Tag: progress

Act 2

The house lights went down, and the crowd got quiet.

Then, with a flourish of light and of a crescendo of sound, the stage came to life.

The hour that followed was filled with plot twists, musical interludes, and intrigue. Once it was over, the entire cast of actors lined up on the stage and took a bow.

I was too stunned to applaud.

I had just witnessed the second act of a Broadway musical. One that featured far more action than what had preceded intermission. And I had struggled mightily to keep up with it all.

On the way out of the theater, my sister asked me what I thought of the performance. She had been an assistant director on the production some months prior, and she’d accompanied me to the show on this night.

The second act seemed rushed, I coarsely replied.

Well, that’s Shakespeare, my sister responded.

I stood there, puzzled. Yes, this musical was an adaptation of William Shakespeare’s work. But his plays had five acts to disperse the action. Couldn’t these writers have spread things out more evenly?

I pondered this for a moment. Then we headed out into the night.

Act 2 is an important concept in our society.

It’s the portion of our journey that leads directly to the finish line. It’s where the spotlight is brightest, and where the rewards are most tangible.

We’re primed to give our best in the second act. And we’re conditioned to do the most.

The first act simply sets the table. It’s a construct to acclimate us for the sprint to the finish.

Sports teams don’t get accolades for a hot start if they tail off down the stretch. Neither do companies who frontload revenue growth. The stain of missed potential lingers in these situations, dulling the shine of those early milestones.

Yes, Act 2 is all that truly matters. And if we want to make the most of our opportunity, we better hit the stretch run with reckless abandon.

This is the current upon which entertainment travels. It’s the reason why that Broadway musical was so backloaded.

But does this standard represent reality?

I don’t believe so.

When I was four years old, my mother gave my father an ultimatum.

Change your life or change your wife.

At that point, my father had been an advertising account executive for the better part of a decade. His passion for the job had since faded, and the long hours weighed on him.

Yet, my father was fearful of exiting the industry. The pay was comfortable enough to support a young family. And career shifts were still largely taboo in those days.

So, my father went through his work weeks with a dour disposition. As each month passed, he became more and more of a ghost. That is, until my mother’s ultimatum snapped him back to life.

My father made the wise choice. He changed his life, leaving advertising behind and becoming a teacher.

His Act 2 has lasted for decades. My father has found far more success and fulfillment in his second career than he did in his first. And he’s blazed quite the path for me to follow.

You see, I too have found far more success, fulfillment, and longevity in Act 2 than I have in Act 1. This has proven true with my profession, my hobbies, and even my efforts to build a social circle.

At a high level, this is not all that different from the societal ideal. My first act still sets the table for my second act to feast upon.

But at ground level, the differences are stark. Act 1 is setting the scene for what I should avoid, while Act 2 is establishing the alternative to move toward. And that movement should, by nature, take far longer to play out than the bungled missteps that preceded it.

My career trajectory illustrates this perfectly.

I got my start in broadcast journalism, in the high-octane world of TV news media. I lasted about three years in that industry before making a change. But those three action-packed years still feel like six to me. The strain and stress carried that much weight.

As I write this, I’ve spent a decade in my second career as a marketer. My journey from wide-eyed newbie to seasoned professional in this field has been anything but swift. And yet, I am far from dissatisfied.

The long tail of my Act 2 represents the stability I’ve long craved. It’s provided me with the satisfaction I’ve long yearned for. And it’s offered me the opportunity to grow in my discipline at a sustainable pace.

Sure, it might seem boring to outside observers. But that isn’t necessarily a bad thin

I’m currently on the cusp of another Act 2. One that I find just as significant.

After years of achievement as a competitive distance runner, my body has broken down. The medals, personal record times, and pictures standing atop race podiums have faded into an array of doctor’s visits, protective braces, and canceled race entries.

I still love running, and I love competing. But my body has given me an ultimatum. I can only choose one.

I’ve chosen the former. I’d rather run for fun than compete in something I’m less passionate about. It’s a bittersweet choice, but one I’ve made without a hint of hesitation.

Still, this decision doesn’t have to be a tradeoff. Indeed, I consider it an opportunity. An opportunity to start the second act of my running life.

I’m not quite sure what I should expect.

I’m not sure if my body will accept a steady running mileage base better than it handled the peaks and valleys of training. I’m not if my mind will stay motivated without races dotting the calendar. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to attain the same level of fitness as I did before.

My hope is that all of this does come to pass. That I stay healthy, successful, and fulfilled for years to come — even without the measuring stick of racing.

But I know that this won’t happen overnight. I might be past intermission, but there are miles and miles to go on this stretch run.

Act 2 of my running career will be a protracted journey, hopefully with more ups than downs along the way.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Wheels Keep Turning

I was a mess.

Groggy and incoherent, I stumbled out of bed at the sound of my alarm.

Immediately, I was greeted by two things. Intense discomfort in my gut. And a smartwatch alert about heart rate dipping below 40 beats per minute while I slept.

These two notifications — one biological, one technological — had a common thread.

Both showed that my body was still working, even as I lay unconscious in slumber. In fact, it was chugging along less efficiently than it should have been.

Yes, the pause I experience while recharging — it’s far from a complete one. Even while at rest, the wheels keep turning.

Look at a run-of-the-mill office suite around 10 PM on a weeknight, and it might seem like a ghost town.

Overhead lights off. Workstations powered down. The sound of silence resonating.

Business is on hibernation until the following day. But make no mistake, work is still going on.

Servers are storing the company’s files. Security programs are keeping business assets safe. And software is queueing after-hours transactions.

Even in the dead of night, the wheels keep turning.

No, the business world is not set up to stop and start on a dime. It’s more akin to a freight train — one full of inertia that can only be sped up or slowed down.

Our bodies have similar traits. This is what makes the words Cardiac Arrest so devastating.

And yet, we’ve been tempted to pull the emergency brake on this centrifugal force. For decades, there’s been talk of cryogenically freezing ourselves. And much of our economy recently did get shut down, as we reckoned with a deadly pandemic.

The thinking behind the shutdown was straightforward. A virus was blossoming; restricting interpersonal contact was thought to be the best way to stop its spread. And with most people holed up in their homes, business as we knew it needed to take a break.

This philosophy is what led to the eeriness of silent city streets and darkened storefronts. It’s what spurred the rallying cry We’re all in this together as we waited for the storm to pass.

But lost in that gesture of goodwill was a disturbing fact. We were more resilient than the corporate ecosystem we were abandoning.

While major companies had prepared for oodles of contingency plans, a complete shutdown was not one of them. For in the ranks of industry, such a move is tantamount to a death blow.

As the once unthinkable became a reality, our economy cratered. Millions were laid off from their jobs. Supply chains seized up. And many suffered.

Fortunately, we got the economy humming again. As the stay-at-home orders lifted and remote work blossomed, people got back to work, and the business boomed. But scar tissue from the ordeal has caused lingering issues — including supply chain disruptions and skyrocketing inflation.

It might be a while before things are back on the rails again. And until we reach that point, we’ll keep suffering the consequences of our recent economic catastrophe.

You need a vacation.

I’ve heard this advice time and again.

For I go hard at everything. Whether it’s work, exercise, cooking, or writing — I approach what’s on my schedule with meticulous focus and high intensity.

Those around me worry that I’ll burn up or burn out. So, they implore me to clear my schedule, hop on a cruise ship, or park myself at a faraway beach. I’ll return rejuvenated, they say.

I doubt it.

For I know my abilities and my inabilities. Powering down will only fill me with anxiety. And I’ll feel disoriented, rather than refreshed, upon my return.

So, I politely decline the calls for an extended vacation. I maintain my high-octane lifestyle.

Yes, I recognize that my own wheels must keep turning. Maybe not at warp speed all the time, but at least enough to maintain intertia.

Many of us share this sentiment, whether we’re acutely aware of it or not. It’s why we talk about needing a vacation from our vacation, or to stay in sync.

Idle hands are truly the devil’s handiwork. We need those wheels to keep turning.

The great reset.

This is a phrase I’ve heard bandied about in recent months.

As we emerge from a tumultuous time in our collective existence, we are tempted to take stock of our own lives. We yearn to change course and find meaning in what we do.

Such sentiments can be useful. But we’ve been robbing banks all these years, it might not be the best idea to make a clean break with the past.

For while our old habits and routines might no longer be our cup of tea, they did get us to this point. All that we learned along the way — it’s far from worthless.

Far better to incorporate such experience into our future than to bury it with our past. We’ll be stronger and more resilient for it.

I’ve seen this firsthand.

There are plenty of opportunities I’ve seized well into adulthood. New hobbies have found their way into my life. Healthier habits have sunk in. And a renewed sense of purpose has pervaded my life.

These developments are a blessing, and I’m filled with gratitude for them. But sometimes, I lament all the wasted years that have preceded my good fortune.

I think back to the days when I would stay out at the bar until closing time, downing cheap drinks with my friends, and complaining about my job. I recall the days when I scrolled endlessly through social media because I had no other vessel for my free time. I reminisce on that feeling that I was stuck in neutral, living month-to-month with no sense of greater direction.

I’m not proud of this version of myself, and I often wish the contemporary edition was around back then. But such desires are a fool’s errand.

If anything, I should give my past self a modicum of credit. For even in the depth of my doldrums, my wheels kept turning.

Yes, I might have yearned for a solution on a silver platter. But I kept doing the little things to help seize that platter if it came about.

This mindset is what laid the groundwork for the more bountiful future I would ultimately build for myself. My prosperity is not the dividend of a reset. It’s the culmination of all I’ve encountered on life’s journey to date.

So, let’s turn away from this discussion of pauses and resets. A better future is certainly worth pursuing. But we’re more likely to reach it with the help of our own inertia.

In good times and bad, through challenges and triumphs, let’s make sure those wheels keep turning.

On Whiplash

I had a pit in my stomach.

I just had finished work on a college newscast that was an abject disaster.

The production crew had missed their cues. The anchors had botched their scripts. And I, the producer, had frozen like a deer in the headlights amid all this chaos.

This all resulted in a disjointed performance that was readily evident to anyone watching on their television sets. It felt as if we’d all wandered into the middle of Times Square in our underwear.

It didn’t matter that our viewership was in the dozens, not the millions. Everyone involved with the newscast was in a dour mood, even before our faculty advisor lit into us in the post-show meeting.

I felt directly responsible for the debacle. So, I emailed the advisor to apologize.

She quickly responded, stating that there was plenty of blame to go around, but that such matters were irrelevant. It was more important, she stated, for everyone to learn from the mistakes moving forward.

Onward and upward, she concluded.

I had never heard that phrase before. But after that moment, it would become all I would hear.

Whenever I found myself facing a setback, onward and upward would be a rallying cry. The three-word pep talk reminded me to focus on the future, rather than dwelling on the past.

I’m haven’t embraced this mantra alone. It’s been a rallying cry in America for generations. But is it the right one?

Time moves in one direction. And so do we.

With apologies to Benjamin Button and the best attempts of beauty products everywhere, we don’t get younger with time. We wear its impact as we mature and then decline.

The same concept is true for our society. Over the years, it’s matured from a nebulous concept into something stronger and more versatile. Someday, its decline will come. But we will continue to plow forward through that process.

These truths are self-evident. Our ancestors would be enthralled by the cultural and technological opportunities we have today. And while such innovations and adaptations are far from perfect, they still represent progress.

We don’t necessarily take all this for granted. But we have internalized onward and upward into our own processes. We aspire to land better roles throughout our careers and to improve as spouses and parents outside of the office. More broadly, we seek to innovate and drive transformational change.

This ethos has generally led to real-world rewards, spurring us to lean into the strategy ever more. But occasionally, the payoff hasn’t been there. Every now and then, we’re forced backwards, despite our best efforts to churn ahead.

And when this happens, we encounter whiplash.

Whiplash is the feeling you get when you’re riding in a car, and it stops short. It’s the jolting sensation that ensues when your momentum is halted faster than you can adjust to it.

Whiplash is particularly unpleasant because we don’t plan for it. It strikes without warning, leaving us in a daze.

Whiplash forces us to react. But that needn’t be our only response.

Few phenomena are as baffling as pandemics.

Human behavior, for all its irrationality, can be mapped into distinct patterns. We have centuries of historical texts and the work of esteemed psychologists to thank for that.

But viral microbes don’t show such predictability. And trying to forecast their attack has proven futile.

The COVID pandemic has punctuated this fact. Despite our best efforts, we’ve found ourselves one step behind at every turn.

At first, we weren’t sure how to protect ourselves from the virus. We focused on washing our hands and disinfecting surfaces, even though those efforts proved to have little effect in warding off the malady.

Gradually, we started to get the upper hand. Namely, we built strategies for preventing mass exposure to the bug.

We shifted many of our jobs away from offices. We wore face masks to the grocery store. We developed vaccines against the virus in record time and made progress with antiviral pills.

These efforts helped us approach pre-pandemic normalcy. With their assistance, we started to reopen our doors, and to restore the traditions the virus had stolen from us.

But just as the finish line seemed in sight, new variants of the virus appeared. Their presence evaded many of the defenses we’d built, halting our progress.

This reality hit hard for many of us. After getting a taste of semi-normalcy, this jolt back to the early days of the pandemic crushed our resolve. It’s led us to think that onward and upward was nothing more than a mirage.

I know this as well as anyone.

In the early days of the pandemic, I isolated myself from the world. I restricted my movements to a five-mile radius of my home for three months, only venturing outside to exercise, take a stroll, or shop for essentials. It was a demoralizing experience, even for an introvert like me.

In the many months since that period, I’ve worked relentlessly on getting back what I’d lost. I’ve reconnected with friends and family, returned to restaurants, and resumed traveling. I’ve done all this with the understanding that we were turning the corner in the pandemic, and that I’d have much more protection against the virus.

But the variants provided a brutal reality check. It turns out I was much less protected from infection than I’d hoped. And after all that time propelling ahead, the whiplash of this realization hit me hard.

I found my resiliency at its limits, and I was left frustrated at the situation at hand. But I turned my anger inwards as well, chastising myself for not anticipating such setbacks in the first place.

My experience likely wasn’t singular. I’m sure there were others out there kicking themselves for not seeing this setback coming.

But are those who wallow in regret realistic in their expectations?

Protection.

It’s the fundamental human condition.

Protection is the reason we lock our doors. Protection is the reason we put on a coat when it’s cold. Protection is the reason we curl into a ball when facing trauma.

Whiplash violates the laws of protection. It strikes with brutal efficiency, reminding us how vulnerable we really are.

We loathe that feeling of exposure. So, we play Monday Morning Quarterback, thinking about how we could have avoided the situation.

This is toxic.

For the more we dwell in the past, the less prepared we are for the future. The next bout of whiplash will jolt us back. And the one after that. And the one after that.

It’s far better to take the approach my advisor espoused. To boldly look to the future — but with a twist.

That twist is to consider all possibilities. To prepare for the best-case scenario but anticipate setbacks.

Such an approach allows us to hedge our bets. It leaves us less prone to the effects of whiplash. And it strengthens our resolve.

In an unpredictable world, that’s the best we can ask for. It’s time that we ask it over ourselves.