Rhett

Sacrifice

I believe in choice. In fact, I insist on choice.

Free will is the essence of our humanity. We decide for ourselves our actions and our inactions. We choose what to say and what not to say, when to say it, and to whom. We choose what we believe and what we do with the time we have. And our legacies are the sum of those decisions. Blaming circumstances or crediting others for outcomes of our decisions dodges the accountability we have to accept in order to realize our possibilities and responsibilities.

And choice necessarily requires sacrifice.

No matter what we do or say or think, in choosing we close the door on anything else we could have done or said or pondered with that same time and energy. And the more extensive the decision is, the more time and energy we must exert to make that choice, the greater the sacrifice required.

In our day and age, sacrifice has a negative connotation. It comes with a sense of deprivation or discomfort. What do you mean I have to give up something? I’m not wired to give things up happily. Just keeping the option open is enticing – it means I could still choose that path. Don’t take anything from me!

Instead of resenting it, we should celebrate sacrifice. Giving something up in order to achieve something else is not just an acknowledgment of reality. There is reason in the conscious sacrifice. There is maturity too, recognizing that some things have more value than others and that striving for something greater means foregoing things that matter less. You can add nobility too, if the sacrifice is personal enough – it is noble to put some things above your own comfort and security. Other people’s critical needs. Principles like freedom. Confronting evil and cruelty.

Recognizing sacrifice should inspire us to prioritize how we spend our time and energy. We would waste less of both if we were clear on what we are trying to achieve with our choices. We could weigh the opportunity cost of each choice confronting us against how we benefit. Like reasonable people do.

We could have such a different world if we looked to make sacrifices to achieve better things instead of looking for more of lesser things to hoard for ourselves. A deeper, more meaningful world. Can we try it?

Sharing

Sharing feels good. Really good.

So why do we resist it so much? Especially when we have so much.

I get that conserving energy is a biological motivation deeply enbedded in our DNA. Our ancestors didn’t know when they would eat next, or find water, or need shelter, so hoarding resources was critical to their survival.

And yet they were also social animals. They lived in family groups and in communities. Working with other people was critical to their survival.

We are still social animals. We still live in communities, and I know not only that I derive most of my own satisfaction and pleasure from interacting with other people but also that I could not survive without a community to support me. I am a hobbyist potter who knows zero about acquiring food on my own, zero about building even modestly effective shelter, zero about machines or carpentry or any other necessary skill for truly independent off-the-grid living.

But do we still need to hoard resources?

Because we seem to believe we do. People in my broader family, good friends and neighbors, other people I know and respect seem to want to acquire and retain more than what it appears to me that they need. I don’t judge them for their decisions – I don’t know the details of their circumstances, and I believe strongly in self-determination – but I wonder if they’re not making decisions based on fear rather than a realistic reading of their circumstances.

I retired last year from my corporate career. I was very worried about whether or not I had enough money to transition to my new career, which is still undetermined 15 months later. I did. It seems we prepare for the worst – how else to ensure that we’ll make it through. But the worst only happens to a small fraction of us, so the rest of us have over-prepared. And there’s a cost to each of us for that and to our community at large. Because in acquiring and keeping something we don’t really need, we deprive someone else of its use, someone who might need it more than we do.

My experience is that our community helps those who draw the short straws, who see disaster upend their lives. If we trusted that we wouldn’t be left out in the cold, that our families would have something to eat, that our basic needs would be met while we rebuilt our lives, then I wonder if we could curtail some of the selfishness we see around us, the selfishness that inhibits us, that undermines community and wastes resources that could be better used by someone who needs them more.

My Daughter

My oldest daughter graduated from college over the weekend.

Such milestones prompt reflection for me. I couldn’t help but relive her birth, the delight I felt in her infancy, the mental and emotional turbulence of seeing her navigate her young life, cheering (and sometimes cringing) as she faced fears and tackled new challenges with varying degrees of success, balancing support for her with coaching and even discipline. I was better at the coaching and discipline, I’m afraid.

With some chagrin I admit that she emulated my study habits in her early academic career, procrastinating on homework and projects until she absolutely had to begin. As much as she was afraid of engaging with her work – afraid she wouldn’t measure up, I suspect – she couldn’t let her teachers down by failing to turn in something. I saw a lot of myself in her then: awareness of her talents, but unsure if they would really translate to excellence, and very much afraid to find out.

Some of my favorite memories of time with her were very stressful. She demands much energy at the best of times, but when she had a school project due, well, anxiety ran very high. Still, once we had a plan, we worked well together. She’s always been able to focus on the task at hand once she settles on it.

CLB Graduation Steps 4 Blog Our work together started with her fourth-grade California history project. We made a model of a gold-rush settlement called Squabbletown mostly out of popsicle sticks. It took many steps – we had to make the ground, paint it, add foliage, build and assemble the buildings – all of which we crammed into the weekend before it was due. Naturally.

She started off the same in middle school. Her project then was to build a model of an Egyptian sarcophagus. Again, multiple steps of designing the coffin, finding materials, painting, assembling, and writing a narrative. All of which we crammed into the weekend before it was due. Same with a model of the Parthenon.

And then she parted ways with my own middle-school self (that extended through my college graduation, and, to be honest, beyond). She found that the stress of delaying her projects affected her much worse than the thought that she might not deliver an acceptable product.

In seventh grade she started planning her projects, finishing them well before their due dates and enhancing her happiness greatly. She stopped needing my help. I had been the training wheels for her academic bicycle ride, and, as is the fate of parents throughout time, I was sidelined to her developing competence. And as much as I hoped for that transition, as much as I ache to see her blossom into all of her abilities, I miss not the uncertain and underconfident little girl (though I loved that little girl fiercely) but rather the tangible value I provided that she needed then and doesn’t need now. I have to admit that I’m a bit adrift, searching for the things that she needs from me now. The challenge is no longer hers, but mine, and I’ve not built all the habits or mastered the skills that will tell me what those are. But I do strive, because I believe that she needs me, even if I don’t know exactly how.

Watching her become not just more capable but also more aware of her talents and more sure of her efforts has been as gratifying and as satisfying as anything I’ve ever done myself. Seeing her pride in her success, watching her with the friends who adore her, hearing the professors who praise her, it’s all so affirming. Of what she’s done to this point, but also of the efforts of her mother and me. Accepting her hard-won diploma (magna cum laude, no less – please forgive me) was a milestone for her.

And for me. And I hope there are many more milestones ahead.

Pride

Pride has a bit of a bad rap, I think.

It’s inclusion as one of the 7 deadly sins seems excessive. I mean, murder doesn’t make the cut, but pride does? Taking satisfaction in something you’ve achieved is not only incredibly human – isn’t achieving something of which we can be proud one of the prime motivating forces within each of us? – I think it’s constructive. Achieving something that makes me proud puts me in a great mood and adds to my confidence to strive further still.

I concede that, like everything else we do, pride has its seemly limits, and it’s grating at best and infuriating at worst when you have to interact with someone who is full of himself. Using a parallel to sister-sin gluttony, I can eat one, two or even three Oreo cookies without harm to anyone while granting myself an enjoyment. If I eat 100 of them, however, I’m not going to enjoy it, and pity anyone who has to see me vomit them up or deal with the mess that makes.

I am conflicted about pride though. I am a father to two daughters, surprisingly different from one another, and yet each spawns in me a feeling best described as pride. They are both remarkable people: thoughtful, responsible, funny, capable, with only a shared talent for creating untidy spaces to mar their perfection. And I revel in all of it.

But I have rarely, if ever, told my children that I am proud of them. I worry that my pride in them actually diminishes them.

They are not my creations, so why should I feel so much satisfaction as they reveal their brilliance and wit and humanity or as they accomplish amazing feats of intellect, reason, creativity and generosity? Only half their genes come from me, and even in that I’ve just been the vessel from my own parents and grandparents and theirs too. While I’ve had a hand in raising my children, helping them through a variety of experiences, teaching them skills and knowledge and sharing my perspectives, what I’ve contributed to their development is nowhere near half of what they’ve absorbed. There’s no denying I’ve had some influence, but even if that influence is one of the most significant in their lives, it’s still responsible for just a fraction of the persons they’ve become. A village really does raise all children.

There is only one person who directly experiences the pleasures and pains, triumphs and humiliations and decides how she will absorb them into her personhood, who reads and observes and tries and adjusts and chooses what to believe and when to shed that belief in favor of something else more true. And it’s not me. So when I feel that swell of pride, I also feel that it’s fraudulent. Sharing their joy, reflecting their own pride to validate their feelings – those feel legitimate. But taking pride myself in their achievements? It may not be deadly, but it does feel wrong.

Kinda sinful, I guess.

Faith

I’m a man of faith.

But only in that I believe that we must all believe in something. If there is an objective truth – and there may not be – I don’t know that any of us can see it. But either way, we need to anchor ourselves to a set of beliefs to guide our actions.

Do I believe in God?

Yes, but I don’t give it much energy. My God is generally benevolent, but my God doesn’t intervene in my life. I believe in my free will, I believe I choose my actions, and no amount of pleading for divine intervention will alter my life’s course. I do see serendipity, and I will acknowledge my angels when something goes surprisingly well, but I believe I’m responsible for what happens to me.

My set of beliefs align with most religious tenets. I think that’s because people through the years, including those religious leaders, have recognized that generosity, kindness, humility, forgiveness, community are the healthiest and most constructive paths to happiness and harmony. I identify with Christianity, but I think that’s more of a cultural decision than an acknowledgement of Christianity’s superiority to other faiths. If I’d been raised in China, I would probably identify with Buddhism or if I’d grown up in Thailand I’d be Muslim. While I won’t say religions are the same, they do seem to generally prescribe the same types of behaviors for their followers.

My beliefs are my truth. I fully believe them to be the best way for people to behave, and I will follow them or hold myself accountable when I fail to do so.

My beliefs are my truth. Mine. Not necessarily yours. They are my guide to my personal behavior, and though I believe them to be the best way for you to behave too, I don’t believe I can impose them on you. Because there’s nothing objective that says my beliefs are superior to yours. I could be doing you a tremendous disservice by insisting you adopt my beliefs, and I might be doing myself an equal disservice by not giving more consideration to your beliefs.

Faith must guide our personal choices, but when we come together in community with others, we need a more objective approach to govern our interactions. The genius of the founders of the American democracy is that they saw that no person had the answer to existential questions, no person’s faith was superior to any other’s faith, and so they wrote a Constitution to guide our communal interactions that expressly excluded faith – I can practice my beliefs, you can practice yours, but we cannot impose them on each other. Genius, that.

And very much in keeping with my beliefs. Faith is personal. But secular agreements like the Constitution are what governs us communally. And any leader who would impose faith on others is taking us away from this standard that has worked since our founding.

Simplicity

Time is a resource that cannot be replenished. So why do I waste so much of it?

I think I’m not as intentional about using my time as befits its value. And I spend too much of my time maintaining past decisions. So between not paying attention as the minutes and hours and days go by and having to spend minutes and hours and days doing things past choices obligate me to address, I despair.

I don’t have time!

The solution is simple, though not at all easy.

The first part is addressed with discipline. Simply making a plan and sticking to it. Being mindful. Choosing how I spend my time instead of letting one game on TV blend into another, hanging out for an extra hour or two when I meant to go to the gym, napping for ninety minutes when I intended a catnap. I need to do better at time-bounding my activities before I start them, and then honor the deadline. Like many, I struggle with transitions, so perhaps it will help to set expectations with myself that I will move to the next activity when my allotted time ends. And if I feel compelled to continue, then I must do so consciously, with an explicit recognition that I’m sacrificing what I had intended to do with that next block of time.

Easier said than done. I have many times during the day when I stay on Facebook or watch the post-game show when I intended to do something else. My lack of resolve shames me.

The second part is also straightforward: live simply. Everything I add to my life must be maintained. Floors need to be swept, dishes and clothes washed, furniture dusted, computers and phones charged and updated, cars gassed and serviced. I must show up for my engagements on time, presentable, and I have to do my work to expectations. So whenever I add something to my life I should ask many questions. Do I really want this? Can I afford it? How quickly will I tire of it? How much time will I need to devote to this? What will I be sacrificing because of the time I need to spend keeping this up?

We value different things. We value the same things differently. But I think the questions pertain to all of us. Each of us has the same 24 hours in a day to use. And maybe it’s human nature to be satisfied only with something more than we currently have.

I have made strides. I buy only clothes that can be machine-washed. I make meals with five or fewer ingredients. I love fitness though, and I will spend hours every week either working out or reading about it. You may like fashion and be willing to handwash or dry-clean clothes. You may like to cook, and relish preparing intricate dishes. And you may not want to know a thing about exercise. But we all get the same 24 hours. Shouldn’t be strive to spend as much of that time as possible doing what we love most?

If we are diligent and intentional in our decisions, and then disciplined in our behavior, I think we’ll feel that we have enough time to do what we want. I’m not sure we’d still be human at that point though. . . .

Death, cont.

I lost my second friend from college freshman year last weekend.

Joe slipped on ice outside his home in Minnesota and cracked his head a couple months ago. He lingered, but succumbed on Sunday. He was 57.

Deaths bring remembrance. Reflection. Regret. That’s the order I felt them anyway, and it’s the wrong order.

Regret. I hadn’t spoken with Joe since we buried Tim seven years ago after a heart attack killed him while he sat in front of his computer at home. We were making plans to return to our college reunion in June. Instead we’ll be reuniting in Joe’s hometown to bury him. Why didn’t we see each other in the interim? We were close friends during a formative time in our lives, and that bond was strong and eternal, but the usual excuses apply: getting together wasn’t convenient, it was too expensive in time and money, and we had other priorities. And, I suppose, we thought we’d have plenty of time at future reunions. I regret those decisions now.

Reflection. If Joe – and Tim before him – can die suddenly, then I can too. Have I done everything I want? Heavens, no. Do the people I care about know how I feel? I hope so. Am I ready to meet my maker? Do my wife and daughters know what my wishes are? Do they know what to do in my permanent absence? Hell, no. I’m not ready in the least. And neither were Tim and Joe.

Remembrance. This is Joe’s time. I think we all want to be remembered. Joe never married, never had children. What is his legacy?

Joe might very well be the most loyal man this world has ever seen. And he cared about those people who were otherwise overlooked. He lived every minute of 57 years acutely aware of the people who didn’t speak up in class, who sat on the sidelines, who felt left out of central activities. Perhaps because he felt like one of them. He wasn’t handsome or smooth, funny or brilliant. He was, I suppose, an average Joe in things that mattered in youth, which largely involves attracting attention to oneself. No, the size and intensity of his heart made him singular: he cared – deeply – about people, especially the overlooked and underappreciated. Without regard to history, lineage, means, looks. He accepted everyone. Even those who did something cruel (but he let them know how he felt about their cruelty). It was no surprise that he ended up working with convicts. Who in our society is written off more?

I trusted Joe as much as I’ve trusted anyone. When I attempted suicide my sophomore year, it was in front of Joe. He was with me in my despair. He just knew when people were hurting, and he was always there. And I miss that. Knowing that Joe was in the world felt reassuring; he has been someone I could count on since we met as freshmen, no matter how much time elapsed between visits or e-mails or Facebook posts.

My day-to-day life will seem no different with Joe gone, but I’ll know he’s not there. I just hope he left enough kindness and love to help this world he’s left behind.

Joe McCoy

Waste

There were two things my children could do when they were younger that guaranteed that I would lose my temper: say “I can’t,” and waste something. “I can’t” will most certainly come up another day, but waste has been on my mind quite a bit.

Actually, it’s always on my mind.

That waste is bad is an a priori statement to me. Waste erases whatever time and whatever energy that went into producing something. And it also aborts whatever else could have been produced with the time and energy that was tossed away. We lose twice: we junk something of value, and we are without the alternate uses of the resources that produced it.

I know waste is inevitable. But I heard today that we throw out almost half the food we produce. Half. That shouldn’t be inevitable.

And I am as guilty as anyone. I do our menu planning and most of our grocery shopping. And on a weekly basis we throw out vegetables, fruit, meat, and a lot of leftovers that spoil because the food plan was too robust. Soups that looked good in the store didn’t find any takers in our house, and their expiration dates passed while they were in our pantry. We’ve opened our share of tortilla chips gone rancid while they sat in the garage, because they were the second half of a buy-one-get-one-free promotion that came at a time when we only wanted one bag.

But we waste more than food. Electricity cools empty houses. Cars idle in parking lots. We’re oblivious to time as it passes while we scroll further down our Facebook feeds. We have dreams, we make plans, and then we leave them to wither.

And I’m as guilty as anyone. I want to do better. But can I?

Blame exhaustion from our busy lives. Blame our disposable culture that encourages us to get rid of things when we tire of them. Blame our distractions. But really, blame ourselves. We choose what we do, and we own our choices. I hope I can do better.

Politics

Our politics is rife with emotional conflict these days.

Republican vs. Democrat. Progressive vs. conservative. Flyover vs. coasts. Our perspectives have hardened, and there is not an inch given to anyone who has a different view.

I studied economics in college, and I believe that free markets use resources more efficiently than any other economic model. I’ve worked in corporations for decades, so I’ve seen company leaders make many decisions, and every one of the decisions I witnessed were made ethically and reasonably and with no intent to deceive or harm people. I think a healthy economy is important because it is the most effective way to improve the financial situations of the most people.

I consider myself politically progressive. I usually vote for candidates who promise to fund schools at all levels, invest in infrastructure improvements, purchase more park lands, extend unemployment benefits, and provide health services to low-income people regardless of status. Even if those actions will sometimes put stress on the economy and require greater tax payments from me and others at my income level (or above it).

As important as I think a healthy, robust market economy is to us, I think it’s more important for us to do what we can to help all members of our community be well and be whole, so they are more likely to achieve their goals and, in so doing, contribute to our society. My financial well-being doesn’t mean very much to me if other people are in misery. This is particularly important to me right now, given where we are in the history of the United States and the rest of the western world, where people’s suffering is justified with “we can’t afford to [fill in the blank].” We can’t afford to welcome Muslim immigrants because one might harm us. We can’t afford to help people without health insurance because that requires more taxes. We can’t afford to protect our water and air and workplaces because it reduces the number of jobs available. If I gave credence to any of these statements – and I don’t, because I think the cost argument is both simplistic and exagerrated – I would still choose to welcome the immigrants, provide health care, and protect our resources and our people. Jobs and money and financial security of the haves aren’t justifications to deny others the things they need to live a secure life so that they can pursue their dreams and contribute to our communities.

We can afford to treat everyone equally under the law, we can afford to treat everyone the same with regard to Constitutional rights, and those of us with means can afford to give up more of that wealth to help our communities run more smoothly while providing the tools and support for people to make constructive lives for themselves.

Apparently we just don’t want to. And that profoundly disappoints me.

Change

Change is in the air. It’s always in the air. Change is omnipresent.

But there are two kinds of change: the change that happens to us, and the change we make happen.

It’s said we resent the change that happens to us. Lack of control, I guess. I see it differently.

An amazing world has unfolded in front of us with no effort on our part: smartphones that keep us continually connected with the people we care about, cars that safely and comfortably take us where we want to go, access to convenient flights all around the world, medicines that dramatically improve our quality of life in the face of illnesses both acute and chronic, hundreds of channels of entertainment that come from everywhere on the globe. We don’t like some aspects of our lives when they change: the new traffic light that slows my commute by a couple minutes a day, the neighbor who painted his house an unflattering color, the new boss, the new PTA president, the new layout at the grocery store – we complain all about these little changes while we take the newest advances that actually change the way we live as a birthright.

It’s the other change that interests me at the moment though. It’s daunting to try to make change in the world. The investment of time, energy and emotion is enormous, and the outcome is uncertain. And in our world, where we’ve been accustomed to beneficial change just happening, having to face situations that cause us great discomfort – and I’m thinking specifically about the current political situation in the United States, where a government with the minority of votes controls both the legislative and executive branches – is a big-time gut check. If you’re not happy with the current situation, what are you willing to invest to try to change it?

There are seminal events that happen, events that fire the imagination or awake the passions of multitudes of people. But those don’t really create any change. They are the flashpoints that start the processes that lead to change, but to actually change the world we must find focus, determination, and dedication. We need deliberate, sustained action, day after day after day after day.

Do we have the requisite resolve in us? Time, as always, will tell.