The Middle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


The bell curve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a bigger culprit in the mix.


Fifty-seven channels and nothin’ on.

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

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

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

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

Boredom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All too often, they choose the latter.

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

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

Boredom is the enemy. And the middle is untenable.


My roots lie in the middle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On Excess

How much is too much?

That’s a loaded question. One that varies by where you come from and who you are.

In collective cultures, what is enough to provide for your immediate circle is the upper limit. That means what’s enough to keep your family clothed, housed and fed. The bare necessities.

In individualistic cultures, what’s enough to live the good life is often the upper limit. That means enjoying more than just the requisite. It means taking advantage of fine cuisine, art or entertainment.

And in America? Well, there is no upper limit.

Our society is one built on excess. On taking all we can, and then taking some more.

It’s part of our heritage. Our westward expansion in the 1800s was dubbed Manifest Destiny. That wording transformed the forceful relocation of native tribes and the wars over Mexico’s northern territories from acts of savagery to actions ordained by God.

That spirit has stuck with us to the present day. Drive around Malibu in California or cruise around Star Island in Miami and you’ll see the temples we’ve built to celebrate excess. Mansions owned by the uber-rich — many of whom maintain lavish homes in other locations.

If you were to look in the master closets or garages of these mansions, you’d probably find extravagant clothes that are never worn and sports cars that are rarely driven.

If a utilitarian were to look at this scene, they’d consider it a waste of resources. But that’s precisely the point.

Excess is part of our DNA. It tells the story of who we are better than anything else.

Excess is what popularized the all-you-can-eat buffet and the 30 page menu at The Cheesecake Factory. Excess is what spawned the endless array of TV channels and smartphone apps. Excess is what built the city of Las Vegas into the shrine of decadence it is today.

Excess has appeal. Visitors from other societies find themselves drawn to it, by pure novelty, if nothing else. And emerging cities around the world have even emulated it, through the creation of elaborate skylines and other lavish features.

But excess has severe risks as well.

It’s unhealthy, it’s self-serving, and it’s unbecoming.

If we seek to be treated with dignity and build a legacy filled with reverence, our tendency toward excess is the biggest obstacle to realizing our dreams.

For excess makes us seem primal. Even animalistic.

How so? Consider a tangible example — alcohol consumption.

Imbibing alcoholic beverages has been a time honored tradition throughout human history. Tales of drinking stretch as far back as the Bible. And they’re featured prominently in ancient Greek mythology.

Even in the disjointed world that preceded transcontinental trade routes, alcohol consumption was common in several corners of the globe.

However, the way cultures approached the activity varied. And those variances have persisted into the modern era.

Collective cultures predominantly drink as a form of status. The context of the occasion tends to matter most — particularly in Asia, where familial social customs are critical in maintaining honor and identity. The fact that the beverage consumed at these gatherings happens to be alcoholic is immaterial.

Individualistic cultures predominantly drink for artisanal reasons. Think of the French pairing the right wine with their dinner, or the British enjoying a pint at the pub. Beverages are meant to be savored, even cherished. The attributes of the beverage chosen — taste, smell and fullness — matter as much as the act of drinking it.

And then, there’s America. Where pure volume consumed is the only measure that matters.

Our culture has turned drinking into an ugly form of competition. One replete with a tradition of overbearing peer pressure and a total lack of accountability.

Go to any lake or river and you’ll find people downing drinks by the dozen. Go to the club and you’ll find people ordering bottle service. Go to a wedding or holiday party and you’ll find people cycling back to the open bar, over and over.

Somewhere along the line, we’ve been taught to drink, drink and drink some more. To spend our free time hitting the bottle until we can’t taste what we’re putting into our bodies anymore. To transform our social interactions into inebriated soirees that we won’t remember the next day.

Those critical of this behavior have placed the blame in many corners. But I can find only one such source that best explains it — our culture of excess.

In a society that bends toward decadence, Go big or go home is a rallying cry. Not taking it to the max is considered a sin.

So, we don’t savor cold boozy beverages on a hot day. We force them down our throats it the way Kobayashi or Joey Chestnut inhale hot dogs. And then we down 5 more.

We keep at it until our bodies give in. Even if the end result is a raging headache and a list of regrets, it’s still better than the scorn we’d get for only sticking to a drink or two.

Both collective and individualistic cultures look at this behavior with horror. Getting drunk can be akin to losing face. And downing drinks three at a time is the antithesis of the artisanal credo.

Is it any wonder why American culture is frequently lampooned outside its borders? While other cultures are fascinated by the idea of excess, they’re also disgusted by our implementation of it.

Just as critically, our culture of excess is destroying us from the inside out. The prevalence of binge drinking has caused a trail of collateral damage that has destroyed lives. Our oversized food portions have helped lead to several health crises, from obesity to heart disease. And our desire for more, more, more has helped us get addicted to everything from caffeine to opioids.

By any measure, things are moving in the wrong direction. But there’s an easy way to reverse this trend: Embrace moderation.

This doesn’t mean giving up what we enjoy. It just means giving up on enjoying it endlessly.

It means taking a stand. No more will we clamor for more than we need. No longer will we succumb to the social and marketing pressures telling us that enough is never enough.

When we have enough to be comfortable, we should be comfortable enough to say no to temptation. To use our powers to help others rather than denigrate ourselves through needless decadence.

Some may call this un-American. And they might be right. After all, they have two centuries of history to point to as evidence.

But look around. Excess has caused more harm than good. We — the society that has it all— find ourselves more broken than ever these days.

Let’s put ourselves back together again. Let’s chart a new course.

One that starts with three words.

No. That’s enough.

Are you up for the challenge?