The car on the left goes first.
This mantra played in my head as my car idled at a red light.
I was 18 years old, and I had only held a driver’s license for a short time. Yet, I knew that the intersection I was waiting at was trouble.
A double turn lane merged onto a single lane road. And a race from the turn lanes to that single lane road would surely end up in a demolition derby.
The rules of the road stood paramount. The car on the left goes first.
On this day, I was the car in the leftmost turn lane. But the car on my right had tinted windows and was blasting loud music.
These weren’t the trappings of a rule follower. But I still trusted the rule. And I expected them to carry the day.
When the light turned green, I bolted through intersection — only to find the other vehicle in my way.
Suddenly, I was getting pushed across the double yellow line toward oncoming traffic. I had no choice but to back off.
After a few moments, the road widened back into two lanes. Fuming, I cut into the new lane, speeding past the car that had just cut me off. On the way by, I flashed my middle finger at the driver.
I’d gotten the last word. Or so I thought.
It turned out there was a red light up ahead. And as I brought my car to a stop, the other car pulled up beside me.
The driver rolled down his window and motioned for me to lower mine. As I did, I noticed his tattoos and his chains.
This guy was from the streets. I was a feeble teenager.
I was no match. Still, I was indignant.
So, when the other driver shouted What’s your problem? at me, I shot back with aplomb.
You can’t do that. I had the right-of-way. You could’ve gotten me killed.
Shut up! the other responded, adding some profanities for emphasis. Then the light turned green, and he drove off.
By the time I got home, I was in a rage. How could this other driver do the wrong thing and then yell at me about it? Was there any justice in this world?
Still, as I recounted this tale to my parents, they looked concerned. I was lucky to be alive, they said. And I should’ve been more careful with my indignation.
This wasn’t about right or wrong, they stated. It was about what was productive.
Getting in a shouting match over blame would not yield a better outcome. If anything, it would cause further problems.
It would be better to focus on what could propel me forward.
It’s been half my life since I got that pep talk. And while I occasionally get a bit hot under the collar while behind the wheel, I’ve tended to avoid altercations. I know now that it does no one any good.
Yet, I’m far too alone in this thinking.
The Monday Morning Quarterback.
It’s an well-worn phrase in our society.
The day after a football game, onlookers will give their unsolicited opinion. They’ll state which playcalls were wrong, which throws should have gone to a different target, which rush attempts should have been executed differently.
Such punditry means to illustrate a point. If the team were to make the right decisions, it would see better results. This point would hold true regardless of the competition it was facing or the game scenarios it was up against.
This, of course, is all ludicrous. Hindsight is 20/20, and it’s often colored by the outcomes we observe. When the game is going on, that script is still being written. The options we see clearly in the morning light are fogged over in the heat of the moment.
But that hasn’t stopped Monday Morning Quarterbacking from catching fire. There are more than a dozen football games in each pro or college football season. And pundits will spend about 60 additional days reimagining the action.
Worse still, the Monday Morning Quarterback effect has spread to other facets of life. Many companies feature post-mortems to replay ventures gone sour. Congressional committees skewer officials from myriad industries about decisions gone wrong. Wall Street investors get spooked by isolated incidents, causing stock devaluations.
There’s a primal instinct behind these actions. An instinct to apportion blame and administer punishment.
Once those elements are doled out, we’ll theoretically be set. The pain of our loss will be alleviated. Justice will be served.
But something goes missing when we keep looking backward like this. Namely, a path forward.
Yes, Monday Morning Quarterbacking – of all types – is like my altercation with that street-hardened driver years ago. It’s anything but productive.
And it needs to change.
What’s next?
It’s a question we ask often when things are going right.
There’s always the next mountain to climb, the next challenge to embrace, the next puzzle to solve.
Such thinking keeps us productive. It diverts us from complacenty. It helps us strive toward better.
But it’s also created something of a double standard. One where improvement is exclusive to those who have their house in order.
We don’t ask What’s next? when things are going off the rails. Not initially, anyway.
We’re compelled to Monday Morning Quarterback the situation first. And the quest for blame and punishment only takes us further off-course. So much so that we rarely have the energy to pursue a path forward.
This is a problem. A problem that must be fixed.
It’s time to flip the order of operations. To put the What’s next? question front and center in every conversation and every circumstance. And to leave all the rest in the background.
Such a shift might not yield ready solutions. But it will get us in a mindset to properly pursue them. And it will keep us from mindlessly playing the blame game.
In other words, it will allocate our energy in the right places.
So, let’s reconsider our approach. Let’s make what’s productive paramount. And let’s see what impact this ethos has on our lives.
It surely will be a good one.