Tag: reality

Reality and Delusion

It was quiet, peaceful, even picturesque.

Warm sunlight radiated through blue skies and puffy clouds above me. Green grass stretched across the rolling landscape in all directions. A breeze lightly rustled the branches of nearby trees.

I spent a moment taking it all in. Then I walked over to a small outbuilding.

This structure looked like a modest in-ground shed. One that might be used for curing meats, chiseling tools, or milling flour.

But a large plaque near the entrance explained that it was once used for a far different purpose.

Decades before I’d ambled up to it, this building had been a kiln. Not for pottery. But for people.

The Nazis had used this outbuilding as an extermination chamber during the Holocaust. They’d forced scores of victims inside, barred the door, and turned up the heat to uninhabitable levels. Long after the screaming and banging sounds within the chamber ceased, officers would move the bodies to a mass grave.

Then they’d round up another group and do it all over again.

The plaque explained all this with a horrifying matter-of-factness. And it was far from unique. Plaques outside nearby outbuildings explained how Nazis once poisoned victims with gas or strangled them from coat hooks there.

The splendor of the day vanished. The serenity of my surroundings started to haunt me.

I might have been born generations after the Buchenwald Concentration Camp was liberated. But as I stood within its gates, I felt that I hadn’t. The horrors of this place were tangible to me, in a way no history book could ever emulate.

There was no room for denial. There were no opportunities for delusion.

The reality was stark.

Never forget.

Those two words reverberated through our society in the weeks and months after September 11th, 2001.

Those words served as a poignant reminder, but they hardly seemed necessary.

Who could forget the horrors of what had just happened? Life as we’d known it had changed instantly. And the signs of that shift – from beefed up airport security to the cloud of debris hovering over New York City – were still everywhere.

There was no chance we’d forget. I was sure of it.

Instead, we’d carry that experience forward with us. We’d recall what had been lost on that sunny September morning. We’d remain clear-eyed about what had been gained in the days after, when we rallied as one. And we’d ensure we wouldn’t face the same crucible again in the future.

This viewpoint remained steadfast for years. But it’s not unquestioned anymore.

As I write this, we’re at a point of inflection. Many of the young adults making their mark on society were born after the 9/11 attacks. Others were too young back then to remember anything about that era.

This ascendant generation doesn’t know a world without metal detectors and body scanners. It can’t comprehend a world without the Department of Homeland Security. Heck, it has no idea what a world without the Internet in their pockets looks like.

This would seem to be a blessing. An opportunity to thrive in the post 9/11 world without being marred by its trauma.

But instead, it’s turned into a curse.

Some adults, you see, have refused to take accounts of that fateful day at face value. Instead of seeing the ordeal as a grave tragedy our national defenses failed to thwart, they’ve become apologists for the attackers.

They’ve claimed that our government was to blame – not for failing to prevent the attack, but for failing to hear out the terrorists who planned it. They’ve even claimed that some geopolitical decisions – such as placating the terrorists’ manifesto demands about a Middle East peace plan – would have prevented the attacks entirely.

This narrative has spread like wildfire recently, thanks in great part to the diesel fuel of social media algorithms. It’s spurred discussion and spawned further questions.

But make no mistake. It’s not even remotely true. It’s a delusion.

The ultimate credo of the attackers was not to reshape geopolitics. Their goal was to bring an end to America.

No amount of dialogue would have placated these terrorists. They had declared themselves enemies in a zero-sum game. Nothing would have led them to abandon their perverted mission.

But some in this newer generation didn’t seem to care about the facts on the ground. This delusional notion of a diplomatic offramp seemed tidy enough, and they presented it as reality.

So, decades after I made a pledge to never forget, I’ve now found my own experience – my own existence – gaslit by those immune to the horrors I lived through.

It’s infuriating. It’s frustrating. And it’s leaving me with serious concerns about those set to take my place.

Still, I’m not giving up hope that things will get back on the right track.

When I was growing up, a song called The Sign reached the top of the Billboard charts.

One of the lyrics from that Ace of Base tune is still quoted widely.

Life is demanding without understanding.

I think about that line often when it analyzing my differences with the next generation.

Yes, I consider members of this generation to be delusional at times. But could the real problem be one of demanding without understanding?

Perhaps these young adults mean no malice with their Monday Morning Quarterbacking of a profound national tragedy. Perhaps they’re solely guilty of looking at a long-ago incident from a modern perspective.

And perhaps I should do a better job of understanding what’s behind their perspective. So, let’s take a walk in their shoes.

This is a generation that came of age in the shadow of broken promises. Institutions weren’t living up to their billing, and activists were taking them to task for that failure.

These events led to real changes in power dynamics and spheres of influence. And it led to a belief that aggressive diplomacy could solve all of society’s challenges.

So, yes, it’s only natural that the next generation would view the 9/11 attacks far differently than mine.

And yet, I can’t quite let them off the hook.

You see, peddling in delusion is dangerous. It can cause the lessons of yesterday to go unheeded. And it can tarnish the sanctity of tomorrow.

I might not have been around during the Holocaust. And I might not have known anyone who survived the horrors of that time. But even in my earliest years, I always knew better than to give the Nazis any semblance of legitimacy.

Why? Because I read, I watched, and I internalized.

I read the historical accounts of the Holocaust in my history textbooks. I listened to the stern tones of my teachers and my parents when they discussed those atrocities. And I internalized that what the Nazis did was both inexcusable and wrong.

Visiting the site of Buchenwald only solidified this understanding. It only strengthened my resolve to respect the historical record, ugly as it was. And to avoid leveraging my generational distance to ask What if? For that was a question that led nowhere productive.

In a strange way, this approach has helped protect the legacy of the Holocaust. The most tragic of cautionary tales must remain that way so that its treachery is not repeated. Those furthest removed from the atrocities have the most influence in keeping the mission alive.

When it comes to 9/11, The Great Recession, and other crucibles of my era, the generation after mine has great power. They can accept the reality of what occurred, letting the humility of that knowledge guide them. Or they can fall prey to delusion and false narratives, forgetting the lessons of the past as they rewrite it.

There is still time to choose the right path. I hope they do.

The Myth of the American Dream

Everyone talks about the American Dream. Of envisioning it. Of striving for it. Of living it.

The American Dream is the gold standard upon which our lives are calibrated. But I’m not on board with this mythology.

Dreams, you see, are illusions. Half-formed fantasies that remain out of grasp. Idealistic tropes that never had the structure and substance to be tangible in the first place.

So, no. I’m not living the American Dream. My journey is that of the American Reality.

I’ve had far more struggles than triumphs, but I have experienced both extremes. I’ve worked harder to maintain what I’ve got than I had to attain it in the first place – par for the course in a world where someone always has a hand in your pocket. I’ve exhausted myself — physically, mentally, and emotionally — more times than I can count, without ever getting that expended energy back. I’ve shed blood, sweat, and tears in my endeavors. And ultimately, I’ve had precious little to show for any of it.

I’ve fought uphill time and again. And I will persist in this venture until my heart stops beating.

These are the realities of my American life. Unsatisfying, unpleasant, but oh so true.

Through it all, I’ve been told that I should be grateful. That my problems are first-world problems. That there are others abroad struggling for food, shelter, or safety whose strife is more noteworthy.

I recognize the motivation behind this perspective, but I also believe that these two worlds are not compatible. The challenge I face – that so many of us face – as Americans are less existential than those found abroad. But they still carry a toll. And they deserve more credence than we dare to provide.

Freedom is a real concept. There’s no doubt about that. But it’s not absolute.

Freedom comes with strings attached. Strings that are more like weighted belts. Wishing away those strings – or worse, hiding our ongoing tussle with them from others – does more than set an unreasonable bar of false hope to reach for. It degrades the validity of what life in America is for so many of us.

So, let’s stop waxing poetic about the American Dream. Let’s stop grasping for a golden illusion at the expense of the reality in our midst.

We deserve better than to degrade our lived experience. We deserve the truth.

The Fixed Pie

I wish I had more.

These five words are at the start of so many statements of regret.

Some share those words while pining for a loved one who left their life. Others use them as they share dismay about their financial situation. Others utter them to rue missed opportunities.

Such laments can seem trite. After all, we live in the land of abundance. Why curse the past when the future is still to be written?

And yet, I think these five words can stand for something substantial. In fact, I believe they’re the key to setting our lives on a more sustainable course.

America is a land of entrepreneurs.

From coast to coast, there are plenty of people who’ve created new ventures or taken nascent businesses into household names. Often devoid of supporting resources, these entrepreneurs rely on instincts and guile.

This idea of pulling oneself up by one’s bootstraps is ingrained in American heritage. Ever since the frontier era, we’ve had to be scrappy to survive.

This has provided great risk. But with it has come great opportunity.

Prosperity is not limited to those who score the best on an entrance exam, who train with the right mentors, or who have the best connections. College dropouts can create billion-dollar companies. Single parents can turn side hustles into empires.

Although I took a rather conventional path in my career — completing my undergraduate degree and later getting a Master’s in Business Administration— I have great respect for entrepreneurs. What they’ve achieved is admirable, and worthy of praise.

However, there’s one element that concerns me about the Do-It-Yourself playbook. Namely, that it often leaves budding business minds without an understanding of economics.

Now, economics is hardly the most prized corner of business education. Theoretical by nature and dominated by pessimistic academics, it’s a discipline that’s often mocked.

Economics doesn’t help balance the books, ward off competitors, or sell more items. It simply explains the shifting playing field that business is conducted on.

And yet, that’s precisely why it’s so important.

You see, economics forces us to reckon with reality. To master it, we must learn to properly allocate scarce resources. This often means taking the least bad option, recognizing that such choices will expose vulnerabilities.

There is no way to have all the upside without any of the downside. For a central tenet of economics is The Fixed Pie — the idea that there’s only so much to go around.

It’s a basic principle. An inevitable one.

But it’s a principle that has all too often been ignored — by both the entrepreneurial community and broader society.

To infinity and beyond.

So goes Buzz Lightyear’s catchphrase in the movie Toy Story.

I was only a child when this film hit theaters. I had no idea how ridiculous this phrase was at the time. I didn’t understand that there was nothing beyond infinity to shoot for.

And yet, all these years later, there are some adults who fail to see the irony of Buzz’s words.

As the world has gone digital, the desire to go beyond infinity has grown. Companies have exploded in size and valuation, unencumbered by the constraints of the analog world. People have been able to save artifacts to the cloud without inviting that musty attic smell. The ultra-rich have seen extra zeros added to their name as they eat breakfast.

The eternal hunger for more is being fed at warp speed, without much to slow it down. And yet, we are fraying at the seams.

For try as we might, one dimension resists the vacuum of acceleration and leaves us flailing in its headwinds.

That dimension is time.

Time. It’s inevitable.

There might be trillion-dollar companies these days, but there are still only 24 hours in a day. And while we might live longer than our ancestors, we’re only young for so long.

I’ve written before about our efforts to defang time. I’ve spoken out against our ill-conceived efforts to defray it into oblivion.

Such warnings seem prescient, particularly in the wake of a pandemic that spawned widespread burnout. And yet, I feel no desire to take a victory lap.

For I have failed to heed my own advice. I too have tried to bend time to my will.

Indeed, as the world slowed down during the pandemic, I sped up. I accelerated my efforts to stay fit, stay fed, and stay fulfilled.

I’ve largely achieved these goals. But they’ve come at a cost.

I’ve been getting far less sleep than I did just a few years ago. Not because of insomnia or restlessness. But because I’m doing so much in my day-to-day.

I know that this dearth of sleep will catch up with me sooner rather than later. Yet, I still find myself clinging to the false belief that I can take my productivity to the max.

Why? Because I’m human.

I don’t want to choose. I want all the pleasure and none of the pain.

Even if it’s all a grand illusion.

There’s an old tale of a couple living in paradise. Blind to their surroundings, they lived in uninterrupted bliss.

Then, a serpent brought temptation into their midst. The two of them ate from the forbidden fruit and encountered knowledge for the first time. Shame and hardship quickly followed, as they were banished into the cold.

The tale of Adam and Eve is our origin story. God might have created them, but their saga created humanity.

And yet, it’s often viewed as a cautionary tale.

We openly wonder what would have happened if they hadn’t bitten into the fruit. How idyllic would life be?

Our recent exploits seem like attempts to answer that question. Our pursuits of perfection and abundance seek to send us back to the Garden of Eden.

But despite our efforts to avoid it, reality is out there. The fixed pie is omnipresent, and with it comes tradeoffs. Getting what we desire often means giving up something else we covet.

Those who pine after what they’ve lost might sound pitiful. But at least they’re clear-eyed.

They’ve played the game. They understand its rules. And they know better than to hide from the inevitability of tradeoffs.

Perhaps we can learn from them. Perhaps we can drop the charade and accept our circumstances. And perhaps we can use this awareness to find more equilibrium.

This might not lead to a better life. But it will allow us to live life better.

And that just might be enough.

Tricks and Illusions

I woke up in a cold sweat, my heart racing.

I had just seen a vision of a dystopian world. One so horrifyingly visceral that I was convinced it was real.

As I opened my eyes and hyperventilated, I took stock of my surroundings. All was still in my darkened bedroom. Outside my window, all was quiet and calm.

Everything was normal. I had just had a bad dream.

Our minds are powerful things. They can help us solve some of life’s most profound problems. They can help us visualize new possibilities. And they can help us to get mundane tasks done.

Yet, that power can be compromised. Our minds can lure us into traps.

These traps are particularly effective when the protocols we follow are rewired. When our minds are put on the witness stand for cross-examination.

This is why we freeze when faced with tricks and illusions. This is why these mind games work.

Whether we’re observing a magic trick or falling for a joke, our minds can make us look silly at times.

We welcome this silliness because it keeps us honest. It allows us to find levity, build emotional connections and ward off burnout.

But some tricks and illusions can be more sinister. Confidence schemes can wipe out our life’s savings, leaving us destitute. And nightmares can spike our stress levels, weakening our immune systems.

It’s critical for us to avoid these outcomes. Otherwise, our survival is in grave danger.

So, we compartmentalize.

We prepare ourselves to see magic tricks by attending a magic show. We set up jokes on the first day of April, punctuating them with a warning of April Fools! We keep our guard up when we meet new people. And we do our best to be in a good mental state before we doze off.

These are not perfect solutions. But they provide us with enough control to stay afloat.

Or at least they do until a tidal wave of change hits.

Our lives are driven by emotion.

And one of the most powerful emotions out there is fear.

Fear can stop us in our tracks. It can help us avert a certain action. Or it can goad us into taking an alternative one.

Because fear has such a gravitational pull, it’s used as a tool in many societal settings. We find it in parenting techniques, in storytelling and in governance.

These applications are often for our benefit. Often, but not always.

For it turns out that fear is an illusion. It’s nothing more than a construct in our minds.

Indeed, as a common refrain goes, fear stands for False Evidence Appearing Real.

With circumspection, we can tackle these fears. We can self-triage — determining whether the outcomes that so terrify us are as likely or detrimental as we imagine them to be.

Often times, the answer to this question is No.

But there are exceptions. Exceptions like global pandemics.

In events like these, the false expectations are real. And that can be hard to fathom.

On one hand, things look normal. The sun is shining. Birds are chirping. Homes, buildings and vehicles stand intact.

But look closer.

Businesses are shuttered. People are confined to their homes. And everyone is being admonished to wash their hands, to avoid touching their faces and to stay six feet apart at all times.

Yes, the signs of normalcy are a smoke screen here. They’re an illusion.

And in these times, reality is the cruelest trick of all.

What happens when the curtain gets lifted? What transpires when the illusion becomes the status quo?

We grieve.

We go through all 5 stages of the Kübler Ross Model: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. And at the end of that process, we adjust.

Initially, we feel aggrieved. We yearn for the lifestyle we had once taken for granted. We curse the new normal.

Finding these attempts futile, we seek to bridge the gap. We try and hold on to some remnants of the past, while adjusting to the demands of the present.

This effort inevitably fails as well. A paradigm shift doesn’t allow for a soft transition. We must dive right in.

Finally, reality sets in. The loss of control yields a sense of hopelessness. We feel pangs of despair, before picking ourselves up and resolving to move forward.

This pattern is well-known for individualized shocks — such as a death in the family, a loss of a job or the breakup of a relationship. But when the entire world is turned on its head, things can get messy.

For there is no set timeline as to when all of us will make it through the gauntlet. There’s no synchronized date when we cross the threshold from one stage of grief to another.

Much like runners in a marathon, we cross the mile markers at our own pace. All as the event timer keeps ticking away.

Meanwhile, leaders wait impatiently, mired in a brutal Catch-22. They need to act quickly to properly adapt societies to the shifted landscape. But they also need consensus — which can be hard to find as individuals navigate the new normal on their own timelines.

Conundrums like these illustrate why the fascination with disruptive change in the business world is misguided. Even in the best of times, we struggle to turn on a dime.

But in crises like these — moments when our darkest illusions come to life — this tendency becomes a real liability.

So, what can we do to ease the burden?

How can we move past the paralysis of being tricked, bamboozled and floored by a world that suddenly looks much different than it once did?

We can start by letting go. By not pining for the creature comforts of the recent past, or wondering when they’ll be restored wholesale.

That ship has sailed.

We must instead focus on vigilance. On finding the right resources to follow during this period of disorientation. And on taking the appropriate actions.

This is exceedingly difficult when our world has just been rocked. For we are low on confidence, and particularly vulnerable to any tricks and illusions that persist in our new reality.

(For instance, the risk of cyberattacks is known to increase during pandemics.)

But often, what is difficult is necessary. Necessary to get us out of the quicksand of confusion. Necessary to keep us moving forward.

So, let’s recognize the circumstances. Let’s accept that illusion has become reality.

And let’s get on with finding the right light to guide the path ahead.

Our future depends on it.

Shell Games

The roadside sign caught my eye as I drove past.

New homes starting in the $300s.

Could it be? Brand new houses that cost less than an airline ticket?

No, of course not.

The 300 on the sign stood for $300,000. A princely sum, but hardly outrageous for real estate.

Still, as the sign got smaller in my rearview mirror, only one thought came to mind.

Wow, that’s a lot of money.

You see, I’m a numbers guy. But I’m also a pragmatist.

When I mowed the lawn growing up, my parents would give me $10. I knew that money could get me two McDonalds quarter pounders.

It was tangible. An hour sweating in the sun with the push mower equaled two tasty burgers.

Years later, with much larger paydays in my present and McDonalds in my past, I can still visualize where my income is going.

Bills and rent are less savory than burgers, but visualization is no less effective.

But $300,000? That’s not tangible. That’s Monopoly money.

 

I wondered if others reading that roadside sign felt the way I did. I wondered if the sheer volume of money in play blew their mind.

If they did, the sentiment surely didn’t last long.

There are new homes popping up everywhere these days. I see them on my morning run, on my drive to work and on my way to the grocery store.

These homes all hit the market with six figure price tags. Price tags that start with a 300 or a 400. But that doesn’t stop people from scooping them up in a flash.

In many respects, these homeowners are like me.

They work for a living. They have credit cards. They drive Fords and Chevys.

Yet, they have done what I have not. They’ve suspended their disbelief and taken the plunge. They’ve signed on the dotted line for a bank loan that they’ll spend 30 years paying off. All for access to a shiny new property on their own plot of land.

Monopoly money indeed.

The housing market is the most tangible example of a phenomenon that’s taken over our society.

A phenomenon I like to call shell games.

For anyone not familiar with the term, it comes from carnival lore. A midway proprietor would put a ball under one of three hats (the “shells”), and then rotate them around in a dizzying array.

When the motion stopped, carnival goers would try and guess which hat was hiding the ball. Invariably, their guess would be wrong.

Slight of hand is key to an effective shell game. All the movement and misdirection disconnects players from what’s tangible.

That’s why so many participants guess wrong, allowing the proprietor to line their pockets with ease.

The same goes for the housing market and similar types of investments. The illusion is so great, we often lose track of what’s real.

For years, Americans of modest means have been able to sign paperwork granting them keys to a property worth more than their current assets.

It’s like they’re playing poker and telling the world they’re bluffing.

Yet, unlike the carnival game, they still win in the end.

The banking system facilitates this victory, of course. Mortgages give banks some skin in the game, locking homeowners into decades of monthly payments.

By the time that last payment is made, the game is over. The full price has been paid, and the claim to homeownership is completely tangible.

But how often does that scenario actually play out?

It’s hard to find many people under the who’ve lived in a home for 30 years these days. My parents got close — reaching the 26 year mark — before selling theirs.

No, homes are treated like trading chips these days. In the age of Fixer Upper, people are buying houses in hopes of flipping them for profit. Even at the point of purchase, they’re thinking of the impending sale.

That sale could come in five years or ten. Either way, there’s little chance that the homeowner will have actually paid in full by the time they turn the keys over to someone new.

Instead, that homeowner is using the sale as an exit strategy. They’re divesting of their remaining financial obligations, and using the proceeds of the sale to invest in a new property.

It’s a shell game nested inside another shell game, much like a Russian doll.

What’s tangible is insignificant. Numbers on a scoreboard are all that matter.

I don’t own my home. Even as many of my friends become homeowners, I’m happy to maintain the lease on my apartment.

Sometimes, my friends tacitly protest my choice. They tell me that I’m burning equity by delaying homeownership. They remind me that I’m paying a premium for a space I can’t truly call my own.

They have a point. Homeownership has its perks — including the ability to enjoy some peace and quiet. (I know, I’m a grumpy old man at heart.)

But the leasing life has its benefits too — a dedicated maintenance staff and an on-site gym and swimming pool.

Still, all these factors are secondary in my decision.

The biggest reason I remain a renter is that I still haven’t gotten over my aversion to the shell game phenomenon.

Like many, I lived through the Great Recession. And the scars run deep.

I was in college in 2008 Lehman Brothers went under and the government bailed out Wall Street. My friends and I were renting a house off-campus back then. But suddenly, we started seeing foreclosure notices in the mail, addressed to our landlord. We got uneasy.

The landlord told us not to worry, but we weren’t taking any chances. We broke the lease and moved to a new rental home a couple of miles away.

At first, I thought the foreclosure notices we saw that fall were just an exercise in corporate greed. That the banks were treating some college kids’ lives as collateral damage in their never-ending quest to extract more money from homeowners.

Yet, it wasn’t long before I became aware of the growing calamity. The housing bubble had burst and the financial markets had crashed. Foreclosure notices and widespread layoffs were simply a sign of the times.

While we’ve all moved on from those days, the lessons remain vivid as ever. My biggest takeaway from the recession is that dealing in shell games is playing with fire.

So, I don’t.

My investment profile is conservative. I don’t trade stocks. And I still hesitate to take the plunge into homeownership.

Someday, that will change. But only when I have more to offer than my good name or a promissory note.

Is this the best tact to take? Perhaps not.

After all, shell games have solidified their place in our society. And they’ve helped form the modern economy.

Sooner or later, they are inevitable.

Even so, I believe it’s important to grasp on to what’s tangible. To avoid getting too big for our britches, if we can help it.

For practicality helps us keep our promises. It promotes a culture of fairness. It engenders trust and goodwill.

These attributes are far more important than a bigger house, a fancier car or a more robust portfolio. They pay far greater dividends, no matter the state of the market.

So, deal in shell games if you must. But proceed wisely.

The Millennial Problem

There are few things that annoy me more than being called a Millennial. While it’s true that I was technically born at the start of what is now considered the Millennial era, I try and dissociate myself from Millennial culture as much as possible. I do this because I find that Millennial culture contradicts my values and the essence of who I am.

Why? Well, like many critics, I consider Millennial culture to promote narcissistic, entitled, self-absorbed and childish behavior. As someone who believes in building a community upon principles of selflessness and connection, I find these behaviors to be a significant roadblock in obtaining that objective.

These prototypical Millennial behaviors can be explained, of course. In the most comprehensive critique of Millennial culture I’ve seen thus far, Simon Sinek makes the point that generation-wide failures of both parenting and education have helped shaped the characteristics of Millennials.

Sinek explains that by creating a system of placation — personified in the dreaded participation trophies that are increasingly common in youth competitions — parents and teachers have failed to extoll a crucial concept within the minds of a generation of young adults. Namely, that the world is not fair, and that nothing is just given to you in adulthood.

Of course, tell this to a savvy Millennial, and they’ll point out that innovators like Mark Zuckerberg and Evan Spiegel have gotten rich before finishing their college degrees. And while not everyone will create the next Facebook or Snapchat — social networks that have only accelerated the development of Millennial behavior — there’s no doubt that the age of technological disruption has made it more difficult for Millennials to believe that achievements must be earned gradually over time. After all, if these young Silicon Valley bigwigs can provide instant gratification — both for themselves and for the masses, through their products — why does anyone have to “Embrace The Suck” anymore?

Therein lies the fundamental issue with Millennial culture. Not only do many Millennials, to quote Queen, Want it all and want it now, but they also seem unwilling to accept the possibility that something must be earned, built or cultivated over time. In their mind, there’s always another “Life Hack” — or shortcut — out there to provide instant gratification. And if there isn’t one, there soon will be.

Quite simply, many Millennials believe there’s no need to draw upon the way it was. The way it is and will be is all that matters.

This break from tradition helps explain the unsavory narrative heaped upon Millennials by older generations — one that conveys them as lazy and petulant. And while I don’t fully agree with this narrative, I do have major issues with the Millennial perspective.

As the son of a history teacher, I believe that ignoring the lessons of the past is dangerous. As someone who has worked hard to earn a foothold in two different careers — instead of demanding the corner office and three months’ vacation on Day 1 — I find demands for instant gratification within social constructs to be deeply offensive.

Our life, our career, our friendships and relationships — each is a process. And it should be that way.

Each step in this process gives us an opportunity to learn and grow. And by holistically building trust and value over time, we’re able to contribute to our communities in ways that resonate.

So, while many critics ask that we kowtow to Millennial culture in order to bridge the generational divide in shared settings like the workplace — for instance, Sinek has proposed that laws and regulations be set for smartphone usage — my proposal is a lot simpler.

Stop babying Millennials.

Don’t bend over backwards every time a young adult demands instant gratification. Don’t let “me” come before “we.”

Call out behavior that can be perceived as lazy, anti-social or excessively narcissistic. Explain why some of the best things in life require patience and persistence.

Millennials are smart people, and good people. But high school is over, and it’s time to grow up. Given enough honest feedback and tough love, they will figure it out.

Are we willing to provide that guidance?