Tag: exceptionalism

On Adequacy

The image speaks volumes.

I’m standing on a racing podium, displaying my silver medal. Beside me are the gold and bronze medalists. We all look happy, but my smile is the most radiant.

I’d headed to the starting line of this race with a clear objective. I wanted to traverse the 10-kilometer — or 6.2 mile — distance in under 40 minutes.

It was an audacious goal, one that required equal parts speed and endurance. The fact that the race was occurring on hot summer morning — and that I’d been battling an injury in the week prior — only made this mark more difficult to attain.

But against all odds, I’d persevered. I started out the race briskly, settled into a steady pace, and survived the final couple miles.

As I crossed the finish line, the clock read 39:54. I’d set a personal best for this distance.

Mission accomplished. Well, sort of.

You see, my finishing time wasn’t atop the leaderboard on this day. In fact, I wasn’t even in the top 10 of all racers. And when it came to my division — the subset of male racers who were around my age — my performance was only second best.

That’s why I was holding a silver medal on the podium, rather than a gold one or a winner’s plaque. I’d earned those in other races — either for overall performance or standing in my division. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for similar accolades this time.

But I wasn’t going to let my standing impact my mood. I’d done my best on this day, and I’d proved my adequacy in the wake of some tough competition.

I had everything to smile about.

It’s good enough for government work.

I was dumbfounded when one of my high school teachers stated this to my class.

The solution he’d posited on the whiteboard was not quite complete. It was maybe 90% to the point of where it should be.

Why call it a day there? And why smear the government like this?

Clearly, there was much for me to learn about the ways of the world. And I needed to rid my mind of its utopian perceptions.

In the classroom, achievement was graded on an A to F scale. Expectations were clearly defined, and it was my responsibility to attain them.

If I paid attention, completed assignments, and studied diligently, I’d find the rewards of the winner’s circle. Sparkling grades, the praise of my teachers, a chance to continue my studies at a prestigious university — they were all possible if I just did the work.

Adequacy was everything in this environment.

But in the world outside the classroom windows, things were far murkier. There was no framework of expectations. There was only a bar to clear — one that could be set higher or lower at will.

The government, in my teacher’s telling, set that bar lower. There was too much bureaucracy in play to demand a culture of excellence.

But other corners of society were more akin to an Olympic high jumping competition. People could set the bar higher and higher, until they were leaping halfway to the moon.

The context was established by the pace setters, the winners, the high-fliers. Doing an adequate job in this environment would earn you precisely nothing.

It was a hard lesson to take in. In fact, I’m still wrestling with it today.

I tried so hard and got so far. But in the end, it doesn’t even matter.

That refrain is the centerpiece of Linkin Park’s hit song In The End – which was playing seemingly everywhere during my teenage years.

I found those lines needlessly dark and brooding back then. After all, this was the land of opportunity, and my future was bright. Why should I think my hard work would go for naught?

But now, I feel a kinship with them.

You see, I’ve attained quite a bit in my adult life. I’ve embarked on a career, left it, and built another one. I’ve increased my net worth, grown my social circle, and expanded my knowledge base.

I’ve shown adequacy at every turn. And I’ve taken every opportunity to demonstrate my competence.

But what has it gotten me?

Far less than I’d anticipated.

According to my teenage logic, I should have been well-established by now. I should have already reached a higher standing in my professional field, with my own piece of land to call home, and enough in the bank account to be perpetually comfortable.

But instead, I’m hearing Linkin Park in my head, over and over.

Some of this has to do with the era I’ve come of age in. Economic turmoil, a pandemic, and rapid technological innovation have scrambled the deck more than ever before.

But I believe a more specific shift is at play. One that rejects adequacy in favor of exceptionalism.

Now, to be clear, the allure of the exceptional has always been there. But with the world more interconnected than ever before, it’s now easier to find unicorns. And the risks of settling for anything less are dauntingly steep.

This presents quite the problem for the adequate.

Indeed, in every corner of my life, I feel like I’m in a silent auction with moon jumpers. I can put in my best effort and prove my adequacy. But there will inevitably be someone with more means, more accolades, and more abilities to seize that which I am striving for. Someone I cannot see or size up. Someone I will only hear of after the fact.

There is no silver medal for me to claim. There is nothing for me to do.

There is only me standing on the podium in the wind. And the smile on my face is gone.

I sat on an upholstered chair in a wood-paneled office next to the school gym. The baseball coach sat across the table from me.

He got straight to the point.

I’m sorry. You didn’t make the team.

Those seven words stung, no doubt. I’d yearned to be a pro baseball player for years. Now, I wasn’t even going to have the chance to suit up for my sophomore year of high school.

But I can’t say I was all that surprised.

I’d done a few good things the prior season, and I’d given my best during tryouts. But others had attained more. They deserved a spot on the team more than I did.

I walked out of the room, hearing the door close behind me. And I started to consider which doors ahead might open for me.

I had good grades in school, and I knew I could write. Plus, I liked watching movies. Maybe I could be a screenwriter.

I followed this thread all the way into my first year of college. But after taking a few film classes there, I discovered that television was more up my alley. So, I switched my major to Broadcast Journalism and parlayed that into a job as a TV news producer.

Adequacy hadn’t helped me live out my baseball dreams. But it opened other avenues for me to move forward into self-sufficiency.

Now, all these years later, I’m unsure where to turn. The path forward to the next era of my life seems to be reserved for the unicorns, the invisible exceptionalists. I have no guidance on what’s needed to reach their level. And I have no alternative avenues to get me to my destination.

Adequacy has led me to a dead end. And I’m stuck in the cul-de-sac.

There seems to be no simple path out of this morass. But I won’t give up.

I’ll keep trying my best, giving my all, and proving my adequacy at every turn.

Hopefully someday that will be enough to get me through.

The Double Edge of Reliability

How important is reliability to you?

Well, it’s pretty darn important to me.

I’ve hung my hat on being reliable throughout much of my life. I saw to it that others could expect me to show up  — both physically and mentally — and put in a full effort. Every time.

My life motto has reflected this ethos. Be present. Be informed. Be better.

My willingness to show up and dive in has helped boost my reputation as someone who could be counted on. Someone who could be considered steady. Someone who could do the little things needed to help propel the greater cause.

These traits are treasured in our society. They’re viewed as the building blocks of success — a perspective that has often proved as true in practice at it has in theory.

This is one reason why a proud to espouse the value of reliability. Why it’s ingrained in my mind as surely is it is in my soul.

Yes, reliability is a gift in our society. But to those who espouse it, it can also be a curse.

 

Nearly a century ago, a politician rose to head of state in Europe.

The ashes of World War I were still smoldering on the continent. Financial and political turmoil abounded. And into this void stepped this new leader.

The politician’s name was Benito Mussolini. The country was Italy.

Those well-versed in history know the rest. Mussolini was a fascist dictator. Il duce’s totalitarian reign resembled at times resembled a police state for his two-decade rule. As World War II brewed, Mussolini got in bed with Adolf Hitler and the Axis powers, ultimately sealing his demise.

Benito Mussolini was a terrible leader. A tyrant. If not for the mass atrocities committed by Hitler to the north, Mussolini might have been the name we referred to when speaking of evil and infamy.

Yet, look at Mussolini’s reign from a different angle, and another word describes il duce quite well.

Reliable.

Mussolini came to power after years of factionalism had fractured Italy. Although the country was a monarchy prior to World War I, regionalism dominated over a national identity. The gap between rich and poor was striking — so striking that many Italians had moved to America in hopes of a better life. And the Mafia corrupted power at the local level, spreading fear and exacerbating inequality.

In short, the nation was unstable.

After Mussolini’s March on Rome, Italy became reliable. Factionalism was wiped out, often by brute force. The Mafia was stripped of its teeth. And things were so efficient that a joke started making the rounds: Mussolini makes the trains run on time.

The lesson here is stark. Reliability without context is not always a good thing.

Here in America, we despise fascism. More than 70 years after Mussolini’s execution, we speak of the dangers of his ideology. In a land built on liberty, there is no room for a My Way Or The Highway edict of rule.

No, reliability is more of an underhanded concept here. One enforced by the weight of expectation rather than the barrel of a gun.

Reliability is subtly woven into the narrative of the American dream. The narrative that exclaims Show up, work hard and good things will happen.

Yet, that narrative is more mirage than reality.

For our society is one transfixed more by flash than by substance. We notice what is exceptional more than what is reliable.

Many of our most powerful leaders — of industry, policy and influence — got to their destination by being outstanding in their field in some capacity. They didn’t get there simply by being reliable.

In fact, reliability is often a flaw for the most powerful. Disciplined, unrelenting consistency in all facets of their role is often lacking.

This is why there is so much turnover at the top of corporate ladder. This is why politicians are so mistrusted. This is why even elite athletes see their fair share of struggles in the limelight.

We see signs of this delicate balance throughout our culture. Go see a superhero movie, for instance, and you’ll likely find the main character has flaws that equal their exceptional talents.

The message is clear. Exceptionalism can take you the extra mile, warts and all.

This is a problem for those who strive for reliability rather than cultivating exceptional talents. And it’s a disaster for those who have all the intangibles, but nothing to make heads turn.

Those who bank on being reliable might not see their deposit guaranteed. They could find themselves taken for granted by those with more power and influence. Or exploited by those who embark on their self-serving quests for stardom — quests that can go a lot further when there’s someone else doing the dirty work of consistency.

In fact, it could be said that a focus on reliability in our society benefits others at the expense of ourselves. Our family, friends, colleagues and supervisors can count on us, and that gives them peace of mind. Yet, we are confined to our promise of consistency, with no mercy from those same stakeholders if we break that bond.

The pressure ratchets up. The burden gets heavier. And soon we find ourselves confined to a prison of our own making.

I have seen this in my life and in my career.

There have been times when colleagues have taken advantage of my reliability to further their own objectives. There have been times when those around me have capitalized on my team-first attitude to avoid putting in their fair share. And there have been times when my perception as The Reliable Choice has barred me from access to new opportunities.

Each and every time, I found myself left behind as others got ahead through achievement or omission. Each and every time, the burden upon me grew, with no sign of relief on the horizon.

Others have not always taken these actions with malice. Most of the time, they ‘ve subconsciously used me as a crutch — my ethos to show up and put in the work acting as a security blanket for their needs.

Yet, regardless of intent, I still ended up with the short end of the stick.

I am not bitter or vengeful about these incidents. But as I’ve matured, I’ve learned to be transparent about them — for self-preservation purposes, if nothing else.

For I’ve learned that positioning oneself as reliable is as destructive as it is altruistic. That providing such a latent value makes it all the more convenient to get passed over.

I now know that I must provide value elsewhere, either by exposing my differentiating talents or finding new ones to cultivate.

This is one of the reasons I started Words of the West. As someone who’s long taken to writing the way ducks take to water, I craved somewhere to hone my talents in a manner that benefits those around me. This forum provided the outlet I needed for this mission.

I stuck to my trademark reliability — I’ve shared a weekly fresh article here for nearly 200 weeks in a row. But Words of the West is about the meanings conveyed in my writing more than the schedule of when they’re released.

Or perhaps it’s a little bit of both. The gravitas of the written word can be a gift. When that gift can be both anticipated and enjoyed, it can become a delight.

A delight for me as a writer. And — I hope — a delight for you, the reader who has so graciously taken the time to hear what I have to say.

This is how we can win with reliability. By layering it beneath something of greater notoriety. By making it the foundation for something that commands attention.

The ability to turn heads is a feat of strength in today’s world. The ability to turn heads consistently is a superpower.

When we make ourselves reliably extraordinary, we can soar.

What are we waiting for?