.

That message is simple. But it need not be revolutionary.

So, as we prepare to give thanks and spread cheer, let’s consider how we can devote ourselves to something greater. Let’s commit to three powerful words.

Together we rise.

The Key to Happiness

What makes you happiest?

There are few questions that bring out our individuality more than that one.

Some people might mention a beach vacation, or watching their favorite sports team win the championship. Others might mention gifts they’ve received, or time spent with their significant other.

My answer is a bit more complex: When the people I care about are happy, so am I.

I know that might sound like a bit strange, so let me explain.

Happiness, like many other emotions, tends to skew personal. This means that what makes us the happiest are often things we individually stand to gain from.

This fact, by itself, is not terribly dispiriting —after all, the saying goes, “Tis better to have than to have not.” But prolems arise when those personal gains that bring us happiness come at the expense of others.

Happy you got the job offer? Plenty of other candidates got a rejection email. On Cloud 9 cause your favorite team won the title? Fans of the other team are in agony.

These considerations don’t often cross our minds in moments of bliss, but they should. For when we don’t approach joy with empathy, we’re often left feeling hollow and even depressed once the elation wears off.

The good news is that empathy can be built. It just takes commitment to a perspective of selflessness.

I know this statement to be true because I’ve lived it.

As a kid, I felt happiest when opportunities and experiences in my life directly benefited me. It was a primitive, ugly way to view my interactions with the world — one that left me prone to mood swings when my personal needs and desires weren’t being addressed.

Luckily, I was able to evolve out of this pattern. I had the good fortune of being surrounded by many selfless, empathetic people throughout adolescence and early adulthood. Those values rubbed off on me — particularly as I exposed myself to a great amount of adversity on account of my life decisions.

I learned quickly just how fulfilling putting others first can feel. How putting their feelings ahead of mine could build an emotional connection with them and simultaneously allow me to approach the ebbs and flows of my personal life with a steady mind.

This focus on empathy made me feel wholesome and empowered. I could celebrate the successes of my friends and family right along with them, and truly be there to help them through the hard times. I could shake off the disappointment of being passed up for a certain opportunity by feeling genuine happiness for the person who did — even if I didn’t know them personally.

Empathy has helped me grow, and it’s become a staple of who I am.

But more than that, genuine empathy is key to unlocking true happiness. Pursue it wholeheartedly, and you stand to benefit more fully than you could ever imagine.

A Foundation of Trust

What’s the most precious thing in life?

Some might say life itself, or love. And they’re right, in a way.

But I think there’s one clear answer, that stands tall among the rest.

Trust.

You see, trust is one of the most difficult sensations to describe, yet one of the most encompassing. It provides us with a sense of security, and its absence can literally destroy our health.

Trust is one of the most difficult things to attain. (Heck, we often don’t trust ourselves, or our ability to trust others.) And if trust is earned and broken, it’s nearly impossible to regain.

Trust allows us to share secrets, to step on the roller coaster, to pay attention to our teachers. Lack of trust is why we lock our doors at night, why we scour Web MD every time we have a slight headache, why the thought of someone else driving our car for the first time gives us angst.

Trust is what draws us to our routine, or allows us to stray from our routine.

If you’re looking for a common theme in all this, well — there are two.

Trust is about protection, but also about control.

These feelings are at the heart of human nature, which is why trust is the Holy Grail of all commodities.

So yes, trust is precious — and increasingly scarce.

As bad things happen in our increasingly connected society, we become inherently suspicious. Trust erodes, tensions flare — and more bad things happen as a result.

But there’s an alternate ending to this narrative. One that — surprise, surprise — relies on our collective ability to trust.

If we get to know our neighbors, or at least give them the benefit of the doubt, we can set a common foundation. A foundation of trust.

With this foundation in place, we can more productively respond to the crises our society faces with one voice. A voice of multiple perspectives, but of unified purpose. A voice free of the divisive seeds of deceit.

Now, this process ain’t easy; the important ones hardly ever are. But it is necessary.

For while we may never leave our doors unlocked, we should be able to unlock our hearts.