Tag: community

Participation

The world is full of actors and analysts.

I am an analyst.

I like to understand things. I think I really need to understand things. Which requires observation. Which I do best when I’m a little detached from what’s going on. So I sit on the sidelines, away from the action. By choice. It’s where I can observe and analyze. And understand.

Actors are in the middle of everything. They make decisions quickly, they relish the interactions, they’re always in motion. They make life fun, and make it frustrating, depending on which actions they take. But they take action.

Analysts are important. We help our communities understand what’s happening and why. Our work informs actions. We are the experts. We study, we learn, we apply our knowledge, and we explain how things work, why things happen, what we can and can’t do about things we want to change. Not everyone listens, of course, but we’re still important.

Actors are also important. We need people who will commit themselves – and ourselves – to action. They move the ball forward. They create the changes we see in our communities. They are the people in the ring. They strive, usually to make things better for us all. We don’t always agree with what they do, but we still need people to do things.

We have another group in our communities as well, however. These people aren’t particularly productive. They don’t add much of anything at all.

Spectators.

They don’t extend themselves to understand. They don’t take action to change their communities. Or themselves. They take what they earn, but they don’t give back to the broader world around them.

We have far too many spectators. People who do their work, come home to watch television, eat with their family, then do the same thing again the next day. They aren’t thinking about why the world is the way it is and how it might be better. And they aren’t committing themselves to action on behalf of others either. They aren’t extending themselves for others beyond their circle of friends and family, and that lack of effort isn’t helping – and when we have a community that is hostile to some of its members, it might actually be hurting – other people.

I’m not saying they are bad people. I do believe that the sum of each of our individual failings is the same. Our individual lots are not the issue here.

I am saying that if they engaged, it would help lighten the load that many of the other members of our community have to carry. Our collective lot is the issue. I believe that if a fellow person is diminished, then we are not optimizing our collective well-being. Is it up to that individual to make the effort to not be diminished? Yes. And it is also up to each of us in our community to make the effort so that no one in our community is diminished.

I believe we are, in part, our brothers’ and sisters’ keeper. We may not have the largest part to play in his or her individual success, but we still have a part in it.

So let’s play that part. Analyst or actor, it doesn’t matter. Just don’t be a spectator.

Differences

I am a product of my environment.

My family. Its genes and its values. My community. Its norms and expectations. My nation. Its identity and its archetypes.

My cousin isn’t.

I sometimes wonder if she might have a better answer than me. Not more or less right, but perhaps more effective at addressing the questions at hand: what’s the best way to secure yourself? Now, and for the future.

I am biased to independence. It seems the most secure path. And it feels like the most responsible path. The most moral path.

Of course, that’s because it aligns with my environmental expectations. Be self-sufficient. Avoid risk. Don’t put yourself at the mercy of other people – they are likely to choose themselves over you. And then where are you?

I think most people, at least in this country, feel the same.

But should we?

I heard some weeks ago that we are severely overinvested in personal transportation. 92% of cars at any given moment are parked. Sitting idle. So our desire for individual convenience has created an incredible automobile glut. Nine out of 10 cars are not in use, but waiting to be used. There are significant consequences for that decision as well: we are polluting our environment, we lose time in traffic congestion, we are more isolated from each other. The waste and damage is huge compared to other, more communal solutions to moving ourselves around.

Could we be making the same mistake in securing our futures?

My cousin has found a community that seems to be highly committed to each other. Their emotional connections seem to be deep, and they seem to value each other for what they are rather than for what they can give directly in return. What my cousin gives to the older members of that community is not expected to be repaid to her by those older people. I believe her expectation is that when she is older there will be a younger person willing to give the necessary time and energy to her care.

That feels like a very risky bet to me. And probably to most people who read this. But isn’t it wasteful for us all to prepare for a future independently?

Just as all those cars sit idle, a lot of the assets we accumulate to safeguard our future won’t be used by us. We accumulate them for security, just in case we need them. Like any good actuary would tell us though, some of us will live long lives and some of us won’t. If we all prepare to live to 90 or 95, then the person who dies at 75 or at 70 or at 65 is wasting resources, saving assets he or she will never use. If we had a communal pool of assets that we all contribute to – and an actuary would be very helpful to determine what that level would be – then those excess resources being invested could be put to use for other purposes.

This isn’t an original thought. It is, of course, the foundation of our social security system – we all pay in, and we all benefit, though not in the same proportion. For this to work, for people to feel good about it, we have to accept that some of us will be lucky with our lives’ duration and some of us will be unlucky. So be it.

It requires a profound shift in our communal values and expectations, a reordering of our communal priorities, and, perhaps hardest of all, a ceding of control. I am very reluctant to trust my fellow people to take care of me when I am vulnerable. I want to control that part of my life.

Understandably, perhaps. But necessarily? I wonder.

Education

I wonder if we’re teaching our children what matters most.

Knowledge is important, of course, but in a world where data and information are at our fingertips – literally, given the proliferation of smartphones and other powerful devices that can educate us on any subject in seconds – perhaps we should be teaching them skills that help them interact with others. And not just in workplace settings either. Cooperation and collaboration in social groups and communities will be essential if we’re to achieve our greatest ambitions.

I believe that education should be the single highest priority for our societies. We owe all the members of our communities every chance to learn the things that they can leverage to build the kind of lives they want. It’s good for them, and it’s good for everyone else too, because if I’m doing what I enjoy, then I’m enthusiastically contributing to our society. And that’s the outcome we should be striving for. In jobs, in families, in communities.

We should be schooling everyone in the mechanics of healthy relationships, helping them to understand what a good relationship looks like and how to create one. And how to recognize and then navigate a relationship that’s not so good.

It’s probably a good idea to educate everyone in the principles of budgeting, estimating income and expenses, using credit appropriately. Basic financial skills can go a long way to alleviating stress in adult life, and that has so many benefits, especially with intimate relationships.

We might want to teach everyone the basics of transportation and home maintenance: how furnaces and home appliances work, how cars work, and how to keep them all in good working order.

And about nutrition – the kinds of nutrients we need, how to shop for groceries and how to prepare basic dishes.

In short, the kinds of things we need to know to live in balance with ourselves, with our neighbors, with our colleagues. It isn’t especially complicated – all of these topics and more can be taught in one high-school class period over a year.

Life skills.

Not more important than math or history or English or science. But still important enough to teach to a common level of understanding. I could have used something like it, and I believe most of my older teenage friends could have benefited just as much too.

Empathy

I’m pretty sure our current malaise is self-inflicted.

After all, we choose what we think and what we do, and we’re choosing to think bad things of other people and to do things to punish them for their transgressions. Or at least to stop them from doing whatever we’re sure they’re going to do to us.

We seem to have lost empathy for our fellow people.

Giving whoever we meet the benefit of the doubt.

Assuming other people are just doing their best every day, the same as we are.

Instead we choose to believe that other people want to harm us, take advantage of us to further their own ends, force us to do things we don’t want to do. We’ve vilified great swaths of professions – politicians, journalists, scientists, business people – under the assumption that their members have a common agenda that trumps their professionalism and the many years of training and experience.

The saying – its author is in dispute, or I’d attribute it here – that we don’t see things as they are, we them as we are, resonates strongly with me.

If I want to impose my view of the world on others, I am going to believe that others want to do the same to me. And if I’m not open to compromise, to experimenting to see what might be the most effective solution to the matter at hand – in other words, if I think I have the one true answer – then I’ll believe that anyone else who doesn’t already agree with me won’t be swayed by my words either.  And that they’re completely wrong.

We all know that relationships take work. You have to tend to them. Trust is the foundation of any healthy relationship, and open, honest and frequent communication is the vehicle to build trust. (Well, along with doing what you say you will, but that’s a topic for another day.) And as we know from our personal experience, communication isn’t just talking. It’s also listening. And it’s also thinking, evaluating what we’re hearing and being willing to modify our decisions if there are good reasons to do so. Because we hadn’t considered a different experience. Because we want others to be happy too. And even because we want to reduce tension in our environment.

Living in a community is a relationship. If we want to have a healthy relationship with the people in our community, we need to communicate with them. Talk, and listen, and think. I’m not suggesting that we abandon our principles or values, subordinate our experiences, or ignore our truths. Just that we try to understand what other people are saying. Listen. And think how we can merge our two truths into one we can both embrace instead of how we can never bridge the divide.

That’s the relationship work we need to do if we want to heal our communities. If we decide we don’t want to make the effort, then we’ll have more of the same acrimony we’ve got today.

And that doesn’t seem to be working for anyone.

Judgment, cont.

Everyone is right.

Or said better, everyone is partially right. And maybe if we acknowledge that fact we can start to mend the rips in our social fabric.

Let’s take welfare, to pick one explosively illustrative topic.

Are there welfare cheats, people who could earn a living but refuse to? Yes.

Are there people who need temporary help to make ends meet? Yes.

Are there people who will be permanently dependent on our largess because they lack all capabilities to support themselves? Yes.

But in our current debate you don’t hear anyone who agrees with all three statements. We can’t seem to grant even a small concession to an opposing point of view. And why not? Fear that others will use that concession to invalidate our perspective?

Everyone is partially right. The real question is to what degree? Is our belief consistent with the bulk of data? Or is it on the tails of the distribution with the outliers?

I think we do more damage to our causes by refusing to acknowledge facts. The anecdote is a powerful persuasive tool that often resonates more than data – a subject for another time – but an anecdote probably shouldn’t be the basis for an opinion and assuredly not for policy. But it is one data point, and since I believe that we can find an occurrence of just about anything any of us can think of, it means everyone is right at least once on an issue.

It doesn’t hurt to acknowledge it. And I think it even helps, because (1) it gives us credibility, and (2) it might soften the rancor felt by those who might otherwise feel at best unheard and at worse attacked.

I’m conflict averse. I believe we are far more effective when we work in concert instead of fighting each other. And I believe there are many paths to a destination. So I feel very strongly that we should give each other our just due.

I worry about us. The polarization, the tribalization, the demonization. It’s all so poisonous. Hateful. Destructive. Surely we’re better than this.

Maybe it starts with acknowledging that each of us is partially right. I’m not evil or stupid because I believe something that has happened. So give me that credit before we start to discuss where our respective ideas fall on the issue’s true distribution.

By denying this truth, we alienate ourselves from our fellow citizens. Which makes it easier to judge them. And we rarely judge mildly.

Does any good come from judging? Only if we judge ourselves. Otherwise we run afoul of what Daniel Kahneman calls WYSIATI – What you see is all there is. And since we aren’t omniscient, we miss important factors, things that would change our conclusions or make us more sympathetic to those with different views. But once we judge, we rarely backpedal, so if we learn those factors post-judgment we tend to discount them, or rationalize them away, or twist them into something that supports our rendered judgment.

Instead, perhaps we should simply acknowledge to each other that we are all partially right.

Death, cont.

If Greg Russell wasn’t the happiest man on earth, he was in the top two.

He died last night.

The news devastated our neighborhood. We all appreciated Greg’s smiling face on his daily walks with his wife Anne. Greg adored Anne. It was evident whenever you saw them together. Anne teaches piano, and one or the other of our girls (and usually both) were part of her studio for 14 years. They spent time with her every week, and we all love her for her sweetness and joy. We can imagine her grief.

We saw Greg a few times each year, reliably at the December and June recitals, and then occasionally as his walks with Anne around the neighborhood intersected with our lives. But you only needed to meet him once to know him. His face was open, a smile ever present, and his whole being exuded welcome. He was curious, and he had many interests, but his primary interest was whoever he was speaking with.

I will miss him, probably more than I realize. People like Greg are rare. They may not be recognized for great accomplishment, but they are the people who do the precious weaving of outwardly-focused busy people living in separate houses into a community of neighbors. Our neighborhood needs a new weaver.  I hope there is someone to step into that role.

I want to be more like Greg. I am happy (generally). But I am not welcoming (generally). I spend so much time between my own ears that I often ignore others. Not out of spite or boredom but out of obliviousness. So that dye is cast – I am what I am, and what I am is not what Greg was.

At times like this I wonder about my legacy.

When the life of a man I both liked and admired is over and I reflect on his impact, I suppose it’s natural to wonder how I compare. I suspect the famous quote about legacy – that no one remembers what you said or what you did, but they do remember how you made them feel – doesn’t work to my advantage. I am a man of the mind not of the heart (generally) so I’m afraid that I don’t touch people in the same way Greg Russell did.

Then again not many do. I can make peace with that.

As long as I have enough time.

Kindness

The world is a stressful place these days.

Both our agreements and our disagreements feel heightened, packed with more emotion. It doesn’t seem to me that we differentiate or prioritize our feelings now. We expect – or at least demand – complete fealty to all of our values or we sever ties, usually with some choice words to hasten the split. We even approach discussions on significant issues expecting confrontations, so it’s no small wonder that they turn belligerent and end unsatisfyingly. You’re either with me or against me, and not just on one or two important issues but on everything that matters to me. And if you’re against me, then pound sand, because I’m not just the aggrieved party, I’m completely right. Which means not only are you wrong, you’re an a-hole for not recognizing it.

But we’re not happy about it either. Confrontations fester in our minds, we plot to be better prepared the next time the topic comes up, we scheme to create another “discussion” so we can use our newly-minted insights and comebacks. Our minds are being consumed with conflict. And it’s wearing me out.

There is a remedy though. And it’s simple. Though, admittedly, not easy.

Kindness.

Just like your parents taught you once upon a time. Kindness begins with offering others – especially those who don’t see things the same way we do – the benefit of the doubt. We seem to be rather short on doubt any more, but work with me.

I believe two things about people: 1) they are consumed with their own lives and thoughts and feelings – just as I am self-absorbed, no one else is really thinking about me much at all; and 2) they don’t want to hurt me any more than I want to hurt them (which is not at all). As I consider other people and their actions, it would be best if I didn’t judge them at all. That’s unlikely at best though, so remembering these 2 things help me find kindness. (When I remember, that is.)

The ones who vex me are consumed with their own lives, and their experiences and knowledge and assumptions have led them to believe what I find anathematic. I should reach out to understand that perspective. And they didn’t choose their stand to oppose me. They weren’t thinking about me at all, so our disagreements aren’t personal rejections. Emotions don’t need to be part of the discussion if we’re aiming for understanding rather than consensus.

I don’t know if we can disentangle ourselves enough to make these interactions less stressful. But I think we’d all feel better if we did. And so I must try.

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.

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.