Tag: experience

Youth and Experience

The ball wasn’t going where I wanted it to.

Sometimes it would slice. Sometimes it would hook. Sometimes it would skid across the grass.

With each swing, my frustration mounted. And a sense of dread started to sink in.

You see, I had come to this driving range near Fort Worth with good intentions.

I was unemployed at the time, residing in an extended-stay hotel, and applying to jobs left and right. But none of it was going well.

No hiring managers were willing to take a chance on a career-changer with no experience in their industry. Few even offered me an interview. And all the while, I was burning through my savings to fund my food and lodging.

I needed to get away from it all. To spend an hour or so outdoors, doing something that could clear my head. And spending $20 to hit a bucket of golf balls seemed like a sensible choice.

But now I was kicking myself.

My hand was chapped from gripping the golf club too tightly. My golf pants and polo were drenched in sweat. And my doubts about my golf game threatened to rival those of my employability.

Was I ever going to be able to earn an honest living again? And if I did, would I even be able to live life to the fullest?

If this day was any indication, the answer was no.

It’s been more than a decade since that afternoon on the driving range.

I’m now gainfully employed, and I’ve advanced in my career. I have a true place to call home and tangible financial stability.

At first glance, I have everything the younger me once craved. But looks can be deceiving.

These days, I could go to the driving range just about any time I desire to. The cost is negligible, and the stakes are low.

And yet, I don’t do that. I haven’t for years.

For the joy in that activity has dwindled for me. Just as it has for so many others.

Some of this change is physical. I don’t have the stamina to do as much as I used to. And when I do wear myself down, my body aches for days.

But the shift is also mental. I’ve lost the capability for unbridled glee. And the sensation of letting myself go now feels foreign to me.

For example, there was a time when I loved roller coasters. I would patiently wait in line for hours at the theme park, boldly lock myself into the safety harness, and cheer with vigor through each dip and turn of the track.

I was having the time of my life.

I still want to love roller coasters in this way. And occasionally I do find myself riding one.

But as my body is defying the laws of gravity, my mind is somewhere else. It’s staring down from a distance as I dip and twist and invert.

I’m just not there anymore. Not completely.

This, I believe, is the encapsulation of experience.

Growing long in the tooth can make a person somewhat jaded. It can leave one detached from the thrills of life. It can estrange one from the reckless abandon of innocence.

With those connections severed, the only way to relive such sensations is through one’s own memories.

And so, from my high perch of career and fiscal stability, I look back longingly at my younger self. The one who would venture out to the driving range to clear his head, even if such a trek was to end in futility.

The older me might have the trappings of a successful life. But not the inclination to get the most out of it.

A few weeks after my ill-fated trip to hit golf balls, I got a call back for a job application I’d submitted.

The hiring manager wanted me to come into the office for an interview. I accepted the invite.

The interview ultimately went well. While I wasn’t one to count chickens, I was relatively confident that I’d be offered the job.

So instead of microwaving a pouch of rice back at the extended stay hotel, I went to a Cajun restaurant for a proper lunch.

Sitting at the bar in my suit and tie with a plate of fried crawfish in front of me, I was hopeful. This was just the start of the pathway to success, I told myself.

I think back on that memory of myself more than I’d like to admit. For that young and scrappy version of me was looking unabashedly at who I am today. And yet, I find myself just as unabashedly staring back.

We’re both staring through the murky portal of time. Each wanting what the other has — and neither knowing it.

Truth be told, we each want to believe that there’s no inherent tradeoff between youth and experience. That gaining one doesn’t necessitate losing the other.

But given the inextricable truth of that tradeoff, we’re each looking to fill a hole in the current version of our life. For one, the substance to sustain the joie du vivre. For the other, the joie du vivre itself.

It’s devastating in a way. Even tragic.

But it’s the reality of my life. And I’m not alone.

Indeed, many of us look longingly at our former glory, just as we once stomped our feet yearning for our future to arrive. If we think hard enough on it, we can each find our own split-screen moment.

But should we? That’s open to debate.

There’s something to be said in leaving the past behind and living in the moment. On recognizing that what’s gone is gone. And on giving it no further mind.

But there’s also value in sustaining those memories. On recognizing the sensations we once had. And on gaining context from those recollections.

Such thinking might not eliminate the tradeoff between youth and experience. But it will provide helpful context in assessing our lives. It will also make us more empathetic and socially aware — which is always a plus.

The key to this, of course, is discernment. We must be able to glance at our youthful past without getting consumed by the memory.

That’s easier said than done. I’m Exhibit A as to how challenging it can be.

But I’m working on it. And I will continue to do so.

I hope I’m not the only one.

Sticking With It

I looked stared into the mirror, horrified at what I saw.

My reflection was there, alright. But there wasn’t much to it.

I could see my entire ribcage, bones shrouded by skin. My arms appeared meek and wiry.

I looked severely malnourished. And although I knew I wasn’t – I devoured pizza and Pepsi just as much as the next teenager – I also realized I needed to make a change.

It was a struggle helping my parents lug groceries into the house. And it would be a struggle driving baseballs into the outfield for the Junior Varsity team if I didn’t bulk up.

So, I hit the gym.

That first time in my high school weight room was an adventure. My Physical Education teacher gave me a brief tour and a primer on etiquette. Then he let me be.

I bounced from machine to machine, and free weight after free weight. I knocked out reps like I was running out of time.

It all seemed too mundane, too easy. And the sight of my ribcage in the locker room mirror afterward confirmed this feeling.

I needed to turn things up, I told myself. Maybe I’d hit the weights twice as hard the next day.

This plan seemed futile the next morning, when I woke up sore all over. All those rapid-fire reps had taken their toll.

Still, I returned to the gym to lift. That day, and the next. And the one after that.

And by the time spring arrived, that ghastly appearance in the mirror was no more.

I had notable biceps, pecs, and even abs. And that muscle mass has remained with me ever since.

The vibes are off.

I never heard this phrase growing up. But I hear it plenty now.

It seems to be a code word for young adults. A cryptic excuse for opting out of a gathering or obligation.

People will bail on parties, dinner dates, and hobbies when the vibes are off. They’ll skip out on a workday just because they aren’t feeling up to it.

This is not a new phenomenon by any means. But it’s more prevalent than ever these days.

There are valid explanations for all this. A mental health reckoning has changed the ways we address concerns of the mind. And advances in technology have reduced the essentiality of in-person interactions.

We no longer fear losing our job if we get to work 10 minutes late. We no longer feel we’ll be shamed for missing out on a social activity.

The vibes are off excuse provides legitimate protection. And it’s changed the way we operate.

Now, this shift has not always been smooth for everyone. Many businesses have had to reckon with strange demand patterns, as consumers determine whether the vibes are good or not. Many employers have been left to guess as to who will be reporting to work for them on any given day.

And all of this has led to plenty of anger and resentment. Practitioners of the vibes are off approach have been labeled as lazy, selfish, or untrustworthy.

I get it. As a proud purveyor of The Lunch Pail Mentality, I am no fan of half-measures.

But I’m not here to hurl another tomato at those exhibiting behavior.

My concern is far more existential.

Let’s return to that morning in high school when I woke up sore.

I’d encountered aching muscles and joints before. I’d spent a season on the school’s cross-country team, and I’d been floored by the flu when I younger.

But this was different. I woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a truck.

Getting to the bathroom was an adventure. Getting dressed was another one. Everything hurt like it had never hurt before.

There was no way I could lift weights in this state. I was sure of it.

So, when I got to school, I told my Physical Education teacher as much. He laughed heartily.

Oh, you can still hit the weights, he said. Fight through that soreness. It’s the only way you build muscle.

The teacher explained that no one walked out of the gym looking like Johnny Bravo. Not after a single session, anyway.

It would take repeat trips to the weight room to see results. It would take day after day of breaking down muscle and rebuilding it in bulk.

I would need to embrace the pain and endure the monotony to achieve my goals. And it started right here.

I could have walked away at that moment. I could have determined the prize wasn’t worth the process.

But I kept sticking with it. And I ended up attaining my goals.

I wonder sometimes how others might handle that same situation these days. I fear they’d walk away.

You see, there’s a 100% chance that the vibes will be off during a workout journey. Rebuilding our body after we intentionally broke it is an inherently uncomfortable process. And discomfort is something we’re now well versed in avoiding.

But the opportunity cost of this opt out is massive. Not only do we miss out on some needed muscle, but we turn down the sensation of delayed gratification.

When we pull the plug, we learn little about enduring the struggle to reap the rewards. And we don’t get to discover how much sweeter those rewards taste after the strife.

We cut ourselves off from an entire class of attainment. We limit our world of accomplishments to the low-hanging fruit.

That is the crux of my concern with this opt-out movement. It’s less about what we deny others, and more about what we deny ourselves.

Namely, the chance to grow. The opportunity to expand our horizons and diversify our knowledge.

We don’t get there by turning our back on the gauntlet. Or by burying our head in the sand.

We get there by sticking with it. By committing to the journey as part of the destination.

We get there by embracing the grind, no matter what the vibes say.

This quest starts as an individualistic one. But if enough of us follow the path, it can change the fortunes of our society.

We’ll open ourselves to greater opportunities. We’ll attain more of our potential. And we’ll all be better for it.

So, let’s commit to sticking with it. In the weight room and in countless situations outside of it. And let’s follow through on that resolution.

Our future lies in the balance.

Lessons of Bitter Medicine

I stood in the backyard practicing my batting stance.

I steadied the wooden near my shoulder. Then, I took a practice hack – and clobbered my sister in the face on the backswing.

Startled, my sister started to cry. Then she ran into the house to let our father know what happened.

It was an honest childhood mistake. My sister had stood too close to me. I hadn’t checked my surroundings before swinging the bat.

But I still got in trouble.

Some years later, the two of us were standing in the same spot in the yard of our childhood home. I had just demonstrated how to swing a golf club. Now, my sister was giving it a try.

She took a practice swing — and clobbered me in the face. Karma couldn’t have been more complete.

My father ran out of the house, concern washed over his face. He was frantic, speaking a mile a minute.

Are you alright? Are you bruised? Are you bleeding?

I was in my late teens by this point and well-conditioned to take a blow like this. So, I found his over-the-top reaction amusing.

I’ll be fine, I chuckled. I’m just an idiot. But I guess we’ve all learned our lessons about standing too close.

Indeed, we had. All too well.

That’s a bitter pill to swallow.

This adage has transcended the generations.

It’s been years – decades really – since the days of bitter-tasting medicine. These days, many pills are coated in sugar, mixed into gummies, or otherwise made to seem bland.

Yet, the phrase remains transcendent. Why is that?

I believe this has everything to do with the underlying message. We may have solved the Bitter Medicine Taste problem. But we haven’t found a way to avert unpleasantness itself.

This might not be as dire a concern as it seems.

After all, discomfort is an important part of our life experience. A strange rite of passage. A feature, not a bug.

Old school medicine carried the promise of healing if you could get through the bitterness first. Perhaps swallowing those new school bitter pills – accepting discomfort – can bring us the promise of some invaluable lessons as well.

I am proof positive of this idea.

I would not have understood the danger of black ice if I hadn’t once slipped on it and taken a spill. I would not have appreciated the value of sunscreen if I hadn’t once gotten sunburned. Such knowledge was embedded in the bitter pill I swallowed each time.

Now, this theory is far from absolute. When discomfort becomes habitual or continuous, its lessons wash away. Suffering is all that remains.

This is why teaching someone a lesson with a fist or a belt is a fool’s errand. Beyond being immoral – and in many cases, illegal – this act does little beside inflict vengeful damage upon its victims. It’s also why intentional self-harm – in all its forms – is nothing short of disastrous.

But, when we allow ourselves to spontaneously encounter discomfort, we often come out of the experience wiser. When we step out of our cocoons – accepting the risk of unpleasantness in the process – we tend to reap the benefits.

The pain of the bitter medicine is temporary. But the lessons are forever.

This is why I don’t regret taking that golf club to the face (although I still feel guilty for accidentally hitting my sister years earlier). The experience taught me what I would never have otherwise learned.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

As I write these words, we are nearing the end of another year.

The holiday spirit is in full swing. And we’re preparing to flip the calendar over once again.

A year is just a construct. One I don’t take all that much stock in celebrating.

Yet, this trip around the sun has been quite the journey.

I started the year by undergoing ankle surgery. The procedure relieved some lower leg discomfort that had turned into suffering. But it left me with a grueling rehab.

I learned much from this ordeal. I became familiar with the tribulations of disability. And through the process, I found out just what I was made of.

But even after I got my range of motion back, I wasn’t out of the woods. I was able to walk unencumbered once again, and I would soon be back to running.

But the injuries kept coming. A lower back bruise. Right knee tendonitis. A stress fracture in my left leg. An intercostal strain. A right hip flexor strain.

Some of these injuries were exercise-related. Others were the product of bad luck. All caused me more than a modicum of discomfort – leaving me wondering when I’d ever be back to “normal.”

But licking my wounds and ruing misfortune was getting me nowhere. So, I embarked on a new approach.

I started thinking of all these injuries as bitter medicine. As ordeals I’d need to endure to learn more about myself.

For years, I’d neglected this task. I’d focused on brain health, on expanding knowledge, and on honing decision-making. I’d also focused on heart health, making a concerted effort to stay in shape.

But the rest of me? I often took that for granted.

Who cared how my joints operated, how my bones replenished themselves, or how my muscles interconnected? I hardly noticed them when I was healthy. So, I felt little need to maintain their function.

It was only when things went wrong that I started to see the whole picture. That experience taught me how to properly take care of myself from head to toe.

So yes, this year has been unpleasant at times. In the most physical, visceral of ways. But I wouldn’t trade this ride I’ve been on for the world.

For more than half a century, families have made a pilgrimage to the middle of Florida.

Their destination? A 27,000-square-acre oasis called Walt Disney World.

Walt Disney World has long been billed as The Happiest Place on Earth. And as a four-time visitor, I can verify that elation does radiate there like the tropical sunshine that illuminates the grounds.

Yet, this billing has an unspoken downside. For once families, leave the oasis – once they reach Interstate 4 or the Orlando International Airport – they return to reality. A reality that, by definition, is less happy and less pleasant than the place they’ve just visited.

This is an unsettling fact. One that we’re determined to dispel.

We try ever harder to protect our children from unpleasantness and to delude ourselves from its existence. We wall ourselves off inside convenient fantasies and put our risk-aversion senses on overdrive. We encase the pills of our life experience in a mountain of sugar, consequences be damned.

But such attempts are far from ironclad. Now and then, unpleasantness overwhelms our defenses, washing away our defenses.

Maybe this unpleasantness is an unconscionable terror attack on our shores. Or a financial meltdown in our markets. Or even a pandemic infesting our atmosphere.

Our pleasantness at all costs crusade leaves us ill-equipped to handle such stark reality. So, we stumble through the fallout, feeling lost and betrayed. And all the while, we wish the experience had never happened.

Perhaps we can follow a more productive path. Instead of relying on dreams of revisionist history to restore our fantasy, perhaps we can build off our ordeal. To take the lessons of bitter medicine, internalize them, and be better for it.

I’ve embarked on this journey, this past year especially. But my experience – and my mindset – should be anything but extraordinary. It should be but one case of millions – millions who accept unpleasantness as a vessel toward improvement, rather than a scourge to eradicate.

Let’s make it so.

On Anticipation

The doctor made small talk as he procured his rubber hammer.

The chattiness was part of his bedside manner. A way to get through all the awkward tests that were part of a physical exam. All while keeping the patient relaxed and at ease.

I was playing along, to a degree. But I was also on guard.

So, as the doctor flashed the hammer in my direction, I jolted my right knee backward. The hammer hit nothing but air.

Impressive reflexes, the doctor remarked. But much like his hammer, he hadn’t quite hit the mark.

This wasn’t about reflexes. Not by a long shot.

It’s long been known that humans have five senses.

Sight, smell, sound, taste, and touch are each critical. They shape how we perceive the world. And they serve as guardians of our survival.

However, I believe there’s a sixth sense out there. Not in an M. Night Shyamalan movie sort of way. Rather, something more tangible and impactful.

I’m talking about anticipation.

Anticipation is more than a gift or an attribute. It’s an acute sense — with a twist.

You see, anticipation takes our traditional five senses to a new level. It mixes their recorded inputs with situational awareness. All in a manner that can prime prediction.

Anticipation puts us on the front foot. It allows us to think a step ahead, and to act accordingly.

This is more than a nice-to-have. In a world full of lethality, the signals of danger often arrive too late for us to avert them. We need to see the flames, smell the smoke, and feel the burn before first spark ignites. That way, our fight-or-flight response can activate in time to save our skin.

We need anticipation, plain and simple.

And like a fine wine, anticipation gets better with time. With more data in our brains, and more experience in our bones, our power proliferates. We’re less likely to be caught off-guard, and more likely to jump into the fray in a flash.

This was the case when my knee jolted at the doctor’s office. After all, I’d been through a physical or two before.

I understood what that rubber hammer meant. I knew how it would feel when it slammed against my kneecap. And I wasn’t inclined to sit around and let it happen again.

It was a display of anticipation. One by design.

He’s playing 4D chess.

We’ve heard a phrase like this plenty before. Often when a master tactician, such as a military leader or a football coach, takes strategic execution to another level.

The implication is that these masterminds have unique ability. They’re able to think several steps ahead and process dozens of hypotheticals in real time.

In other words, they have uncanny senses of anticipation.

How did this come about? Were these hallowed leaders born this way?

No. In their earliest days, these feted geniuses were just as feeble as the rest of us.

But as they grew up, their paths began to diverge from ours.

They put their minds to the test, time and again. They paid meticulous attention to detail. And they set themselves up to seize opportunities before they happened.

Make no mistake. Anticipatory dominance is built, not bequeathed. It’s forged with tools available to all of us.

I don’t believe enough of us realize this fact. I sure didn’t.

For years, I drifted through the roaring rapids of reality. I was never quite prepared for the jagged rocks, the dips and drops in my path. I would react to life after it happened.

This pattern continued into early adulthood — a time when I could least afford it.

I had just started my career as a TV news producer. It was a position built on elite anticipation and quick decisions. But I had neither in my arsenal.

The results were predictable. News broke across town late one night, and I was slow to react. My station’s coverage was subpar. The competition wiped the floor with us.

This colossal meltdown wasn’t all my fault. But it wasn’t a good look. And I took this failing hard.

I knew I couldn’t let my colleagues and my viewers down like that again. I needed to be ready for the next big story — which could break at any time.

This was the inflection point. It’s what spurred me to hone my focus, to stretch the limits of my senses, to sharpen my resolve.

It’s what taught me how to anticipate.

These days, anticipation is my most treasured attribute. I relish the opportunity to initiate the action. To remain prepared and to put myself in position for success.

It took a while to get to this point. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Several years ago, I attended a boxing match.

A headline bout hogged the marquee. But several undercard brawls led up to it.

On one of those undercards, a fighter connected on a vicious cross — his oversized glove battering the top of his opponent’s head. He followed up that blow with a hook to the jaw.

The one-two punch was too much for the other fighter to absorb. He dropped like a rock. The fight was over.

The crowd gasped in horror, stunned by the flash of brutality they’d just witnessed. But I was less stunned than perplexed.

How was the stricken fighter so unprepared for what felled him? Why did he not have his hand up to protect his face?

This was a basic tenet of self-defense that even I knew about. Yet, it had gone begging.

The lack of anticipation carried a brutal toll for this brawler. But the cost is steep for us as well.

Make no mistake. Anticipation is not a nice to have. It’s a need to have.

We cannot expect to get ahead in life by waiting for the action to reach our doorstep. Heck, we can’t even get by that way.

We need to steel ourselves for what lies ahead. To synthesize our past and predict our future. To make moves before the picture comes fully into focus.

This is hard work. It’s uncomfortable work. But it’s necessary work.

Sustainable success is within our range. Let’s prepare ourselves to grasp it.

Document It

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.

Those are the opening lines of Charles Dickens’ 1859 novel A Tale Of Two Cities.

The novel covers a tumultuous period — the French Revolution. It was an era that preceded Dickens. But it was also one he encapsulated quite well.

Dickens was a master at finding the dramatic tension in any setting. He could extract a story from a loud moment, or even a quiet one. After all, he managed to turn the customary stillness of Christmas Eve into a page-turner.

But perhaps Dickens’ greatest skill was his most simplistic one — he wasn’t afraid to document the moment.

We tend to look at history through documentation.

This could be cave paintings, ancient tablets with hieroglyphics or crumbling Roman columns.

Recently, that documentation has been easier to access. Johannes Gutenberg changed the world with the invention of the printing press in the 1400s. Suddenly, works of communication could be mass published, instead of hand-written.

The treasure-trove of historical documentation has increased over the past 500 years. In fact, even Dickens would owe a modicum of gratitude to Gutenberg. Without his invention, there’s no way he would have been able to put out long-form content, let alone become one of the most widely-acclaimed writers of all time.

Yet, for all the documentation of recent history we can get our hands on, there is something missing — the perspectives of those in the fray.

We might watch musicals derived from the letters of Alexander Hamilton. We might learn the words to the Gettysburg Address. But those works come from the perspectives of the acclaimed. We know far less about how it felt, viscerally, as the American colonies became a nation. Or what it was like seeing that same nation plunge into a bloody Civil War.

The people on the ground in those eras surely felt the winds of transformation. But, by and large, they didn’t share their in-the-moment thoughts.

Some of that has changed in the last century. Anne Frank’s diary gave the world a heartbreaking inside view to the atrocities of the Holocaust. And the growth of home video equipment made it easier to record our reactions to transformative moments.

But we’ve only seen real progress on this frontier in the last 20 years.

In early 2011, a series of uprisings across the Arabic region caught the world’s attention. In countries from Morocco to Egypt and Yemen to Syria, people took to the streets to oppose authoritarian regimes. The movement would come to be known as the Arab Spring.

This was a fascinating development on its own. But it was even more intriguing given the way the world found out about the Arab Spring.

In many countries across the region, protesters shared their thoughts, ideals and perspectives on social media. Some shared video clips on YouTube. And as news networks started broadcasting images from the scene, the world gained a 360 degree view of what was happening.

Never before had we been able to document history in real time quite like this. Sure, media outlets have long been able to gather the facts of big moments. But they haven’t been able to fully capture the essence of those living the change.

That perspective is not theirs to document. For they are reporters and producers on assignment. They are experiencing the events from a degree of separation.

No, it’s up to those in the fight to document their experiences. In 2011, they did.

But the story doesn’t have to end there.

Sometimes I wish I could travel back to 1999.

I was a shy, submissive child back then. Far from the strong-willed, independent adult I am today.

I didn’t have a cell phone yet. Our family had just gotten DSL Internet. And I could count on one hand the number of times I’d traveled more than 500 miles from home.

Yet, life seemed simpler in 1999. People were trusting and approachable. The United States government was running a surplus. There were relatively few armed conflicts globally and the developed world seemed to be in harmony.

All of that would soon be shattered.

In less than two decades, the world has been shaken to its core by three major events. The first event was the September 11th terror attacks in 2001 — which jolted the United States and left aftershocks around the globe. The second event was the 2008 financial crisis — which disrupted economies on multiple continents. And the third event has been the COVID-19 pandemic of 2020.

As I write this, the pandemic has sickened more than 400,000 people worldwide, and killed roughly 18,000 of them. Close to 3 billion people have been officially ordered to stay in their homes — about 500 million of them in Europe and the United States.

These are frightening times, filled with anxious uncertainty. Across the globe, people are being isolated to slow the spread of the virus. Menial activities like shopping for groceries or walking the dog are now fraught with lethal risk. And millions of people have lost their jobs as businesses shut down.

It is a difficult era to be experiencing. But experiencing it we are.

Someday, this time of strife will end. The stringent rules and restrictions will be relaxed, and society will get back to some semblance of normalcy.

We will continue to carry the emotional scars of the pandemic — just as we still carry the scars of the 2008 Financial Crisis and of 9/11.

But those feelings will get buried under the rush of the moment. Soon enough, they will be all but forgotten.

Future generations will lose connection with the shared experience under the COVID-19 pandemic. News reports and statistics will only say so much.

Look at what we know about the last global pandemic of this scale — the Spanish Flu outbreak of 1918. More than a century of distance means that there aren’t people around with firsthand accounts of that experience. Much of what we know comes from newspaper clippings and photographs. And that means there’s a whole lot we don’t know as we navigate these rough seas.

This is tragic.

We should be taking the time to document our experiences, even during trying times. Especially during trying times.

There are not many other generations that have experienced what many of us have — three global security, financial and health crises in a 20 year span. What we’ve experienced firsthand is worth sharing.

I’ve long committed to share my experiences right here on Words of the West. I will continue to do so. And I’m keeping a daily diary of my time under de facto quarantine, which I hope to share with the world at some point.

Yet, I hope I’m not the only one.

After all, our excuses have evaporated. Technology makes it easier than ever to share our firsthand accounts. But only if we commit to action.

So, we move through life’s challenges and triumphs, let’s commit ourselves to being more than mere passengers.

Don’t just witness history. Document it.

Bridging the Gap

Differences.

They’re a constant in life.

The way we experience daily life differs from the way others do. What’s matters to us might not be of concern to them, and vice versa.

This gap is as wide between Denver and Dakar is it is between South Central LA and Beverly Hills. And it can be as present amongst our neighbors as it is amongst those further afield.

The freedom some of us might take for granted is far from certain for others. And we are blissfully unaware of the fear others face taking on what might seem to us to be mundane tasks.

These experiential differences often exacerbate divisions between corners of our society. They can provoke radical movements, some of which can turn ugly and violent. And they can serve as a barrier to unifying solutions.

This final effect is perhaps most concerning. For while our society increasingly values productive collaboration over The Self Made Man these days, it’s hard to work together without common understanding. And it’s hard to find common understanding without knowledge of differing perspectives.

To bridge this gap, the prevailing wisdom is to take a walk in someone else’s shoes. To live as others would live. To see the world from their eyes.

This is what Baba Amte did in India. A lawyer by trade, Amte encountered a leper on the side of the road one rainy night. Amte ran away in horror, but later returned and comforted the dying leper. Then he created a lepers’ colony and moved his young family to it — even though none of them had leprosy.

This is also what Daryl Davis did right here in America. Davis, a black blues musician, met with Ku Klux Klan leaders and attended their rallies. He took these actions so that he could understand the perspective of Klan leaders — even if some of those perspectives shook him to his core.

(Thank you to Mark Manson for sharing Davis’ story in a recent article.)

Of course, not all of us have the commitment or courage to do what Amte and Davis did. Indeed, it was quite dangerous — possibly even reckless — for these men to do what they did.

But we don’t necessarily have to walk in another’s shoes to understand a new perspective. Sometimes all we need to do is take a run in our own.

At the start of a sweltering summer day, I prepared for my pre-dawn run.

These early morning jaunts through my neighborhood have become a staple of my workout routine in recent years. During the stifling Texas summers, they’re a borderline necessity. When the sun rises, so does the risk of heatstroke if you’re exerting yourself.

Yet, this time as I set out, I did something peculiar. I left home without a shirt.

The previous time I had gone running, I found myself sweating through my shirt. Even with temperatures at their lowest point of the day, and the sun well beyond the eastern horizon, the midsummer night air wasn’t exactly refreshing.

So this time, I decided to run shirtless. What can it hurt? I asked myself. It’s dark out anyway.

I made it to the halfway point of my run, and made the turn for home. But moments later, a pickup truck traveling in my direction slowed down and started pacing me.

As I turned my head to the left to see what was going on, the driver rolled down the window closest to me. He hollered Keep it up. Then the truck sped off.

This incident completely freaked me out. And the last mile of my run that morning seemed to take forever.

By the time I got back home, I resolved not to run without a shirt again. I’ve stayed true to my edict, and I’ve yet to encounter any incidents like that again.

What was it about this incident that left me so badly unhinged?

Well, for one thing, I did not appreciate the unwanted attention I received. If a woman on the sidewalk had hollered the same thing to me this male pickup truck driver did, I would have been just as freaked out.

I was not seeking to get noticed that morning — or anytime I go running.

Sure, I might wave to passing runners. But otherwise, I’m in my own realm. I abhor being recognized, unless I’m in the path of a passing vehicle.

But there was something more that bothered me.

As I replayed this odd situation over and over in my mind, I kept asking myself the same questions.

What if this pickup driver had a gun? What if he had ill intentions he was hell-bent on acting upon?

These are odd prospects to consider. But so is a pickup truck pacing a runner on a road before dawn.

This is exactly the type of scenario that can lead to a drive-by shooting, or an abduction. And while there was no rational reason for those fates to befall me that morning, immoral actions are all too often irrational.

As I thought of these prospects of foul-play, I recognized just how vulnerable I was in that moment. I had hardly any recourse to protect myself. And that realization was terrifying.

Yet, as unnerving as my running incident was, I realized it would have been even worse for others.

For I am a white man. The chances of bad fates befalling me are relatively low.

Sure, I could end up in the wrong place at the right time. There’s always a chance I might get robbed, or get injured in a car accident. If I drank alcohol or hung around bars more, I would also increase my chances of something bad happening.

But by and large, I can go through my day carefree.

If I were black, Hispanic, Arabic, Asian, or Indian — well, sadly, I wouldn’t be able to say the same. If I was running without a shirt and happened to be one of these ethnicities, I would likely have been on high alert from the word Go. If noticed a pickup truck pacing me, my first instinct might have been dread, not confusion. The tension I would feel would be instant and palpable.

And if I were a woman of any ethnicity in this scenario — in a sports bra or fully-attired — the terror meter would be up to 11. There have been enough stories of women being abducted during early morning runs that many have abandoned the practice entirely.

In fact, the thought of venturing out alone at night alone — for any purpose — can terrify some women. There have been too many nefarious stories to make even a few steps under the stars seem prudent without a can of pepper spray or a firearm.

I’ve encountered this trepidation firsthand. When I worked evenings as a news producer in West Texas, some of our female reporters occasionally asked me to walk out of the building with them at the end of my shift. This made them feel safer then venturing into the parking lot alone.

I always obliged — not because I knew their fear firsthand, but because I empathized with the fact that it existed.

I still can’t say I know the fear women, or men of other ethnicities, face in these instances. But the more I think about my running incident, the more I recognize how paralyzing it must be.

And the more I want to do what I can to eradicate it.

Bridging the gap in our perspectives and experience doesn’t require the drastic odysseys of Baba Amte or Daryl Davis. It doesn’t require getting yourself into scenarios that unveil our vulnerabilities, as I did.

It only requires two things: Understanding and action.

We must be able to understand that what seems mundane to us might be terrifying to others. Even when we cannot internalize the fear ourselves, we must be aware of its presence.

And with this knowledge in mind, we must act to protect those who face these terrors.

We’d be well-served to believe women who come forward as victims of abuse. We’d be well-served to hold police when they put the lives of unarmed minorities in danger.

When walking down on the street, we’d be well-served to look upon those who look different than us with friendliness, not scorn. We’d be well-served not to stare at women based on the contours of their bodies or the dearth of their attire.

We won’t always get it right, of course. Incidents between police and citizens can be complicated, and sometimes unarmed minorities might not be innocent bystanders. Some women who come forward with accusations might have an axe to grind, instead of a true story of victimization. Some of the people we encounter on the street do indeed have nefarious thoughts on their minds.

But these edge cases are not, by themselves, significant enough for us to burn all bridges of understanding. They’re not prevalent enough for us to sever all hope of a more united, connected tomorrow.

The truth remains: There are plenty of people with innocent souls who must contend with paralyzing fear, day-in, day-out — simply because of the rotten way the world treats them for how they look.

Our collective assumption biases shatter innocence, sow division and provoke tragedy. It’s a poison pill for progress.

Yet, there is another way. We have the power to change our perspectives, and reshape the future.

We must do so.

Slowing the Pace

“Time…why you punish me?”

Those lyrics from Hootie & the Blowfish hit the radio about two decades ago, but it seems they were far ahead of their time.

We live our lives at a breakneck pace today — the result of both innovation and the shifting of cultural norms. With the Internet in our pockets and with TV screens we can control with our voice, our days are now made up of hundreds of moments — Micromoments, as Google calls them. Attention is a precious commodity that mass media, marketing and entertainment professionals work tirelessly to capture; Attention Deficit Disorder has gone from a diagnosable problem to an acceptable condition.

To paraphrase Queen, “We want it all, and we want it now.”

But in the race to jam pack our lives with as much as we can, we’re leaving something valuable in the dust.

Meaningfulness.

Our development, both individually and as a society, depends on our ability to interpret meaning in what we do. This important process is a deliberate one, one that can’t be squeezed into the 24/7 circus we put ourselves through these days.

Simply put, the last viral thing we watched, the last rapid-fire experience we took on — it won’t resonate with us for long. Heck, we might not even remember it tomorrow.

So, while the modern-day lifestyle habits satiate our childish needs for “more, more, more” — and keep us away from the cultural stigma of FOMO — they also suffocate our ability to unpack what we expose ourselves to and use that newfound knowledge in a productive manner.

Without meaningfulness, we’re less balanced, less empowered, less smart. The race to the bottom intensifies.

But we can end this self-deprecating cycle.

It’s time we slow down the pace.

It’s time we take a moment to think, to fully digest all that we experience.

It’s time we consider the impact of what we do, and whether there is one in the first place.

It’s time we embrace moments of silent thought, enjoying the life unplugged the way we did in the days when the Macarena was a hit.

It’s time we commit ourselves to the pursuits that matter.

Only after we find this balance of pace and infotainment access will the world truly be at our fingertips.

FOMO Is Dumb

If there’s one emotional trigger that’s all over pop culture these days, it’s FOMO (or Fear of Missing Out). In a Millennial culture dominated by the process of stacking up personal experiences as much as possible, the event is everything — and missing out on it constitutes a crushing blow that necessitates emotional CPR.

This sentiment has taken hold from coast to coast. It’s why events ranging from South by Southwest to the latest iPhone release have a ridiculous amount of in-person interest. It’s why live streaming has gone from a novel idea to something that invades all corners of our life within a four-year period. It’s why we get so many marketing emails warning us that the clock is ticking on the next big thing. In short, it’s the fuel for the way our culture currently operates.

But FOMO is Dumb.

This phenomenon has invaded our society like a cancer. It’s brought the peer-pressured environment of high school into the mainstream, playing on our sense of belonging at the expense of what really should be important.

Much like the proliferation of selfies, FOMO gives us a mainstream excuse for carrying on childish behavior at an age when we should be much more mature. While selfies satiate our ever-growing narcissism, FOMO plays into our teenage desire to be “cool.”

This misguided emotional trap leads to predictably ugly results. We act irresponsibly, overspending both our time and our money to continually be present on the social scene. This means big business for organizers who can play off our addiction to routinely fill to capacity everything from an arena to a bar, solely off of the mystical social status that attendance at these events provides.

Of course, half of the people present for these events and activities don’t much care about them at all — they’re just on the scene so that the world knows they were there.

This is ridiculous.

It’s high time we take control of our own destiny. Our lives should be about more than where we’re visible at. It’s not like anyone is keeping score anyway — at least not in a way that really matters.

We should instead devote our attention to what we’re passionate about, and the people that mean the most to us.  If we shift our gaze in this direction, we’ll attain necessary balance in our lives.

In fact, we’ll find that we’re not missing anything at all.