vignettes

Man, tool, or fool?

"You must either make a tool of the creature, or a man of him. You cannot make both." —John Ruskin

In 1974, Philippe Petit, a lithe and nimble Frenchman, did the unthinkable—he rigged and walked a tightrope between the two towers of the World Trade Center. After years of pondering and preparation, he gave his childhood dream flesh and bones, made it a reality, and shared it with the rest of us. Thirty five years later, the towers are gone, but the story of the man on the wire remains.

In life, we admire those who live on the edge and beyond our reach. Their actions fuel our imagination, and awaken us to the tightrope we could walk, or the windmill we would conquer, if we only gave ourselves the permission (and room) to express our freedom.

In living our lives, our dreams can easily get displaced by the dreams of those around us: our children, our spouses, our family, friends, and employers. Habit and duty settle in and make us forget that our dreams matter, too. And that's when we must ask ourselves if, while helping someone else live their dream, we do it at the expense of our own.

Whose dream are you living?

Moving on

"Winners never quit, and quitters never win." —Vince Lombardi

While this mantra may unite and inspire a team to seek SuperBowl legacy and fame, I often wonder how well it works for individuals, especially when the time horizon is sure to outlast a single football season.

As we cultivate the story of our lives, we become entangled with others. We commit to a life of growing old together (in exchange for fidelity). We commit to creating a financial return (in exchange for investment). We commit to our employer (in exchange for remuneration and experience). But even the best intentions are not always enough to sustain a commitment over time. Circumstances change, as do the people involved.

From what I've experienced, there are three tell-tale signs to help us recognize when it's time to stop trying to make things work, and time to start looking for the exit: there is the unfair exchange rate (we are giving more than we are getting), the empty well (we've exhausted our available resources of time, energy, and money), and the philosopher's dilemma (there is nothing new to learn or do).

As someone who has held on too long (to a failed business venture), and let go too soon (of a childhood love), I can't help but wonder:

How do you know when it's time to go?

The genius of George

In December, 2006, Esquire published their Genius issue with a picture of George Clooney on the cover.

Not Albert Einstein.
Not Richard Feynman.
George Clooney.

It was so much more than genius. It was intrigue: Beauty and Intellect had equal parts on the page.

What we know of great art is that it often invites the audience to participate. We are left to wonder about what it was that made Mona Lisa smile, the process by which Michelangelo determined (then discarded) the untrue remains of David, and the variety and provenance of the pigments used to paint the Sistine Chapel.

In that issue of Esquire, men (and women) were invited to unearth the genius of George. On the heels of his debut as a director (Syriana), he shares without subtlety, his underlying motivation: "I am doing all that I can now, so that I can be creative for as long as possible."*

What is your genius, and where is it taking you?

*My imperfect recollection of his statement.

White space

In design, we use white space to create depth, drama, and pause on a page.

In business, white space gives us permission to challenge the status quo and to think and act in ways that are not limited by what we already know, or have the resources (and permission) to pursue.

In either case, white space is the deliberate act of making room to see, or be, or do something else.

In living our lives, it's easy to get caught up in the work we must do, the relationships we must nurture, the to-do list we must attend, that we forget to make room for new people, new experiences, new ideas.

We fill every moment with duty, and miss out on the opportunity to do nothing. Yet it is through doing nothing that we are often led to unexpected somethings: a new friend, a new hobby, a new adventure, a new idea—a whole new way of seeing, being, believing.

How do you create white space in your life?

Eureka!

Marcel Proust searched for lost time (it took him 7 volumes, 4300 pages, 1,250,000 words, and 18 years). Victor Frankl searched for meaning (and found it in a fish head that was floating in a bowl of soup). Erich Fromm searched for the link between freedom and happiness (and discovered the building blocks for a sane society).

But it was Aristotle who explains why they were searching in the first place: "understanding is extremely pleasant, not just for philosophers, but for others, too."* Which is another way of saying that happiness is within reach for each of us, no matter who we are, where we live, or how much money we have. It simply depends on where we choose to look, and how much effort we are willing to expend.

In today's world of immediate gratification and shortcuts, where meals, love, and answers are a mere keyboard click, personality test, or Google search away, we are left with more choices to satisfy our needs, but fewer opportunities to discover our desires. We have to work that much harder to create meaning in our lives.  

If happiness is related to our individual exploration and discovery,
what do you search for?

* p. 7, Poetics, Aristotle, Penguin Classics, Translation by Malcolm Heath

Small talk

I loathe small talk.

Not because there's anything inherently wrong with it. In fact, it's an indispensable skill that comes in handy in a wide variety of situations, from deal-making to flirting. The problem is, I'm just not very good at it.

So when my seatmate in 3A on United's flight 19 from New York to San Francisco asked "What is the most interesting thing about you?", I was momentarily stumped—and deeply intrigued.

What a fantastic question. Rather than inspire one to share their carefully honed collection of titles and accomplishments, it inspires a different kind of inquiry and sharing—one based on our passion rather than our duty.

After a few moments, I found my answer: "I'm in love with a bunch of dead men." There was a momentary flicker of panic as his eyes grew wide and he quickly scanned the cabin for the next available seat, until he realized that I was not referring to a pile of bones buried in my backyard but to the great minds that left behind their writings and contemplations, one of whom happened to be his namesake: Marcus Aurelius.

What is the most interesting thing about you?

Boots and wings

Julia and Paul. Lucy and Ricky. Lois and Clark. Thelma and Louise.

What makes a duo great?

Whether it's romance or friendship, great duos are like a see-saw. When one person is in the air, the other is on the ground. And every so often they meet in the middle.

Great relationships seem to give each person equal time in the sun.

How do you duo?

What it means to be Rich

"In poverty there is great wealth, and in wealth there is great poverty." —Epicurus

We fear that which we don't know or understand.

Meet Rich, my fear. Ruddy cheeks. 65, a shock of white hair. Baggy coat. Cranky. Always carries a shopping bag. Sometimes he talks to people who aren't there.

You will find him every morning in front of Peet's on Chestnut, starting at about 7:25. And he will remain there, or across the street, or one block down, until at least 11:30. He goes there to hunt. One espresso at a time, from the people walking by.

During my Peet's phase, I would see him. And like other "upstanding" citizens, I would avoid him. As I approached the cafe, I would speed up or slow down so that he would tag the person in front of me or to my side. If I didn't have human camouflage to hide behind, I would do the next best thing—turn the volume up on my iPod and pretend that I couldn't see or hear him.

It's appalling, I know. But it's what we humans do when we feel helpless and afraid.

One day I realized that my efforts to avoid this man that I feared were creating an unexpected compromise. My world was shrinking. My morning routine had become the victim of a stranger's comings and goings. I had to do something different.

So I pulled a Judo move.

The next time I saw him, I approached him. I offered to buy him a cup of coffee, and it stopped him in his tracks. Suddenly, the hunter became the hunted, and we were equals—except he declined my invitation. He had already reached his limit for the day.

This was the day that Rich became a person to me.

How wealthy are you?

Worthy pursuits

"A man's character is his fate."
—Heraclitus, Greek philosopher (540 BC-480 BC)

We are the sum of the choices we make. And nobody knew this more than Socrates, who lived and died for Reason.

At the age of 70, he was accused, tried, and convicted of corrupting the youth (teaching them to think) and challenging the status quo (making "important" people look incompetent).

On the morning of his execution his friend Crito visited him in jail and offered him a chance to escape. Socrates declined on the basis of Reason:

"I am and always have been one of those natures who must be guided by reason, whatever the reason may be which upon reflection appears to me to be the best; and now that this fortune has come upon me, I can not put away the reason which I have before given: the principles which I have hitherto honored and revered I still honor."*

Socrates loved the people, laws, and land of Greece more than any other place in the world—including the imperfections. If he was willing to abide by the laws before his condemnation, logic instructed that these same laws should be respected when he was sentenced to death. He was executed that same evening.

What do you live for?

*p. 49, The Trial and Death of Socrates, Plato, The Barnes & Noble Library of Essential reading, Copyright 2004

Playing the fool

"If you want to improve, be content to be thought foolish and stupid."* —Epictetus, a Roman Stoic philosopher

I once gave a talk at the University of Nebraska. It was about Fear, Expectation, and Desire.

I chose this topic because I was an example of failure. Not in my eyes, but in the eyes of the television watching public. While I was a finalist on Project Runway's third season, I was also the first designer to be eliminated. In Reality TV world, this makes you a loser.

The opportunity to speak gave me a chance to think about how we choose to live our lives. Do we live it out loud, taking risks and spending half our time hanging in the balance while we discover our limits, or do we choose the well-worn path of predictable investment for predictable outcomes?

It all depends on how we answer a single question:
Whose opinion do you care about, really?

*Quotation from the Jeremy Piven character in the movie, Serendipity.