Tag: compromise

Non-Negotiables

The list was written in pen.

Scribblings of messy handwriting on a notepad.

The title? Non-Negotiables.

Carmen Berzatto – the co-owner of a fictional Chicago eatery – compiled this list early in the third season of the acclaimed television series The Bear.

In forming this list, “Chef Carmy” drew on his experience working at the finest restaurants on the planet. Those establishments got their Michelin stars thanks to their consistently exemplary dishes and exemplary service. But those plaudits were rooted in a fanatical devotion to house procedures.

Berzatto knew that accolades come with discipline. And he yearned to instill it in his refurbished establishment.

So, he outlined his non-negotiables and declared them law.

This all went over like a lead balloon. The staff found the new requirements tedious. The financiers found them unprofitable. And everyone found it insulting that they weren’t consulted.

They all ridiculed Berzatto’s work as the scribblings of a mad man. And they refused to comply.

The dysfunction from this spat put the restaurant’s viability in serious jeopardy. Characters who once got along found themselves at each other’s throats, or talking behind each other’s backs. All while the service quality withered on the vine.

It was a jarring turn from the earlier seasons of The Bear. And many viewers were uncomfortable with the show’s shift in tone.

But I was not one of them.

I was captivated.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been stubborn as a mule.

I fretted over the particulars of each aspect of my life since before I could even talk.

As a child, I clung to preferred patterns for dear life. And I refused to even consider a compromise.

Fortunately, my parents were up to the challenge. They prepared meals that suited my narrow tastes. They moved heaven and earth to procure the Matchbox Cars I obsessed over. And, whenever I spent an overnight away, they packed the ragged sheepskin I slept on inside my travel bag.

As each year passed, I grew in knowledge and stature. Yet, I refused to budge on my non-negotiables.

This all came to a head one New Year’s Eve. A snowstorm had roared through the area, and I’d grown bored of sitting around at home.

I begged my parents to drive me across town to my grandparents’ house. My father hesitated, noting that the roads were slick and filled with drunk drivers.

But I was stubborn and insistent. I refused to take no for an answer.

So, my father relented to the treacherous journey.

We headed onto the highway, over a long bridge and through slushy side streets until we reached my grandparents’ front door.

As we arrived, my mood brightened noticeably. My non-negotiables had been honored.

But by the next morning, I came to realize the error of my ways.

My grandparents hadn’t stocked the fridge with my favorite breakfast foods, and it was still too dicey out to venture to the grocery store. Other out-of-home activities were also a no-go due to the weather and the holiday.

I was back at Square One. Stuck in a house with not much to do. Only, this wasn’t even my house.

The universe had conspired to shred my non-negotiables. To demand compromise from stubbornness.

And I could avoid that fate no longer.

I wish I could call that snowy New Years Eve a true inflection point.

The moment when I went from a high-strung boy to an open-minded young man.

But that’s not quite what happened.

In the years that followed, I remained as stubborn as a mule. But if my demands were truly infeasible, I would call an audible.

No longer would I trek across town during a holiday snowstorm. No longer would I starve myself if a restaurant was out of my favorite dish.

I was cautiously flexible. But only when I absolutely needed to be.

As such, it took a long time for me to evolve. To embrace the unfamiliar. And to acquiesce to the requests of others.

This still hasn’t fully happened. I’m well into adulthood, and my non-negotiables list remains quite long.

But I’m committed to whittling it down. And I’m working at it.

Partway through The Godfather, a group of men hold court at a long table in a hotel conference room.

The men are all outfitted in sharp suits that belie their aging features. They fill their cups with water, load their plates with grapes, and puff smoke from their cigars.

They seem alike, but they do not like each other.

You see, the men at this table head up the Five Families of the New York Mafia. They’ve been engaged in a turf war for months. But now, they’re trying diplomacy.

Don Vito Corleone – one of the film’s main characters – proposes a truce, leaving territories and trades the way they were before the bloodshed. But the other mob bosses object.

They claim that Corleone has hoarded all the corruptible politicians in New York, leaving them with no cover for illicit activities. And they state a desire to add drug trafficking to their racket – an activity Corleone staunchly opposes.

The discussion looks like a dead end at first. But the men keep talking, and eventually come to an agreement.

The Five Families can move forward with drug trafficking, but with strict rules of operation. And Corleone will cede some of his political protection to the rival bosses.

No one gets exactly what they wanted. But the bloodshed ends, and everyone is better off. Even if only for a moment.

It’s been more than a half century since The Godfather hit movie theaters. But this scene seems more important than ever.

For in our modern-day society, me has won out over we. Unilateralism is omnipresent. Cults of personality are stronger than ever.

It’s easy to draft a non-negotiables list and clobber others over the head with it. It’s acceptable to be as stubborn to a fault. It’s laudable to invite conflict and to never back down.

But it’s reasonable to do none of these things.

Indeed, the best path forward is paved in compromise. In giving up a bit of what we hold dear to gain a lot more.

This makes us more considerate, more palatable, and more well-rounded. This makes us better, while also lifting those around us up.

It’s a win all around.

So, let’s make the shift. Let’s reconsider what we won’t consider. And let’s leave the mule train behind for good.

The non-negotiables are open for negotiation. It’s our move.

The Middle

Why don’t you meet me in the middle? I’m losing my mind just a little.

A song featuring those lyrics rocketed up the charts a few years back.

The tune is catchy. So catchy, in fact, that the words within it can easily get lost.

But anyone who does pay attention to those lyrics gets a clear call to action. A call to find common ground and restore peace.

That’s what the middle has become about. Compromise and sacrifice in the interest of the common good. Sensible solutions to our most divisive problems.

It sounds too good to be true. And indeed, it is.

The one thing we seem to agree on these days is to avoid the middle at all costs. To make the cookie into a donut.

That’s a problem. A bigger problem than we might even realize.

The bell curve.

It’s an iconic sight. One that many of us have seen in math classes or business meetings.

The bell curve resembles a mountain. It’s a line that starts flat and then quickly rises before falling back to earth.

This symmetrical graph is the gold standard of statistical modeling. It shows the normal distribution of data. An arrangement with the highest amount of records in the middle.

This is not a hack to make mathematicians’ lives easier. The normal distribution is a real phenomenon, backed by science and human nature.

The middle is built to carry the weight. It’s the sturdiest portion of any unit. It provides balance and a semblance of security.

The edges, by contrast, are the most exposed to the risks of the surrounding world. And clustering at those edges can cause an imbalance of critical mass. It could send the whole unit flying into danger.

With this knowledge in hand, we’ve long complied with the rules of statistics. We’ve traditionally clustered in the middle.

Our political views would trend moderate. Our religious zeal would remain understated. Our fashion would be anything but excessive.

We wouldn’t have it all this way. But we would have enough to get by with a degree of comfort.

Recently, that has changed. Emerging technologies have allowed fringe viewpoints to proliferate. New megaphones have allowed fringe thinkers to influence without reproach. And a decay in decorum has lessened the impact moderation.

The incentives for staying in the middle have gone away. And we’ve abandoned that space accordingly.
But I don’t think the hallmarks of polarization are totally to blame for this development.

There’s a bigger culprit in the mix.

Fifty-seven channels and nothin’ on.

That was the title of a Bruce Springsteen song from the early 1990s.

In less than a decade, cable TV had gone from a novelty to a joke. And now, The Boss was nailing the punch line.

The ridicule was warranted. These were the earliest days of modern entertainment. And the experience was clunky at best.

Yet, the cause of this shift is as real now as it was then. And it can be summed up in one word.

Boredom.

America has long had a problem with the center of its bell curve. That peak of the graph is commonly known as the middle class. Its members tend to have a comfortable life, steering clear of trouble and strife.

Still, it’s a boring existence in the middle. And that boredom carries a long shadow.
Our society, you see, has long been built on stories. On heroes and villains. On adversity and triumph. On rags and riches.

These stories enthrall us. So much so that we seek to emulate them.

But it’s hard to do that in the middle.

It’s not that the center-cut life lacks the themes of a good narrative. It’s just that those themes are watered-down.

Adversity is not existential. Power is not boundless. And attempts to trumpet these themes come off as trite.

And so, those in the middle must make a choice. Carry on with their monotonous lives. Or hurl themselves toward the edges.

All too often, they choose the latter.

This is the thinking that spurred cable television. This is the thinking that subsequently caused the Internet to proliferate. This is the thinking that ultimately propelled social media into orbit.

It’s what’s led extremes to become mainstream.

Boredom is the enemy. And the middle is untenable.

My roots lie in the middle.

I had a middle-class upbringing, marked by comfort but not excess. My family was moderate in every sense of the word.

There wasn’t much to write home about. Home itself was seemingly enough.

The middle offered plenty of opportunities, and I availed myself of them. But once I graduated college, my journey took a sharp turn.

Like many, I’d been captivated by the American narrative. Of self-sufficiency, of initiative, of perseverance. And I thrust myself toward the edges on a Quixotic quest to attain it.

This quest brought me to Texas, and to a career that barely paid above minimum wage. Adjusting to my new reality was jarring, but I eventually found my way.

Not long after this I went back to the drawing board. I moved to a new city and pursued a new career.
Starting over would prove to be right move. But it put me at the bottom of a new totem pole, forcing me to climb the ladder.

I initially took on that task with aplomb. But eventually, that changed.

I came to realize that I don’t need to be top dog. I came to recognize that the reward is offset by the grind it takes to get to the top.

The middle is fine enough. Idyllic really. There’s no need to yearn for anything more.

And so, I’ve been living that mantra ever since.

I think we all can find value in my journey, and my subsequent epiphany. The grass is not always greener on the other side. Sometimes the middle turns out to be what we needed all along.

Might such realizations cure our polarized vitriol? Might they stabilize our society?

I’m not sure. But I do know that a shift inward would provide a start.

Why don’t you just meet me in the middle? There’s much to be achieved there.

The Gray

Ain’t no road too long, when you meet in the middle.

This sentiment comes from an old country song. And it’s seemed to fade with the passing of the years.

As time marches on, we find ourselves drawn to the edges ever more. We dig in our heels, fighting tooth and nail over our positions and beliefs. We take an all-or-none approach.

This has long been a hallmark of competition. But it’s become embedded in our views on work, parenting, politics, religion, and even behavioral norms.

All too often, we frame these hallmarks of life in two camps. Good and bad. Or right and wrong.

And when we do this, we claim that decisions on how to proceed should be clear and evident.

But we delude ourselves.

For the world is not just darkness and light. It’s brimming with shades of gray.

There are few more frustrating types of weather than fog.

Clouds suspended in the sky can bring us shade, rain or even snow. But when those clouds reach ground level, they bring nothing but trouble.

Fog impacts our ability to move about safely. And it fills the atmosphere with a drab grayish hue.

We loathe fog because it robs us of what we seek — vision and clarity. And yet, it encapsulates how to understand our world in its realest form.

For life is full of ambiguity. Of shifting conditions and patterns.

This constant flux can lead to differing perceptions. And those perceptions make it more difficult to find consensus.

Those clear choices we believe in are often not so straightforward. They might help us, but hurt others. They might reduce our risk, but also limit our reward.

The best way to combat this is to embrace the gray area between those choices.

The most prudent way forward is to accept compromise.

Compromise is difficult.

Many leaders have mastered this discipline. But, when left to our own devices, we fail to follow in their footsteps.

For compromise requires us to step away from our picture of how things should be. It compels us to accept a solution that might seem watered down.

Yes, we can get much accomplished by leaning in to compromise. But at what cost?

For when we give, we allow others to take. And when we relax our standards, we can slam the door on our own rationality.

If we make a concession only one time, it shatters our standard of equity. It opens the door for others to question our overall judgment.

After all, why would we budge this one time, and not another?

Questions like these are difficult to answer. They threaten our reputation. They leave us vulnerable.

And so, we’d rather leave them unasked. We’d prefer to avoid the subject of compromise altogether.

But easing our discomfort is hurting our progress. And that is only leading to more pain.

In times of normalcy, we can get away with all-or-nothing thinking.

But in a crisis, the veil is lifted on our shortsightedness. And this can cause a reckoning.

Suddenly, our ideals no longer work. In an instant, our economic and social conventions are thrown into freefall.

In the fray of such carnage, we feel we have two options. We can stick to our hardened principles, enduring the suffering that is sure to follow. Or we can jump ship to opposing principles, forcing us to revisit our core beliefs.

But a third option is available. Just as it always has been.

We can embrace the gray area.

We can compromise. We can adapt. We can do what it takes to rise to the occasion.

In the context of a pandemic, this might mean accepting a government handout — even if we are normally accustomed to earning our keep. Or it might mean assessing the risks of activities in public settings, instead of barricading ourselves at home for months on end.

Neither of these options are a slam dunk, of course. In a society so fixated on precedent and liability, these tactics can go against the grain.

But the alternatives are untenable. Sticking to our principles for self-sufficiency in such a crisis can cause us to go hungry or bankrupt. And fully abandoning our principles for safety means putting ourselves — and everyone around us— at risk for a different kind of pain.

We must be willing to make an exception. To find a compromise in the gray area between the extremes. This solution won’t be perfect, but it will be best suited for the situation at hand.

How far should we venture into the mist?

How much of the gray area can we endure before we lose our way entirely?

It’s hard to know for sure. After all, the gray is ambiguous by nature.

But there are two pinnacles that can guide us — our curiosity and the moment.

Our curiosity is the latent driver. It unleashes all the possibilities we might someday explore. Maybe these possibilities are our second best options. Or maybe they’re opportunities we’ve yet to explore. Either way, we’re not fully opposed to them.

And the moment is the impetus. It’s the spark that causes us to change things up. To break the hardened rules we’ve set for ourselves and explore the possibilities instead.

When these two forces combine, we explore the gray. We can test the waters without losing our identity. We can find the reward without enduring much of the risk.

This is evident in a crisis, when the path to our survival is paramount. But it should also be apparent in more ordinary times.

Indeed, our curiosity is constantly lingering. It’s just up to us to conjure it.

And the moment is within our grasp as well. The inspiration lies within.

We don’t have to wait for our lives to get turned upside down, just to shake things up.

After all, the world is constantly evolving. Why shouldn’t we?

So, let’s adopt a new mindset.

Let’s stop hiding behind rigid principles. Let’s drop our fear of double standards. And let’s live in a more adaptable and sustainable way.

The gray area is not no-man’s land. It’s the key to our destiny.

Let’s harness it.

All or Some?

Go for it all.

Think big.

Shoot for the stars.

We’ve all heard some version of these sayings throughout our lives.

Our society embellishes dreamers who become doers. It’s why we bestow fame, notoriety and power on our biggest achievers.

This is the reason we recognize Marissa Mayer, but not the engineers who have helped her innovate at both Google and Yahoo. (Unless one of them spews out  sexist comments in a viral memo, that is.) It’s we recognize Derek Jeter, but not Mike Hessman. (Hessman is the all-time home run leader in minor league baseball.)

The message is clear. We must be somebody to be viewed as successful. Anything less means we’re irrelevant.

So, we all strive for fame, fortune and notoriety. We set our sights on titles such as CEO or VIP. We dream of “making it,” simply for the power and prestige that destination provides.

But we fail to consider is what life at the top is actually like.

You see, power is intoxicating. This is why history is filled with examples of both its use and misuse.

It’s quite something to have the ability to control both our own destiny and that of others. But this ability comes with significant side effects.

When we take the reins and ride into the spotlight, we sacrifice our anonymity. Our actions are heavily scrutinized. Our privacy is compromised. And our decisions leave a trail.

Whether we become the President of the United States or a musician with a bigtime recording deal, a basketball star or a chief executive, there is no more hiding from the world after we hit the bigtime. There is no way to turn off the attention our notoriety provides.

For try as we might to get away, there’s always someone there to keep us honest — whether it be a journalist on a beat, a paparazzi photographer or an astute social media user.

That scrutiny can be far-reaching. It can even extend to our families and even impact the way we live our lives.

This is the cost of power, fortune and fame. It’s a cost we often fail to consider until we’ve made it big. And by then it’s too late. The mansion with the pool might be nice, but having to sneak out the back entrance to run to the grocery store sure ain’t.

Is this really what we want? Not a chance.

And it brings us to the crux of our paradox:

We don’t actually want it all. We just want some of it.

Sure, we want the glory and the adulation. But we also crave the anonymity that allows us to reset our batteries and spend cherished time with our loved ones in peace.

This setup is perfect for the middleman role. For the undersecretary. For the vice president.

But those roles are harder and harder to come by these days, and many of the ones that remain are getting replaced by machines.

So, with no ready-made outlet to turn to, what should we do to satiate our ambition yet save our sanity?

We should look before we leap.

We should do our due diligence. We should consider the tradeoffs of the spotlight long before we shoot for it.

And critically, we should ask ourselves the following:

Is pursuing our dreams worth sacrificing life as we know it?

If the answer to this question is yes, we can proceed with eyes wide open. We can round the bend prepared for the cage-rattling hit that awaits on the other end. The world-rocker that will send us into a new reality that there’s no turning back from.

If the answer is no, we can stop chasing a dream that we find undesirable. We can instead strive to make the life we know, love and are comfortable with the best it can possibly be.

Now, neither of these answers are wrong. But only one will be right for us.

All or some? The choice is ours.