I'm writing to think, learn, and remember in public. I'll be here everyday.
So much of modern life is about managing acquisition.
Partner, friends, job, wealth, kids, pets, food, clothing, vehicles, house, trinkets. Look around.
What is the opposite of acquisition? Disposal? Loss?
Whether it’s intentional or unintentional, it seems to me that managing the opposite of acquisition is an underrated human skill.
What if, instead of telling people they are weak, we allow them to be strong?
What if, instead of telling people they need help, we allow them to help themselves?
What if, instead of telling people to blame, we allow them to take responsibility?
What if, instead of telling people to fit in, we allow them to stand out?
What if, instead of telling people they can’t, we allow them to?
“You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.”
– Matthew 5:13
Add value.
Live amongst those that add value. Work with those that add value. Surround yourself with those that add value.
Adding value doesn’t require academic intelligence. It doesn’t require special skills, a college degree, or a certification. It doesn’t require a particular worldview or faith. It doesn’t require money. It doesn’t require voting for a particular person or party. It doesn’t require privilege. It doesn’t require followers. It doesn’t require a particular kind of job or business. It doesn’t require activism. It doesn’t require data. It doesn’t require a particular type of diet.
It just requires caring about someone or something else and then acting. Add value to one other person or billions of others. Size doesn’t matter.
Do it humbly. Show empathy. Have a pure heart.
Sometimes, I think we’ve lost the thread.
I was young
I was a hockey player.
I was a drummer.
I was a triathlete.
I was a coach.
I was a father of small children.
I was a college student.
I was a hardcore engineer.
I am middle-aged.
I am a runner and cyclist.
I am a husband.
I am a father of adult children.
I am a student of life.
I am a leader of engineers.
I am an employee.
I am a community member.
I am an observer.
I will be old.
I will be a writer.
I will be a grandfather.
I will be a community leader.
I will be self-employed.
I will be a finisher.
The arc of a life revolves around the movement of our labels between these three lists. Which of the “I was’s” can be moved forward to the “I am’s”? Which can’t or shouldn’t? Which of the “I am’s” can continue forward through the “I will be’s”? Which can’t or shouldn’t?
Emotionally, I think we navigate the arc if we still have a bunch of “I am’s” and especially “I will be’s” that inspire us. Because if either of those lists gets pessimistic, how do we conduct our day and what do we look forward to?
Focus on keeping those lists of “I am’s” and “I will be’s” long and inspirational.
We usually use the phrase “end of an era” to signify a sad or at least nostalgic end. We may feel a sense of loss or disappointment, are trying to cope with an unwanted or unfamiliar transition, or are reflecting on the passage of time itself.
We don’t really use it when we’re happy it’s over. If we’re happy about it, we use phrases like, “free at last,” “dawn of a new day,” and “fresh start.” These phrases signal to the outside world that we’re ready to move on. Happy to move on. Optimistic about what’s next.
Today was the end of an era.
“it’s not as if this barricade
– Neil Peart, Rush, The Pass
blocks the only road
it’s not as if you’re all alone
in wanting to explode”
But the end of an era is the beginning of a new one if you have the right attitude. The right attitude turns an end of an era into the dawn of a new day.
And you control your attitude.
For space, it was the 1960’s.
In physics, it was the 1920’s.
For the internet, it was the 1990’s.
These were the decades of exciting times. New discoveries. New use cases. Leaps forward. Lots of money made.
Sometimes, you need hindsight to know you were in the exciting times. But sometimes you know you’re in it right now.
If you can see that its happening now and you’re in the middle of it, you can contribute, add your voice, make your mark, or at the very least, catch the wave.
Right now, the decade of the 2020’s is the exciting times for AI.
What will you do?
Elon just announced that Neuralink has implanted its first brain interface chip into a person.
It’s called Telepathy.
” It enables control of your phone or computer, and through them almost any device, just by thinking. Initial users will be those who have lost the use of their limbs. Imagine if Stephen Hawking could communicate faster than a speed typist or auctioneer. That is the goal.”
If you play this out, one can reasonably see a future where you can choose to have one. Where you can choose to be augmented. Truly bionic.
Yes, we gotta ask all the questions like who, where, when, why and let all the sides argue it out and consider this, that, blah, blah, blah. Probably for generations.
But if you could, would you get one?
“Your vote matters!”
But that depends on what you mean.
If you mean outcome, then scale plays a role, and truthfully, your vote might not matter. If you’re a contestant on Survivor, your single vote probably directly affects the outcome at tonight’s tribal council. However, as a US citizen, your single vote won’t determine the next President.
If you mean alignment, then scale doesn’t matter, but your vote certainly does. Your vote signals, “I’m part of this tribe over here. We’re smart, care about the right kinds of people, see the world correctly, and know how best to move forward.” Even if you choose not to vote, you’re aligning with the abstainers.
When deciding if your vote matters, it’s helpful to know what you mean.
In 1989, I saw Metallica at Stabler Arena on Lehigh University’s campus in Bethlehem, PA. The And Justice for All tour. Queensryche opened.
It was me and my two best friends from college. One particular moment during Harvester of Sorrow left an emotional impression on me. I almost cried. I’ve told the story several times over the years — Hetfield in a particular spot on stage, in a particular stance, perfectly timed pyro blast, lighting, sounds, etc. All of it burned indelibly into my brain. I can still picture it. The whole thing created an emotional welling-up that survives in me to this day.
About a year ago, I found some YouTube footage of the moment. I’s wrong. Or at least, the particular facts of the moment that I remember and describe are wrong. Hetfield wasn’t stage left; he was stage right. Oh, there wasn’t a pyro blast timed perfectly. He didn’t pose or move the way I describe it. Huh, I remember the lights very differently.
And then just a month ago, I was telling my brother about this show, and he said, “I know, I was there with you!”
“What? You were? I don’t remember that.”
“Dude. It was you, me, Scotty, and Gerk.”
Oh my, 0 for 2 with a memory that was “burned indelibly into my brain.”
I got the facts wrong, but not the story. Because the story was about the feeling I had in the moment. That’s what’s burned into my brain.
The “facts” are just there to support the emotion of the story.
Our memories are just stories. Many times not so filled with facts.
A couple of years into our marriage, both in our mid-20s, Chris and I started the discussion about kids. The result was that we decided the time was now.
I remember feeling excited, nervous, optimistic, and apprehensive at once.
I can vividly recall that specific conversation. It was a weekday, and we were eating dinner on the couch, as we regularly did, watching some reruns of Friends. An episodic point about children came up and launched us into our discussion. By the end of our conversation, I was sure, but Chris was not so sure — but we decided now was the time.
Excited. Nervous. Optimistic. Apprehensive.
Chris and I recently replayed that conversation, and apparently, she remembers it totally different — except for dinner. For starters, it wasn’t a single conversation but a series. No, we didn’t start it on the couch on a weekday. It was the weekend, and we were out to dinner in the city. The conversation started there, but then lingered over several days. I was the apprehensive one, and she was sure.
Who’s story is right?
Who knows. We disagreed on the facts, but we agreed on how we felt.
Excited. Nervous. Optimistic. Apprehensive.
Our stories matched up our feelings not the facts.
More to come…
