Racism, Reform, and the Second Commandment

In these very dark times, I am struggling to make sense of what is happening in the aftermath of George Floyd’s unfathomably cruel murder by a Minneapolis Police Officer. For a lot of reasons.

We live in a predominately black city. I have worked as a Manger in our Police Department for the better part of the last five years, so I’ve seen law enforcement from the inside. I am, technically speaking, a person of color with mixed-race children. We live in a mixed-race neighborhood.

And of course, there’s the 400+ years of institutionalized racism in the United States that I have begun to understand (at least a little) by reading about it and hearing first-hand accounts from friends who have felt the harms of it personally.

And as I’ve stewed with this, I keep asking myself - what are we hoping happens here? What do we want our communities to be like on the other end of this?

Because something is palpably different this time. George Floyd’s murder feels like it will be the injustice that (finally) sparks a transformation.

What I keep coming back to in contemplation, reflection, and prayer is the second greatest commandment - “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thy self.”

What I hope for is to live in a place where I can have good neighbors and be a good neighbor. The second greatest commandment is the most elegant representation of what I hope for in communities that I have ever found.

I interpret this commandment as a call to love. We must give others love and respect, even our adversaries. If loving our neighbor requires us to do the deep work of growing out of the fear, disrespect, and hate in our hearts then we must do it. Rather, we are commanded by God to do it.

But in the world we live in today, we can avoid the deep work of personal transformation if we choose to. If we don’t love our neighbors, we can just move somewhere with neighbors we already like. More insidiously, we can also put up barriers so that the people we fear, disrespect, or hate, can’t live in our neighborhood even if they wanted to.

This seems exactly to be what institutionalized racism was and is intended to do. I don’t have to learn to love someone if I keep them out of my neighborhood through, redlining, allowing crummy schools elsewhere, practicing hiring discrimination, racial covenants, brutal policing, and on and on.

If we choose neighbors we already love as ourselves, we’re off the hook for removing the hate from our hearts and replacing it with love for them.

In this, I am complicit. Part of why we live in a city is because I didn’t want to raise mixed-race children in a white, affluent suburb. I didn’t want to deal with it, straight up.

I say this even though I acknowledge that places like where I grew up are probably much more welcoming than they were 15 years ago. Similarly, there are times that I’ve chosen to ignore, block, and unfollow people who I fear, disrespect, or disagree with. I have been an accomplice creating my own bubble to live in.

Adhereing to the idea presented in the second greatest commandment is really quite hard.

The problem is, I and any others who want to live in a truly cohesive, peaceful community probably don’t have a choice but to do the deep work that the second greatest commandment asks of us.

My intuition is that even if we dismantled institutionalized racism completely, that wouldn’t necessarily lead to love thy neighbor communities. They’d be more fair and just, perhaps, but maybe not loving.

And, I’m not even convinced we can completely dismantle racist institutions without more and more people individually choosing to do the deep work of replacing the fear, disrespect, and hate in their hearts with love.

Which leaves me in such a quandary - I truly do believe there are pervasively racist institutions in our society, still. And those institutions need to be reformed - specifically to alleviate the particularly brutal circumstances Black Americans have to live with.

But at the same time, I know I am a hypocrite by saying all this because I too have to do the deep work of personal transformation.

I did the Hate Vaccine exercise last week and realized how fearful and disrespectful I can be toward people from rural and suburban communities because of my race, job, and where I went to college. When I really took a moment to reflect, what I saw in myself was uglier than I thought it would be.

In community policing circles a common adage is that “we can’t arrest our way out of [high crime rates].” I have been wondering if something similar could be said for where we are today - can we reform our way out of racism?

Maybe we can. I honestly don’t have the data to share any firm conclusion. But my lived experience says no: the only way out of this - if we want to live in a love thy neighbor society - is a mix of transforming institutions and transforming all our own hearts.

Thank you to my friend Nick for pointing out the difference between the second commandment and second greatest commandment. It is updated now..

The Hate Vaccine - A Reflection Exercise

I subscribe to Michael Jackson’s theory of progress: “if you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and make a change.”

If I want hatred, disrespect, and fear to stop spreading, that means I must not spread it myself.

This exercise is how I am trying to vaccinate myself so I don’t continue to be a carrier of hate, disrespect, and fear. I’m presenting it mostly without comment, but I will say this. When I worked this exercise last night, I realized there’s a lot I can do to be less hateful, disrespectful, and fearful.

INSTRUCTIONS: Start by determining the people / groups that have wronged you or you are expected to exchange hate, disrespect, or fear with. Then fill in the remaining boxes.

I’m working on a project related to practicing reflection, which you can learn more about at the link.

"You should PRAY."

At the end of the pandemic I think we’ll each have two numbers that we each identify with. I’m a one and seventy-three. I know one person who died (thank God it’s not higher) and day 73 is about the time I started cracking.

After being furloughed, intense days with two children under three, snow and heat, intense remote work back with the Police Department (with said children at home), and social isolation - all these things were hard, but they didn’t bother me that much. What finally got me were the faraway hugs.

Our older son, Bo, has been talking about going to his grandparents’ house “after the virus is gone” for weeks. We finally saw my mom a few days ago and Robyn’s parents and brother tonight. And Bo knew that he had to maintain a safe distance, but that it was okay to give “faraway hugs” where he squeezes his arms across his chest, leaning forward and smiling.

Seeing Bo have to give his grandparents hugs from a distance snapped something in me. After 10 weeks of unprecedented struggle, that’s what broke me down.

—

The boys (Bo, Myles, Riley) and I went on a long walk today. And I turned to Bo and told me that I didn’t know what to do - about my job, about my stress, about all this.

“What should I do, bud?”, I said sincerely, urgently.

I didn’t hear what he said the first time. And then he clarified, with emphasis, from his stroller, clutching his water bottle:

“You should PRAY, papa.”

And that’s when I started to feel like I was coming back together again.

Finally made it to the moon

I went to the moon recently and safely returned.

Here is a picture of a moon crater we saw:

We meaning my older son Bo (Myles was asleep at the space station).

I have dreamed, and by that I mean sincerely dreamed, of going to space ever since I can remember. I still do. Space travel is a not entirely secret obsession of mine.

But if the only spacecraft I ever traverse the heavens in is the one in our attic, that would be better than my 6-year old self, dreaming of the moon, ever imagined.

Part of me doesn't want this to end so fast

Part of me doesn’t want this to end so fast.

Okay, now that I’ve said that I can say how ridiculous that is, and selfish.

I want people to stop needing ventilators. I want first responders to be able to sleep in their own beds and eat dinners with their families. I want doctors and nurses to come home. I want grocery store workers and every other essential worker to not have to wear masks and fear for their lives.

I want us to stop losing or almost losing friends, family, and neighbors. I want to stop washing bananas. I want everyone to have their jobs back. I really do.

It makes me feel so guilty to say this, but this might be the happiest time of my life. Despite being in isolation. Despite being furloughed from my job and picking up part-time work. Despite slashing our family’s budgets. Despite not seeing our family and friends for weeks. Despite Robyn and I trying to work remotely with two little boys at home. Despite this all being such a cluster and a nightmare. It’s still happy.

When will I ever get so much time with Robyn and our boys? When will things be so slow and quiet, ever again? When again will the air ever be so clean? When will instagram and facebook ever have less people flaunting their wealth and status? When will Riley ever get so many walks in the neighborhood? When will I ever talk to my college and high school friends so regularly? When will Bo be 2 again, and when will Myles be a newborn again, and I actually get to be here for it?

I know that all things considered, this month has been very easy for us, relative to what other people are going through. I sure get that we’re lucky that we’re all healthy (so far) and we can ride this out at home.

But even though I feel guilty saying this, part of me doesn’t want this to end so fast. And again, I can’t believe i’m saying this, but outside the very real and significant strain, stress, and sacrifice of this global, deadly pandemic, this has been a happy time for us.

I do want this pandemic to end. But I hope we can keep some of the happy parts when this is over.

Picking ourselves up is only the first step

Every work day, I begin with a short reflection, starting with this question: “What did yesterday say about my character?”

A few days ago, this is how I answered the question:

“You are getting off the mat. But the important part is not about you getting up, that’s not the heroic act that matters. What matters is what you do for others now that you’ve gotten up.”

It’s uncomfortable how prescient that was a few days ago, because I was furloughed (hopefully temporarily) from my job today. Now, I really get to test whether I can practice what I preach.

When we’re facedown on the mat, our first decision is whether or not we will rise again. But getting up is not enough.

The second decision is what truly reveals our character: what will we do for others one we have gotten up?

What did yesterday say about [blank]?

I started with just gratitude journaling to start my day, and have since added a bunch of “content blocks”, if you will, to my morning reflection. It’s the first thing I do when I open my computer at work. (I send an e-mail to myself that automatically delivers at 7:30am the next morning).

This is the latest question I added to my morning reflection. It’s now the first thing on the page.

“What did yesterday say about your character?”

There are two parts to this question.

First, there’s the prompt of “What did yesterday say about _______?”. What’s effective about this prompt is that it forces me to take stock of the entire previous day. And it’s pointed so that it’s fairly difficult to lie to myself, because I have to come up with specific examples from the previous day.

This is a little goofy, but in my head, I imagine “Yesterday” speaking to me and evaluating me like a benevolent, credible, and demanding coach, and I write my response in Yesterday’s voice. Yesterday is like my wise elder great uncle - I know he loves me, but objective enough to keep me on the hook for my actions.

The second part of the prompt is the “your character” part. This is user-specific.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what my highest priority in my life is. For me, it’s being a good man. In other words, it’s my character.

Character comes before being a husband, father, citizen, or professional. My character is my standard, just as my word is my bond. As a result, I fill in the blank of this prompt with “ your character”.

The way I ask myself this question has an imbedded assumption about how I view right and wrong. By asking myself about character, it reinforces the belief that what we matters most about is not what we accomplish but how we conduct ourselves when we do it. That may not be how you see the world, but it’s a choice worth being intentional about.

So, if you’re planning on using this prompt, take some time to think about what your “blank” is. Maybe it’s being faith-driven. Maybe it’s being a parent or partner. Maybe it’s having a second-to-none work ethic. Maybe it’s related to serving others.

The key is to fill in the blank with the aspiration that is your highest and truest aspiration.

It has been a great way to start my day. For me it all comes down to character, so a reflection on character is where my day begins.

4-Part Daily Gratitude

Starting a gratitude changed the course of my life. I don’t even think that’s an overstatement.

In my times of highest anxiety, thinking about gratitude helped me to think about and even feel my feelings. I suppose it may vary from person to person, but I am not able to function normally when I’m completely gripped by high-intensity emotions. Being emotionally stable is a necessary condition for living out my best intentions.

Writing down gratitudes helps me stay centered, even, and calm. There are many ways to do this. Here is how I approach it, which I took from a meditation class on Glo.

I write down four sentences as part of my morning routine. I happen to do this as part of my first order of business before I start my work day.

I recommend keeping your gratitude journal in the morning, but doing this at any time daily is great. Here are the four parts to my daily gratitude journaling:

• Who is someone I am grateful for?

• What is something I am grateful for?

• What am I grateful for in the coming day?

• What is a problem I am grateful for?

If I’m feeling angry, I might add, “Who do I forgive?”. When in despair, I might add, “What do I pray for?”.

There’s no 100% right way to do a gratitude journal, as long as you write out what you are grateful for. It’s hard at first, but definitely worth going deep on, every day.

Is it worth it?

Here are some examples that contrast ends and means:

Is it worth it to shame and ridicule your kids if they end up getting into a top 5 college?

Is it noble to trash that company on the internet on your way out, if they trashed you while you worked there?

Is it worth it to pocket a bank error in your favor even if you catch it? What if your kids need new sports equipment?

Is a CEO who harasses his reports off the hook if they beat earnings targets consistently?

What if it’s a politician that you know will get people like you a big tax cut?

Is it worth it to work over Christmas and neglect your family if it guarantees that next promotion?

Is it okay to ignore your lonely but annoying neighbor because you really need to unload your groceries?

Is it okay to stir the pot to get more clicks?

Is it passable to make fun of the “weird” person on the team to prevent the others from turning on you?

It is on us to determine whether the ends justify the means.

And to be sure, a lot of great things can be achieved without resorting to immoral or amoral behavior. In fact, most things probably can, though it might take longer and be more difficult.

I can’t compel you or anyone else to take a position on this questions of ends vs. means.

But I do leave you with this radical notion: the ends might not ever justify the means.

Simple over SMART

I like New Years Resolutions, But for most of my life I wasn’t very good at achieving them.

This year, for the first time ever, I remembered what my resolution even was (get a new job) at the end of the year and I actually achieved it.

Why?

1. It was simple enough to actually remember. There was also only one.

2. It was specific. I could actually know when the goal was achieved. When my paycheck had another company name on it, I was done. Boom.

3. It was really important. It took a long time to convince myself, but I realized that I needed to make a change.

4. It was urgent. Even though it took a long time, I felt compelled to work on it every day and week.

SSIU is not a catchy acronym like SMART. But in my personal experience SMART goals are so complicated to write well, I often don’t remember them after a week.

In fact, an acronym might even be unnecessary in the first place. If a goal is simple, the specificity, the importance, and urgency take care of themselves.

Simple is not only enough, simple might be better than smart.

—

Friends,

If you follow my work you might be interested to know my resolution this year: publishing this book. It’s drafted, but it still needs to be transcribed, edited, laid out, and shared.

If you have advice or encouragement on how to do this, I would love to talk with you.

Why we don’t reflect

I was having drinks with family and some family friends over the Thanksgiving holiday.

My brother-in-law brought one of his tightest buddies who has become a friend of mine over the years. We were talking about some of the philosophy classes he has been taking at University.

He had a very terrific insight into why we as people don’t reflect, as often as we probably should.

I’m paraphrasing, but his thought was this: if we look in the mirror, we don’t think we’ll like what we will see.

We need to want to look in the mirror. If we can cultivate that desire in our own hearts, reflection becomes a technical exercise. It is not always a trivial task, but if there is a will, the way becomes clear very quickly - at least in my experience.

Really smart.

I love to reflect, and it is a tremendously important part of my life. What I have to figure out now is how to share that desire to reflect so it gives others more of a willingness to try.

Honesty and the tragedy of the commons

Living in a community where people consistently tell the truth is much better than living amongst liars. Living amongst liars is horrific.

Can you imagine if nobody around you ever kept their word? You could never feel trust with anyone, and every interaction you had would need a contract. You would probably only talk with people who were like you, because you might believe they were marginally more likely not to screw you. The world would be tribal.

In the abstract truth and trust are a shared resource, and the tragedy of the commons generally seems to apply. It’s very easy for one person in the community to tell a small lie that advantages them. And once one person gets away with lying, it’s easy for everyone to start cheating on their commitment to the truth.

Our kids, however, don’t understand this. It takes time to see how behaviors form norms and norms form culture. The choice of truth or lies are a butterfly effect that takes time to unravel.

But if I don’t teach our sons to tell the truth and model it from a young age, they’ll have terrible habits once they understand truth and trust enough to actively choose it. If I don’t teach them truth now, it’ll be harder then to teach themselves later. Much harder.

These ideas about trust are abstract and complex. We aren’t born applying economics concepts to truth and lies. These are things we learn from lived experiences, and come to get a feel for over the course of decades.

But for our sons, that’s too late.

This creates a tension. I have to hold them to the standard of telling the truth now, even though I can’t fully explain why. I have to, therefore, create a norm in our household that we tell the truth, which means I must always tell the truth.

This act, however, purifies three times. It helps our sons learn to be better men, it helps me practice being a better man, and it is a gift to our community which now has three fewer liars.

This whole enterprise rests on the assumption, however, that I want to be a good man. And that our sons do too.

It would be tremendously transformative if we all taught our kids to tell the truth. When we don’t, it leads to tragedy instead.

Integrity-first Management

It’s been refreshing to see the narrative of “maximizing shareholder value” be influenced by other ideas, like: triple bottom line, shared value, positive business and others.

These ideas are hybrids, balancing the interests of customers, owners, employees, and society.

But what if we went further and didn’t treat these interests congruently?

Instead, what if we simply refused to consider strategies that were unethical, irresponsible, or harmful? After first applying the hard constraints demanded by our character and integrity, we could then freely maximize shareholder value. At that point, maybe we ought to.

The problem is, that requires a lot of integrity and a lot creativity. I think it’s worth it, and something we owe to each other now, and to future generations.

I suspect that there are already many people that are quietly running companies this way. Even though running businesses in this way is hard, I think we can do it.

Afterall, the only two nearly renewable resources are sunshine and human creativity. And sunshine makes the difficult challenge of acting with integrity much more pleasant.

What I do vs. how I do it

What do I want to be known for? What I do, or how I do it?

Put another way, will I do anything to achieve what I want? Or, will I act in accordance with a set of standards no matter what?

Put another way, what am I uncompromising about, results or integrity?

Put another way, what do I want my sons to learn from, what I accomplish or how I act?

Put another way, what’s my deathbed prize, knowing I was successful or knowing I was consistently a good person?

What we do and how we do it aren’t always in tension. But it happens often enough. And when they are in tension, the choice defines me, defines us.

Touchdowns vs. First downs

First downs are not touchdowns. That is obvious.

No football team ever has won a game when they make progress down the field but never score any points.

On teams, first downs often can feel like touchdowns and be celebrated as such, but they’re not the same.

Touchdowns take courage. To say it’s done, shipped. To deliver and present. To go to market. To make a decision. To make the change. To be specific. To put it into the world and be on the hook for it. To commit and forsake all others. Courage.

First downs merely require making progress, gaining yardage, keeping the wheels turning. Whatever that loosely means.

To be sure, first downs are important. But only if they put us in position to take a real shot at the end zone and achieve the goal that actually matters.

Consequently, it’s REALLY important to REALLY understand what tasks are touchdowns and which ones are merely first downs. Otherwise, we’ll have spent our lives being busy, without actually making anything better.

Power and Responsibility

All these degrees, all these internships, all these flights and travels, all this preparation and learning - to work. To work earning a living. To work as a husband and father. Hopefully to serve others. What am I trying to do here?

Am I in it for the power, or the responsibility? The distinction is a big one.

Why? I’ve found that there often comes a time when our loyalties to power and responsibility are at odds. Here’s an example.

Let’s consider the act of taking credit for success. I can take credit, and boost my chances of a promotion. Or, I can credit my team, and boost the chances that my team will continue doing good work even without me.

In the example above, I can’t have it both ways. I can’t be loyal to power and responsibility at the same time.

The choice is revealing, and ours alone.

A little, gracious, reminder that life is worth the trouble of eventual death

We are celebrating Bo’s birthday with family tonight, which makes it a special day. I am in our dining room, on a Friday, but I am working from home. Robyn and I are having lunch. Bo is napping, which he especially needs today because he has a tough cold.

Like she had done for our son’s first birthday the year prior, Robyn has affixed some simple decorations. It may even be fair to call them spartan. There is a single “Happy Birthday” hanging banner, recycled from when Robyn’s colleagues decorated her desk. The rest of the decor are only pictures.

They are of the past year. They are individually placed in the panes of our driveway window and the french doors from dining room to foyer. There are some more photos in the doorway to the kitchen and some on our marble fireplace mantle. They are scotched taped, simply, gently. Robyn is as economical as she is thoughtful.

Bo is in all the photos, some are by himself and some are with others. These are pictures of special occasions, yes, but many are just every day life. A snuggle with Riley. Playing in the snow. Christmas day. Afternoons with grandparents. Family vacations. Walks along the river. A first haircut. Football tailgates where we rolled down a golf course hill.

Come to think of it, I misspoke earlier. Not all these photos are holidays or of particularly notable moments, but they are all special occasions.

Looking at these photos I feel many things simultaneously, but mostly two things. I feel love in my whole body, and I feel the passing of time.

These photos are befuddling because they remind me that with each year, with each birthday, my death grows nearer. Eventually Bo will have a birthday where I’m not here, in the flesh. But I still feel an unqualified joy…the purest happiness. Why? I don’t understand.

A moment passes. I take a breath. And I realize why I feel so happy in this moment where death feels especially identified. As much as I feel time passing - sitting here in this one room, in this one house, on this one street, in this one city on this pale blue dot, here in this moment - I realize. Looking at these photos…the opportunity for these photos, it is more than worth dying for. And this makes me feel love in my whole body.

And then I take another breath, deeper this time, and Robyn and I finish our lunch. And more time passes.

Unselfish vs. Selfless

My father was a rare type of man. I didn’t realize it when he was alive, but he was the rarest form of selfless.

We start as selfish creatures. When we are young we need things. We need food. We need shelter. We need love. We need guidance. We need protection. We need knowledge. We need time. This is expected, and there is no shame here. We come into this world needing things.

If we are lucky and work at it, we are able to become householders. The sort of people that support others and provide them what they need, to themselves become providers. This work is unselfish. This work is giving. This work is sacrifice. This work is charity. This work is virtuous. But perhaps not quite selfless.

My father was a rare man, because his aims were always beyond that of being unselfish.

You see, a householder can have a dangerous addiction. As a householder, we are needed. Other people need us and what we provide to them.

And It is a wonderful thing to be needed. It is a wonderful thing, perhaps even a euphoric thing, to sacrifice for others. That feeling, of being needed, can be addictive.

The problem is, if we live in such a way where others continue to need us, they cannot transcend us. They cannot truly become householders themselves. There is a trade off here - if we want to be needed, we are by definition forcing others to be dependent on us.

What was rare about my father, I’ve realized, was that his aim all along was for the people in his world to not need him anymore. More than anything, he wanted me to not be dependent on him. From the time I was born, he was trying to put himself out of the job of being a father. He resisted the euphoria of feeling needed. Instead, he raised me so that I would not need him anymore.

This, I think, is what the difference between unselfishness and selflessness is. The unselfish man asks the question, “what can I provide to the world?". And the selfless man asks, “what can I do so that I am no longer needed?”.

It is a very hard task to intentionally try to put ourselves out of business. But it is perhaps the greatest, most selfless gift we can give.

My father was selfless, and that made him a rare type of man.

You are explorers.

Both of your grandfathers are sailors. It is important for you to know this. This is where you come from, being an explorer is who you are.

It is important for you to know this because you have an itch and you may believe it is there by accident. It is not. To know more, to reach further, to venture into the distance. You explore. You are an explorer, I already see it in you. You will explore, it is in your nature. Your mother and I honestly didn’t put it there, it was there when you were born.

It is not there by accident.

Both your grandfathers, as I said, are sailors. Your Granddad has been sailing since he was a boy. He loves the water. As far as I know, he always has. Everything he does is to learn, to grow, to try the new. His is an exploration of zeal and adventure.

Your Dada was also a sailor. He was an engineer on a ship. He sailed all across the world, fixing the boat’s engine. As a young man, he flew from India to Tehran and took a bus to the coast. From there he traveled the world, port by port. Your Dada was not an explorer because of a sense of adventure. Your Dada was a dreamer. He dreamed of a better life, in a place where the corruption did not cause common people to suffer. He loved the water, no doubt, but his exploration was one of tenacity and sacrifice.

And I, boys, am not a sailor. I have always been partial to mountains. And my appetite for exploration is one service. I need to know the truth, not just because the truth is divine, but in the knowledge is the key to leaving the world better than I found it. Which is what I must do, it is involuntary. My exploration is one of curiosity and vision.

And your stories, my sons, are yet to be written. But that voice inside, it is not a false prophet. You are the grandsons of sailors, and you are explorers.

So when that voice inside whispers to you, listen carefully. To be sure, it will be scary. Exploring is not comfortable. But your father before you, and my fathers before me…we were all explorers. And we, all the men in your ancestry, whether we are on Earth or gone ahead - look to the night sky and you will find us there, watching over you.

You are explorers. I hope this has helped you understand why.

Masterclass

A masterclass is a class for a great teacher to teach experts or to teach other teachers. At the end of my life, I often wonder, what masterclass to I want to teach?

It is a window into the heart.

Masterclass 1: The Process of Becoming Good - Being a good person is a human’s most noble pursuit. But it does not just happen. It cannot be plucked from a tree. Becoming is a process. I cannot claim to be a good man, but I do claim that I have spent my whole life trying to discover and refine a process that gives me a damn good chance. This is a workshop to help you build your own process.

Masterclass 2: Building thriving communities - We operate in this world as a participant in organizations. A minority of organizations are communities where people - any everything they touch - thrive. The rest are merely just built. This is a class on how to intentionally build systems and feedback loops so that your organization becomes part of that small but mighty, virtuous, thriving minority.

The other cool thing about a masterclass is that if you think about it early enough, you have your whole life to qualify yourself to teach it.