Overwhelming Good

He was confident in his abilities, and arrived without remorse or fear. The base camp wasn’t a simple place to get to, but he had managed without difficulty. The real challenge still lay ahead, however. He gathered his gear; he slung his sack of tools and sustenance onto his back, his belay rope hung in a loose loop around his carabiner, and set off towards the others.

Sidelong glances glazed past him as he joined the group.  He was an outsider, inexperienced with the others.  They didn’t mind his presence, but always remained skeptical.  It could take years for their skepticism to chip away.  As one, they looked upon the peak that they were to reach by the afternoon.  As one, they hoisted their packs and set off towards the early tendrils of dawn.

The first part went without a hitch.  But by midmorning, he was having trouble.  He flagged as they others charged on defiantly.  The one in front of him gave one terse tug of the rope without looking back; he gasped a breath and pulled himself together, matching the pace of the group.

By the dangerous last third of the climb, his goggles had fogged and his ears were cold, even underneath the expensive product.  Here a single wrong step could pull the whole group down.  He was thinking about his down coverlet at home, his warm house in the sun.  The daydream continued, the climb lingered on.  Step after step, he marched up the hill, alternating ice pick with sunbathing, measured breathing with sighs in the jacuzzi.

Midway through his exhalation, things all went wrong.  His pick missed, his foot slipped, and he began to slide away on the ice.  The crevasse opened beneath him and nearly swallowed him in a single gulp, only stopped by the last-second hitch of his pick on a tiny ledge of ice.  He looked forward for the next one up to pull him to safety.  The one in front looked back for a moment, and shook his head.  If they veered off-course to save him now, they would all slide away.  He muffled for them to pull him up through his outer layer.  The one in front unclipped his carabiner, and the rest followed suit.

He panicked in the moment, then realized his predicament.  A line from the one who had warned him stood out in his mind, forgotten until that moment.  ”They work together, but they will not carry you up the mountain–they will celebrate their victories together and mourn their losses, but you and you alone will be the one to achieve or the one to fail.  They will not decide for you, except to leave you to your decision.”

The ledge broke, and he dropped another five feet into the crevasse.  His pick dug into the ice, and his body dangled.

They will not carry me up the mountain.

He looked down into the darkness of the depths, and looked up at the impossible feat of climbing himself out back into the light.  He looked inside himself–it took less than a split-second–and made his own decision.

This past week I’ve watched and listened to a few “inspirational” videos, and they’ve left me, along with a sense of excitement, a fair number of questions.  Confusion was one of the last things I expected from being inspired.  Here’s my predicament.  First, I watch a video like this compilation video of Will Smith‘s insights into life.  I get excited.  I feel injected with passion and vivacity.  I get ready to go.  Then what?

Nothing.

WHAT?!, I think to myself.  You just spent all that time getting yourself hyped up for…. sitting in your room and doing nothing with your life?

Why?  I feel like I just took the magic pill that’s supposed to instantly change me, and I find myself still sitting in the chair, unchanged to the world.  It’s not working, I tell myself.  You’re doing it wrong. Ugh.

Last week, as I drove in the car with my mom across the country, I listened to a Radiolab podcast entitled “The Secrets of Success”.  The main guest for the show was Malcolm Gladwell (author of Blink and The Tipping Point).  The show opened with a discussion of the idea of the 10,000-hour expert.  Several groups of European scientists, as well as Gladwell himself, have promoted an idea that it takes approximately 10,000 hours of work before one becomes a true expert in his field.  This is true, they said, of labeled geniuses Bill Gates, Wayne Gretzky, and The Beatles.  But what differentiates these few individuals from others who spend their lives on a single field or subject?  Gladwell and the hosts agreed on a certain amount of luck, but everyone agreed there was still something missing.  One of the hosts brought up the idea of a “rare ability”.  Geniuses, he said, have a certain level of talent that push them into the category of “genius”.  They have a rare ability within their field or subject matter that enables them to surpass everyone else.

Gladwell, however, had an entirely different idea.  It’s not rare ability that makes a genius–at least, that’s not an innate cause.  What makes a genius become who he is is an extraordinary love for what he’s doing.  The host immediately skepticized.  ”Love?  LOVE?  That’s your grand idea?  Geniuses loOove their subject so much, and that’s what makes them geniuses?  I loOove music, but that doesn’t mean I’m a music genius.”  Gladwell and the host went back and forth for much of the show, when finally Gladwell put the final swing into the nail.

“They can’t get it out of their head.  It’s practically a romantic love.  Every moment of every day, they’re thinking about it.  Absent that, I’m sorry, but you can’t be a genius.”  The audience exploded in applause, and the host finally conceded.

——-

Now, I certainly don’t claim to be a genius, but that show got me thinking.  If I expect to become a real expert in something, I better darn well love it.  Really, truly, want to do something because I can’t get it out of my head every single solitary day.

Is programming it?

Uhhh.

$%*!, I think to myself.  I mean, I enjoy playing around with computers and the ability to create something with a programming language (especially one so straightforward and “elegant” as Ruby on Rails) is certainly fulfilling, but the love of writing web applications itself… just isn’t there, in and of itself.

So, if I expect myself to really produce, then what do I love?

This feels like one of those “what are your post-graduation plans”-kind of questions, except worse.  This isn’t just about the year after college.  This is about LIFE.  Reminds me of a quote from a friend after posing a disruptive thought.  ”Just asking the tough questions.”

So what is it?

“Communication” comes close, but it doesn’t really do justice to what I love. I love understanding how people interact, resolve conflict, and get excited about things. Whether it’s trying to express an intense emotion in writing or manage a crisis situation or speaking in front of a crowd to get them hyped up for changing peoples’ minds about how we obtain energy for our homes, I thrive on intertwining empathy and logic into something friendly, accessible, and appealing to people.  I love puzzles, especially human ones.  If I could do a third major, it would have been either in sociology or psychology.

So how do I translate my love into motivation?  It’s not easy, especially when I have a somewhat-nebulous love.  I think what my motive has to be is working my real love into other projects, goals, and initiatives.  I mean, although I’ve touted plenty how I’d like to become a lawyer, Law itself isn’t a complete match with my love, my passion.  But I think I can infuse my love into it–they’re easily compatible.  Programming, however, is a slightly different story.  In order to really turn my love towards web applications, I have to frame my work properly to myself.  I have to, first, get past the hump of initial learning, understanding the basics of programming, how things work.  A necessary evil, if you will.  Then I can get into the part where my love can actually apply.  Working towards greater understanding.  Matching processes with how people think.  Intuit design.

And then, write.  Content is probably where I’ll shine the most, and will be where my real skills, my love, and my passion will shine.  That’s the end-goal, the justification for the hours of coding upon which my passion will flourish.

Inspiration is useless without love.  Inspiration is fuel, but without an engine, you won’t be going anywhere.  Love gives my inspiration meaning.

p.s. another recent story that I read that was pretty inspirational can be found here, although in not-quite the usual way.

This week, I met someone for whom the expectation I had conjured up in my head didn’t meet the reality.  It got me thinking about the impressions I put forth about myself and how, more often than I’m proud of, they don’t meet the reality of who I am.  Example:  I make and share meticulous time schedules for busy days.  I build up an expectation.  And yet I am routinely late.  I don’t know whether it’s a psychological overconfidence that everything will be fine regardless of whether I am on time or not, or I’m simply bad at time estimation, but I do this over and over.

“PD, how long till you get here?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
Twenty minutes later…
“Uh… how long till you get here?”
“Just a block away now!”

I know that, although not everyone’s Achilles is in the realm of timing, I’m not the only one with this problem.  Our society seems to have a prepossession with putting the best foot forward.  Putting the best foot forward, however, implies much more than just, say, turning your “better side” towards the camera.  It’s more like waxing your leg, putting spray tan on your sock-inspired tan line, painting muscles on your calf, and coiffing one leg with all the fanciest pants, shoes, and accessories.  It’s like the pedicure after rarely washing or watching the hygiene of your feet.  It may look and smell good now, but we all know it’ll stink to high heaven in a week.  We often expend far more effort propagating lies than we would need to make improvements.  It doesn’t make logical sense.

In addition to being illogical, it’s silly, too.  Even when we haven’t yet spent the time to improve, acknowledging our flaws often takes us much farther than attempts to “idealize” a situation.  We are often able to garner more respect from people by recognizing our own mistakes than by painting our pennies gold.  Who do you trust, the angel with the broken wing or the devil trying to hide his horns under a halo?  More often than not, the truth shines through eventually; the ensuing disappointment is never worth the bounties of recognizing the weakness in the first place.  I very well could have hidden the mess in my room in various closets and nooks in my apartment prior to my mom’s arrival to impress her–instead, by telling her in advance the reality of the situation, I was able to get help cleaning, advice on organization, and inspiration to continue to clean and maintain the new and improved status quo from my endlessly loving mom.

Where does this leave us?  Obviously, the good thing to do would be to accept and acknowledge our flaws openly, so that we may better improve upon and, if necessary, work around them. Can you imagine a world where that were always the case, where the image always met the reality?  Our productivity would explode!

Of course, the image doesn’t always meet the reality, and it’s at times difficult to differentiate at first the reality from the “best leg”.  If I were to change to eliminate false expectations, how would others know I mean what I say at face value?  If others were to change, how could I check to see who is acknowledging and embracing their flaws fully and who is still propagating lies?  Imagining a world where, say, half of the politicians employed each of these strategies, I can imagine it could become tremendously difficult to evaluate which is which–the Best Leg politicians would claim minor weaknesses in order to appear genuine, and the True Image politicians would look utterly flawed.

I have faith, however, that in the vast majority of situations, the truth eventually comes out.  Those who set up engorged expectations fall flat when they try to fit it into reality, like a flamingo in a flock of pigeons.  And those with genuine public images become respected and valued for their true selves.  This doesn’t mean they have to be “brutal” in their honesty, but it does mean being open with and embracing how I really am, and letting the image meet the reality.  That’s where I want to be.  I’m going to give it a shot, and I hope you do, too.  We’ve got to let the world become itself before we can make it better.

Extra Credit:  Check out The Invention of Lying–entertaining and quite thought-provoking, then report back here on what you think.

“Do you wish you had gone to Humboldt?” my mom asked.

I definitely had to think about it—I didn’t answer right away. It’s 10pm on Saturday night, my mom’s and my last night in Arcata, CA, where my brother Jesse attends Humboldt for Environmental Engineering. Arcata, far on the North Coast of California and deep in the heart of the Redwoods, is a world apart from my normal stomping grounds of Chicago and Los Angeles. People here in Arcata take the time to, well, appreciate life. It moves at a different pace, and a symbiosis between people and nature has formed here unlike in anywhere else in the world. And it’s easy for me—heck, it’s easy for anyone—to be jealous of my brother Jesse. I mean,

everybody lives vicariously through Jesse.
And with good reason! He’s hilarious (“funs are pun” I think is the most apt phrase to use here), funny (that’s redundant and repetitive), he’s got the looks (just ask the ladies), a disarming smile, charisma and charm that can’t be turned off, all the smoothest dance moves, and a near-perfect (albeit seemingly paradoxical) care-free responsibility that makes him at the same time always fun to be around and be someone you can always count on. His friends, his roommates, our parents, and even my friends and I have at some point lived vicariously through Jesse and his life here in Arcata.

Two evenings ago, Jesse brought me along to his friend’s house, where I had the privilege of joining a group of Lumberjacks in sitting around and playing music, singing country classics and Backstreet Boys, jiving to dance classics and making general merry. One girl led on guitar, playing any song requested sans music with perfect precision and gusto, while another occasionally picked up the harmonica to accompany. I fumbled through accompanying on the kazoo, and to my great joy and laughter I didn’t for one second ever feel an ounce of judgment or malaise (although I can attest from the cell phone videos I later watched that I was pretty terrible, especially during the dreaded-yet-outrageously-fun “kazoo solos”).

But as Kim rocked out on the intro to “I Want It That Way” on her guitar and Sarah flew across the harmonica on “Wagon Wheel”, I struggled with pangs of jealousy. Watching their harmonies slide in and out through their self-composed “Lonesome Tonight” made me think of my own guitars and harmonicas, sitting in my room in my apartment, gathering more dust than they ever should. I’ve always wanted to be able to play like they do; the ability to just pick up one of those instruments and instantly make it work with others is something I’ve wanted to be able to do since I watched my mom’s family do similarly when I could barely walk. But somehow I’ve never reached that point of mastery—not even close (I’m improving, but gosh is it slow)! I know there’s no lack of desire on my side, but time always seems to be on the other. I know I’m doing lots of productive and enriching things with my time…  I do my work for Northwestern, I’m continually engaged in Probity, I maintain relationships with my closest friends, I’m continuing my education and staying physically active, but the question remains… are those other things better?  What about all the other things I’ve wanted to do with my life at different points? Become a volunteer firefighter? Make a zip line? Join a new aikido/kendo dojo? Build my own computer? Learn to fix cars? (or even learn bagpipes!) Why am I not doing all of those when so many others are able to do them? Is what I’m doing better than those other things that I equally desire?

Jesse posed an interesting question last night. Do people conform to an environment, or do people mold their environment to match their identities? Which is the product of the other? I certainly didn’t have a definitive answer, but it got me thinking: If I had lived in Arcata, would I have been a skilled harmonica player? Perhaps I would have been the same as I was now, but I think there’s a huge likelihood that my involvements, activities, and motivations would have been entirely different had I spent the same time in a different environment (especially one as different as Arcata). My mom’s initial question digs deep. Thinking of what I could have been, isn’t that something I want? Do I really wish I had gone to Humboldt?

The implications of such a possibility run amok in my mind… Would I have been more like Jesse? Or would Jesse be different entirely, whether because of my presence or because he could have gone to an entirely different school? I can’t stand the thought of Jesse being anything other than how he is—I already idolize him in more than a few ways.

Thinking of these possibilities and jealousies and potential regrets makes me think of an earlier event in my cross-country trip—an unscheduled stop grace à broken fuel pump at my great Aunt Lydia’s house. Lydia recounted talking to a friend of hers who was upset over having multiple serious health problems and losing optimism. She told him, “Gratitude is an essential ingredient to happiness”. That made sense right away—like one of those “a-ha!” moments when something you read just clicks. Later in the conversation, she told me about one of the first real books she read: The Wisdom of Insecurity, by Alan Watts. The “wisdom of insecurity” as I understand it comes from points in life where one must make decisions. When one never wants to make or constantly fears making a mistake, it handicaps one’s ability to reach any sort of potential. Likewise, if one is overconfident in every decision, one will constantly struggle from the unintended consequences of his actions. The healthy point of balance is where one is unsure with his answer, not to the point of inability, but at a place where one can keep an open mind, and a willingness to learn and grow and improve.

So where does that leave us?

My environment affects me, and I affect it. There are certain qualities I’ll have no matter where I am, and maybe I even mold a few people around me. At the same time, much of what I choose to do is as a result of the people and environment around me (I suppose I can’t spend my days hanging out at the marsh watching birds when the nearest marsh is several hundred miles away at least). Am I unhappy I ended up in Chicago? Not at all. I’m thankful for the opportunities Chicago and LA have given me.

Sometimes I do wish I had ended up in Arcata. But I’m not upset about it. It just keeps me thinking about new ways to grow and improve, about how I could have ended up being and how I can improve myself where I am, and where I should go to continue to improve.

And, regardless of all the other questions, I am definitely grateful for Jesse. He’s an essential ingredient. I’m happy where I am.

Coming back home is always an enriching experience.  Returning to California in many ways represents a simpler living, away from the extremities of weather, the stresses of school and work, the constant worries of potholes and will my train come on time? But the real difference in modus operandi stems from returning home to my family.

In the last few days, I’ve moved and (partially) cleaned rabbit cages with my dad, laughed through old pictures and clothes with my mom, fed baby peacocks catfood out of my hand, helped build a few walls for my dad’s class in building a mini house (with only a few bent nails!) (but apparently cripples are a pain to nail, anyway), helped my dad and grandfather level the new rabbit coop, listened to Stevie Wonder and Fleetwood Mac records with my mom, picked fall-off-the-tree apricots/figs/plums/tomatoes/avocados with my parents, and watched the better-than-a-well-oiled-machine my grandfather, mom, and dad form as they make a fresh, majority locally-produced (or home-grown!) meal every night. Every moment has been insightful, happy, and magnificently natural.

As I shift my view from within and begin to look outward, I realize it is not always such a pretty picture on the outside.  I begin to note a few things about the world outside…

1. Ignorance.  It runs rampant and strong, and it can be terribly sad to watch.  Isaac and I sat in In’N'Out last night and listen to the girl who sat beside us brag and go on about how she had stolen her dad’s car once and she had gotten in so-much-trouble isn’t-that-funny-ha-ha-ha-ha and how, in high school, she had teamed up with her friends to convince another girl that she was colorblind to the point where the girl had broken down in tears and-it-was-the-funniest-thing-EVER-she-was-crying-so-hard.  She kept talking with barely a moment for breath in twenty minutes of uncensored malevolence and a maligned sense of humor–all enjoyment derived from the pain of others.  I hope that this example was merely an exception, but I recognize that this vacuousness of benevolence is a harsh reality of much of the world we live in.  Vapid is a good word.
2. Obsessing over the virtual world.  From Facebook to Twitter to even some of the things I’m learning with Probity, the lack of real human contact scares me.  What happens when the show gets boring?  Whip out your cell phone and tap away, beside your friends who are doing the same.  No amount of facebooking and texting can replace or even mimic sitting down at a meal together with those whom you care about.  I think of how my dad is able to command such a presence among his peers and others without even opening a Facebook account.  It’s from him spending time connecting with people in-person. Physical and real.  Credibility isn’t established by blog posts; it’s built and created with real-live human contact.
3. Learning services over trades.  Another idea credited to my dad, and not at all thwarted by my reading of Stephen King’s post-apocalyptic Cell (as one of my gun-toting friends would say, “Mais quand les morts se levant et commencent a manger les mondes, je vais etre préparé”).  So often we focus on learning these nebulous skills that don’t really accomplish much in terms of actually advancing oneself.  I think of my chosen profession of law, and wonder what I would do with it if I were stuck on a desert island.  Argue with myself?  Write a treatise on the precedent for the fish to come to me?  I know I’d rather be stuck with a carpenter than a lawyer or politician.  The absence of trade-learning, yes, is probably bad for our nation’s economy, but it’s also bad for us individually.  Going along with ignorance and our obsession with the virtual world, it amazes me how many people can’t figure out how to fix something (anything!) that is broken.  I’ll never forget how a certain dance group once brought two five-foot planks into a workshop, screwed them together into a backdrop, then tried to bring the backdrop out through a seven-foot elevator, and couldn’t for the life of them figure out why it wouldn’t fit back out the way it had come.  Think to yourself:  if you had to, could you build a house for yourself on your own?  How confident would you be?

So as I wrap up my time here in California, I think about taking pleasure in the simpler things in life.  We’re back to the basics.  Be aware.  Stay real.  Learn to live.  Life isn’t about a virtual world or putting others down, it’s about working towards common goals and learning, not just for the sake of learning, but learning to live.  And let’s get lunch.

In the beginning of third grade, Ryan Amos, my best friend, moved away.

From third through fifth grades, my friend groups were the smart kids in class and the ones who played basketball at lunch.  I embraced the nickname “one-man defense” as I played, and never learned how to layup properly (I would occasionally attempt a ridiculous three-pointer or two, with limited success).  I thought I had a decent group of friends.  Looking back, however, one of the few times I can remember being invited to a friend’s house, I went to James Zappulla’s house and spent the entire time watching him play N64 single player.  I felt slightly elevated from fly-on-the-wall status.

From sixth through eighth grade, my grades started faltering from perfection to above-average, and my group of friends seemed to falter proportionally.  The few of my elementary school friends who were still around were never particularly close with me, and the new additions to my friends group similarly, I later noticed, never seemed to invite me along to outside-of-school events.  Maybe I was the Karen.  I’ll probably never know.  I looked forward to my brother Jesse going to birthday parties so I could attempt to tag along (much to his chagrin).

High school didn’t buck the trend, and within a matter of weeks the new additions to the group from middle school, with whom I still had no genuine personal connection, were the closest friends I had left.  And by the beginning of tenth grade, I was “voted off the island” in true Survivor fashion as the bench we sat at during lunchtime became too crowded.  In those few moments, I finally realized what I should have noticed sometime in the previous eight years: it’s time to switch groups of friends.

I started hanging out with a group of smart kids who affectionately referred to themselves as the “fob tree” group (I don’t know if it happened before or after they started doing better in Language & Lit classes than the white kids who originally gave it the name, but they embraced the slur), and found myself having a lot of fun.  They seemed to accept my oddities and they even invited me along to social events!  They joked around about some of my physical expressions and the facts that I never cursed or drank soda–it was a blast.

And that’s when I started thinking about my role.  I was getting made fun of, but was that such a bad thing?  I was laughing along with everyone else most of the time, and I enjoyed spending time with these people (for the first time in years I felt like I had real friends of my own).  By junior year, Jesse had even begun to hang out with my friends (and not vice versa).   My friends probably didn’t mean anything serious by their jokes, but it still left me wondering…. What’s my place here? Yes, I wasn’t being voted off any benches, and the joking seemed to be non-malicious, but was my only purpose to provide entertainment for my friends by being made fun of?  It seemed to make them happy, and I didn’t feel slighted or abused.  Just a little sad.

I concluded that I was not at the age where I could determine my real purpose, and I figured out that, although perhaps some of my amigos knew nothing more of me than the silly jokes, a few of them were becoming real, true, honest-to-god friends who actually cared (even if it that real friendship was buried under a cacophony of giggles and chuckles).  Sadness abated, I was soon off to college.

College brings awkwardness, narcissism, and insecurity all to a point.  Nobody is familiar with each other, everyone wants to be liked, and the primacy of status can be even further magnified than in high school.  I heeded the advice of an older student, got out of my dorm, and made as many friends as possible from a wide array of backgrounds as quickly as possible.  I had dozens of friends, but few close.  And sometimes I felt like my need to be liked let me be taken advantage of.

Throughout high school and college, and now even beyond college, the choice of whether to be complacent or righteous seems to be an ever-present dilemma.  Do I allow myself to be made fun of, whether because I feel I can take it or because I feel it’s not ill-intentioned?  Or do I become defensive and hold my ground, stand up for myself?

Picking your battles doesn’t seem to encompass it all, because it’s more than simply choosing a supposed-injustice to stand up to; it’s a matter of really determining whether there is an injustice committed in the first place.  Choosing when to stand up to something of which I have to question its motives is extremely difficult, and something I’m currently exploring.  When does enough become too much?  Is complacency a cop-out, or is it the Middle Way of dealing with petty conflict?

Time and time again, I think about the two situations that I struggled with back in California.  The high school friends about whom I finally wizened up and departed, and the friends at the fob tree, to whom I gave (and still do) a carte-blanche for all practical purposes to be mocked without any sort of recourse.  Why the difference?  It’s been eight years with the fob tree friends, now, and I still consider many of them to be my best friends in life (and amazing ones, at that).

I suppose, from what I can gather, it comes down to this:

Some pettiness can and should be ignored.  It’s not worth the attention.  Education can sometimes correct pettiness, but more often it becomes a mountainous molehill argument that makes little to no progress.

But when pettiness turns to injustice or has a malicious flair, consciously or not, complacency is simply not an option.  When actions lead to misery, sadness, and hurt, they should not and cannot be ignored.  And when that happens, whether your role is the lowliest servant or the highest of the high, or just a plain old awkward kid, and whether the action is a street brawl or legal action or simply abandoning ship and leaving the offending party, the responsibility to be righteous must come before complacency.

It’s awfully tough to swallow, and I, like most people, have difficulty in some aspect of confronting these problems.  But I simply refuse to watch myself and other people allow themselves to live in unjustified unhappiness from the malfeasance of others.  It’s time to effect the change–nobody else is going to do it for us.

Today, a five-year old came up to me and asked me quite inquisitively, “Why do you have yellow teeth?”  His mother sputtered for a split-second before graciously correcting: “No, no, he doesn’t have yellow teeth–it’s just the light in here.”  Now, I know I take good care of my teeth.  I brush at least twice daily, I floss nearly as regularly as I should, I go to the dentist twice a year, and I never drink soda.  I eat pretty healthfully, and I followed all my orthodontist’s directions.  But somehow the weight of all that seems lessened under the tinted light of the restaurant…

The first time I heard the Serenity Prayer was towards the end of high school at my first Al-Anon meeting.  Al-Anon is a companion group for Alcoholics Anonymous, or AA.  Al-Anon was designed for friends and family members of alcoholics.  It’s a support group for some of the toughest problems an individual can face.  Feeling helpless watching a loved one drive nails into his own coffin with the meticulousness of a master carpenter or the fervor of John Henry is an extremely exhausting and trying experience.  And, for AA and NA, breaking the iron grip of an addiction only to feel that same hand laid upon your back for the rest of your life–these are some of the most unevenly-stacked trials in life.  And all these meetings incorporate the Serenity Prayer.  Many even open or close with its first four lines.  So when I was asked why and how I could stay so calm in times of anguish, it came as no great surprise that the Serenity Prayer was the very first thing to pop into my head.  It goes something like this:

God, grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change,

the courage to change the things I can,

and the wisdom to know the difference.

Now, read it again.  I’d recommend out loud, even if just whispering to yourself.  It’s a powerful message, in no small part because of the assertions it makes:

1. There are things I cannot change. This alone may seem pessimistic at first, but it’s really a tremendously empowering statement.  It admits and readily accepts that there are and will be unchangeable facts of life.  The real clincher in accepting this fact is that accepting the existence of these constants allows us to move past them.  Refusing to accept the existence of a toll booth on the highway wont let your car magically pass through the yellow steel gate, but accepting its reality allows you to address it, figure out how to deal with it, and move on to bigger and better things.
2. There are things I can change. This is the shining angel of hope.  Amid the dark spectral qualities of addiction or any other immovable hurdle in life, there exists possibility.  All is not lost!  I have the ability to influence my life–not all control is relinquished to that oft-frustrating spirit in the sky.
3. It’s hard to tell the difference. Here’s the curveball at the end.  It’s the Kevin Spacey moment, when you suddenly realize everything wasn’t so simple as it initially seemed.  It’s not always obvious what can be changed and what can’t.  The angels and spectres of hopes and hurdles will often look similar.  You must be deliberate, purposeful, and evaluative in your decisions.  The wisdom to know the difference is by no means easily obtained (and is something requiring constant vigilance), but, when honed, it can open the doors of possibility.

This week for me has been tough.  I’ve had some great successes, but also more than a few hardships and stressful situations.  Last night, I rode in a bicycle marathon around Chicago that started around midnight.  I scraped myself near the beginning of the course in a last-ditch (and thankfully successful) attempt to avoid a crash, but other than that, the ride went without incident, and I was flying high, feeling energized with vivacity pulsing through my veins.  In the last five miles, I was far beyond excited, pedaling with all my might and singing at the top of my lungs as I zoomed down North Beach.  And with three miles to the finish, I abruptly realized that I had a flat tire.

I asked if anyone knew of a bike repair guy nearby.  None to be found.  I was forced to walk my bicycle for the last three miles of the marathon (fortunately with the companionship of the Probity team + Zach).  And when we finally reached the end, still with no mechanics in sight, I was overcome with the sad realization that I would not be able to do what I had looked forward to the most about this trip: the sunrise over the lake as we cycled back to Hyde Park.  Instead I was relegated to a bus, a mile away from the lake.

As I sadly watched the sky brighten from the window of the bus, and while happiness faded into sleep, I found myself feeling strangely soothed.  As I watched the stops go by, I realized I wasn’t angry at the bicycle mechanics who decided not to be present at the end of the race.  And as I unloaded my weakened bicycle from the front of the bus, I realized I wasn’t resentful towards the people who had broken glass on the beach the day prior.  And as I began to trudge back from the bus stop to my destination, happiness still fuzzy and half-asleep, I felt strange.  Calm.  At Peace.  Serene.

And strangely, bizarrely, and completely unexpectedly, I felt a small smile climb up onto my face.  Because contrary to everything that I had come to expect from the night, I was doing what I could; I was walking.  And so I smiled, because that was good.

So today I am happy.  Today I see the hurdles and I do what I can.  I don’t know if everything I do is right, but I’m doing it.  I doubt I’ll stop going to Mexican restaurants with yellow-tinged lights anytime soon, but today starts with brushing my teeth.  And flossing.  And shaking my head at the little boy who reminded me so much of myself.  And maybe, just maybe, nearly unseen, a little subtle smile.

I should start with a caveat. I have nearly always been a PC person, with the sole exception of my very first computer, a little all-in-one Mac with a five-inch black and white screen that was given to my family by my grandparents (who were the first real personal computer users in the family, go figure). Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think Macs are bad–I think they’re great for the vast majority of people–I just sometimes feel like they’re too…

…simple. I like to challenge myself. I don’t want a computer that starts up for the first time and is perfectly intuitive. I don’t want a simple pre-approved .app file that does everything for me when I want to install a new program; I’d rather install something on my own, embrace the inevitable errors, and try to figure them out. I’d rather get a blue screen and spend two hours trying to figure out what a “fatal exception” is and why my hard drive is such a negative nancy in the first place than blissfully ignore everything that happens inside my little magical white box with the fruity logo. I like to think of it like a car. I’d always want to be able to know my way at least cursorily around under the hood, so when I see that green puddle under my car I’ll know it’s radiator coolant rather than windshield wiper stuff or transmission fluid. Sure, I’d probably use up more time than necessary when I could always go to a mechanic, but I just wouldn’t want to be that guy who’s completely ignorant of those doo-hickeys under the hood and simply trust in name-your-favorite-automaker’s good name and reputation.

This line of thinking, however, can sometimes be mean getting far more than I bargained for.

This week, for both my Probity work and as an adjunct duty for Northwestern, I started learning Ruby on Rails. Ruby is a relatively new programming language. Rails is a framework for Ruby to create web applications. Twitter, for example, was made with Ruby on Rails. Anyway, so I started trying to learn Ruby on Rails. Easy enough. I’ve pounded my way through HTML and CSS and the first few chapters of a couple Python tutorials; this should be no different. Neal provided me with an e-book to start reading, and on page 15 I hit this little gem:

Hm. This could be interesting. I understood that the majority of Rails programmers are Mac-users, but this was an interesting twist. Ten years ago. Windows 98? I guess that wasn’t too different from today’s Windows. He’ll be able to still accurately guide me through this learning process, I thought to myself. Then, three pages later, he’s going through the process of setting up Ruby on a computer. Mac, do this. Linux, do this. Windows… Well, see for yourself.

I don’t really know, so google it? Seriously?

So I googled it. And found no fewer than a dozen sites where Windows users were ridiculed for attempting Rails on their ill-fated machines. Somewhere in the muck I found a couple seemingly-reliable sources for installing Ruby on Windows. Now, I should point out that installing a programming language and associated framework isn’t quite so simple as clicking an “.exe” file and going through the Installation Wizard. You have to delve into the terminal/console/command prompt of the computer to get it to recognize a new language and set of commands. This, I quickly discovered, is tremendously more difficult on a Windows computer than on a Mac or Linux machine (which both are Unix-based, which allows you to make modifications to the set of commands they recognize with relative ease). I had this sudden and overwhelming feeling that I didn’t even know how to open the hood of this car, much less how to change the oil.

For all of my PC-using days, I’ve been in the majority. The privileged group, with broad software support AND lack of compatibility issues. I could play games AND right-click. But, within a matter of seconds, I was suddenly the beaten down minority.

If I were completely logical, at this point, I should navigate myself straight to http://www.apple.com, and buy myself a fancy new magical white box. I’m in the market for a new laptop anyway–I’m going to spend a lot of time on the El this coming year–why not make it a fruity year?

Of course, what I actually do, is tell myself, “You’re running a PC. You can do anything!” and set right off to work.

Four hours, ten desktop shortcuts, and a grossly enlarged Start menu later, I realize that perhaps I was a little hasty in my assumption. I’ve got Ruby, RubyGems, and an IDE working as needed. I’m 80% of the way through the introduction. And then Rails won’t install. Apparently I had been going about it all wrong, and had to start with a different technique (requiring all sorts of different workarounds and commands), in order to actually get Windows to recognize this new language. Back to the drawing board.

Three hours later, it’s 3:30am and I’ve finally got Rails working on Windows. Not perfectly, but it’s chugging along down the road happily. I don’t know how long it’ll last, or what else I’ll have to install that will discover the hidden wrench in the tailpipe, but it’s working for now.

We’re going to hit roadblocks in life. Challenge. Adversity. And how we deal with those times of difficulty… that’s what really displays the strength of our fiber. Or at least the strength of our stubbornness.

At this point, I should consider heading back over to that iPhone website and finding myself a simpler vehicle to operate. But why would I do that, when I can spend a few hours replacing the hard drive and battery to my six-year-old laptop, revive it from it’s two years of hibernation, and dual boot Windows with Linux (and write this blog post) on it? I’m in the process of setting up a dual boot of FreeBSD (a Unix-based operating system) on my desktop now, too.

Challenge. I don’t know if it’s ambition or stupidity, righteousness or stubbornness, but I like to figure things out. I’d rather know what’s going on than take the easy way out. Sometimes to a fault.

Some people think it’s a waste of time, but I think it’s going to pay off in the end. Because when it comes down to the real grit, I’ll be the one chugging away under the hood, never giving up till that darn motor starts.

A man who as a physical being is always turned toward the outside, thinking that his happiness lies outside him, finally turns inward and discovers that the source is within him.
-Soren Kierkegaard

It almost makes me feel embittered when I offer someone something and they completely take advantage of my propensity to give.  Whether it’s the homeless man who asks (in quick succession) for first a quarter, then a dollar, then five or that person who borrowed my CTA card once then kept using it or the people to whom I offer a snack, who end up raiding my kitchen for as much as they can, it makes me feel anxious and upset–if not downright angry–that the gluttons operate on such a “because it’s there” mentality, as it that justifies their every acquisition.  They disregard all manner of courtesy and take unabashedly their mile-long tithe for their inch-valued existence.  I don’t mind being a provider–I enjoy being the succor for the needs of my compatriots… until I realize I am being taken as the sucker for their every whim.

It makes me want to stop giving altogether.  Why should I let myself be the provider when they have done nothing to merit, nothing to deserve, nothing to express their appreciation of my above-and-beyond generous charity?  I feel walked-over and worthless, surrounded by circling vultures, waiting for me to give in to my inevitable destiny.

What did I do to deserve this?

————————————-

Reluctantly, I force myself to consider the converse of my appeal to a higher authority:  What did I deserve to do this?  Although the wording may be somewhat convoluted, it forces me to reconsider my frame of mind.  As I paraphrase Kierkegaard, sometimes one has to look inward to find life’s answers.  What have I done to deserve all the kindnesses, gifts, and sacrifices I have received through the course of my barely-begun life?  Did I repay all those who offered their generosity?  Surely not.  And I know at times I have abused the hospitality, taken more than I was given of and from those who saw fit to laud me prematurely (and certainly undeservedly) with their overwhelming magnanimity.

I know I’ll never be able to repay them all.  But what do I do to thank them?

I whine about somebody eating the last of my cocoa almonds.

Here I am complaining about the gluttony of others when I myself have been stuffing my face with unwarranted benevolence.  My prideful rant shames me.

So how do I correct my misdeeds?  I know I can never “pay back” the sacrifices my parents have made for me, the faith my friends have had in me, the patience and overwhelming forgivingness my grandparents, brother, girlfriend, and the rest of my family have had for me.  I have to express my thankfulness in a different way–what they have given me is not something to be repaid, but rather something to be fulfilled.  If I ever want to even hold a candle to the inferno bequest unto me, I have to recognize these gifts and apply them and myself to make them worthwhile.  I may never justify them completely, but I owe it to my many benefactors, from the professors who have made exceptions for me to my ceaselessly forgiving family and friends, to dedicate my life to realizing their hopes for me.

It is my burden–nay, responsibility–to express my thankfulness through action, to become a better person, to work to achieve, and to pay forward their kindness.  To you, loved ones, I’m sorry it’s taking me so long to realize this.

And please, weary traveler, help yourself to the cocoa almonds.

thanks, jesse, for the insight and inspiration to write this.

My friend Neal introduced me to someone last week who was trying to understand the Probity’s methodology. Although it was a small group discussion, I was tasked with explaining the reasoning of why we’re taking steps in the order we are. I can see why this could be confusing to no small number of people. The conversation goes something like the following:

Confused Person: Oh, you’re a web company?

Me: Pretty much, yeah.  We’re on our way toward developing simple web applications to better the world and make people happy.

Confused Person: So what’s your product?

Me: We’ve got a couple of carrots in the pot, but we haven’t decided definitively on something.  But that’s beyond the point.  Right now we’re focused on learning and development.

Confused Person: Oh, like web development?

Me: Well, that too, but mostly personal development.

Confused Person: …and that makes you money how?

Me: It doesn’t, but it hones the skills to be successful.

Confused Person:  Like what?

Me:  It breeds passion, purpose, and engorges our hunger for learning.  We hope it will be infectious, but everyone else isn’t our primary focus.

Confused Person:  Didn’t you say you were about bettering the world and making people happy?  Doesn’t that sort of set your primary focus (just a little bit) on everyone else?

Me:  Right, but how do you actually get to the point of affecting the world?

Confused Person: Uhh…

Me: You have to take that passion, purpose, and hunger for learning, or improvement, and scale it to epic proportions.  But you can’t do that if it isn’t ready to go at home.  Think of it like a space shuttle.  Space Shuttle Probity could be ready to fly across the ages in space, to the farthest reaches of our galaxy and beyond, but it would never get there if we haven’t *first* figured out and adjusted for how it’s going to leave Earth’s atmosphere.

Confused Person: So you are focusing on personal development to the point where you think your passions will act as some sort of impetus for your peers and the world?

Me: Exactly.

Confused Person: Okay, I guess I’m following you there, but what about the web applications?  Aren’t you supposed to be making those?

Me: The actual products we’ll develop, if we want them to really be far-reaching and effective, have to be grounded in the very same principles that I just mentioned.  They have to be overwhelmingly positive and infectious. If a cook doesn’t wash his hands before he prepares food, he’s spreading bad stuff to everyone he serves.  We’re taking deliberate action to be prepared to create something(s) really special.  Think of it like we’re cooks, but rather than just doing a regular hand-wash, we’re using a pressure hose filled with awesomeness to cleanse ourselves, and then helping each other to get all the hard-to-reach spots.  Once we’ve finished our purification (well, it’s never really complete–more of a work in progress, but that just means periodic booster shots along the way), we can start really creating our masterpieces–made with passion, goodness, and vim incarnate.

Confused Person:  Riiiighhttt.  I’m going to say I’m following you, but I’m really still confused.  Just let me know when you start actually doing something useful, will ya?

Me: [laughs] Haha, will do.

It’s a difficult thing to understand, especially when we live in a society focused on output, output, output.  What’s the minimum viable product?  Let’s get it out there!  Why wouldn’t you get on the bandwagon and start selling?  Make some money!

The thing that is really difficult to understand, and something that I know I struggled with, too, was that in order to empower the world, you first have to empower yourself.  Then you can empower your peers or your team.  THEN, you might be ready to start giving the world a taste of your Gummiberry juice (to steal an apt metaphor from that guy who knows everything).

I had plenty of trouble with that concept when I started working on this blog.  I thought, what’s the point of this whole “overwhelming good” business if it isn’t for, solely and completely, the world.  Isn’t it wholly hypocritical for me to be writing about and helping myself when I’m writing a blog on selflessness?

As it turns out, it’s not.  As much as I’d like to think breaking out of the paradigm of personal gain is like jumping through a massive page of tissue paper, and suddenly you’re in the realm of selflessness, it turns out the paradigm is more like a stone wall.  You chip away at it all of your life.  If you try to run through it, then you’re going to end up with a great big bruise on your head and a missing ability to take care of yourself.    Reaching selflessness is like reaching Nirvana.  Maybe you’ll one day reach it, but chances are we’ll all just be working closer to it all of our lives.  Nirvana’s a good analogy.  To be in tune with the universe, you first have to tune yourself properly.  Now, this doesn’t mean you should be doing things all at the great expense of your peers and the world.  It’s no good to be starving others just so that ten years down the line you can feed some of the ones that are left.  It may not be that you’ll know every effect that you have on others and the world, but it’s your duty to at least make an effort to be aware of and minimize any negative effects you might have on your way toward overwhelming good.

So new beginning start with the self.  This blog here, and Probity’s work, starts with each of us individually.  From there, we reach to our peers.  Our team.  Our families.  Our friends.  They’re our vetting process, our trusted ones who have always been powerful forces in our lives, encouraging and motivating us to constantly improve.  We tweak and we shuffle and we embrace adversity as we inspire.  We ignore the limits superimposed on us by society, and we redefine a reality where we right the wrongs, and we never look back.  We cultivate ourselves, and then we synergize.

Hello, world.  Watch out, we’re coming.

p.s.  thanks daddy, and to all the other dads out there.  you are some of our most powerful peers, and you teach us more every day.  we love you.