johnmaconline

“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…

Vinyl doesn’t sound better than digital. 

Nor do digital recordings sound better than analog. At least not scientifically or as a blanket statement. There are exceptions, of course. But the exceptions are a product of recording and production techniques (or failures) and playback equipment, not a product of the medium itself.

Many studies show that equipment and listeners can’t discern these differences, but those who favor one format have a confirmation bias based on their preferences or values going into the test — i.e., people like us.

Vinyl-lovers is a club with exclusive membership for people like me. My story about myself confirms my membership. We all want to be part of an exclusive club, even if that club is “people who don’t join clubs.”

Our stories tell us which clubs we’re part of. Which people are “people like me.”

Next time you insist that vinyl or digital sounds better, remember that’s your heart talking through the story you tell yourself, not your ears.  

People like me.

Not only can others use story to influence us, but the story we tell ourselves about ourselves and our people also does.

People like me appreciate the art of an album and the vision of the artist for the work. The extension of the music to the production and recording, to the album jacket, and to the medium itself.

People like me care about the whole experience of listening to music. We care about the equipment, the setting, the furniture, and the company with whom we are listening.

People like me are discerning and appreciate subtleties and nuances. We are experts.

People like me enjoy the real thing, and we care about important things.

People like me shun the modern throw-away culture and know that a song or album is an art form to cherish over the long haul of life rather than something to occupy interest over the next two weeks of driving in a car. It’s something to hold in your hand and to show another person.

People like me enjoy nostalgic memories. Sometimes, our own, sometimes borrowed from others, and we find them to be deeply impactful on our current self.

Do you find yourself in any of those statements?

If so, you know that vinyl LPs sound better than digital music. Of course, they do.

More to come…

This wine tastes nothing like it did when I was at the tasting. What’s the difference? Did the winery pull some sort of fast one on me?

Nope. The difference is the story.

When at home sipping while making dinner, there’s no story, or at least it’s a very different story. There’s no mood, no ambiance, no emotional connection. I’m no longer invested in the vintner’s success. Without that emotional investment, the taste just isn’t the same.

The story directs the physical to be an outcome of our emotional connection.

Stories captivate us. We bend facts to meet our emotional memories. We overvalue stories that left us feeling good. We become emotionally invested in a positive outcome for people who’s stories resonate with us. Anchoring and confirmation bias are real tactics that feed our investment.

We’re humans. That’s what we do.

Stories don’t have to be real. They don’t have to be based in fact. Or they can play fast and loose with an interplay of facts and non-facts. Because it’s not the facts that influence us. It’s the feelings.

Stories influence us for the good or bad. When trying to understand why a person thinks or says something, start with their story.

Have you ever bought a bottle of wine after tasting it at the winery, got it home, and it tasted nothing like you remember it? Maybe even undrinkable. 

Yes, of course. We all have. What happened? What’s different? Did they bait and switch?

Nah. It’s the same wine. The difference is the story. 

You’ll probably recognize this script…

Your personable host greets you warmly and starts the tasting experience with the winery’s background, its ownership and winemaker, and the sourcing of the grapes. The who, what, and why behind the wine you are about to sample. The setting relaxes you, the background piques your interest, and knowing the winemaker invests you in the vintner’s success. You’re here, spending time and money. Of course, you want the vinter to be successful.

She then tells you in interesting detail what you are about to experience across the entire flight — anchoring bias, with a side of confirmation bias setup. 

As she offers each wine, often with some taste-enhancing or palate-cleansing cheese, cracker, or chocolate, you are taken further on the journey of that specific wine. She compares this one to the others. Then she’ll tell you exactly what aromas you will notice as you swirl the liquid, followed by the mouthfeel and, ultimately, the full taste profile from the first touch of the tongue through several seconds after you swallow. And she’s right (imagine that)! 

When done right, it’s amazing. I can’t help but want to love the wine, and hence, I love the wine! But once I get it home, it rarely tastes the same. 

What happened here? Why did I love, or at least like, this wine just a few days ago at the winery? Were there shenanigans? Is this a different year or lot, or has some chemical shift occurred?

Heck no. Its influence (manipulation?) through story. 

More to come…

If a tree falls in the woods, and nobody’s around to hear it, does it make a noise?

Yes, of course it does. At least from a physics point of view, the falling tree produced sound waves regardless of available receptors. But are you asking the question from a physics point of view or a personal perception point of view?

If you run five miles but your watch goes dead and doesn’t log it, did you do it?

Yes, of course you did. At least from a physical point of view, your legs ran, your heart and lungs pumped, and you burned the calories. But are you asking the question from a physical point of view or from a social point of view?

If you fail to stop completely at a stop sign in the middle of the night in the country, did you break the law?

Yes, of course you did. At least from a legal technical point of view, you must come to a complete and full stop at all stop signs. But are you asking from a legal technical point of view or from a practical safety point of view?

When we’re talking about noise, we’re rarely talking about physics.

That’s for the birds.

The origin of this phrase is believed to be from the observation that birds tend to peck at animal droppings to find seeds. Something that’s “for the birds” is as insignificant or unimportant as the undigested seeds found in the ubiquitous early 20th-century horse manure.

It’s not worth considering seriously.

But those worthless, manure-embedded seeds are important to the birds. In fact, its what keeps them alive. It might be their only source of food.

Just because one person thinks it’s for the birds doesn’t mean that it’s true.