Tag: society

Embedded Insecurities

It’s a three-story building.

Tan brick facades. Double-hung windows. A distinctly 1920s look.

On each of the edifice’s four sides, a set of doors provide entry. Above them, four Roman columns support a structure holding a modest clock.

The building is quaint. Not majestic.

And yet, it’s of great historical importance.

This building, you see, is the Old Collin County Courthouse. It sits in the center of a leafy square in downtown McKinney, Texas. A bevy of shops and restaurants surround the square in all directions.

Long before Dallas’ suburban sprawl overtook McKinney, this was the heart of Collin County. It’s where residents would gather to conduct business and gather supplies. It was a gathering place.

That spirit is still alive in the shops and restaurants surrounding the square – a refreshing oasis from the strip malls so prevalent in greater Dallas.

It’s still alive 32 miles west in Denton, where another set of shops and restaurants surround the Old Denton County Courthouse. And it’s still alive 28 miles west of there in Decatur, where some modest establishments buttress the Wise County Courthouse.

In fact, a similar scene can be found in many of Texas’ 254 county seats. Nearly every town has its county courthouse – or former courthouse – on a square, with shops and eateries around it.

The same can be said for municipalities outside the Lone Star State. When I visited the town in rural Missouri where my father was born, it had the same setup as McKinney. So too have towns I’ve frequented in North Carolina, Nevada and Vermont over the years.

This is no coincidence.

The courthouse square setup is an American staple. And while its utility might have faded in the era of 15-gallon gas tanks and Walmart supercenters, its importance most certainly has not.

Did you hear?

Those three words represented the start of seemingly every conversation when I was in high school.

Gossip was the name of the game, and we all fancied ourselves to be Michael Jordan.

It would be harsh to fault us for these delusions. Adolescence is a near-impossible assignment. A quest to find the answers within while complying with the abstract ideals of coolness.

It’s confounding mission. One that could demoralize and distress even the strongest willed of teenagers.

And we were no match for it.

So, we shifted our gaze. We galvanized around the stumbles our peers made on the journey. The land mines that we could avoid, now that others had triggered the trip wires.

We gossiped.

Most of this gossip made the halls of my high school the old-fashioned way. Someone witnessed something – or claimed to – and shared it with the group.

But a nascent technology called social media had also found our cohort. And suddenly, some of the fodder for gossip was originating online.

Things, of course, are far different these days. Online rumors re now the norm, not the exception. And social media-based discourse has gotten so toxic that it’s spawned a new name – cyber harassment.

This has led to severe effects for modern-day adolescents. And those effects have led some states to consider bans on social media for minors.

I understand where this movement is coming from. Several young people have taken their own lives because of cyber harassment. It’s tragic, and I feel for their families and friends.

But I do wonder if the proposed bans will have the desired effect. For the root cause of the toxicity afflicting adolescent culture is not social media – or even the Internet itself.

It’s gossip.

And gossip is firmly rooted in our society.

Back to that county courthouse in McKinney, Texas for a moment.

The building sits mostly vacant now. Courtrooms and county offices reside in an expansive building five miles away.

The modern courthouse is surrounded by parking lots and a highway. A supermarket and several other stores sit a couple exits down the highway, along with a movie theater and an assortment of restaurants.

The highway is now the central corridor for McKinney residents. Anyone looking to pick up supplies, take in mass entertainment, or conduct official business sets their vehicle’s GPS for U.S. 75. The shops and restaurants around the old courthouse – while still frequented – are off the beaten path.

This modern arrangement has its advantages. Residents can gather supplies from store shelves, pay for them at a self-checkout kiosk, and load them into their car in the parking lot – all without making eye contact with another human being. Efficiency reigns supreme.

But at what cost?

You see, back when the highway didn’t exist and the courthouse was based downtown, the luxury of secluded shopping simply did not exist.

Anyone heading for supplies was going to have to head to the courthouse square. They were going to have to engage with the store clerk, even if just to hand over payment. They were going to see other locals milling about. And those other locals were going to see them.

Any misstep in this adventure would be harshly scrutinized.

Whispers would softly spread around town. And judgmental stares would brand the afflicted like a hot iron.

Yes, the gossip mill was as much a part of life as maintaining a vocation and putting food on the table. Commerce on the courthouse square took two forms of tender – dollar bills and embedded insecurities.

People measured their success not only by what they had, but how it measured up to others. The fear of inadequacy loomed large.

Treks to the courthouse square offered opportunities to disprove that notion. To put on airs, to act proper, to get a pulse of where one really was. And hopefully not to be confirmed as a pariah in the process.

These days, that style of commerce has faded. But if we think the associated demands have not, we’re kidding ourselves.

People are still dealing in embedded insecurities. They’re still keeping up with the Joneses and yearning to gain acceptance.

But now, they’re doing all this online. They’re depending on an unsavory place where judgement converges from all angles at warp speed.

Yes, everything from neighborhood forums to social media mom groups to websites like People of Walmart lives in cyberspace 24/7. And all of it turbocharges the courthouse square effect.

McKinney, we have a problem.

How do we solve the puzzle? How do we reconcile our desire for validation with the risks of critique-based abuse?

These questions have dogged us for a couple decades, if not longer.

Some have proposed attacking the riddle’s central premise. By ridding ourselves of embedded insecurities, by affirming that we are adequate and no one else’s perceptions are worth a damn, we can sidestep the strife entirely and live happily ever after. Or so they say.

It’s an appealing concept. But not a realistic one.

You see, embedded insecurities are not a bug of our society. They’re a feature of our existence. They’re hard-wired into our brains for a reason.

Like just about any other species, we rely on a group for security. Without the power of the pack, we are so much more vulnerable to so many threats.

We stand little chance of warding off these threat time after time on our own. Fight or flight only gets us so far.

So, we find sanctuary in numbers. We conform to shared rules and make ourselves presentable to masses. All while harboring anxiety about triggers for rejection.

Drowning out this impulse won’t cure us of its effects. It will only accentuate them.

No, the key is to channel those embedded insecurities. To balance those inevitable questions of adequacy with constructive answers. To openly engage and to grow from the interactions.

And to do all this away from cyberspace. Far afield from the trolls, keyboard warriors, and endless scrolls that do us no favors.

It’s time to engage with each other in public again. Human to human, with our five senses as a guide.

It’s time to pick up on cues – both verbal and nonverbal – and to adapt our behavior accordingly. To be honest without being cruel. To find a common denominator of acceptance, even with those we disagree with.

The courthouse square might no longer be the physical center of society. But its spirit still can be.

Let’s make it so.

In Color

There are many great images of America. But one of the most poignant ones came courtesy of Robert Frank’s camera lens.

The cover image of the 1958 photo journal The Americans offers a glimpse at riders on a New Orleans streetcar. They stare out the open windows at Frank as he snaps the shutter.

There are many reasons why Frank’s image is iconic. The vintage look of the streetcar.

The various expressions of the riders. The bifurcation of white and Black commuters in the segregated Deep South.

But to me, what stands out most was that the image was taken in black and white.

Now, this is as much a matter of circumstance as anything else. Color photography was a novel concept in 1958. So most photos were taken black and white back then.

And yet, this basic fact adds depth to the picture. Without real-world colors to guide us, we are left to ponder the interplay between light and shadows.

Yes, there’s something timeless about black and white photography. Something this equal parts subtle and powerful.

But this sensation, like the black and white image itself, is falling out of favor.

There’s one constant in my early memories. Color.

I remember drawing with Crayola crayons and mixing hues of Play-Doh in Pre-K. I recall holding up an edge of a multi-colored parachute at recess. And I reminisce on the debates my classmates would have over which Power Ranger was the best. (I favored the Blue Ranger.)

This is no coincidence.

Color identification is one of the staples of early education in America. Through the classroom and the toy market, kids are geared to build a color palette before picking up such skills as reading comprehension and arithmetic.

I’m sure there are cognitive benefits to all this. Few industries put their own product on trial as much as educators do. The color-first orthodoxy has made it through that crucible time and again. So, there must be something there.

Still, I find myself questioning the practicality of it all.

After all, numbers and words are building blocks. As we grow up, they can help us manage our finances and share our thoughts with others. But we can also use them to forge innovations that can change the world.

Color doesn’t have the same untapped power. Yes, it can help us read a traffic light or differentiate water and dry land. But beyond that, it’s mostly fluff.

It would seem to me that we’d want to double down on the areas that will prove most impactful — both as children and adults. But that is far from the case.

Not long ago, I came across an eyebrow-raising New York Times article. It chronicled the newest frontier in the so-called Sneaker Wars — color psychology. This is the phenomenon that’s led to the spate of acid lime, aqua blue, and neon pink footwear out there.

In the article, reporter Mark O’Flaherty explains how shoe conglomerates court attention and promote individualism through unique color palettes. One of the industry executives O’Flaherty interviews even has the title of Head of Color at their brand.

I’m a marketer and a systems-minded thinker. So, this phenomenon should be right up my alley.

But I see the endeavor as nothing more than a gigantic waste of resources.

I’m readily aware of the power of branding. And I understand the emotional impacts different hues can bring. Red-colored items tend to slightly raise the heart rates of people who see them, for instance. Blue-colored items have the opposite effect.

Still, such knowledge is mostly trivial. As individuals, we tend to think of color palettes precisely one time a day — as we get dressed. And companies only switch up their visual branding once in a blue moon. Color doesn’t get much play beyond that.

Shoe companies know this, and they’ve long followed a similarly conservative pattern. When I was growing up, the color choices for athletic shoes tended to be black, white, and gray. Occasionally, I’d see a different color on the shoe’s brand mark, but it would appear nowhere else.

A few years ago, though, I noticed things were starting to change. I was looking for a new pair of all-black Nikes, and I found only two options in the entire store. The rest of the shoes looked to me like a Smurf had vomited on them.

It was clear shoe brands had gone off the deep end. Instead of focusing on fundamentals, they were creating Head of Color positions and devoting themselves to finding the next viral hue.

As someone who favors a reserved wardrobe, I don’t like any of this. Not one bit.

But my concerns go far beyond my own preferences.

Looking at the cover of The Americans from a 21st century angle, it’s hard to fight the temptation to fill in the gaps.

What colors were the riders’ shirts? What about the streetcar itself? Was it a sunny day when Frank took the picture or was it overcast?

We’ll never know the answers to those questions. But we really don’t need to.

The photo is not about the individual details. It’s about the collective body that is American society.

Our societal endeavor is far from perfect, as the image plainly demonstrates. But the shared nature of our experience is critical. The fact that people from different backgrounds and perspectives can both share a streetcar and unite in a glance out of that streetcar — that matters.

We are taught to look beyond the black and white, to search for the shades of gray. Such nuance provides us a better understanding of the world and our unique place in it.

But when we take individualism to the other extreme — when gray become lime green and cotton candy pink — we launch ourselves out of orbit. And, in doing so, we neglect our obligation to build a better society together.

It’s time we come back to Earth. It’s time to eschew the flash and revisit time-honored principles. And it’s time we build upon those principles to make a more equitable, innovative society.

The shine and sparkle of color will always be there to tempt us. But there are more important places for us to focus on.

Let’s find them.

Home Away

The faded light of dawn appeared out of the airplane window, barely illuminating a dark gray wall of mountains.

There were no houses, no lights. Just the mountains, surrounded in early morning solitude.

I had no idea where I was, only where I was headed. And I had no idea what to expect when I got there.

Some time later, the plane touched down in Santiago, Chile. I groggily made my way through passport control and customs, still weary from the overnight flight. I quickly knocked the rust off my Spanish as I attempted to locate the point person for my study abroad program.

I had never met this man. I just had a name and a phone number. Fortunately, I found him a short time later.

After a few more students made their way through customs, we all got into a van and embarked on a 90-minute journey to the Pacific Coast.

All of this was new to me. I had never been to South America before. And I’d never traveled abroad alone.

Still, as we made our way through arid landscapes and coastal mountain passes, something seemed strikingly familiar about where I was heading.

This odd déjà vu continued after I arrived in Viña Del Mar — the seaside city that would my home for the next six weeks. Even after taking a nap and walking around the city, I still felt strangely comfortable.

I had never before felt like this after leaving the United States. When I traveled to Spain, France, and Italy with my family as a teenager, the unfamiliarity overwhelmed me at first.

You might think this was due to the language barrier. But I felt the same way when I traveled to England, or even Canada.

Something just felt off compared to what I was used to. And I had to adjust — quickly.

But Chile was different. It reminded me of California.

Yes, the architecture was different and everyone spoke Spanish. But the landscape and the cuisine had a distinct California vibe.

It rained every day of my first week in Chile. The skies were foreboding and the sidewalks were flooded. This all seemed so un-Californian, and it should have broken my spell. But I ignored the reminders from the heavens.

I still felt calm and reassured. The locals were quiet and reserved, a perfect match for my introverted nature. The food included steak sandwiches, French fries and hot dogs with avocado and mayonnaise — all close enough to what I could get back home. And the streets were broad and easy to navigate, much like a city in the United States.

My mood only changed when I found out about student protests engulfing the area. Students had taken over the campus of a university in nearby Valparaiso, where one of my classes was to be held. Other students were out protesting in the center of the city.

My class in Valparaiso was moved to a different building, and it went on as scheduled. But we were warned not to check out the protests going on nearby.

The Caribineros de Chile  — Chile’s national police force — routinely use tear gas and water cannons to break up protests, we were told. And the study abroad program leaders didn’t want us to risk getting injured.

My roommate ignored this advice at first. As a journalism major, he felt it was his duty to cover what was going on. So, he headed into the fray of a protest.

He returned with bloodshot eyes and a runny nose. He had stayed a couple of blocks away from the action, but tear gas doesn’t discriminate. After he washed his face, he told me he wouldn’t be heading out to check out the protests again.

The entire scenario was unsettling to me.

This was years before the Ferguson protests in Missouri, where police used tear gas and rubber bullets to assert control. Protests in the United States were mostly peaceful back then. Or at least that’s what I believed to be true.

Seeing police using such force against similar types of protests was jarring. While I had heard much about the atrocities of the Augusto Pinochet dictatorship, those days were long gone in Chile. And everything else I had seen on the ground to that point reminded me of American values.

It was my We’re not in Kansas anymore moment. I might have felt at home, but I was very much away.

So many memories come to mind when I think of my time in Chile.

There were the exotic ones: Riding horses over massive sand dunes. Skiing high in the Andes. Seeing the Southern Cross in the night sky of the Elqui Valley. And exploring Santiago — a mountainous city that seemed like a cross between Denver and New York.

And there were the familiar ones: Watching a movie at a Cinemark movie theater. Shopping at the mall. Watching the sun set over the ocean.

The similarities outstrip the differences, in my mind — even today. Even though I knew I was abroad — in a nation where police used brute force to quell unrest — the familiarity of my experience still makes me nostalgic.

Chile seemed to be proof that American-style economics and structural ideals could thrive abroad. Yes, the United States had taken some damaging steps to bring these ideals to the nation, including supporting a coup and the deadly Pinochet dictatorship that followed. But in the post-Cold War — and post-Pinochet — era, Chile appeared to be thriving and harmonious.

That synergy with my home nation is what kept me calm throughout my time south of the equator. It’s what made six weeks on another continent feel more like a day at the beach than a plunge into an icy lake. It’s what makes me yearn to return someday.

But now, I wonder if it all was a mirage.

Recently, there’s been lots of unrest in Chile.

Throughout Santiago, people have taken to the streets to protest the inequities of life there.

It all started with a 30 peso increase to the Santiago Metro fares.

This would be equivalent to a 4 cent fare increase to a public transit system in the United States. Seemingly innocuous.

However, thousands of Chileans saw it differently.

For the cost of living in Chile has gone up in recent years. But wages and employment opportunities have not kept up.

The financial situation has trapped many Chileans in poverty or on the lower end of the middle-class. The stagnation carries across generations — even older Chileans are finding that their pensions and retirement funds are far less valuable than they once expected.

It’s been a fraught situation. But the Metro fare increase was the spark that brought it to the fore.

It’s not about 30 pesos. It’s about 30 years, the protesters have been chanting. And as their anger has risen, the protests have turned ever more violent.

There are reports of protesters breaking store windows, spraying graffiti on buildings, setting fires and defacing much of the Metro system — previously one of the nicest in the world.

Police have responded with the usual display of force — tear gas and water cannons. But this time things feel different.

This time the unrest is widespread. This time the world is watching.

It makes me sad to see all of this. To see the Chile I got to know and love go up in flames.

For Chileans are not normally flamboyant or bombastic. Unlike their neighbors to the east in Argentina, Chileans are generally reserved and respectful.

To see so many of them turning to violence reminds me that they must really be hurting. They must feel as if they are without hope, and out of options for peaceful discourse.

This breaks my heart.

In my mind, Chile is a magical place. A nation with a unique mix of natural beauty, kind people and western ideals.

I’m not alone.

Many others have looked with wonder at Chile’s rise to a capitalist power over the last several decades. They refer to Chile as an economic miracle.

And instead of focusing on the nation’s checkered past, they point to its bright future.

Have we all been hoodwinked? Have we deluded ourselves into thinking that silence equated to success?

I certainly hope not.

For if capitalism has failed Chile, I shudder to think of the alternatives.

All across South America, from Argentina to Venezuela and Bolivia to Brazil, Chile’s neighbors have been roiled by political and economic crises in recent years. I wonder if a move to a different model would yield the same destructive results.

But mostly, I wonder if my memories of Chile were even reliable.

People seemed happy and content. But could they have been coerced into silence by the memories of the dictatorship? Or by the police’s heavy-handed responses to any sign of unrest?

It’s certainly possible.

Either way, I hope Chile can resolve its current issues peacefully. And I hope Chileans can find a future full of prosperity.

My home away from home deserves nothing less.

Accepting The Blame

It’s our fault.

The way the world treats us. The opportunities are given and taken from us. The narrative that we see in the world around us.

It all comes back to us.

It’s tempting to blame others for our misfortunes. To blame our bosses for not giving us the raises we feel we deserve. To blame corporate executives for escalating prices on the services we rely upon.

It’s tempting to blame others for exposing us to risk. To blame self-interested investors for hitching our collective destiny to the uneasy wagon of the stock market. To blame banks for taking on bad debt risk and tanking our economy.

And it’s tempting to blame others for leaving a bad taste in our mouths. To blame Mark Zuckerberg for giving away our data to bad actors. Or the media for providing us story after story of blood and guts, deceit and divisiveness.

But it all comes back to us.

We’re responsible.

You see, our capitalist society is built upon more than the principle of free enterprise. It’s built in our image.

Yes, a system built on the tenets of supply and demand reflects our desires. Oftentimes, it reflects the best aspects of humanity. But other times, it speaks to the darkest parts of our nature.

Namely, our overindulgent, win-at-all-costs tendencies.

These flaws lie within all of us, regardless of character. While some of us outwardly display them more than others, they’re certainly omnipresent.

One look at the capitalist structure proves that.

The pursuit of the almighty dollar owns all in this society. The exchange of money plays a fundamental role in our everyday lives.

On a basic level, we trade money for the services needed to survive. That’s a value exchange that benefits both sides of the transaction.

But we’re not okay with staying at that basic level. We want to live into The American Dream.

We want the bigger house, the nicer car, the flashier amenities. We want more, more, more — regardless of the collateral damage that comes with it.

This setup speaks to overindulgence. To a game with winners and losers that continually requires us to get an edge.

The corporate world reflects these values we espouse.

It has to.

Companies come into existence to satisfy our needs. Our overindulgence keeps them alive and thriving – as it provides fledgling companies an abundance demand to serve.

All until companies reach critical mass, and become mature. At that point, the goal becomes to keep that edge. To grow that demand even further, in order to satisfy their investors and keep their competitors at bay. Just as with our individual pursuits, there can never be enough.

Humanity inevitably gets lost in this process. Companies prioritize profits over people. Customers become commodities and employees become expendable.

It’s easy to vilify faceless corporations or their executives for being heartless, greedy and cruel when we feel the sting of these decisions. But it’s far more likely that the real villain is in staring back at us in the mirror.

We are the engine that drives business. Our needs, wants and desires impact the outcomes we see.

We have the voice and power to stem the tide, to turn things in a brighter, less ugly direction.

But we must accept the blame.

We must let go of the narrative that we are good and the world is evil.

We must recognize that the flaws we have within us impact the results we see without.

And we must work to exhibit restraint. To resist overindulging or winning at the expense of others.

No more scapegoats.

The key to a brighter, warmer kinder world lies within.

Let’s seek it out.

Overcoming Old

“I’m too old for this.”

That line is a hallmark of the 1987 blockbuster Lethal Weapon. In the movie, established Los Angeles Police Sergeant Roger Murtaugh finds himself partnered up with “loose cannon” Martin Riggs. Anytime Riggs’ reckless actions put the two of them in danger, Murtaugh blurts out those iconic five words (plus an expletive).

There are certainly many moments when this line finds its way into my life. Most recently, it popped into my head as I was walking across a college campus on a sizzling late summer evening.

To my left and right were undergraduate students a decade younger than me — guys in shorts and flip-flops and girls who could best be described as “scantily clad.” (As a classmate would later quip, “It seems like the price of fabric’s gone up since we were in school. Cause no one’s sporting it.”)

In the midst of it all, there I was — dressed in business attire and feeling very out of place.

It was an eerie feeling — one I’m sure anyone might feel on their first day of grad school. For despite our efforts to break down the barriers that come between us, age is still the Great Differentiator in our society. And feeling old is kind of like wearing a Scarlet Letter.

***

Why are age divisions a hallmark of our society? Because we were raised on them.

Literally.

All through grade school, we socialized and learned with peers who were our age. As we steamed past adolescence, our age provided us access to the driver’s seat, the voter’s booth and the bar. And as young adults, we quickly learned how age (masquerading as “experience”) plays a critical role in climbing the corporate ladder.

None of this is an accident. Our system of age-based division provides us structure. It presents us with goals. And it even rewards us for merit.

Still, in certain instances, it can make us stick out like a sore thumb.

Yes, our rigid age structure self-segregates our society. It limits our tolerance of cross-generational activities. And it makes us feel self-conscious when we’re “not in our lane.”

Simply put, it makes getting old no fun at all.

***

Now, I’m generally not one to rail against the cruelty of aging.

I don’t pine for days gone by, when life was more innocent and fun. I’ve fully embraced the changes that come with maturity and experience — changes both in abilities and responsibilities. My awareness of the latter has allowed me to progress through young adulthood gracefully. Perhaps too gracefully.

I’m not kidding. I jokingly refer to myself as a “42-Year-Old at Heart.” And my favorite song is Garth Brooks’ Much Too Young to Feel This Damn Old, which I listen to every year on my birthday.

So, no. Aging generally doesn’t bother me.

Yet, when the time and place is just right, my John Wayne façade crumbles. And there I am —  sporting a button-up shirt and slacks, yet feeling as naked as Adam after he was banished from Eden.

Yes, it seems regardless of our disposition, getting old will eventually get to us.

***

So, what can we do to overcome this predicament? What can we do to stem the shame, self-loathing and decreased confidence that comes with being long in the tooth?

We can start by reminding ourselves that we belong. That we have a right to go about our business, pursue our dreams and live our lives, regardless of the crowd we might encounter along the way.

And if we still find ourselves in moments of doubt, we can remind ourselves that we have nothing to be ashamed of. On the contrary, the knowledge and experience we accrued should be celebrated. It lets us live a more enlightened life and have a bigger impact. And it lets us accomplish more while erring less.

You see, overcoming old is a power we all possess. We don’t need a journey to the fountain of youth or a Botox injection. We just need the mental fortitude to break with our age-obsessed society. The wherewithal to change the narrative from a glass half-empty to a glass half-full.

That’s something we should never be too old for.

Within The Lines

Color within the lines.

It’s one of the earliest things we’re taught. Right around the time we’re first handed a crayon and a coloring book.

The objective: Follow the rules and good results will follow.

This mantra follows us into adulthood. We’re continue to be told that staying above board will lead to a positive outcome.

This carrot and stick routine is a powerful way of maintaining order within society.

It’s also completely bogus.

For as much as we’d like to believe it, life is not a meritocracy. Bad things happen to good people all the time, and the most deserving person doesn’t always reap the reward.

Those with connections or money can cut the line. Conversely, years of good deeds paired with chronic misfortune can leave us with nothing but heartbreak.

Why then, do we insist on coloring within the lines? On not taking the shortcuts and liberties others have gotten away with?

It has everything to do with balance.

You see, if we all decided the rules were not worth our attention, we’d leave ourselves in a very vulnerable state. While we’d have much to gain by putting our own interests first, we’d also lose the blanket of protection that the aura of order implies.

This is a prime reason why bouts of anarchy have been more of a pop-up thunderstorm than a Category 5 hurricane throughout history. We can only accept vulnerability for so long; once the initial jubilation of rebellion subsides, the risk outweighs the reward.

Continually fending off those trying to take advantage of us is stressful and exhausting. It’s far more comfortable to insulate ourselves in a structure that protects us against harm while rewarding us for our compliance.

This is not to say that we’re oblivious to the absurdity of our idealism. By and large, we understand that the world is not, in fact, fair. And we know that a steadfast belief in karma — good or bad — as an equalizer is more wishful thinking than reality.

But it gives us piece of mind to know where the lines are, and what it should mean if we stay on the right side of them.

It also makes us better members of society. After all, if we share a common understanding of the rules, we can commiserate freely without worrying about being stabbed in the back.

Indeed, the ideal of playing by the rules is no fallacy. It’s a necessary construct to provide us with the attributes key to our survival — comfort, protection and social connection.

These are attributes worth fighting for. So, let’s keep striving to color within the lines, even as others leave their crayon marks astray.

The Space We Create

All around me, things are changing.

The Dallas-Fort Worth area is expanding rapidly, and the sights and sounds a mile or so up the road from me bear witness to that transformation.

Heavy equipment is clearing the land, leveling the dirt and setting up roads and street lights. Soon, the frameworks of dozens of homes will go up. And before you know it, what was once a field where wildflowers bloomed and cattle grazed will be a shiny, new neighborhood.

I’ve become a bit immune to all of this. Four years ago, I could take a short drive up the highway and see plenty of these pastures. Now, those spaces are filled with strip malls, megastores, restaurants, entertainment venues and homes.

Heck, my supermarket was once a field covered in mesquite brush. I think about that every time I pull into the parking lot to load up on groceries.

It’s as if we flipped a switch. What was once God’s green earth has become a place essential to our lives, a place where memories are made.

Those new neighborhoods? Families will make their lives there, and children will grow up there. That area will mean everything to those who call it home.

Those new stores and strip malls? They’ll become woven into our routines, the way that supermarket has become part of mine.

Those entertainment centers and restaurants? They’re where good times will be had, romances will be grown and new chapters among friends and families will be written.

Yes, a simple construction boom can result in a multitude of stories — many happy ones, some sad ones and even a few tragic ones. All in a setting that appeared out of thin air.

This is a testament to societal growth. But though these changes serve to benefit us, it’s best that we don’t forget what came before.

For while we identify with the structures that frame our memories — our childhood home, our favorite restaurant — we must remember that all of it is an illusion.

At one point, the land we now inhabit was nothing more than that. The structures we’ve created came from the dirt — the same dirt we will return to when our time is done.

Now, it’s true that much of the space we’ve created predates our existence. But in the moments where it doesn’t, we owe it to ourselves to recognize all that is lost in the transformation between the natural order and the human order.

We must recognize our impact, both for better and for worse. And we must keep our achievements in proper context.

For the space create may help us shape our own stories. But the ground we build upon tells an eternal story all its own — one far greater than the scope of anything we’ve created.

We’d be fools not to give nature proper due. So, let’s look beyond the lens of our own ingenuity and appreciate the presence of something far greater.

The ground we live on is sacred. Respect it.

Navigating a Complex Society

As I reflect on the state of our society, one thought lingers:

I feel lost.

Not in a dark and hopeless way. More in the sense of: Where do we go from here?

The roadmap used to seem so simple: Do the right thing, connect with each other, grow as one. But there are layers of complexity making that path much more obscure.

Consider this:

  • We aim to build bridges across cultural divides in pursuit of a common good. Yet, by ignoring those cultural divides altogether, we ruin all the goodwill we’ve built.
  • We strive to care about each other and share a goal of a brighter future. Yet, by caring too much, our partisanship serves to divide and alienate.
  • We seek to trust others and find solace in their best intentions. Yet, blind trust easily exposes us to exploitation.

Shades of gray are everywhere. And they make the principle of unity seem as unfeasible as it is noble.

You see, striving for a common good requires us to rally around what we share, and use empathy to connect over what we don’t. But that connection only goes so deep. As a white man in Texas, I can’t pretend to understand the plight of a black woman in California. There are barriers of geography, skin color, gender and upbringing — along with 400 years of ugly historical constructs.

I can’t break through that barrier; neither can she. Even as we each strive to build a better future for our collective society, our differences remain a visible scar.

How do we build off this? How can we accept and celebrate our differences without letting the presence of that divide – and its associated fear, mistrust and isolation — destroy us?

I don’t know. But I know we need to try.

We must seek to get a better grasp on the complexities of our society. We must discover what unifies us and what divides us. We must understand what we should rally around together and what we should respectfully leave be. And we must build upon what we share without whitewashing that which we don’t.

This process will be difficult and uncomfortable. But it will help us remove the divisive stench of racism, misogyny and xenophobia — three ugly results of our unwillingness to come to terms with a complex society.

It will take a lot more than truly understanding the real ground rules of how we create to each other if we want to build a brighter future for everyone. But we owe it to ourselves to at least take that first step forward.

A Foundation of Facts

There are few things in this world more concrete than facts.

The world is round. The sun rises in the east. The first one to the finish line wins the race. We inherently know these pieces of information, regardless of our interpretation of their meaning. While we might advocate vehemently for our perspective and our interests, we don’t mess with factual evidence.

Factual are indisputable, verifiable, proven. After all, there’s no plausible way to deny that 2 + 2 = 4.

But what if it wasn’t?

If there’s one theme from recent weeks, it’s that facts are negotiable. We can be hypnotized into believing that 2 + 2 = 5, and that anyone who says different has a dishonest agenda. We can suppress those who have taken the and due diligence to determine facts, and replace the void with opinion taken as absolute truth. With a mighty hand and blustery belligerence, we can take all that has been proven as “Just So” and make it “Anything But.”

This is as dangerous to humanity as it is ridiculous.

Facts serve as our foundation. Without our acceptance of these self-evident truths, humanity would long ago have gone extinct in a blaze of total anarchy. For if not for a common base of knowledge, we wouldn’t have the capacity to collaborate, build and evolve as a species.

A foundation of facts has led us to establish cities near plentiful water sources. It has helped us to accurately calculate profit margins for our business. And it has given us a jumping-off point as we seek to create ever more powerful microprocessors for our tech devices.

While it could be noted that an interpretation of specific facts could be directly attributed to these innovations, the point remains that humanity had to accept the ironclad nature of those facts in order to have a base to build from.

By attacking the fortress of factuality, we risk it all. With no semblance of order in our collective universe, those with the most power can coerce us into accepting their opinions as absolute. With no common core in our consciousness, we’re likely to jump off the figurative cliff, unwilling to accept the indisputable pull of gravity leading us to our demise.

We must fight back.

We must advocate for the presence of facts in our society, regardless of our views regarding them. We must separate fact from opinion, taking great care to evaluate each with the proper amount of weight. And regardless of our views, we must never let anyone rob us of the ability to think for ourselves.

These actions don’t represent the hallmarks of democracy. They represent the hallmarks of humanity.

And that’s something worth fighting for.

Chasing Time

Age ain’t nothin’ but a number.

I’ve said this dozens of times before, because I know it to be true.

Sure, there are some physiological changes that go on at certain points in our life, and there are certain items we can only buy if we’re of a certain age. But all too often, the number of years we’ve been on the planet has less to do with our place in this world than we think.

Of course, we collectively bungle this truth all too often. That’s why we splurge on the bright orange sports car in response to our “mid-life crisis.” And it’s why we throw ourselves lavish parties for a milestone birthday.

There’s an expectation that the number we’re associated with should impact the way we live our lives. It’s the expectation that leads us to think “Now that I’m 55, I need to become a different person,” and then either accept or rebel against that statement.

This is understandable. After all, our society emphasizes the importance of age on a foundational level. It’s one of the reasons we go to school with kids our age. It’s one of the reasons why we must wait until we’re old enough to be able to vote, drink or rent a car. It’s one of the reasons why amazed by the 24-year-old in upper management, yet look with scorn at the 22-year-old with two kids.

In short, we act as if our society is a meritocracy, with age as its currency. This is why we expend so much effort chasing time — celebrating the passing of the years while letting that occurrence impact our behavior.

If only we could open our eyes.

For the truth is, it’s not how long we live that matters. It’s how we live that does.

How responsible we are. How we treat others. How we carry ourselves. We have an obligation to keep these consistent — and consistently positive.

This obligation remains with us, whether we’re 8 or 80. And our adherence to it can help determine our legacy long after we pass on.

I’ve taken this mantra to heart for several years. It’s one of the reasons why I don’t care much about my birthday (aside from showing gratitude to well-wishers), and why I refuse to let my age dictate my destiny. It’s one of the reasons why I evaluate those around me by their thoughts and actions, rather than their age. And it’s one of the reasons why I always try and act righteously and responsibly.

This is a much more productive and open-minded way to make it through life than worrying about how long we’ve been on the planet. And a productive, open-minded approach is much needed in a time when our society seems more distrustful and divided than ever.

Let’s break down one of these worthless barriers omnipresent in our society. Let’s stop chasing time and start focusing on life.