Learning is complicated.
While we’re doing it, it’s easy to imagine that those around us are completely sure of themselves, moving forward in a well-lit space.
In fact, if you visit a growing company, a useful school or anywhere that growth is happening, you’ll quickly see that everyone is stumbling forward in the shadows.
That’s part of the deal.
It’s easy to believe that in some moments, the world is out to get you.
This is unlikely. The world hardly knows you exist.
There is injustice and trauma and systems of caste. There are tiny pockets of humanity that hold a grudge.
But most of the time, in most situations, what happened happened and our story about it is up to us and us alone.
It’s not personal, it’s the system. The system is unaware of where we are, and the system is often visible to us before we begin our journey if we pay attention.
When things don’t go the way we hope, one alternative is to look hard at the system that caused the problem. And another productive strategy is to figure out what to do with what we get, instead of seeking to find the villain that’s causing our problem.
Marketers like to talk about the story we tell.
And non-marketers imagine that we’re referring to Goldilocks and other ‘once upon a time’ moments.
Because stories are the basic building block of culture, it’s difficult to see the nuance in this simple word. But one or two examples can help.
A new saw might have a story. A home woodworker isn’t cutting wood for a living–it’s a hobby. When a new saw from Festool comes out, the thoughtful design plants a seed for the home woodworker. From that moment on, every cut with the old saw feels like a compromise or even an insult. And the SawStop table saw is a story as well… every time a home woodworker is about to cut with their old saw, they visualize life without a finger or two… the story is far more emotional than the specs of the item itself.
Bottled water is a story. In countries where the water isn’t regularly safe to drink, there’s the simple, practical story of not getting sick.
But in wealthy countries, bottled water is a symbol. It’s a symbol for a lot of things, including status. It’s a statement about a certain kind of healthiness or self-care. And all of that rolls up into a story that is rarely put into words. When you buy bottled water in a restaurant, what are you buying?
When environmental organizations started to tell the story of millions of discarded bottles floating in the ocean, it was pretty easy for many bottled water purchasers to ignore. After all, that’s over there, and this bottle is over here. And after all, those bottles in that ocean aren’t about me or affecting me, so I’m not really aware of them. And of course, don’t blame me, because I put my bottle in a blue bin…
A far more powerful story just appeared in a scientific journal. It explains that there are 100 times as many microparticles of plastic in bottled water than had been previously estimated. 100 times as many particles that are small enough get into the bloodstream. Billions of tiny health risks.
This is a story that will probably stick with many of the people who didn’t want to hear the other story. Because now, looking at that clear bottle of status and health, it is easy for it to look like a bottle of poison.
Stories that resonate are the ones that sit with the stories we already believe and value.
There are two ways to process this:
The selection committee saw me, understood me, and then decided to reject me.
or
The selection committee didn’t get what I had to offer. I wasn’t rejected, my application was. It’s not that I didn’t get in, it’s that they didn’t engage with the story I told.
We can always do a better job of finding the place where we might thrive. And a better job of living and telling the story that earns us a chance to get to that place.
But the chances that you were fully seen and rejected as a person are slight indeed.
Supply and demand are always in a dance, with one outpacing the other from time to time.
In the last three years, the green tech revolution has accelerated dramatically. Countless companies are being created to change how food is grown, people are transported and energy is created. I’ve been stunned by the pace as well as the passion of many of the people working on these projects.
The bet some are making is that greener tech will simultaneously be cheaper, easier and more convenient.
And then, of course, everyone will switch, and the investments will pay off.
But new tech is rarely cheaper, easier and more convenient. And new tech that involves energy almost never is.
And so, we see Hertz losing their nerve and selling off electric cars. “There’s insufficient demand” combined with “it’s not as convenient…”
The problem here is one of timing. We’re asking the users of the new tech to do most of the paying, even though we all benefit.
We benefit from the experience curve that will ultimately enable the price-performance ratio of these technologies to improve.
And most of all, we all benefit by saving money on healthcare, climate remediation and unpredictable disasters.
Building a bridge between now and later is often a challenge when we seek to rewire our tech. The internet only arrived because DARPA and others kept it going for more than twenty years before it clicked.
Refocusing on the ‘we’ is a powerful way for us to get from here to there.
In a We Are All Weird universe, there are two sorts of cultural disappointments.
The first has been around since the dawn of cable: We don’t all watch the same thing. We don’t all talk about it, hits aren’t really hits, not like they used to be. There’s no comparison in the reach of M*A*S*H and the Crown. (In fact, it’s about 25:1).
It’s easy to miss the feeling of a monoculture if you grew up with it. Hits gave us something to talk about, adhere to or even work against. There are so many pockets of culture, it can’t help but feel a bit more lonely from a certain angle.
But the new one is one I’m hearing for the first time, from younger culture denizens who didn’t grow up in the monoculture. They’re arguing that we’re headed back to a monoculture, where filters, memes and the rapid spread of ideas are making everything the same again. The pressure to be in the short head is great, the desire for variety is shrinking in the face of the monopoly’s algorithms and it’s all becoming mush.
Sure, a hipster coffee shop in Tokyo feels a lot like one in Boise. But no, that can’t be compared to the hegemony of the orange-roofed Howard Johnson’s or yellow-arched McDonald’s that made every road trip exactly the same. Yes, Sysco puts the same sugar packets everywhere, but at the same time, there are three Ethiopian restaurants in Cleveland right now. I’m pretty sure that when I was stranded there in 1974, there weren’t any. Consider that they’re now discussing the best bagels in … Seattle. (or the best bread in Paris, the best chocolate in Missouri, ethical spices, or even the best gluten-free cakes in New York).
The math is simple: more people are consuming more of everything than ever before, but there are very few hits of real scale. That means that many of us spend our time in niches, not in the center.
The number one variety of beer, music, sporting event, sneaker, jeans, religious practice and automobile is: OTHER. Yes, the filters keep pushing to make the hits less interesting, but the long tail stays long.
None of the above is going to be here for a while longer.
Dreams have consequences
Hisham Matar
Time passes, decisions are made, we face the consequences or enjoy the benefits.
A few books for this moment, about navigating our days, and the possibility of light. It bends toward justice.
The Return, by Hisham Matar. A beautiful and heartrending memoir of the costs and survival of a tyrant.
The Last Policeman, by Ben Winters. A surprising meditation on what happens when we all know we have a year left.
The Ministry for the Future, by Kim Stanley Robinson. An unforgettable story of near-future climate change and the heroes and humans who show up to do something.
It Can’t Happen Here, by Sinclair Lewis. The consequences of demagoguery.
Learning to Love Midlife, by Chip Conley. A powerful and optimistic call from a dear friend.
“If you don’t ask, you don’t get.”
That’s problematic advice.
Taken to an extreme, it turns us into hustlers.
The alternative is to realize that the best asks are actually offers.
When we offer to help someone get to where they were going, we’re approaching the relationship with generosity, not selfishness.
What work would we need to do to have sufficient skill, insight and reputation to be able to offer someone else a chance to reach their goals? That’s how we get. Not by asking, but by offering.
But we hesitate to be the connector.
Everyone wants to be trusted, but we hesitate to trust.
And everyone wants to be respected, but we often fail to offer our respect.
What an opportunity.
What if your boots don’t have any straps?
Bootstrapping is logically impossible. You can’t pick yourself up into the air by lifting on your boots, no matter how hard you try, because gravity isn’t just a good idea, it’s the law.
But it’s significantly more difficult if your boots don’t have straps.
The word “purchase” has many meanings, but the most eloquent one describes the foothold we find when we’re trying to climb a wall. If you can’t find a spot to stand, it’s hard to get to where you hope to go.
And sometimes, we willingly get stuck. Or we create situations where others do.
If we’re afraid or benefitting from feeling trapped, we start to eliminate the handles. We know that taking a course, going for a walk or asking for help might move us forward, so we work hard to avoid those things. If the desire to stay stuck is strong, we’ll do anything we can to avoid offering purchase to ourselves or to anyone else who is trying to help.
Don’t worry so much about the end of the journey. The focus at the beginning is simply to make a step possible.
