Tag: damage

The Burden of Ignorance

In January of 1995, two men strode into some Pittsburgh-area banks and robbed them at gunpoint.

The robbers made off with roughly $10,000 in cash. But they weren’t exactly modern-day members of the Dillinger Gang.

Neither man concealed his face during the crime spree. Instead, each doused themselves in lemon juice – believing it to render them invisible.

They weren’t, of course.

Bank security cameras offered up clear images of the criminals in action. And they soon found themselves behind bars.

In the interrogation room, one of the robbers – McArthur Wheeler – offered up the following excuse to bemused detectives.

But I wore the lemon juice! I wore the lemon juice!

Wheeler’s explanation, absurd as it was, became Exhibit A for a newfound psychological phenomenon – The Dunning-Kruger Effect.

As I’ve written before, The Dunning-Kruger Effect proclaims that those who are the most confident in their performance are all too often overconfident.

It leads to people making idiotic decisions with delusions of genius. And those decisions – like covering oneself in lemon juice and robbing a bank – can turn into amusing stories.

But the collateral damage behind the headline? That’s no laughing matter.

When you’re dead, you do not know you are dead. It is only painful for others. The same applies when you are stupid.

Ricky Gervais uttered these lines as a joke. But he was onto something.

Wheeler and his accomplice were certainly stupid when they robbed those banks while doused in lemon juice. And they got what they had coming to them – namely, years in prison.

But the collateral damage was not so neat and tidy.

Anyone in those banks that day likely felt traumatized by the brazen robberies. Anyone outside of the banks felt obligated to look around for the suspects, after their faces popped up on a Crimestoppers poster. And ultimately, the criminal justice system felt strained by the plea deals and sentences the incident required.

This is the burden of ignorance. When it bursts into the open, blind stupidity can cause an unwieldy mess. And others are saddled with the mop and bucket.

This pattern can be insidious.

The accused might grasp that they’ve done something wrong. But if they’re too ignorant to understand why their actions sparked catastrophe, they stand little chance of making better decisions moving forward.

They’ll keep stepping in it, again and again. After all, it’s hard to avoid what you don’t understand.

All the while, those affected by these transgressions seethe in their discontent. They ostracize the ignorant to put distance between themselves and the next disaster.

Fissures grow through this process. Polarization and resentment fester.

And we find ourselves on a road to nowhere.

Intelligence is a gift. But it’s also a skill.

I know this as well as anyone.

Growing up, I knew I was a smart kid. I got good grades in school. I easily recited statistics from memory. I read books in my spare time.

Yet, I was ignorant about using my gift. I struggled with social nuances and with other everyday activities.

It was only through experience that I was able to hone my intelligence. To apply it to life’s intricacies. And to thrive.

This journey took years to crystallize. But once it did, it spurred my ethos.

Be present. Be informed. Be better.

I’ve committed to following these three principles for quite some time. But I realize they contain a massive blind spot.

These principles, you see, say little about how to deal with others. Particularly those who might unwittingly throw a banana peel in my path.

My instinct has long been to wall them off. To protect myself from bearing the burden of ignorance whenever possible.

But such a strategy does me little good. It leads me to elevate myself over the ignorant, and to judge them with disdain. All while remaining at risk of their shenanigans.

My circle gets smaller through this process. And as exclusivity grows, so does disassociation.

Eventually, I’m the one who’s ignorant. Not for a lack of intelligence, but for a lack of real-world context.

It would be far better for me to extend an olive branch to those I seek to avoid. To teach, to coach, to mentor. To lead both with the context of example and with a vocalized compassion.

Such actions would provide the misguided the same opportunity once afforded to me. An opportunity to grow beyond naivete, and to avoid disastrous missteps.

There’s no guarantee that everyone would see the light. But if I keep the door closed, no one will.

So, I’m pledging to do better going forward. But such a commitment can only go so far.

Don’t bring me problems. Bring me solutions.

Some version of this phrase has been uttered by just about every executive in the history of business.

The implication is simple – airing problems without antidotes only causes them to proliferate. It wastes time, it strains resources, and it stifles productivity.

With all this in mind, we hesitate before airing professional grievances. We ensure we have a proposed solution in tow before sounding the alarm.

Shift the setting outside the office walls though, and it’s far different. We openly gripe about ignorance, without offering up any strategies to combat it. And we grow agitated as history repeats itself.

Why do we expect anything different? Ignorance can’t fix itself, after all. That’s the whole premise of the Dunning-Kruger Effect.

No, to flip the script, we need to take command. We need to lift the torch high and shine a light for the wayward to follow.

We must serve as a guide, not a gate. We must meet the ignorant where they are, and shepherd them to where they ought to be.

Such a shift requires humility on our end. It requires conscientiousness. It requires virtue.

This is no small ask. But the benefits far outweigh the costs.

So, let’s do our part. Let’s help cast off the burden of ignorance. And let’s lift our society into a more enlightened future.

It’s our move. Let’s make it.

Getting Whole

How long does it take your world to get rocked?

Sometimes, less than a second.

I was driving down the road not long ago, heading between work and my business school class. It was a mild, sun-speckled day, but appearances were deceiving.

I’d had a rough day at the office. And I was driving to campus to take a quiz I didn’t feel fully prepared for.

Somewhere in the middle lay some solace. As I plodded down Dallas streets bathed in golden sunlight, an episode of This American Life played through the speakers of my SUV. It was a rerun, but a compelling one — part murder mystery, part unexpected journey narrative.

As the episode neared its dramatic peak, I approached a green light. Then…

WHAM.

I felt something slam into the side of my SUV.

The airbags didn’t deploy. My vehicle didn’t veer off course. Yet, I instantly knew something was wrong.

By the time I was able to pull over to the side of the road, I could see that my vehicle was significantly damaged.

It turns out the driver of a pickup truck sitting in the turn lane to the left of my vehicle had decided to bail into my lane without warning. There was nothing I could have done to avoid getting hit.

Fortunately, I wasn’t injured. But I was still greatly inconvenienced.

As I got back in my SUV, I thought of all the new items on my to-do list. I would need to file a claim, schedule repairs and get a rental vehicle. All because of an accident that was in no way my fault.

While insurance would foot most of the repair bill, I would still bear the cost of lost time while getting everything back in order.

And until I was able to get my SUV into the shop, I would need to drive around with a dented door. I would carry the stigma of appearing too cheap to fix the damage or to too irresponsible to have avoided it in the first place.

During that time, I imagined a figurative bull’s eye on my vehicle — with other drivers judging me and avoiding my vehicle as much as possible.  I felt vulnerable and ashamed.

Why did I feel this way? The answer lies in my core tenets, particularly when it comes to responsibility and ownership.

My SUV is the most substantial item I own. It’s also the biggest purchase I’ve ever made.

As a control enthusiast, I feel compelled to protect that investment. I’m obsessed with keeping it out of harm’s way.

This is why I pay extra to park my car in a covered spot. It’s why I drive with extreme caution in bad weather. It’s why I leave a buffer between my vehicle and nearby ones as much as possible.

But of course, protective measures only go so far. The open road is full of risks, from falling objects to aloof drivers. Danger lurks around every turn.

So, when I find myself in harm’s way, I latch onto a new obsession. That of getting whole.

I focus all my attention on what it will take to get things back to normal. As if the mishap had never happened.

And if someone else is liable for the damage incurred, I see to it that they incur the costs.

Call it my pound of flesh moment. Or whatever else you may. But when things go sideways, getting whole is my entire objective.

I’m not sure how healthy this thinking is.

After all, bad things will happen to all of us in life. Things that are inherently unfair and a lot worse than damage to a car door.

When these mishaps occur, the primary focus should be on moving forward. Getting whole is a secondary concern, as it might not be a feasible proposition.

For instance, if we were to suffer a debilitating injury, we might never fully recover from it. Yet, life must go on. We must move forward, even if we do so in a compromised fashion.

I grapple with this dichotomy as I face milder crises in my life. Is it truly worthwhile to expend the energy needed to erase the dents and scratches life can add to my body or my possessions? Am I breaking my own rule by chasing perfection?

Perhaps. Perhaps not.

What I do know is this.

I will keep trying to remain whole as much as possible. To cut out risk and limit instances of my own liability.

And when misfortune strikes — when, not if — I will be resilient. I will focus on getting back on the horse as steadfastly as possible. And I will keep moving forward.

That, in its essence is what getting whole is all about. About taking that hit and keeping on moving forward.

That is where I was, quite literally, in the aftermath of my car accident. But really, it’s where I’ve been throughout the peaks and valleys of life.

And so have we all. It’s what makes us stronger.

Let’s keep that momentum going. Let’s keep plowing forward in the face of adversity and challenges. Let’s do what it takes to get whole.

We’ll be better for it.

Why I Abolished Hate

There was a time when I used the word hate.

It was generally in the context of a sports nemesis or a food I didn’t particularly care for. At times, hate would describe a thoroughly miserable activity, or my feelings about history’s most twisted despots.

Hate was a brief, yet definitive word — four letters with the bold power of a Chuck Norris roundhouse. It aroused emotion, displayed conviction, and demonstrated an uncommon strength of descriptive purpose.

It was the perfect word to describe, say, the Florida State Seminoles — the archrivals of my beloved Miami Hurricanes. Every time their fans celebrated a touchdown during my time in college — regardless of the opponent — I would feel sick to my stomach.

Hate remained in my lexicon into adulthood. If something really upset me, that four letter word became my go-to descriptor as I rehashed the incident over late night drinks with friends.

But recently, I realized the error of my ways, and I decided to make a change.

Now, hate is no longer in my vocabulary.

***

You see, hate is like gasoline. It boldly fuels any discussion it’s injected into — and it can quickly burn out of control.

When we say we hate something, we wish ill will upon it. Worse still, we wish pain and suffering upon it. The more we fixate our mind on these desires, the more dangerous they become.

Eventually hate can consume us, to the point where we become unbalanced and irrational. It’s at this point that those blinded by hate can cross the line from desiring the suffering of others to actually delivering it — causing shock, horror, pain and even more hate.

It’s a devastating, destructive cycle.

***

In the wake of the deadliest shooting in our nation’s history —one where someone used his contempt to deprive dozens of people of the most fundamental and precious thing they had — it’s time we think about the ramifications of hate.

The aggression, the senseless tragedy hate brings about — it’s simply unacceptable.

And it’s something we can prevent — by ridding ourselves of the sentiment in the first place.

We may not always identify with each other — I don’t personally identify with the LGBT community, the black community or the community of Florida State Seminole fans, for example — but we can still accept each other through our differences. We can at least find common ground there. We can, and we must.

This is why I abolished hate. This is why I sternly remind others that hate is a strong word whenever I hear them using it.

But it can’t start and end with just me. Everyone needs to pitch in.

We must abolish hate. Our future depends on it.