The rare second chance we all have

As our family “gets back to normal”, I’m having to relearn how to get on with other people. Like, literally yesterday we had a few people over for a 5k and pancakes after and my muscle memory was rusty; I shook hands without making eye contact. I’m just out of practice, and I think most of us feel this way.

As I’ve gone through these growing pains, I’ve come to be skeptical of this idea of “getting back to normal.” After all, prior to the pandemic I was not a perfect husband, father, citizen, or friend. And if I wasn’t the best person prior to all this, why would I wan’t to just get back to living that life or back to being that guy?

Most of us crave second chances in life, and now we all, simultaneously, have one. We all have a mulligan on our relationships. We all have an opportunity to make a new sort-of first impression. We all had a long pause our social relationships and now we have the chance to be better versions of ourselves as we rekindle old ties and nurture new ones. We, all at the same time, have this rare opportunity to have a soft-reset in our social and community lives. 

Instead of just “getting back to normal”, I want to be a better friend than I was before. Because, how often do second chances come along?

I want to not let rekindled relationships with college friends just fizzle out. I want to stay open to meeting new neighbors while on walks, instead of just waving hello and keeping it moving. I want to be a better listener, and put my phone away when I’m with others. I want to send more, “hey, I was just thinking about you” texts. I want to be more courageous and really share deeply and make others feel safe enough to share, too. I want to keep deepening with the family and friends that we leaned on (and leaned on us) in the past year.

And before the pandemic, too many of my social were relationships were comfortable, because most people I know act like me, think like me, and talk like me. Maybe that’s not what I want to do from now on. Maybe I could really dig in and pen my heart to those people that are good souls, but make me uncomfortable in some way. And maybe too, I can let go of relationships of obligation faster and let some folks simply pass by on their journey; it’s okay to just cross-paths once with some.

And yet, before the pandemic I started to subscribe to the idea of “no new friends.” Because honestly, I felt stretched and I couldn’t nurture the friendships I had enough. Maybe, just maybe I can dig deeper and find a way to nurture whatever friendships I have - whether they’re strong or weak ties - in a way that is sensible and caring, without hiding behind a door that’s closed to new people. 

Maybe this time around I can be better than the friend I was before. 

It’s just astounding to me how rare a second chance like this can come around - it’s a chance to be better without the fear and shame that can often come in tow with personal and cultural transformation. 

Instead of thinking of this spring as the time we all “got back to normal”, I would rather think of it as the time we, after a long and lonely winter, emerged wiser than we were, and got back to the important work of creating a world we are proud to pass on.

Damn it, let's give our kids a shot at choosing exploration

In retrospect, this isn’t the vocation I was supposed to have. It was put on me, or at least started, by an act of God. But my path within the universe of organizations  - a mix of strategy, management, public service, and innovation - was never supposed to happen.

I had always, in my heart of hearts, set my mind on space. I knew I would probably never be an astronaut. For a multitude of reasons I would’ve never had a path to the launchpad - being an Air Force pilot or bench scientist wasn’t me. I won a scholarship to Space Camp when I was in 4th grade and I got to be the Flight Director for one of our missions. And from then on, I dreamed of being on a team that reached outward and put a fingerprint on the heavens.

Five years later, a mosquito was never supposed to bite my brother Nakul -when I was 13 - thousands of miles away in India. That mosquito was never supposed to give him Dengue Fever. He was never supposed to be patient zero of the local outbreak and die from it. None of that was ever supposed to happen, but it did.

And, when he died, I got hung up on something. I didn’t get caught up on curing the illness itself. I didn’t feel called to become a biologist, epidemiologist, or a physician. What I couldn’t for the life of me understand is how in the 20th century, with all its wealth and medical progress, could Nakul not receive the treatment - which humankind had the capability to administer, by the way - he needed to survive Dengue Fever? How was Dengue Fever still a thing, in the first place? How could governments and health care systems not have figured this shit out already?

The problem, as I saw it then, was institutions. His death, and millions of others across the world, could be prevented with institutions that worked better. And the vocation that called out to me shifted, and here I am.

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Watching kids watch Christmas movies is interesting. You can see their body language, facial expressions and language react to the imagination and wonder they’re observing. Their bodies seem like they’re preparing to explore, just like their minds are. They light up, appropriately enough, like Christmas lights. It’s really something to see a child imagining. 

For our boys, right now, anything in the world is possible. Any vocation is on the table for them. They can dream of exploring. They can dream of applied imagination. They can dream of storytelling and art. They can dream of so much. At this age, I think they’re supposed to.

What occurred to me, while watching them watch Christmas movies, is that I don’t want them to be drawn into the muck like I was. 

I was supposed to be exploring space, but plans changed and now I’m firmly planted on earth, in the universe of human organizations. I am definitely not charting new territory, rather, I’m fixing organizations that should never have been broken in the first place. I am not an explorer, I am a reformer. There was no choice for me, the need for reform here on earth was too compelling for me to contemplate anything else.

But for our children, mine and yours too, let’s give them a choice. Let’s figure out why our institutions seem to be broken and do something different. Let’s figure out why our social systems seem to be broken and do something different. Let’s not let institutions be a compelling problem anymore. Let’s take that problem off the table for them. Let’s complete this job of reform - both of our organizations and our individual character - so they don’t have to.

Maybe some of our children will want to follow in our footsteps and be reformers, but damn it, let’s give them a chance at choosing exploration instead.