johnmaconline

I’m damn glad we didn’t have social media when I was 25.

I thought stupid things, said stupid things, and generally acted stupid. If I had a broadcast studio in my pocket then, as we do now, I’m sure I would have…well, let’s just leave it at “posted some things I now regret.”

And the internet never forgets.

What was wrong with me at 25? Nothing, really. I was a different person then, and we lived in a culturally different time. 

That’s what happens. We evolve, as does the culture, social norms, and zeitgeist. Our journey exposes us to new experiences, people, and ways of life. New technologies open previously unknown paths, and more data solidifies the picture. The zeitgeist shapeshifts like a cumulous cloud across a summer sky. 

Our thinking and feeling adjust accordingly.

Yet, we’re all too happy in our zeal to kick, cancel, or otherwise shame our rival to pull up an old post and publish with taglines such as, “This didn’t age well.”

When I see this, I can’t help but wonder about what hasn’t aged well in my own thinking.

I’m a good driver, but you wouldn’t agree. 

I know this because my family has complained that I’m a bad driver for years. I disagree, of course, because, well, I’m a good driver. 

My driving record agrees with me. Over 35 years of driving in all weather conditions and with hellish commutes, I have exactly one minor fender bender and a dead deer on my record.

“I’m the guy you want at the wheel. I’ll get you there safely and quickly.”

At the same time, I make passengers uncomfortable, fearful, and sometimes physically ill. Because I’m not a good driver. 

What we have here is a difference in our definitions of good based on our shared yet separate experiences. We both experience the same events, yet our perspectives on those events are vastly different.

Good to me (the driver) means that I’m good at the physical operation of the vehicle in all conditions and all situations. Like you would consider Mario Andretti a good driver. 

Good to you (the passenger) means how my driving makes you feel. How smooth is the ride? Are we getting too close? Do we stop late and accelerate aggressively?

Once we understand each other’s definition, two things can happen: 1) we can communicate from common ground, and 2) we can develop empathy through each other’s perspectives.

Since I’ve become aware, I’m much more attentive to how my passengers feel. I’ve changed my behavior as a driver.

Now, where else is this happening?

I recently melted down at a Chipotle. 

The reason? Expectations.

This got me thinking about expectations in all aspects of my life.

Twenty-five years ago, on that same stretch of route 81, I wouldn’t have found any place to eat or get gas. Now I come unglued if my culinary desires aren’t met or the gas station isn’t on the right side of the highway. 

Twenty years ago, I was overjoyed if an internet search found anything remotely close. Now I’m pissed if the search engine can’t reach into my brain and figure out what I really wanted from my disjointed and misspelled typing. 

Fifteen years ago, I was happy to send a cryptic text message on a flip phone with a 3×4 alphanumeric keypad. Now I’m annoyed if my iPhone can’t properly predict the tense of my next word.

Ten years ago, I was content using my mirrors to back up. Now I curse the universe if my vehicle has a poorly lit, non-HD camera that doesn’t show me the “stop here” graphics.

Five years ago, I understood that shipping was a line item in addition to the product cost. Now I’m switching to a new store if shipping isn’t “included.”

One year ago, I didn’t give much thought to turning on the lights with my hand. Now I’m confused when I can’t yell at Alexa to do it for me.

Beware of your expectations. They can screw with your humanity. 

We didn’t always distrust. 

We used to trust many of the institutions that mattered. Occasionally we’d be disappointed. Maybe our trust was a little misplaced, but by and large, most of the institutions were generally trustworthy. 

Except companies (for-profit or non-profit). Their thin veils have always poorly hidden true motives. But we’ve always known that.

What’s happened with the others?

Politicians. A politician’s purpose is to keep their party in power — to win. Always true, but never before was the denial of due process in question. 

Elite universities. What thinking person could trust statements such as “biological sex isn’t real” and “awarding poor grades is violence.”

Experts. Unfortunately, the broadcast studio in every scientist and doctor’s pocket incentivizes them to pick sides and weaponize their status. 

Media. This one hurts the most because, historically, the media was an effective equalizer among the power bases — the great revealer of what’s under the rug. But alas, the media can no longer serve the two masters of public good and profit. They’ve had to choose sides. 

So who can we trust?

The constitution. The stubborn and lethargic bureaucracy has proven its ability to thwart the individual or team that means it harm. 

AI? Maybe, but it’s too soon. 

Your circle. Look them in the eye. Touch their hand. Mean what you say. Listen to what they say. Lead with empathy. See them as the broken, beautiful, complex, nuanced human that they are. 

Steven Pressfield. The War of Art. Read it. Then read the rest of his series on Resistance. 

We’re all stuck. We’re all distracted. And we’re all 100% complicit in our own inertia.

And yet…

Resistance. The World and its tribes have aligned with Resistance to grease the skids and lay the soft pillow of inertia before you. 

The tribes define the labels. They use the labels to trick you into thinking it’s us (good) versus them (evil). Resistance amplifies.

The only path to true winning starts with the mirror and ends with a private insurrection. 

“As artists and professionals [and humans] it is our obligation to enact our own internal revolution, a private insurrection in our own skulls. In the uprising we free ourselves from the tyranny of consumer culture. We overthrow the programming of advertising, movies, video games, magazines, TV, and MTV by which we have been hypnotized from the cradle. We unplug ourselves from the grid by recognizing that we will never cure our restlessness by contributing our disposable income to the bottom line of Bullshit, Inc, but only by doing our work.”

Steven Pressfield, The War of Art

The next time you look across the table or the Twitterverse at your (supposed) rival, remember that you have also contributed your fair share of disposable income to Bullshit, Inc. 

You’ve struggled. They’ve struggled. You’re actually on the same team. 

Now let’s align and defeat the true enemy. 

Apple’s tagline, coined in 1997 by its (supposed) rebel leader Steve Jobs, is “Think Different.”

Like all marketing taglines, it invokes an emotional response that helps you identify your tribe. And like all great taglines, it’s abstract enough that we can fit it into our personal worldview.

“I want to be different. I think of myself as different. These products are the flags that show the world that I’m different. I’m buying.”

Recently, Apple has made or at least threatened a couple of moves that seem hypocritical to the “Think Different” slogan. They’ve limited the use of AirDrop in China and threatened to drop Twitter from its platform. Although they’ve not released a formal statement as to the reasons, one can infer the following:

• They have limited AirDrop in China due to pressure/alignment with the Chinese government
• They have threatened to drop Twitter due to pressure/alignment with the political left

I often wonder how Steve Jobs would handle the current cultural climate. He loved to pit himself and his company against the establishment, but like many silicon valley moguls, he seemed a bit confused — a businessman with a Cali progressive twist. 

Both of these moves seem to go along with establishment thinking rather than thinking different. But is it hypocrisy?

Whenever we raise an eyebrow at a tribe that appears to be acting hypocritical, we must remember that their true ideology is gaining and maintaining power.

The rest is just a tagline. 

I’m an engineer. That’s both a vocation and a personality trait.

In college, engineering students are taught that engineering problems have a correct answer — a perfect solution, you might say. On a test, they usually do. But in real life, there are no perfect solutions.

Designing real-life solutions means compromise. We start with requirements, and then we negotiate amongst those requirements.

“Which of these are basic must-haves?”
“Which are the product differentiators?”
“Which are the nice-to-haves if possible?”
“Which can we push out to version 2.0 or 3.0?”

Almost by definition, all solutions will be imperfect. But we can build a great solution if even an imperfect one. To do so, we often strive for elegance.

Engineering elegance can manifest itself in a single line of code, a subroutine, or the interface between internet services. It can be found in the operation of a control circuit, a switching mechanism, or the load-bearing beam in a skyscraper. Elegance also shows up in the line of the fender, the sheen of the exposed pipe, or the lever’s feel in your hand.

Elegance is subjective, but you know it when you see it. Artists speak of it. So do mathematicians and physicists. Elegance usually marries function with aesthetics and has an economy to it.

Finding imperfect but elegant solutions through compromise and negotiation has taught me a great deal about people problems.

Useful solutions will, by definition, be imperfect, but that doesn’t mean we can’t strive for elegance.

If you’re starving and before you sit a plate of carrots and a bowl of razor blades, your choice is instinctual. 

What if, however, your choice was between peanut butter and vegemite? In this case, your choice depends on where and with whom you grew up.

Sometimes, basic human needs drive our choices. Other times they’re driven by desires. Desires are not instinctual, and our central nervous system isn’t going to weigh in on the matter. Therefore, we look outside of ourselves for a model to help us choose what’s worthy of our desire — mimetic desires. 

Our models could be another person, or it could be a tribe.

Mimetic desires lead to benign phenomena such as Christmas toy shortages, the rise and fall of Fireball whiskey, and every fashion trend since the beginning of time. 

But they’re also at the heart of many trends we may consider inherent within ourselves. 

Why does one choose to include pronouns in their profile?
Why does one choose to “buy American?”
Why does one resonate with the protestors in a clash with the police?
Why does one resonate with the police in that same clash?

If we’re not careful, we conflate mimetic desires with labels such as wokeist, nationalist, racist, or fascist. That’s our natural inclination to look at issues as a toggle switch, good vs. evil. 

But the path to a better world recognizes mimetic desires, understands the appeal of models, and respects (if not agrees with) another’s choices. 

Scarcity drives the cost and the status of many things.

For some things, this works. 

For example, take the Mona Lisa.  

Scarcity works here because who cares how much someone is willing to pay for it? The status it proffers on its owner is meaningless outside of a very small circle. Also, would it matter if a private collector, rather than a public art museum, owned and hid it from us? 

However, take an elite institution such as Harvard University.

If this is one of the best colleges on earth, shouldn’t they try to instruct more students, not less? Shouldn’t it be one of the most affordable rather than one of the least (EFC == 0 families aside)?

The problem with scarcity and status, like many things, is a matter of who benefits versus who suffers. If we want to move forward as a culture and a species, let’s stop using scarcity when it matters most.

Think about a moment, whether at work or home, when the chaos was invigorating. The chaos gave you energy, sharpened your senses, and made you happy.

You may have even said to yourself, “This is what its all about. I need more of this chaos in my life.”

Now think about a moment when the calm was invigorating. The calm recharged your batteries, allowed you to think, and made you happy.

You may have even said to yourself, “This is what its all about. I need more of this calm in my life.”

Sometimes I think we get so caught up wishing we had more that we miss the moment. We miss the opportunity before us.

What we really need is more presence and more gratitude in the moment.