johnmaconline

If you’re someone who excels, you want a meritocracy.
If you don’t currently excel but believe you can with the right opportunity, you want equality (of opportunity).
If you don’t believe you can, don’t want to, or don’t think you should have to, you want equity (of outcome).

There are approximately 79342 reasons why you might see yourself in one of these statements. This is the story you tell yourself, and our stories make us who we are.

None of those reasons are objective. None of those reasons are for one particular group. None of those reasons are better than another’s.

Let’s not pretend they are.

I have a favorite pair of pants, but I know they’re liars. 

My favorite pants indicate they are the same size as my other ones, but they just fit better. This can only mean they’re lying to me. It’s a little white lie, but still a lie. 

And this little white lie makes me feel better about myself. Plus, I suspect that these pants fully understand what they are doing because they know they’re the ones I’m reaching for when I need to grab some pants. 

They’re smart liars. 

Smart marketers, tribes, and leaders understand the power of the white lie. The little white lie can engage FOMO, weaponize empathy, or like my favorite pants, make you feel good about yourself. 

I often wonder where the line is. That line between, “eh, it’s harmless,” and, “now wait a minute here.” 

Everybody knows that the gym is a madhouse in January. The memes are already flying around. The January-gym phenomenon is an excellent perspective lab. 

There’s this guy at the squat rack with the string tank top:

“Dude, WTF! Just get out of my way! Take your sorry ass over to the treadmill! Pretend it’s mid-February and disappear!”

There’s this guy using his entire body to curl a set of 50 lb dumbbells:

“Oh my gosh, I sure hope I’m not as obvious as I feel. Do I look like I know what I’m doing? Are people staring at me? Do I look weak? Do people still do curls?”

There’s this guy standing next to the Cybex leg curl machine:

“How do I use this thing? Do I have it right? Oh, please don’t let the trainer see me. Are the guys at the squat rack laughing at me?”

There’s this guy walking around with fancy training pants and the gym’s logo on his golf shirt:

“Oh, not again. What is this idiot doing at the leg curl machine? Jeez, I guess I gotta go over and help him. Yo, bro, my name’s Chet, let me help you here…”

There’s this guy sitting in the back office signing the checks:

“This is great! I sure do love January! How do I keep this momentum?”

Remember, whoever you are, in whatever situation, your perspective is valid yet personal. When you look around, rarely will anybody else see it the same way. 

I published my first blog article on May 5, 2016. It sucked. 

Over the next several years, I published about a hundred more. They all suck, with maybe a few exceptions. 

I found that Resistance’s biggest weapon in my personal fight to publish was the complete lack of constraints around what I was trying to accomplish — too many variables. 

What was I trying to say?
How often should I publish?
Who was I trying to say it to?
What was my goal?
What was the skill I was trying to learn and use?

And a million other questions and variables.

A few months ago, I committed to publishing articles daily for a year. Those 365 will more than triple my output from the previous five years. To do so, I knew I couldn’t approach it the same way. I needed to cut out some of the variables and add some constraints.

The constraints I added were to keep each article to less than 250 words, publish at 8:44 am each day, and focus the content on helping people see other perspectives through transformative storytelling.

So many times, we get caught up in blaming constraints for why we can’t or don’t — if only I could do whatever I wanted. When, in fact, maybe those constraints are the very reason we can and do.

Where do you need to add some constraints?

Resolutions. Love them or hate them? I personally hate them, but here’s a good one for me. Maybe it’ll help you.

I have a yes/no problem.

Specifically, I’m not saying one of them enough, or to the right thing, or at the right time. 

How do I know which?

There’s science behind why we need to say yes to more things. The science of saying yes is about finding the right opportunities through experimentation. 

Yes is about possibilities and breadth.

Saying no is an art because the issue’s core is usually entangled in a web of emotions. Sometimes we say no out of fear. Fear of the unknown, rejection, failure. Fear that you won’t or can’t finish.

Other times we can’t say no because of fear. Fear of letting someone down, disappointing ourselves, or having to admit a weakness. We all want to be someone who can be counted upon.

The art is in separating your emotions of the moment from the journey you are on.

No is about focus and depth.

Yup, this is all me. But I have a solution that I’ve tried before and will commit to for the new year. In these situations, I will ask myself,

 “Which is harder for me (in this situation)?”

My comfort zone is a stone-cold sage regarding what I should be doing. The answer that threatens to pull me out of my comfort zone is likely to be the better choice.

Let’s jump out of our comfort zones.

I won’t be punished if I publish an article that cuts against the narrative.
I won’t get canceled if I say something offensive.
I won’t experience any public backlash if I take a side and defend it.

So I can do all of those things. However, that’s not the real benefit. 

The real benefit is that without these worries, I can continue to focus on My World. 

Oh, right. Anyone can do that. 

If you identify as a Christian, Easter is supposed to be the Super Bowl of holidays.

But it’s not. At least not for most. Christmas is the Super Bowl.

Christmas is the holiday when we can unabashedly intersect all of the Christian right-isms^††  — right-thinking, right-feeling, right-living, right-guilting, right-judging — with all of the advantages of current western culture, such as materialism, overindulging, narcissism, and status. We just throw it all into the bowl with the butter and sugar, hit it with the whisk and a little heat, and 13 minutes later, we got tree-shaped justification cookies, plenty sweet enough to take the bitter edge off. 

For me personally, and I think for many mid-life Christians, Christmas is complex. It’s definitely my favorite time of the year. I still get excited. Every year. 

Yet, it drags along with it some very visceral stressors. The stressors of making those cookies plus the stressors of personal history. Existential experiences of living in this world. Memories that somehow hit harder during this season. I’ve even found myself thinking, “maybe I’m not such a fan of Christmas anymore.”

But I am. Even in moments of doubt, it’s never truly faded. 

Because if we’re looking for it, Christmas gives us a gift. And this gift is available for all. 

Underneath the complexity, the stress, and the hypocrisy is hope. Hope for unity. Hope for happiness. Hope for love. Hope for brighter days. Hope for salvation. 

†† Not to be confused with politics

If you’ve trained for an iron man distance triathlon, you know how to be miserable.
If you’ve written a book, you know how to be miserable.
If you’ve bootstrapped your own business, you know how to be miserable.

Embracing the misery is not the same as seeking it out, but you know how to get through it.

One foot in front of the other. One word after the next. One dollar more.

The other part of being miserable is recognizing that the next step, the next word, or the next dollar spent might not move you forward in a straight line. Adding to the misery, you may not ultimately be successful.

You might not finish the race.
Maybe nobody buys your book.
Your business might fail.

However, even though this particular race, book, or business might not work, you know it’s part of the path you must traverse. You can’t go around. You must go through.

Therefore, you have no choice but to get good at being miserable.

We’re often fooled into thinking that our competition is the other person, other team, or other philosophy.

We’re wrong. That’s The World hocking its wares.

The competition is always the one staring back at you in the mirror. Once you and I realize we’re not competing, we’re unstoppable.

It’s one thing to study business. It’s another to run your own.
It’s one thing to study war. It’s another to have served.
It’s one thing to study marathon training. It’s another to have run one.

Academic study is critical to move the genre and collective forward. Academia generally sits above and behind, and from this vantage point, one can remove emotional complexities, see the whole picture, and create new solutions.

Experience is, yes, anecdotal, but the only way to know how you feel doing it. What decisions will you make? How will you react? Where is your comfort zone?

Don’t confuse yourself by thinking that just because you studied something, you know how it feels to do it.