Tag: community

Unselfish

There’s a poignant moment from my childhood that still resonates with me.

It comes from the early 1990s. I was 5 years old at the time.

My family had returned from our first extended vacation — several weeks camping up and down the coast of Maine. My aunt and uncle were over at our home to hear the stories of our travels and look at the pictures we took.

(Yes, it’s hard to imagine now. But in a time before smartphones and social media, these types of social engagements were commonplace.)

It was a beautiful late summer day, so we soon found ourselves in the backyard. We had a new wooden playset that had been installed earlier that year, and I hopped on the single swing anchored to one end of it.

For the next several minutes I laughed exuberantly as the swing went forward and backward. I felt the breeze as I went back and forth, our home getting closer and then drifting further away.

Soon enough, my sister — who was 2 at the time — asked if she could ride on the swing. I said no; I was having too much fun to give it up.

“Now, Dylan,” my uncle said. “Don’t be selfish. How about you give your sister a turn after 10 more turns of the swing?”

I agreed, and he gave the swing a push. Suddenly, I was flying back and forth, the swing taking a much wider track on its pendulum motion. I could feel the wind under my knees, and my jubilation was reinvigorated.

Now, there was no way I was getting off the swing.

Sure enough, after the 10 back and forth turns of the swing were up, my sister asked to ride the swing again.

Actually, it might have been after 15 turns — she had not yet mastered the art of counting.

But either way, when she asked, I once again refused to give her a turn.

My uncle was disgusted. He walked away from the swing set, exclaiming “That was mean, Dylan. You’re being selfish.”

And being the 5 year old brat I was, I responded by repeating the word selfish over and over. It’s as if I treated the term as a badge of honor.

After a few moments, I noticed that my aunt, my parents and my sister had left the playset area too. I was being abandoned for my bad behavior.

I hopped off the swing and went to join them, acting as if nothing had happened. Yet, my uncle continued to admonish me for being stubborn and selfish. He insisted I apologize to my sister for not sharing the swing set.

After a few moments, I did apologize. And that was the end of the incident.

The rift was closed, and we moved on with the afternoon.

Why, then, am I writing about this story more than a quarter century later?

Because that one moment forever changed my approach to life.

 

Selflessness is one of my most prominent qualities these days.

I make this claim not from a place of aspiration or ego. I base it instead off what others have said about me.

And while I’m not preoccupied with what others think of me, I will admit it’s humbling to see one of my core values being recognized.

In my career, my business school studies and my volunteer work, I’ve striven to put others first whenever possible. I might not be shipping off to remote villages in Africa to fix world hunger, but I also don’t spend every waking second looking out for #1.

My philosophy is simple: Help others succeed, and we all benefit.

As I’ve pointed out on Words of the West before, I don’t view the world as Zero Sum. The joy and success of those I care about reinvigorates me and brings me happiness in turn. Putting myself second to help them attain these results benefits everyone.

I did not always think this way. The swing set story makes that fact self-evident.

Yet, I can point to that incident as my spark for this movement. It was the moment I learned the true power and importance of selflessness.

Growing up, I idolized my uncle. I still do today.

My uncle is a renowned surgeon and researcher. His work has helped save the lives of many cancer-stricken patients. His commitment to training and teaching will help a new generation of surgeons and researchers save countless more lives.

These are accomplishments I will forever admire him for.

But back when I young, I admired my uncle for other reasons. He was in medical school back then, and he and my aunt didn’t have any kids of their own at the time. So, whenever we’d visit them — or they visited us — my uncle would spend a lot of time with me. It was an attention-seeking kid’s dream.

My uncle was even-keeled. He was cool and collected, not exuberant. Even so, he was fun to be around.

The last thing I wanted to do was let him down.

Yet, that summer afternoon on the swing set, that’s exactly what I did.

That was one of only two times I remember my uncle being visibly disappointed in me. (The other was when I stepped on a sharp shell at the beach as a teenager and blurted out a certain four-letter word.)

It stung.

I remember asking my parents what selfish meant that evening. And why that word upset my uncle so much.

It was then that my parents taught me about the importance of sharing. To be sure, they had told me about this several times before. But this was the first time it really sank in.

And from that day forth, I started to change.

I didn’t suddenly turn into a beacon of selflessness — I only was 5 years old, after all. But any time I did something self-serving and got called out for it, I would hear a voice in my mind. It was my uncle, saying “You’re being selfish.”

Step by step, year by year, I progressed toward my present-day mantra. I gradually came to see the value of helping others succeed, and I came to espouse it.

The funny thing? Even after transforming my outlook and reorienting my life, my uncle’s words from all those years ago still guide me.

Because truth be told, I still slip up a lot. There are plenty of times I find myself on the precipice of wholly self-serving decisions.

Whether the result of fatigue, multitasking or a lapse in judgement, I often find myself preparing to take an action that benefits me disproportionately at the expense of others.

Yet, when I’m on the brink of making a selfish mistake, my uncle’s words are there to save me.

You’re being selfish. Don’t be selfish.

They force me to pause and reevaluate. They encourage me to make a better decision. And for that I am thankful.

Yes, my uncle is a great man. He’s saved many lives, and the work he’s done will save many more. And in the smallest of ways, his timely words have helped to save mine.

I believe we can all benefit be being more selfless. I believe there’s an inherent advantage to putting others first and helping our communities thrive.

It’s less glamourous than pampering ourselves and basking in self-adulation. It flies in the face of the me-first zeitgeist sweeping across mass media and social media.

Yet, it builds stronger bonds with the people around us. It provides us the catharsis of making a tangible, positive difference. And most of all, it’s just the natural thing for us to do.

We’re meant to work for a cause bigger than ourselves. To build connections with the world around us and work toward a common goal.

Like the buffalo on the Plains from days gone by, there is strength in numbers. But this collective strength is only realized we take our ego out of the question and strive for a goal bigger than ourselves.

We might not be there yet. We might be the kid who refuses to give up the swing, as I once was.

But we can change. We can work at it, day by day. We can transform ourselves to meet an ideal truly worth our aspirations.

Let’s get to it.

The Dangers of Groupthink

It was a normal Wednesday. I went to work, dressed in dress shoes, slacks and a button-down shirt.

One by one, my colleagues entered the office, all sporting a decidedly more casual look. (My employer doesn’t mandate a dress code, and many of my co-workers seem to be on a daily mission to take full advantage of this liberty.)

After a few minutes, one of my colleagues walked by my cubicle in order to grab coffee from the break room. Noting what I was wearing, she hit me with eight words that cut like a knife.

What are you trying to prove to us?

Then she walked away, without a clue as to how badly she had offended me.

There’s a simple reason I was so rankled by this encounter. The values I extol were being thrown in my face.

You see, I often speak of the benefits of coming together. The virtues of unity. The power of community.

The premise of all this is that people unite for a common good. Yet, practice doesn’t always make perfect.

Sometimes the dominant voice in the room isn’t a tide to lift all boats. Sometimes it serves as an anchor instead.

Psychologists have a name for this behavior: Groupthink.

And while the name sounds innocent enough, it can pack a more destructive punch than a wrecking ball.

Why? Because Groupthink promotes the status quo. But it does so though underhanded threats and coercion against anyone who deviates from this path.

This means underachievers are thrown under the bus. And overachievers are held back.

If you don’t fit in, you’re cast out. It’s a real-life version of “On Wednesdays, we wear pink.”

Groupthink tells us how to style our hair. How to design our homes. What cars to buy. And yes, what clothes to wear to work.

Throughout it all, one message remains supreme.

Better is scary. Good enough is good enough.

Are these the ideals we want to teach our children? God, I hope not.

We live in a world with air travel and supercomputers in our pockets. A world marked by advances in innovation that were spearheaded by those who refused to give in to groupthink.

Do you think Steve Jobs or the Wright Brothers worried about their appearance when they were changing the world as we know it? Do you think they cared about what others perceived about what they were doing?

Not a chance.

Yet, we insist on holding back. On sacrificing what’s possible for what’s popular.

The only thing we secure with this thinking is our own demise.

Let’s chart a new path.

Let’s aspire to be better every day. To challenge our own notions of what’s possible, and then unite around that ideal.

Let’s remember that following leaders who push us forward is better than gravitating toward the pack. After all, no one wins a bicycle race by staying in the Peloton.

Most of all, let’s recognize that Groupthink is a real danger hiding in plain sight. One that we must eradicate to move forward.

Because, to answer my colleague’s question, we all must prove to each other that the status quo isn’t the best we can do. That we have more to contribute by forging ahead then by lagging behind.

Let’s get to it.

Ending Evil

Speechless.

This is how so many of us have felt in the wake of so many recent events. But perhaps never more so than after the rampage in Las Vegas — the deadliest mass shooting in modern American history.

There are simply no words to describe our reaction to an incident as horrid as this. Anger, despair, sadness, grief and shock might come to mind. But, all too often, what actually comes out of our mouth is silence. Something this awful and incomprehensible takes our breath away.

Why don’t we speak up? I believe it’s because we are terrified of being rendered helpless. And devastating events such as these remind us just how little control we really have.

For there is no plausible way to eradicate evil. It can weave its way into our lives by any means possible. To put a spin on an iconic line from Jurassic Park, “Evil finds a way.”

This is extremely unsettling. It undermines any attempts to fully contain the effects of evil. And it proves that a concert in the open desert outside of Indio, California is no safer than one in the shadow of the Las Vegas Strip.

There is no amount of planning that can lower the threat level to zero. Evil is pervasive enough to skirt any barriers we might throw in its way.

If you’re questioning this point, remember that the Twin Towers in New York were designed to withstand airplane strikes. But those best-laid plans went down with the towers on one of the darkest days in American history.

So, if evil is unpreventable, what can we do to respond to it?

We can start by banding together.

You see, evil lurks in the darkest, loneliest places. It thrives in environments of division and doubt.

But, by teaming up with our friends and neighbors, we can find strength in numbers. By emphasizing our commonalities over our differences, we can draw light to the shadowy areas where evil would otherwise populate.

And by giving evil less room to operate, we give ourselves a greater change to build trust. This, in turn, can lead to a safer community — one aligned on the commonality of goodness.

While these initiatives can never bring back those lost to acts of evil, it will at least help us build a world that properly honors their memory.

Yes, ending evil may be a tall order. But the start of that process is certainly within our grasp.

Let’s get to work.

The Great Contradiction

Nothing is ever as it seems.

This statement serves as gospel at a magic show, in the CIA or during a poker tournament. The illusion is part of the game. A necessary element to achieve the objective.

But while we accept shades of gray in these isolated environments, we fail to consider the greater impact of this phenomenon. Life is full of contradictions that we must not only navigate, but also learn from.

None of us are immune to contradiction. Heck, my advice is full of it.

Consider this: I’ve shared messages of selfless improvements in this space, and then gone and spouted off about the benefits of exercise. Messages like these run against the grain, as exercise is one of the more selfish improvements out there.

Or is it?

You see, no one else besides you directly benefits from exercise. Your body stands to get stronger. Your health and stamina stand to improve. Your chances of living a longer life increase.

But that added time and improved outlook, those open the door to indirect benefits. To more opportunities to connect with others and make an impact.

When you look at it this way, exercise can be classified as a selfish activity that sets a foundation for selfless results.

And this concept of contradiction runs even deeper in our daily lives. Our trust, our love, our attention all have limits — limits directly tied to reciprocity. What’s in it for us is a real concern as we navigate how to assist others, and how to leave the world better than we found it.

Now, I realize that unpeeling this particular onion can be unsettling. It’s not in our DNA to question human nature, and an inward focus has been key to our survival for millennia. After all, there’s a reason why Look Out for Number One has been a rallying cry that’s stood the test of time.

That said, it’s crucial that we get comfortable with this setup in order to build off it. For in a sharing economy, contradictions are opportunities to iterate. They’re opportunities to take an inward-focused concept and apply them in a way the does greater good.

So, we must look beyond black and white. We must consider the silver linings our choices provide in this strange, contradictory world.

When there are none, we should move on. But otherwise, we should feel obligated to act.

For sometimes, what seems like a worthless choice can actually do a world of good.

The Trials of Our Time

About a week ago, I wrote a blog article that was meant to be shared here. The article was about Dallas — how it is so often misunderstood, how what makes it special is hidden behind the stereotypical perceptions held by outsiders and whether all of this even matters.

I believe in every word of that article. But it will have to wait for another time.

As I was reading over my completed draft of that article, a nightmare was unfolding less than 20 miles away, in the heart of downtown Dallas. A peaceful protest against police brutality was suddenly ambushed by a barrage of bullets, aimed by a sniper at the officers on duty in the area. Five officers lost their lives in the attack, while seven others — plus two civilians — sustained injuries. It was quite possibly the most heinous incident in Dallas since President Kennedy was gunned down at Dealey Plaza — a mere two blocks from the most recent atrocity — more than 50 years ago.

The past few days have, admittedly, been difficult for me. I reckon they’ve been difficult for all North Texans. And while I’m no stranger to the emptiness left by senseless tragedy — having been in New York City on 9/11 and having covered some awful stories during my news media career — the pain I feel is different this time, in part because the situation is so much more complex.

You’ve probably heard commentary from countless angles over the violent events of the first week of July 2016 by now. This is not another piece of angled commentary. It’s a narrative I hope is shared by so many who are deeply disturbed by these recent events, but are also weighed down by the balance of perspective.

Given the perilous state of our society, I feel it’s my duty to share this narrative here.

***

“Dallas is a city that loves.”

Those words from Dallas Police Chief David Brown the day after the city’s most heinous attack in decades.

He’s right.

Despite the bad rap Dallas gets elsewhere — including the derogatory “New York of Texas” moniker given by the folks down I-35 apiece — this is one of the friendliest places I’ve ever called home. Strangers are genuinely kind and respectful, and friends have treated me like family.

While Dallas’ official tourism slogan is “Big Things Happen Here,” I’ve long thought it should read “Your Life Matters Here.” Aside from New York, I’ve rarely seen a more diverse and inclusive region; in fact, I personally feel Dallas is more openly diverse than Miami — a city that considers itself “The Gateway to the Americas”.

Of course, “Your Life Matters Here” brings us to the heart of the recent tragedies.

There is a define trend of African American men losing their lives at the hands of law enforcement in this country. It is real, it is disturbing and it must be properly addressed.

But the Dallas Police Department, by and large, has not been a part of this trend. Serving a city that, despite its welcoming attitude, is far from perfect — a city that still features its share of bad neighborhoods and violent crime — the department has made great strides to fulfill their duties without creating a culture of racial prejudice displayed in Ferguson, Saint Paul, Baton Rouge and even New York.

But that didn’t matter to one former member of the U.S. Army, a man who looked down at white and Hispanic men in badges and saw red.

He didn’t just take the lives of five men who were doing their job by protecting a group of people who were protesting atrocities committed by their own profession, he took the lives of five North Texans. Men who had families. Men who made plenty of sacrifices just to join the police force. Men who truly cared about the community they served. Men who would stop pro athletes to take a photo with them, just as other North Texans would.

Heck, some of the men and women he targeted had stopped to pose for pictures with the protesters momentsearlier. But that didn’t matter to this sniper, who had categorically picked them for extermination.

And that is why I take this incident so personally.

I am not black. I am not in law enforcement. So I don’t know what it’s like to have a continual target on my back. But the thought of being systematically categorized and eliminated based off something as basic as my skin tone or line of work is unconscionable. It’s a risk all my friends with darker skin tones face continually, and one that all my friends and acquaintances in law enforcement must be aware of as well. And it’s a situation that cost five officers — five of my extended neighbors — their lives.

We cannot let this continue. For if we do, we’re heading for a path of self-destruction. Coast to coast, the racial divide is as bad right now as I’ve ever seen it in my life. Distrust is high and violent confrontation has taken hold. We’re on the brink of a total meltdown that would annihilate everything good our society has ever stood for.

These are the trials of our time, and we must deal with them.

We must take the steps to come together and save ourselves. The angry voices on the edge need not take the lead; that’s the responsibility of those in the middle — the ones who care about fair treatment for all, but have done little to speak up so far.

We must put aside our differences and unite against hate, against prejudice and against this horrific violence.

***

As I turned onto the Woodall Rodgers Freeway the other night, I noticed the iconic Dallas skyline, decked out in blue in honor of the fallen officers. It was a beautiful, captivating sight — but also a melancholy one. Our city is certainly hurting right now, but we will endure.

Our society must make the changes needed to do the same.

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.

Our Most Important Attribute

The most important measure of a person is the size of their heart.

Think about it.

The heart is where compassion, empathy, selflessness and love flow. When we express these feelings towards others, we build a positive community and make the world a better place.

Yes, the brain is important. And there are other body parts that all have their importance as well.

But I’ll take someone with a big heart over all of that.

One of my favorite movies of all time is Forrest Gump, for that very reason. Forrest is a man with a subpar IQ, but a heart that’s off the charts.

And we see that heart on display constantly. When Charlie ambushes his platoon in Vietnam, Forrest risks his life time and again to retrieve his wounded comrades. When his shrimp boat business takes off, he insists on giving Bubba’s mother her full share. Forrest never gives up on Lieutenant Dan or Jenny, even when others do.

It’s because of all of these actions that Forrest’s line late in the movie — “I may not be a smart man, but I know what love is.” — has such great resonance. So simple, but so poignant; Forrest has proved this point throughout his life.

We should all strive to be like Forrest Gump. To share our heart with others and positively impact their lives. For it will not only positively affect our lives in return, but it will also change the world.

During this season full of friends, family and faith, ask yourself one question:

How big can my heart be?