Tag: uncertainty

Open-Ended

Who Shot J.R.?

The question reverberated across America in the summer of 1980.

This was the heyday of network television. There was no tangle of cable and streaming platforms to compete for entertainment attention. There was no Internet or social media for instant virality.

If there was a prime-time program on ABC, CBS, or NBC, a good portion of the country’s households were tuning into it. And in early 1980, the TV show Dallas was captivating the nation’s attention.

The show about the oil-rich Ewing family was certainly dramatic. Episodes featured everything from backstabbing business deals to brazen infidelity to caricatures of Texan glamour. But the intrigue rose to a new level during the show’s third season, when an unknown assailant shot the show’s antagonist J.R. Ewing.

The season ended immediately after the shooting. The setup gave the audience half a year to wonder if J.R. would survive — and who pulled the trigger.

It was the ultimate cliffhanger. One that helped Dallas soar into the cultural stratosphere.

Yet, Who Shot J.R.? was far from a harmless plot twist. It was a master class in exploiting a key emotional weakness. One that we’re still struggling to counter, decades later.

Back when I worked in the media, I would write short news scripts for the anchors to read.

On any given newscast, there would be 12 to 20 of these scripts, featuring subjects that we hadn’t sent a reporter to cover in depth. And many of them followed The Formula.

The Formula was the protocol for reporting on developing news. In rapid succession, the script would mention what our crews knew about the event, what we didn’t know, and what we were working to get more information on.

I viewed The Formula as a necessary evil. A public progress report was never ideal, but it was still better than withholding the story entirely.

The occurrences we reported on impacted our viewers, and we competed with two other stations to share them. We’d lose the trust of the local community — and our raison d’etre — if we want radio silent until we had the full picture.

Yet, we couldn’t speculate or embellish while filling in the blanks. If we did, we’d get in legal trouble.

The Formula treaded an uneasy middle ground between these outcomes. And so, I begrudgingly threaded that needle — knowing full well that it would irritate our viewers.

You see, humans crave closure. We don’t want things to be open-ended. We want all the information as soon as possible.

Not knowing who shot J.R. — or what will happen to him — eats at us. So does ambiguity surrounding a shooting, car crash, or brush fire in our local area.

Certainty provides the best closure. But it’s often made unavailable to us.

Sometimes, this is by necessity. Police and firefighters are scrambling to make it to the scene. The ambulance is still en route to the hospital. This is what I was contending with in my news media role, and it’s why I had to leave things open-ended.

But other times, certainty is willfully withdrawn. A situation is intentionally kept open-ended, with the understanding that the ambiguity will force us into action.

Mentally, we cannot leave loose ends untied. We’re just not wired for it. So, we do what we can to fill the gap — making a move that benefits those who fed us the partial information.

This might be watching the next episode of a TV show or buying a product in a panic. In any case, the closure hawker reaps the rewards of our Pavolvian response.

Such practices can be lucrative for these proprietors. But they’re fundamentally unjust.

And it’s time to stop turning a blind eye to that point.

I sat in the exam room, waiting for the gastroenterologist.

My appointment had been set for 2 PM. But now, it was pushing 4, and I was getting antsy.

The appointment was supposed to be nothing major. A basic follow-up for an endoscopy.

But with each passing moment, doubt gripped tighter and tighter like a boa constrictor.

Was the doctor just exceptionally bad at time management? Or was there something in my results that required another look? And what would that mean for me?

Finally, the gastroenterologist entered the room. He pulled up my file on his computer, read the report quickly, and informed me I had nothing to worry about. Everything was fine and I didn’t need a follow-up appointment.

This should have been music to my ears. But on the drive back to the office, I was irate.

What nerve did this man have holding me hostage for two hours — in the middle of a workday, no less — to tell me…nothing? And if I was fine, what explained the occasional flare-ups that had me stumbling to the kitchen at 2 AM to chug Alka Seltzer? Some of those had happened between the endoscopy and this farce of an appointment. Would I ever be able to connect the dots?

To that end, what of the original problem I came in for some years back? That also spurred an endoscopy, which did not come back clean. Back then, the gastroenterologist stated that he found something in my stomach and removed it. But what was it? Had I been close to dying without that intervention? And what were the odds of it coming back?

This experience illustrates the quandary of medical care.

To treat our maladies, doctor’s must diagnose them. And that often means reconciling what they see with what we feel.

The tests — the labs, imaging, scopes, and biopsies — tell all. They indicate what, if anything, needs to be remedied — leaving doctors to chart the course to cure. The tests provide closure to our open-ended health dilemmas – one way or another.

At least that’s the intent.

But reality is quite different. Our bodies are volatile, and our issues be elusive — disappearing at the time of a blood draw or scan, only to re-emerge when a doctor is not looking.

Indeed, certainty is a much rarer commodity than doctors would have us believe. That’s why my family didn’t post a Mission Accomplished banner when my grandmother’s cancer went into remission. Instead, we crossed our fingers every day for the next 16 years, hoping the disease wouldn’t come back. Frankly, it’s a miracle that didn’t.

So, I’ve paid little heed to the gastroenterologist’s reassurance about my endoscopy. I wait each day for the other shoe to drop, in the form of another flare-up. This outcome would not be pleasant, but perhaps it would provide some actual closure.

I’ve started taking this approach with all my medical adventures now. If I get an MRI or an X-Ray, I hope that it does find something — no matter how devastating the consequences. When I meet with various specialists, I do more than state which part of my body is hurting. I make a full case for an ailment diagnosis, leaving it to them to disprove it.

This is all irrational behavior. Kooky, really. And the fact that I continue to pursue it shows just how distressing ambiguity is. To me. To all of us.

So, why do we let others gleefully hold it over our heads? Why do we let them manipulate us like marionettes? Why do we let them exploit our emotions for their own gain?

We must do better.

It’s time that we, as a society, put the clamps on open-endedness. That we stop using it as a weapon for gain, and instead treat it as a tool of last resort.

This means changes to the way we write, the way we market, and the way we engage with each other.

It will be a jarring shift, sure. But we’ll be better for it.

There was a time when the question Who Shot J.R.? mattered. May there be a time when the question Why Weren’t We Told Promptly? matters more.

The Consistency Paradox

The chains of habit are too light to be felt until they are too heavy to be broken. –Warren Buffet

As is often the case, the Oracle of Omaha knows of what he speaks.

Yes, we are creatures of habit. We’re drawn to consistency, like moths to a flame.

In a world that’s all too often unpredictable, routines give us a sense of calm. Habits help us attend to our needs while diffusing the stress that comes from surprises.

This isn’t always for the best. Some habits — alcoholism, compulsive gambling, or drug addiction, for instance — can destroy lives.

Then again, healthy routines can lead to substantial improvements. Exercising can help us stay fit. Cooking can stimulate our curiosity. Getting enough sleep can keep us energized throughout the day.

But these routines only work if we keep them consistent.

The end goal is tantalizing. So, we go all-in.

We watch TED Talks about habits. We read self-help books about healthy routines. We turn ourselves into models of consistency, in hopes of reaping the benefits.

But at what cost?

I am familiar with the seduction of routines. They’ve long been a prominent part of my life.

I’ve gone for a run at least once a week for the last 8 years, for instance. And every week for the last 5 years, I’ve put together a fresh article here on Words of the West.

Much has changed during that time — my job responsibilities, my home address, my orbit of friends and acquaintances. But through this evolution, my routines have kept me grounded. They’ve provided a clear path from then to now.

Yet, the recent global pandemic threw me for a loop. The world dramatically changed at its onset. And like many, I struggled to adapt.

While there was a temptation to retreat in the early days, I dug in. If anything, the stress and uncertainty spurred me to double down on my existing routines.

For example, I ramped up my exercise regimen to four days a week — all while moving my workouts outdoors. I set up a meal prep rotation, with new staples such as Slow Cooker Sundays. And instead of solely writing an article here each week, I also kept a daily account of my life in quarantine.

There was a method to my madness. Accelerating my habits would give me a semblance of control over the uncertainties of pandemic life. Staying consistent with my routines would help me bridge the pre and post-pandemic worlds.

At least that’s what I told myself.

But the pandemic far outlasted my quarantine. And with the world in an extended state of flux, my consistency began to turn into a crutch.

As friends and family tried to connect with me, I turned them down in order to prepare another homecooked meal. I cut back on my sleep time to make room for my writing habits. And I even tried to run on four inches of snow, just to keep from going a week without a workout.

Consistency had gotten me through a major disruption in my life. But it also blinded me to the situation at hand. And it prevented me from moving forward.

The best ability is availability.

This adage has practically become gospel in any industry that relies heavily on teamwork.

The premise is simple. Someone with raw potential alone can amaze. But if they’re only able to showcase those talents here and there, their long-term impact will be muted.

Reliability is at a premium in our society, whether we’re playing ball or bringing our lunch pail to the construction site. From our earliest days, we’re taught the virtues of consistency. We’re urged to do things the right way, over and over again.

There are some virtues to this doctrine. It’s helped us rebound from significant setbacks. And it’s allowed us to set a standard that can endure across generations.

But the reliability mandate also pins us under a substantial weight. It leaves us to wilt under the strain of legacy.

As our society innovates and grows, the old patterns we once espoused lose much of their muster. Yet, we recognize that those very patterns — our habits and routines — are what got us to such an inflection point. We are fond of those memories, and we’re hesitant to cast those patterns off.

This is The Consistency Paradox. It’s the recognition that the same rigor that helped make us great can keep us from becoming even greater.

The Consistency Paradox is what’s made But that’s the way we’ve always done it such a powerful retort. The Consistency Paradox is why pledges for changes in behavior patterns so frequently fall short.

And as the pandemic dragged on, I found myself running headlong into The Consistency Paradox.

I was opening myself up to a gauntlet of my own creation. But in doing so, I was closing the door to new opportunities.

When is the right time to change course?

This is the question that we must grapple with when it comes to routine.

In my case, establishing consistent habits was critical early in the pandemic. It allowed me to fill the void that emerged when the world shut down.

But those same advantages soon became liabilities. As the familiar faded out of sight, so did the significance behind my routines. I became nothing more than a misguided soul standing defiantly against the wind.

I had believed that dogged consistency would spare me the worst outcomes of the pandemic — serious illness, economic hardship, and a sense of disillusionment. But even with my supercharged exercise, cooking, and writing habits, I found myself reckoning with crippling anxiety, strained social ties, and divergence from rational thought.

I eventually changed my ways. I dialed back on my routines and allowed a measure of randomness to return to my life. Even with the lingering shadow of the pandemic, I’ve been happier since making that shift.

But I wish I could have seen the light earlier. If I had spent less time chained to pointless routines, how much better off would I be now?

I’m sure I’m not alone in wondering this. The Consistency Paradox is a subtle anchor, dragging us down without making us aware of our dire circumstances.

It takes some extreme introspection to free us of The Consistency Paradox’s smothering embrace. And introspection is not something we’re all that great at.

Even so, the time for excuses has long passed. We can do better. We must do better.

So let’s treat routine or habit the way we do caffeine or sugar — as something that’s most useful in moderation. Let’s maintain some spontaneity in our lives. And let’s approach the uncertain future with the same zeal with which we recount the sepia-toned past.

Consistency can lift us up. Let’s not allow it to drag us down.

On Uncertainty

Outcome unknown.

These two words can bring us to our knees and leave us screaming in agony.

We may consider ourselves resilient in the face of challenges. But such a characteristic is formed under an assumption of normalcy.

When that assumption is removed, we find ourselves in the wind. And that causes us strife.

There is no light at the end of the tunnel. And without such tangible signs of hope, we despair.

As I write this, the world is in the midst of its most severe health crisis in more than a century.

A lethal pathogen has made its way around the globe, causing a Coronavirus pandemic. This coronavirus is highly infectious, and it causes a potentially deadly respiratory disease.

The last time a pandemic of this nature spread worldwide at this scale was 1918. That’s when the Spanish flu infected more than a quarter of the global population. In the United States alone, more than 500,000 people died.

Much has changed since that time. Vaccines are prevalent today. Medicine has advanced. And we now can get critical information quickly over the Internet.

These changes have helped mitigate the damage of plenty of viral threats over the years — including a new outbreak of a similar flu strain in 2009. But they couldn’t completely rid us of them.

The risk of an untamed virus wreaking havoc on society has remained. And that risk has become reality.

With lives at stake and no remedy imminent, many global leaders have turned to the same solutions employed in 1918. Large gatherings —including religious services, concerts and sports events — have been banned. Bars and restaurants have been shuttered. Travel has been curtailed. Hygiene norms have been revisited. And quarantine measures have been employed — both for those ill with the virus and for those at risk of infection.

These measures have led to a moment that feels eerie and dystopian. Across the globe, normally bustling streets and public squares are empty. Financial markets are in freefall. Unemployment is up. And the short-term viability of many industries is uncertain.

This is all distressing. But the ambiguous nature of what comes next has been unbearable.

In the midst of the storm, there have been no clear answers about how long the risk will last. And it’s anyone’s guess when this period of mass isolation will end.

To be sure, society is better-equipped for moments like these than ever before. Thanks to technological innovations, millions of people can work or attend classes from home. Food and supplies can be delivered to our doors. And entertainment options abound on our televisions, computers and smartphones.

But all of that is cold comfort in an environment so ripe with uncertainty.

The existential threat provided by this virus could last for weeks. Or it could last for months.

That’s a long time for anyone to be caught in a lurch, filled with anxiety about what comes next.

There is a great amount of irony in these anxieties.

After all, uncertainty is a common staple of our lives.

We don’t know what each day will bring us, from opportunities to missteps. From the moment our feet hit the floor, we’re essentially flying blind.

Under most circumstances, we accept this ambiguity. We even embrace it — through our compulsion for gambling, our obsession with watching live sports events and our No spoilers warnings for movies we have yet to watch.

Uncertainty is a source of intrigue. It provides spice in our otherwise monotonous lives.

But it only works effectively when it’s contrasted with something we’re sure of. It’s only welcomed within the context of normalcy.

This normalcy could be the rules of a game, an event on a published schedule or other patterns that impact our behavior.

We know that the plane or train should depart at a certain hour. We know that our favorite sports team should only play a specified maximum amount of games in a season. We know that when we place our wagers at the casino, there are small odds that we’ll win big and overwhelming odds that we won’t win at all.

But in moments of crisis, this façade of normalcy can get stripped away. And all that we don’t know is made painfully apparent.

This turns uncertainty from a diversion into the main event. And we’re not equipped to handle such instances well.

Sure, we might appear to adapt to such sea changes after a brief transitionary period. But appearances can be fleeting.

Deep down inside, the continued ambiguity is tearing us apart. Emotionally and psychologically, we’re struggling.

After all, we are social beings by design. Throughout the millennia, connection has helped humanity grow and thrive.

Regardless whether we’re introverted or extroverted, our understanding of the world is defined by the experiences we share with others. When that understanding is turned on its head, we find ourselves in freefall.

We panic. We abandon rationality. And chaos ensues.

We see this every time an external calamity tanks the financial markets. We see it every time a potential disaster causes people to make a run on supplies at the grocery store. And we see it in hundreds of smaller-scale forums at the same time.

The downward spiral accelerates exponentially as uncertainty continues to linger. Society frays. Tensions mount.

Suddenly, that irony doesn’t seem so amusing.

Day by day. Moment by moment.

Those are truly the only ways to look at life.

For uncertainty rules the roost. There is only so much we can do to mitigate its effects. And all that mitigation stands up like a house of cards in a hurricane.

This blunt assessment might not be reassuring. But it’s needed.

For the more we grasp the illusions of normalcy, the more we set ourselves up to fall.

We must embrace life’s ambiguities. We must accept a reality that is full of unanswered questions.

And we must do all this, even as we strive to find solutions for life’s myriad mysteries.

Not much is granted in this world — including our continued existence.

We had better understand that, and adjust accordingly.

There is no other way.