Tag: culture

Embedded Insecurities

It’s a three-story building.

Tan brick facades. Double-hung windows. A distinctly 1920s look.

On each of the edifice’s four sides, a set of doors provide entry. Above them, four Roman columns support a structure holding a modest clock.

The building is quaint. Not majestic.

And yet, it’s of great historical importance.

This building, you see, is the Old Collin County Courthouse. It sits in the center of a leafy square in downtown McKinney, Texas. A bevy of shops and restaurants surround the square in all directions.

Long before Dallas’ suburban sprawl overtook McKinney, this was the heart of Collin County. It’s where residents would gather to conduct business and gather supplies. It was a gathering place.

That spirit is still alive in the shops and restaurants surrounding the square – a refreshing oasis from the strip malls so prevalent in greater Dallas.

It’s still alive 32 miles west in Denton, where another set of shops and restaurants surround the Old Denton County Courthouse. And it’s still alive 28 miles west of there in Decatur, where some modest establishments buttress the Wise County Courthouse.

In fact, a similar scene can be found in many of Texas’ 254 county seats. Nearly every town has its county courthouse – or former courthouse – on a square, with shops and eateries around it.

The same can be said for municipalities outside the Lone Star State. When I visited the town in rural Missouri where my father was born, it had the same setup as McKinney. So too have towns I’ve frequented in North Carolina, Nevada and Vermont over the years.

This is no coincidence.

The courthouse square setup is an American staple. And while its utility might have faded in the era of 15-gallon gas tanks and Walmart supercenters, its importance most certainly has not.

Did you hear?

Those three words represented the start of seemingly every conversation when I was in high school.

Gossip was the name of the game, and we all fancied ourselves to be Michael Jordan.

It would be harsh to fault us for these delusions. Adolescence is a near-impossible assignment. A quest to find the answers within while complying with the abstract ideals of coolness.

It’s confounding mission. One that could demoralize and distress even the strongest willed of teenagers.

And we were no match for it.

So, we shifted our gaze. We galvanized around the stumbles our peers made on the journey. The land mines that we could avoid, now that others had triggered the trip wires.

We gossiped.

Most of this gossip made the halls of my high school the old-fashioned way. Someone witnessed something – or claimed to – and shared it with the group.

But a nascent technology called social media had also found our cohort. And suddenly, some of the fodder for gossip was originating online.

Things, of course, are far different these days. Online rumors re now the norm, not the exception. And social media-based discourse has gotten so toxic that it’s spawned a new name – cyber harassment.

This has led to severe effects for modern-day adolescents. And those effects have led some states to consider bans on social media for minors.

I understand where this movement is coming from. Several young people have taken their own lives because of cyber harassment. It’s tragic, and I feel for their families and friends.

But I do wonder if the proposed bans will have the desired effect. For the root cause of the toxicity afflicting adolescent culture is not social media – or even the Internet itself.

It’s gossip.

And gossip is firmly rooted in our society.

Back to that county courthouse in McKinney, Texas for a moment.

The building sits mostly vacant now. Courtrooms and county offices reside in an expansive building five miles away.

The modern courthouse is surrounded by parking lots and a highway. A supermarket and several other stores sit a couple exits down the highway, along with a movie theater and an assortment of restaurants.

The highway is now the central corridor for McKinney residents. Anyone looking to pick up supplies, take in mass entertainment, or conduct official business sets their vehicle’s GPS for U.S. 75. The shops and restaurants around the old courthouse – while still frequented – are off the beaten path.

This modern arrangement has its advantages. Residents can gather supplies from store shelves, pay for them at a self-checkout kiosk, and load them into their car in the parking lot – all without making eye contact with another human being. Efficiency reigns supreme.

But at what cost?

You see, back when the highway didn’t exist and the courthouse was based downtown, the luxury of secluded shopping simply did not exist.

Anyone heading for supplies was going to have to head to the courthouse square. They were going to have to engage with the store clerk, even if just to hand over payment. They were going to see other locals milling about. And those other locals were going to see them.

Any misstep in this adventure would be harshly scrutinized.

Whispers would softly spread around town. And judgmental stares would brand the afflicted like a hot iron.

Yes, the gossip mill was as much a part of life as maintaining a vocation and putting food on the table. Commerce on the courthouse square took two forms of tender – dollar bills and embedded insecurities.

People measured their success not only by what they had, but how it measured up to others. The fear of inadequacy loomed large.

Treks to the courthouse square offered opportunities to disprove that notion. To put on airs, to act proper, to get a pulse of where one really was. And hopefully not to be confirmed as a pariah in the process.

These days, that style of commerce has faded. But if we think the associated demands have not, we’re kidding ourselves.

People are still dealing in embedded insecurities. They’re still keeping up with the Joneses and yearning to gain acceptance.

But now, they’re doing all this online. They’re depending on an unsavory place where judgement converges from all angles at warp speed.

Yes, everything from neighborhood forums to social media mom groups to websites like People of Walmart lives in cyberspace 24/7. And all of it turbocharges the courthouse square effect.

McKinney, we have a problem.

How do we solve the puzzle? How do we reconcile our desire for validation with the risks of critique-based abuse?

These questions have dogged us for a couple decades, if not longer.

Some have proposed attacking the riddle’s central premise. By ridding ourselves of embedded insecurities, by affirming that we are adequate and no one else’s perceptions are worth a damn, we can sidestep the strife entirely and live happily ever after. Or so they say.

It’s an appealing concept. But not a realistic one.

You see, embedded insecurities are not a bug of our society. They’re a feature of our existence. They’re hard-wired into our brains for a reason.

Like just about any other species, we rely on a group for security. Without the power of the pack, we are so much more vulnerable to so many threats.

We stand little chance of warding off these threat time after time on our own. Fight or flight only gets us so far.

So, we find sanctuary in numbers. We conform to shared rules and make ourselves presentable to masses. All while harboring anxiety about triggers for rejection.

Drowning out this impulse won’t cure us of its effects. It will only accentuate them.

No, the key is to channel those embedded insecurities. To balance those inevitable questions of adequacy with constructive answers. To openly engage and to grow from the interactions.

And to do all this away from cyberspace. Far afield from the trolls, keyboard warriors, and endless scrolls that do us no favors.

It’s time to engage with each other in public again. Human to human, with our five senses as a guide.

It’s time to pick up on cues – both verbal and nonverbal – and to adapt our behavior accordingly. To be honest without being cruel. To find a common denominator of acceptance, even with those we disagree with.

The courthouse square might no longer be the physical center of society. But its spirit still can be.

Let’s make it so.

On Transportation

On a chilly, muggy morning, I stood on the edge of a street in Downtown Dallas.

In my outstretched hand was a paper cup filled with water. To my left were dozens of runners, making their way down Main Street. Above me was a noisy highway viaduct.

I was grateful for the viaduct on this morning. For there was a chance of rain, and its cover would keep me dry.

The runners would also likely be grateful for a brief respite from the elements during their race.

But on most other days, what lay above us was a hot-button topic.

The viaduct, you see, connects two highways. One of them meanders through Dallas’ vast northern suburbs and continues for about 80 miles until it crosses into Oklahoma. The other connects Dallas to Houston, roughly 250 miles to the southeast.

When the structure went up in 1973, it was likely met with little more than a shrug. Development hadn’t reached this part of downtown, and the neighborhood that abutted it — Deep Ellum — was a slum. Stitching the highways together made perfect sense.

But now, plenty of activists want it demolished.

They see the viaduct as a divider, separating a reborn Deep Ellum from Dallas’ Downtown. And they think removing the highway will solve the problem.

Spoiler alert: It won’t.

The discussion over removing an elevated highway from Dallas is a local issue. It could impact city neighborhoods, as well as drivers traversing through town.

The story should begin and end there. But it doesn’t.

You see, this topic has gotten the ear of an activist posse based miles and miles from Dallas, Texas. A posse that seeks to replace urban interstates with parks, boulevards with bikeways, and side streets with pedestrian promenades.

This posse has zeroed in on several American cities as targets.

St. Paul, Minnesota. Kansas City, Missouri. New Orleans, Louisiana. Atlanta, Georgia. And yes, Dallas, Texas.

All these cities are far from this posse’s base. And yet, the posse sees itself as a savior meant to right the wrongs these municipalities endured.

The leaders of this activist posse point to an acknowledged fact. Highways have, in fact, torn apart city neighborhoods. But the proposed “cure” of effectively banishing all motorized transportation in cities is several bridges too far.

Hashing a universal urban future in the image of a Brooklyn hipster enclave is not righteous. It’s not idyllic.

If anything, it’s shortsighted and delusional. It’s opening Pandora’s Box to a parade of unsavory side effects.

Let’s look at why that is.

If you were pressed to choose one word that defines America, what would it be?

Freedom? Democracy? Fireworks?

All are good choices. Yet, I wouldn’t pick any of them.

My one-word definition of America is Movement.

It’s been at our core from the start.

Movement was behind Daniel Boone’s Wilderness Road. Movement was behind Manifest Destiny and the Oregon Trail. Movement was behind the Transcontinental Railway, the jumbo jet, and — yes — the Interstate Highway network.

Our willingness to uproot ourselves in search of better opportunities, better resources, and a better life is well-known. And the innovations spawned by this commitment transformed America from a fledgling nation into a superpower.

Transportation was part and parcel with this narrative. Indeed, many cities an America’s interior grew and blossomed with the advent of steamships and train tracks.

Cities like St. Paul, Minnesota. Cities like Kansas City, Missouri. Cities like New Orleans, Louisiana. Cities like Atlanta, Georgia. Cities like Dallas, Texas.

The advent of the automobile helped these cities grow ever further. No longer did homes and businesses need to be within a stone’s throw of the port or depot. The footprint could expand exponentially.

The incursion of high-speed highways eventually cut into this growth, of course. It divided some neighborhoods and left visible scars on the city grids.

But I would argue such disruption amounted to a setback, rather than a crisis, in these cities.

After all, these metropolises were forged by transportation. And now, the encroaching ribbons of blacktop provided its residents new opportunity.

Opportunity to get fresh goods from other corners of the country, quickly and efficiently. Opportunity to build a new house on a generous plot of land without sacrificing that steady job downtown. Opportunity to get away to that city, mountain village, or beach town without spending half the day on a crowded, slow-moving train.

You see, transportation is part of the culture in broad swaths of America. But it runs so much deeper than that.

Indeed, so many aspects of cities that the activist posse members loathe turn out to be more feature than bug in the wild. Urban sprawl, supermarkets, parking lots outside malls and sports arenas — these have value for the people using them.

Sure, such constructs create massive hurdles for those without sufficient transportation access in these regions. But those hurdles were, sadly, not caused by the advent of transportation. And as such, its removal will do little to level the playing field.

Why does all this matter? Well, let’s consider what happens when we remove modes of transportation from cities built upon them.

Let’s say we tore out a highway — such as that one in Dallas — and replaced it with nothing. Some of those scars on the cityscape might heal. But they’d be replaced by a fresh nuisance — gridlock traffic.

People are not going to suddenly uproot their lifestyle just because a highway is gone. If they’re used to traveling to — or through — the city center, they’ll keep doing it.

But with less room for all those vehicles, remaining roadways would get clogged up quickly as a result. And this would be a nightmare for everyone.

Travel times would increase. Emergency services would have trouble getting through. Trucks would face delays ferrying goods to stores.

It would look a lot like that view across the river from the Brooklyn hipster’s neighborhood. An endless parade of headlights and taillights. A cacophony of car horns.

Perhaps this is why some in the activist posse want motorized transportation banned. Shifting cities back to the good old days would seemingly make neighborhoods vibrant, while exiling the ills of transportation culture.

But there were no good old days for cities built on transportation. So, rewriting history will only serve to punish countless residents. It will force substantial sacrifices with only fleeting rewards in return.

It will backfire. Badly.

There’s a 5-mile path in Dallas’ Uptown neighborhood that I’ve moseyed down from time to time.

It’s called the Katy Trail, and it was built on an old rail line. It’s elevated over street level, providing a nice respite from the hustle and bustle of the city below.

The Katy Trail is just one example of an urban trail oasis. The BeltLine in Atlanta, Georgia is another. So is the River Line in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

I am thankful these trails exist. But I’m also glad the rest of the space in these cities doesn’t look like them.

There is a need for recreational activities in cities. And there is a need for vibrant neighborhoods.

But there is also a need for transportation. A need to get around town, and out of it. A need for people to get essential goods and services in a timely fashion.

Is it worth giving all that up so that some faraway hipster activist can live out their own idyllic urban fantasy? I don’t think so.

So, yes. I was grateful for that highway viaduct in Dallas once. I still am.

But more than that, I’m fearful of what might happen if it were gone.

Excess on Parade

The lagoon was massive.

The body of water filled a space the size of six football fields.

Around its edges, tourists milled about. Street performers did their thing. And fancy hotel structures towered over the water.

At first glance, this man-made structure seemed like a mistake. A waste of valuable space and real estate.

But then the music would start. The tourists would take note. And the hustle and bustle would fade away.

For a few majestic moments, the lagoon would transform into a majestic fountain, with water shooting up to 400 feet in the air. The experience would leave everyone watching in a trance.

Yes, the Fountains at Bellagio are about as unnecessary an attraction as there is. Gallons upon gallons of water housed in the Nevada desert, whose only function is pure spectacle.

And yet, they’re as intractable a part of Las Vegas as slot machines, neon lights and showgirls. The essential of all essentials. Something so iconic that even the strait-laced, reclusive business traveler — that would be me — makes a point to seek it out.

It’s excess on parade. And we can’t get enough.

About 800 miles east of Las Vegas, a billboard rises menacingly over the open plains of the Texas Panhandle.

It tempts drivers passing through Amarillo on Interstate 40 to stop at the Big Texan Ranch and try the 72-ounce steak.

Such a cut of beef carries a hefty price, even out in the heartland. But those who polish it off in one sitting – along with a few preordained sides — can have their check comped. It turns out there is such a thing as a free meal.

I love Texas as much as anything, and a good steak as much as anyone. I would seem to be the right clientele to take this challenge on.

But as I drove by this billboard, I was nauseated.

I thought back to my teenage years, when McDonalds would goad me into Super Sizing my fries for additional sweepstakes entries. I’d feel worse and worse with each bite, as excess calories filled my stomach and excess regret consumed my mind.

The Big Texan Steak challenge wasn’t worth it. I wasn’t about to take it on.

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But clearly, some do.

There’s a reason that highway billboard is there. Just like there’s a reason why there are fountains in the desert.

Excess on parade is a powerful magnet.

Excess has always been in our DNA.

This nation’s beginnings were essentially an agrarian revolt. A group of mostly rural colonists objected against taxes levied by a faraway monarch. They decided to go it alone instead.

Yet, the Founding Fathers sold a vision far grander. The reframed our fledgling nation as a beacon for liberty and democracy. It was quite the overstatement for the actions of settlers who were tired of paying the crown.

This expression of excess morphed into a rallying cry in the decades that followed.

We decided that expanding westward was God’s will, displacing native tribes and Mexican settlers in the process. We lionized the titans of the Industrial Revolution, even as the front-line workers at their companies toiled away in squalid conditions. And we focused our gaze on the biggest, the brightest, and the most extraordinary. Nothing less would do.

All of that led us to the present moment. Where we’re expected to step into boots two sizes too big and fill them with ease.

This is not the world we live in. It’s the world we’ve created for ourselves.

Excess on parade is part of the fabric. Consequences be damned.

From my couch, I watched with a mix of horror and amazement.

On my television screen was the United States men’s soccer team. The finest of the Stars and Stripes were taking on a Belgian side at the World Cup in Brazil.

Well, more like chasing the Belgians.

Indeed, the Belgian strikers and forwards had a couple of steps on the closest American defenders for most of the game. They would waltz unimpeded toward the goal, only to be stymied by goaltender Tim Howard.

Howard made a remarkable 16 saves in that game — a record for any World Cup match.

But it wasn’t enough. The Americans lost the knockout-round game 2-1 in extra time. Their World Cup quest was over once again.

I was baffled.

America had dominated the world stage at every turn throughout my lifetime — and for a generation before it. Our nation had outsize influence on both the global economy and geopolitics. It had driven pop culture trends. And it brought home the most medals in nearly every Olympic games.

Yet, the United States was an afterthought when it came to World Cup soccer. Our nation had never won the tournament — or even played in the championship match. And now, a country whose population was 96 percent smaller had outclassed the best soccer stars America had to offer.

The United States invested plenty in avoiding this outcome. The U.S. Soccer Federation had invested plenty into training and player development.

But it didn’t matter. Howard’s brilliance was the only protection against total obliteration on the soccer pitch.

As I stared on in silence, I started questioning the principle of Excess on Parade. How valuable was it anyway?

Consider one of Belgium’s culinary delicacies – Frites. The same dish that we like to Super-Size actually originated across the pond.

Over the years, Belgians have perfected the art of the Frite. But instead of serving up piles of it at a time, they put a sensible amount into a paper cone, and serve it with dipping sauces.

The Belgians favor quality over quantity. They don’t participate in Excess on Parade.

These same principles have made their way to the Belgian soccer pitch. Instead of going all-in, sparing no expense to build a title contender, the Belgians focus on perfecting their craft. On doing just enough for the moment, and doing it well.

It might not be flashy. But it gets the job done.

And more often than not, we don’t.

It’s time.

It’s time to shed the illusions of grandeur. It’s time to do away with spectacle for spectacle’s sake.

It’s time to say goodbye to Excess on Parade.

For this pattern wastes much and achieves little.

It does us no favors. And we needn’t kowtow to it.

So, let’s chart a new course. Let’s write a new chapter. One free of high-volume, yet full of substance.

This new path might feel strange and unnerving at first. But it will fit just right.

And shouldn’t that be enough?

On Smoking

When I was growing up, eating out usually meant one thing.

A trip to Red Robin.

I loved Red Robin.

I remember the chicken fingers and steak fries. The helium machine the staff used to inflate balloons for my sister and I. And one question the restaurant host would never fail to ask when my parent asked for a table.

Smoking or non-smoking.

The answer was always the latter. Even if it meant a 30 minute wait with two hungry and impatient children in tow.

I always found it strange that the other side of the restaurant — the one behind a pane of glass — was so empty, while we were forced to wait by the host station with only those balloons as entertainment.

Many years later, I found out exactly what I was missing out on.

As a young TV news producer, I would often go to the Buffalo Wild Wings in Midland, Texas to watch football games or grab a drink with co-workers. Whenever I did, an unwelcome visitor tagged along — cigarette smoke.

The Midland Buffalo Wild Wings didn’t have a smoking section. The entire place was the smoking section. The same went for just about any other bar or restaurant in West Texas back then.

So, after a night out, you would need to throw your clothes in the wash. Or else, you’d smell like a chimney for days to come.

I mention these memories because of how quaint they seem today. We live in a world where smoking sections in restaurants have gone the way of payphone. Which is to say they’ve all but disappeared.

Yet, the act of smoking has not.

I don’t understand the tradition of smoking.

How could I?

In my life, I’ve only ever smoked three cigarettes.

All were during my freshman year of college, when my poor decision making was at its zenith.

Frankly, I’m surprised that I even got to three cigarettes. Because I didn’t enjoy the experience anytime I lit up.

The thick tobacco smoke clogged my lungs, making me cough. With each drag, it felt like tar was constricting my airway. (Fitting, because tobacco residue is frequently called tar.)

I found none of this pleasurable. Frankly, I felt dirty inside and out once I’d disposed of the cigarette butts.

Even if I hadn’t despised the experience so much, it’s unlikely I would have tried to light up much more. Even in my college years, I had no desire to add a nicotine addiction — and its long-term health risks — to my repertoire.

After all, my family had a longstanding aversion to tobacco. There was a reason my parents avoided the smoking section at Red Robin like it was the bubonic plague.

My grandfather — the one I’ve written about extensively before — had a heart attack when my mother was 4 years old. Formerly a heavy smoker, he gave up the habit cold-turkey after that. Something unheard of in the Mad Men era of the 1960s.

On my father’s side, my grandfather is a longtime family physician. He knows too much about the dangers of smoking to have ever picked up the habit. To my knowledge, neither of my grandmothers have ever smoked either.

So, in an era where cigarettes were as popular as fashion or candy, my parents grew up in tobacco-free homes. And while my mother had a rebel streak in her adolescence, buying cigarettes by the pack was never part of the equation.

Two generations in, I grew up in a segregated world — smokers and non-smokers. The cultural war was in full swing. And I was raised on the tobacco-free side of it.

As I neared adolescence, that side closed in on victory.

The United States government sued the pants off of Phillip Morris — and won. Cigarette ads went into hiding. A mockumentary lampooned Big Tobacco and its lobbyists. And cities and states started to ban smoking in bars and restaurants.

A half-century after smoking was a cultural standard, society was largely smoke-free. And even though I dabbled with cigarettes in college, I had no desire to linger any more on the wrong side of history.

Yet, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Don’t call it a comeback.

Really, please don’t.

Years after the fall of Big Tobacco, smoking seems to be back in vogue.

Young adults who were toddlers when the government beat Phillip Morris are smoking Marlboros today. If not that, they’re taking a puff from their Juul e-Cigarette.

This has me perplexed, and more than a bit concerned.

For the formal manipulations designed to turn vulnerable young adults into cash cows for the tobacco companies have eroded. Gone are the neon signs, the magazine ads, and the ashtrays every 10 feet.

There is no good reason to assume our rising generation is getting duped into something dangerous. And there are only so many bad actors out there using peer pressure to get others to light up.

No, I believe the rise in new tobacco is part of a broader cultural shift.

For decades, young adults have wanted it their way, without compromise. But often, the intersection of society and logistics stood in their way.

It was hard to have a night out on the town without risking a DUI on the way home. It was challenging to connect with people based far away. And it was nearly impossible to speak out and demand a change in cultural values.

Even after needed change swept the country with civil rights legislation, societal values remained conservative. The old guard tradition of the working man and the picture-perfect family stood tall.

Yet, with the rise of the Internet and smartphone technology, much has changed.

Young adults can now connect with nearly anyone, anywhere. They can party until dawn and then hail a ride home with a stranger, using the computer in their pocket. And they have a megaphone that cuts through the static of tradition and allows their voice to be heard.

Young adults have it all. There’s nothing and no one to hold them back.

This is a good thing. It’s led to openness and change throughout society.

But that power does not discriminate.

So, if young adults want to vape from an e-Cigarette, or smoke a traditional one, no one’s going to stop them. Haranguing them on the risks is tantamount to restricting their freedom.

The issue is that the risks are real.

Nicotine is an addictive substance, no matter the form it comes in. And addictions are destructive.

Smokers risk their health — physically or financially — each time they take a drag. While that is their right and their choice, it is not solely their responsibility.

We have a chance to put a cap to this second wave of smoking. To curb the spread of e-cigarettes — and the slow creep of traditional ones — by indicating that such behavior is not desirable in our society.

It is on us to take responsibility. It is our duty to take these actions.

I say this not just because of my own opinions on smoking — those should be clear by now. No, I say this because we are the final hope to deal the final blow against the ills of tobacco.

The future is in our hands. Let it not slip away.

Acculturation Wars

Our nation is in the midst of a great battle.

Not one fought in a military zone, or in deliberated in a courtroom. But one borne out through bitter public discord.

That battle is over the future of our culture.

There are some who aim to protect the status quo at all costs. They see an influx of outsiders and an onset of changing demographics as a threat to culture as they know it.

There are some who aim to promote change. They see that same influx of outsiders and onset of changing demographics as an opportunity to further evolve our culture.

And then there are some who are in the middle. They welcome the influx of outsiders and onset of changing demographics, so long as some existing norms are respected.

I belong to that last group.

I live just outside of Dallas. Like many regions across the Sunbelt, the greater Dallas area —often called the Metroplex — is blessed with mild weather, ample land and an affordable cost of living.

These factors — along with Dallas’ central location — have attracted many companies, who have relocated to the region. With those companies have come many new jobs. And with those new jobs come an influx of new residents.

This has been a boon for the area. The influx of people and jobs have led to new housing, schools, restaurants, entertainment venues and infrastructure. The economy has grown accordingly, and opportunity abounds.

Yet, all of that change has come with a cost.

Many of the new residents feeding Dallas’ burgeoning economy have relocated from California. But while their address has changed, their cultural affiliation has not. This has led to a growing bubble of Californianism, deep in the heart of Texas.

The problem with this development is that Texans, as you might have heard, are a proud bunch. We have a rich culture steeped in heritage and tradition. And we don’t take it well when that culture is treated like a doormat.

So as more people flood in from the shores of the Pacific and redefine North Texas as California East, the tension builds. Don’t California My Texas stickers start appearing on rear windows of pickup trucks. Don’t Cali My Dallas becomes a rallying cry.

This is not to say that Dallas is entirely insular. I myself moved to the area from West Texas several years ago, and I’m not a Native Texan. Even so, I have been treated with nothing but kindness during my time in North Texas. And there are many others like me across the area who are not met with derisive car stickers.

So, what’s the difference? Unlike the recent swath of California transplants, I took heed of the existing culture in Dallas, and incorporated it into my lifestyle. I didn’t willingly stand apart.

This wouldn’t seem to be difficult. After all, I did come to Dallas directly from elsewhere in the Lone Star State. But, West Texas has a different culture than North Texas — out west it’s more western and rural. It took me a bit to learn the ropes in the Metroplex, but I kept a spirit of adaptability. Today, Dallas is as much as part of me as I am part of it.

It’s my hope that the wave of Californians in the area follow a similar path. That they respect the cultural norms and traditions found here in Texas. And that they work to incorporate that culture into their own, instead of remaining at odds with it.

On a broader scale, I hope that people who relocate to new areas across the country — regardless of their origin — follow this strategy. That they take heed of the culture that’s already in place, and work to incorporate with their own.

I also hope that those who already are in these communities are as welcoming to new residents who make this effort as my neighbors here have been to me.

When both new and existing residents work to bridge the gap, it can help alleviate cultural tension. It can also forge stronger community ties. Everybody wins.

Let’s take the middle ground. And end the squabbling once and for all.

The Millennial Problem

There are few things that annoy me more than being called a Millennial. While it’s true that I was technically born at the start of what is now considered the Millennial era, I try and dissociate myself from Millennial culture as much as possible. I do this because I find that Millennial culture contradicts my values and the essence of who I am.

Why? Well, like many critics, I consider Millennial culture to promote narcissistic, entitled, self-absorbed and childish behavior. As someone who believes in building a community upon principles of selflessness and connection, I find these behaviors to be a significant roadblock in obtaining that objective.

These prototypical Millennial behaviors can be explained, of course. In the most comprehensive critique of Millennial culture I’ve seen thus far, Simon Sinek makes the point that generation-wide failures of both parenting and education have helped shaped the characteristics of Millennials.

Sinek explains that by creating a system of placation — personified in the dreaded participation trophies that are increasingly common in youth competitions — parents and teachers have failed to extoll a crucial concept within the minds of a generation of young adults. Namely, that the world is not fair, and that nothing is just given to you in adulthood.

Of course, tell this to a savvy Millennial, and they’ll point out that innovators like Mark Zuckerberg and Evan Spiegel have gotten rich before finishing their college degrees. And while not everyone will create the next Facebook or Snapchat — social networks that have only accelerated the development of Millennial behavior — there’s no doubt that the age of technological disruption has made it more difficult for Millennials to believe that achievements must be earned gradually over time. After all, if these young Silicon Valley bigwigs can provide instant gratification — both for themselves and for the masses, through their products — why does anyone have to “Embrace The Suck” anymore?

Therein lies the fundamental issue with Millennial culture. Not only do many Millennials, to quote Queen, Want it all and want it now, but they also seem unwilling to accept the possibility that something must be earned, built or cultivated over time. In their mind, there’s always another “Life Hack” — or shortcut — out there to provide instant gratification. And if there isn’t one, there soon will be.

Quite simply, many Millennials believe there’s no need to draw upon the way it was. The way it is and will be is all that matters.

This break from tradition helps explain the unsavory narrative heaped upon Millennials by older generations — one that conveys them as lazy and petulant. And while I don’t fully agree with this narrative, I do have major issues with the Millennial perspective.

As the son of a history teacher, I believe that ignoring the lessons of the past is dangerous. As someone who has worked hard to earn a foothold in two different careers — instead of demanding the corner office and three months’ vacation on Day 1 — I find demands for instant gratification within social constructs to be deeply offensive.

Our life, our career, our friendships and relationships — each is a process. And it should be that way.

Each step in this process gives us an opportunity to learn and grow. And by holistically building trust and value over time, we’re able to contribute to our communities in ways that resonate.

So, while many critics ask that we kowtow to Millennial culture in order to bridge the generational divide in shared settings like the workplace — for instance, Sinek has proposed that laws and regulations be set for smartphone usage — my proposal is a lot simpler.

Stop babying Millennials.

Don’t bend over backwards every time a young adult demands instant gratification. Don’t let “me” come before “we.”

Call out behavior that can be perceived as lazy, anti-social or excessively narcissistic. Explain why some of the best things in life require patience and persistence.

Millennials are smart people, and good people. But high school is over, and it’s time to grow up. Given enough honest feedback and tough love, they will figure it out.

Are we willing to provide that guidance?

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.

The Constants In Change

Things ain’t what they used to be.

These days, it seems as if our world is changing at the speed of light. Fifteen years ago, the Internet was still a shiny new toy; today that toy is in our pockets, on our wrists and even accessible in Gabon. The way we travel and live is being reimagined by Uber, urbanization…and soon, self-driving cars. How we live, what we eat, where we shop, who we interact with (and when we make those interactions) — it’s all being revolutionized.

This is far from the first time that a cultural shift has transformed society. The renaissance, the dawn of capitalism, the inventions of the telephone, railroad and car — these have all led to seismic shifts of thought. But something feels different this time, arrogantly different. And frankly, it’s a bit frightening.

You see, the trail towards our Technocultural Revolution was paved by those who didn’t just break the rules of conventional thought, but instead blew those rules to bits. Tech giants Apple, Microsoft and Facebook were created by college dropouts — and opinionated college dropouts at that — who weren’t going to let the rules of the past interfere with their visions of the future.

As a result of this thinking, Apple, Facebook and Microsoft — along with companies such as Google and Amazon, which were actually founded by college graduates — took the world by fire, redefining norms not only for technology, but also corporate society. (Look no further than the proliferation of startups to see my point in technicolor.) This is all fine and good on a basic level, but the imprint these companies have left on our culture is a double-edged sword.

Too often today, there is a prevailing attitude that the past is wrong. As a new generation of adults settles into urban apartments — and eschews the car, cable TV and other amenities for smartphones with access to Netflix and Snapchat — they quickly wage war on the world they’re leaving behind. While suburbia might be inefficient, gas guzzlers might be bad for the environment, and red meat and gluten-rich might not be the healthiest dietary choices, this ain’t exactly the Jedi/Sith showdown our now-dominant culture is making things out to be. As a suburbanite with an SUV and a hankering for a home-cooked steak every now and then, I can attest that the old ways can work just fine. And countless people were able to meet, fall in love and get married long before the advent of Tinder.

This ultra-defiant attitude young adults display toward the norms of yesterday is obnoxious on its owns. But as it spreads to other sectors — such as commerce and politics — it becomes extremely dangerous. In the midst of the race to reinvent culture, the rising leaders of today would be wise to remember the past — even if only to avoid repeating it.

Take a look at what’s happening right now. Many young adults might not care that oil prices and Wall Street are in a tailspin — after all, their life choices have led them away from a dependence on both. But recessions affect everyone, irreparably damaging both lifestyles and futures. “Outsider” Presidential candidates (on both sides of the aisle) threatening to bulldoze and redefine our federal government might be seen as the saviors of a “broken” Washington, but let us not forget that this was exactly the scenario that led the the rise of Nazi Germany. (Think that’s too far off-base? We already have one extremely popular candidate threatening to remove Muslims and Hispanics from our nation.)

It’s naïve, selfish and shortsighted to think that throwing out the past in favor of the future will lead to the world singing Kumbaya around a campfire. The world simply doesn’t work that way. Instead, it’s important to have some constants in the process of change, as all that which came before us could help us better define what comes after us.

As we move forward, our collective boat should navigate the crests of change with the swells of constants. This way, we all may adapt and thrive, instead of capsize and drown.