Phillip Berry | Orient Yourself

This Memorial Day week-end seems like an appropriate time for a brief reflection on fear as we remember those who “gave the last full measure of devotion.” Anyone spending a few honest moments at one of our war memorials cannot help but feel the frightening awe and gravity of the “ultimate sacrifice.” Because of such sacrifices, most of us will never know the fear and doubt of the final moments of those who experienced them.

However, ours is an existence marked by fear and doubt and we will know it in many forms before our own end. Fear of what might or might not be. Fear of what others think. Fear of failing. Fear of suffering. Fear of being humiliated. Fear of not mattering. Fear of fading. Fear of loss. And yes, fear of our own death.

Walking our dog earlier this week, Sally and were passing the home of our daughter and son-in-law when their front door burst open and our two oldest grandchildren (almost 6 and 4) ran into the yard to greet us. The sun was setting and the kids were winding down for bed with a little ice cream snack as we pulled up to greet their exuberance. One glory of grand-parenthood is our illusion of being as important as royalty in such moments.

After a few seconds of high-energy updates on the day and excitement over their ice cream, number three threw the front door open and emerged, naked and equally enthusiastic about his day, his ice cream, and his Nanny and Poppy. Children are forces of nature in all of their forms but there is a certain kind of freedom and energy that accompanies a two year old…particularly a naked one.

Watching Fulton run circles around us, his siblings, and our dog, I was struck by how exuberantly unencumbered he was. He possessed not even the smallest iota of self-consciousness, doubt, hesitancy, or fear as he laughed, gibbered-on in his partial words and sentences, and danced about like he was celebrating the most exciting moment in his life. Clearly, I have not tried the naked ice cream experience frequently enough to understand the true extent of its merits.

Grabbing the leash of Edie, he decided he needed to walk her around the yard a bit though it was unclear who was walking who. He was completely free, completely joyful, and completely innocent. His nakedness was completely appropriate to his state of mind and struck me in its purity. No spot or blemish. No shame or doubt. No concern with what any of us, or anyone else in the neighborhood, would think.

Consider for a moment the notion of running forth from your front porch, buck-naked, to greet friends. What first comes to mind? Propriety aside, your mind likely goes to the red-faced humiliation of your own nakedness. Maybe your mind’s eye sees the imperfections in your naked form. Perhaps you imagine how you look to your friends or what might run through their minds. Likely, you can tune-in to the absolute vulnerability of being so blatantly exposed.

Even the most self-confident of us likely squirms at the thought of such exposure. We have been conditioned to associate nakedness with vulnerability – physical and emotional. I’m not suggesting this is silly or priggish, our physical forms need to be covered for safety and survival, and that covering helps provide emotional protection as well. Nakedness is risky for us and we completely understand the fears that come along with it. There are real reasons for that fear.

Now, consider where nakedness feels normal or joyful? First and foremost to enjoy nakedness, we must feel safe. Safe in our surroundings. Safe in the presence of others. Safe physically. Safe emotionally. Considering Fulton’s joyful romp around the yard, there is no question that he felt completely safe. He could not imagine anything in the world hurting him. Moving past the fear, that nakedness starts to feel normal. From there, it can begin to feel joyful. Perhaps even innocent.

We put clothes on to cover our nakedness, adding layers to help protect us. Some of those layers are necessary to reduce our exposure to dangerous elements like cold or heat. Protection. Always protection.

What about the other layers? What else are we putting on to protect ourselves? We go to great lengths to cover our vulnerabilities. Sometimes we put on airs. Occasionally we put on a brave face. Often, we put on a mask in the hope that some blemish or weakness may remain unseen. Each layer brings its own weight, turning the lightness of our nakedness to something heavier, something burdensome.

“Your dangerous, ‘cos your honest” opens the U2 song, “Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses.” When is honesty dangerous? As I watched Fulton run around his yard, free, unburdened, and fearless, I recognized his innocence. It was pure. It was honest. It was powerful. Such nakedness, such honesty, is dangerous.

Dangerous? Yes. Imagine for a moment what you might do if you were fearless. What choices might you make if you knew without a doubt that everything was going be ok? Who might you be if you knew that you could be naked and unafraid? You would be a force to be reckoned with. You would be dangerous. You might find yourself fully alive in a way that only a 2 year old can understand.

There is a profound freedom in nakedness. An unencumbered liberty to be something more emerges when we stop fearing what we’re not, how we might be seen, or our worst-case scenario. There is a limitlessness that lies beyond the naked fear of our own doubt, within the comfort of a faith that says everything is going to be alright. Not a false optimism or blind ignorance to reality. Just the honest nakedness of knowing you don’t have all the answers, don’t need to be perfect, and will be just fine.

This week-end we remember those who gave their last full measure of devotion. In that remembering, we have the opportunity to face our own fears and strive to ensure that their sacrifices are made more meaningful through our full measure of living. Fully naked and unafraid.

Sometimes I feel
I might touch eternity –
Lewis tells me that now
Is its closest point.

from Resonant Tension, Phillip Berry

In a note to me last year, my sister called me a “serial reflectionist.” Not long afterward, I started a post with the title above and stopped after the first paragraph. I decided that I needed a bit more reflection before engaging with my sister’s creative description. This morning, I noticed the draft post in a queue on my website and opened it to see where it was going and where it stopped. Interestingly, it is one of 16 unfinished drafts on the site. A curious thing about my approach to these posts is that I very much run on inspirations in the moment.

This is how I know I am not a professional writer – I do not write from discipline but from the things that are striking me at a point in time…usually the Sunday morning of my post. The other way I know? I do not have to make my living by writing. A reality for which I am very grateful.

Today, I am going to pull a few of my old drafts into this post and tackle them with intention as a committed reflectionist. I make no promises of cohesion, order, or profundity. However, I have never promised any of those. My hope is that something in them prompts the reflectionist within you.

In 2011, HBO released the first episode of Game of Thrones, a raw and often troubling journey through a fictional world blending elements of medieval fiefdoms and fantasy in a brutal storyline focused on the various character’s quest for power. Recently re-watching the very first episode, I found its raw brutality and sensuality as jarring as the first time I experienced it, but it was the grimness of the characters that stood out even more in this viewing. Recently walking through a tour of Orsini-Odescalchi Castle in Bracciano, Italy, I had visions of that grimness in harsh realities of its history.

Built in the 15th Century in the midst of city, family, and nation power struggles, loads of intrigue, and existential conflicts, in a rawness reminiscent of Game of Thrones, I realized that author, George Martin, had plenty of inspiration for his stories. No magic or dragons needed, the castle, rising high above the beautiful valley around Lake Bracciano, echoed with the stories of arranged marriages, secret notes, crazy looking medieval weapons, “murder holes,” and epic struggles among families with names like Medici, Borgia, and Orisini, not to mention kings like Charles the VIII. Some things never change.

Looking around today, not much has changed in the 600+ years since the castle was built. Rulers vie for territory. Nations threaten and war over resources, control, and pride. Intrigue abounds and we now have technology that the 15th Century Orsini would look upon as magic. We’ve gotten even better at intriguing and killing in the years in between. My mind is taken to the movie Terminator 2. A young John Connor asks if humanity is doomed; the Terminator, sent back from the future to try to save humanity, coldly responds: It’s in your nature to destroy yourselves. Will we ever learn?

Evil is such a strong, uncompromising word. History is rich with examples. Alas, history is unnecessary for the affirmation of evil’s dark presence among us. We know when we hear of it or when we see its ugly head reared in our midst. A quick search for stories or quotes on evil reveals a voluminous accounting of the dastardly, depraved, and the devastating. Headlines affirm these darker tendencies. Consider these quotations:

Stevenson’s story goes directly at man’s curious capacity for light and darkness in his tale of the good and upstanding Dr. Jekyll who slowly loses himself to his dark alter-ego, Mr. Hyde, through the creation of a potion to separate the good and evil parts of the human personality. The book draws a stark line between man’s good and evil natures, suggesting a hardwired dualism within each of us. Solzhenitsyn knew it well, writing of gulags and the brutal nature of marxism and power in Soviet-era Russia. He saw the evil that men do.

But Solzehitsyn also wrote that “beauty will save the world,” referring to the elevating power of the aesthetic, the moral, and ultimately what they reflect: the Sacred beauty of God. Taking some time to study virtue and man’s quest for deep and abiding happiness, we begin to realize that our great potential for evil stems from the deep sin of pride – a self-regard that puts us at the center of everything. Our needs. Our wants. Our demands. The will to power comes from this place and the story repeats itself again and again and again.

But we find that it is a hollow and finally unsatisfying place. Yes, the capacity for evil runs through the heart of every man, but we are blessed with the power to choose. Our great gift of free will gives us the power to do what is right and the person formed in the habit of making that choice is path to beatitude: complete joy and fulfillment of all desire.

Since we’re in the middle of graduation season, it seems fitting to return to a couple of drafts that tie into the transition from college to profession. These reflections come from 2016 and 2017 and center on entrepreneurship. I’m not sure why I did not post them at their respective times but such is the way of inspiration – not all inspiration is good or timely, and not all posts go where I want them to. There is so much more to be said about both but graduation speeches aren’t meant to be books and we’ll leave what’s unsaid as potential for a future post…or two.

I recently had the opportunity to experience commencement exercises at Hillsdale College.  Justice Clarence Thomas gave an inspiring keynote address which you can see in this full video of the afternoon.  There has been some wonderful commentary on Justice Thomas’ message but that is not what this post is about.

The Class President gave a strong speech connecting a liberal arts education with entrepreneurship.  “I’ve heard it said that entrepreneurship is living a few of years of your life like most people won’t so you can spend the rest of your life like most people can’t.”  He goes on to tell us that his liberal arts education has led him to the conclusion that he wants to be an entrepreneur.

For the last week or so, the speech has rolled around in my head as I considered a classical education, entrepreneurship, and the quotation he shared.  Yesterday, in a casual meeting over coffee, I was asked about my “Why?”  The context centered on my motivations relative to my companies.  As I answered the question, that graduation speech came back to me and I realized that his opening quotation on entrepreneurship did not reflect my experience at all.

For me, entrepreneurship is about the infinite game.  It is a marathon not a sprint.  The goal is to stay in the race.  Sure, there may come a time to sell and review options.  But entrepreneurship should be a way of life not a build it, sell it, and retire on the beach plan.  My father-in-law successfully built several companies and I can remember him telling people that he hadn’t had a job for 30 years.  His work was a way of life.  It was more of an endless project than some grand plan to build and sell, amass wealth, or maximize his accumulations.  He lived his ventures and in so doing, experienced a life full of adventures.

As I consider that speech so many years ago, I realize that I want to live like most people won’t but it has little to do with money or things.  For me, the entrepreneurial journey has been about building a life: a family, a team, companies, relationships, purpose, experiences, stories, resilience, expertise, perspective, independence, impact, and perhaps a little wisdom.  I could stop today and feel pretty good about each of those categories.  But that is not the point – there is no arrival.

To the young entrepreneur, if you feel called, I encourage you to pursue the path.  It is a journey worth taking and I’m confident that you will find success – however you may define it.  Your message regarding a liberal arts education is spot-on: I can think of nothing more valuable than leveraging the lessons of our greatest thinkers and learning how to think and communicate for yourself.  Those skills will serve you well along the way.  As for the details of your “why,” “what,” and “how,” you’ll figure it out for yourself.

Congratulations on your recent graduation from college!  These are heady times with the world wide open before you – the sky is truly the limit!  I wish you worthy challenges and the joys that accompany when you overcome them.

The temptation is great to seek a pathway, a set of plays that will result in the achievement of your dreams.  Alas, you have chosen a direction that does not lend itself well to a fixed recipe.  I suspect that is what has drawn you to this adventure but more on that later.  No, the direction you have charted is toward open water and there is little now visible to tell you which way to go.  Do not be discouraged by this!  For the faithful, the signs will appear and you will feel nudges indicating direction.  For now, the important thing is getting started.

Each of our journeys is as unique as we are as individuals.  Some choose a trade which often gives a clearer sense of direction in terms of what their working world will be.  Medical professions, law, accounting, engineering, and teaching are examples of more concrete paths with somewhat easier to identify outcomes.  Invest your time, take certain courses, pass certain tests and you will be a practitioner.  There are certainly bumps and surprises along the way but there are also clearer steps and clearer results should you complete the journey.  This is not what you’ve chosen.

To choose the path of the entrepreneur is to choose the unknown.  Like many things we seek, it is a movement toward a way of life.  Some may choose it because they think it will bring riches.  Some may choose it because of the sense of freedom it inspires.  Some may choose it for a perceived glamor and status that our society attributes to those who successfully navigate its difficulties.  Whatever motivates you, it is obvious you feel called.  Right now, your “why” isn’t particularly important.  Right now, deliberate movement is critical.

You see, true entrepreneurship is not a destination.  It is a journey.  It is a lifestyle.  To be an entrepreneur is to see things that others can’t and to do things that others won’t.  It is identifying risks, accepting the possibility of failure, and moving forward anyway.  To be an entrepreneur is to undertake the journey even though you know it might not work.  To build a life as an entrepreneur is to pick yourself up from those times it does not work and try again.

To begin is first to make a choice and then take a step.  Now is the time to take the step, whatever it may be.  Just remember that there are many more to come.  On this occasion, celebrate the choosing, identify that first step, and begin your journey.

The Basilica was dark. Drawn to the nondescript exterior by the striking blue doors, we walked-in to what felt like the thousandth church that day. It was a comfortable day in Rome and the sun was beginning to set, casting shadows across the piazza and darkening the narrow, cobblestone alleys that formed the seemingly endless labyrinth of this old city. A caretake emerged from the dark, seeming somewhat surprised that we entered; for a moment, I thought he was going to ask us to leave. He didn’t, and before my eyes could adjust to the dark, I saw a brightly lit side-chapel toward the front of the church, on the side opposite me.

The year was 2023 and my eyes, heart, and stomach, were full of the sensations of Rome. At that point in the day and the trip, I really didn’t feel there was any room left for additional sensations. Tired as we were, the doors drew us with a blue that seemed as ancient as what I later learned was a 1200 year old church, yet had a distinct vibrancy in this city of marble, burnished bronze, bright stucco, and dark wood. The only light in that church served to illuminate a statue of Our Lady of Lourdes and little Bernadette looking upon her adoringly – a small shrine to a Marian apparition recognized by the Catholic Church as a miracle soon after its occurrence in 1858 in Lourdes, France.

The Catholic devotion to Mary as the Mother of Jesus Christ is often misunderstood by those outside the Church. The simplest answer I can offer is this: if one believes that Jesus is the Son of God, great devotion seems a fitting disposition toward her. But I’m not here to convince, convert, or expound on Marian theology.

Watching my seven grandchildren at a family gathering last night, I was mesmerized by the uniquely individual attributes and the collective effect of their collisions. In some cases, the literal physical collisions yielded some bumps and bruises (perhaps one bloody nose) as they played in the blow-up bounce house. But I was even more struck by their little (and big) personalities interacting in the chaotic dance of child’s play that in some way yields its own beautiful order.

Sitting together on the back porch, the two mothers of my grandchildren and their Nanny, watched, talked, and laughed in the easy way mom’s do when their children are joyfully engaged…and mostly safe. At one point in the melee, I found myself standing at just the right place to see the moms, Nanny, the children, and the sun aligned in such a way that I felt like light was glinting across the backyard, skipping and dancing upon the little souls flitting in all directions.

Was it a trick of the eyes or did I really see seven luminous reflections, glittering back like dragonfly wings in the morning light? Was it the sunlight I saw upon them or something else? There was a radiance in the moment, and the laughter seemed to intensify the brightness even as the deepening shadow of the evening moved over the yard.

I awoke this morning thinking of the brightly lit chapel in that dark Roman Church nearly three years ago. The light and the shadow, the moment and the movement, not in any way physical but in and upon some deeper part of me. Beauty moves all of us in its way, casting itself upon those deeper places we often hide in the shadows of our hopes and fears; a mystical world where imagination may be lost and found amid the harsher realities of adulthood and its temporal demands. Light and shadow seem a fitting medium for such movements of heart and soul, and occasionally, we are gifted with the moments that draw us in.

Light and shadow transported me again last night, as I watched my grandchildren glinting across the waters of my life, reflections of their own God-given luminosity, but also of their mothers, those life-bearers who brought them forth, cast them upon those waters, and imbued them with pieces of their own divine spark. Knowing each of those little souls intimately, I see the shadows of their mothers stretching over them and within them, supplementing the light of creation with the force of presence – nurturing, protecting, and loving them into fullness.

Today is Mother’s Day, our fitting tribute to the life-bearers in our lives who make the sacrifice of self to the great mystery and mission of the children they bear. The reasoning mind acknowledges that celebrating motherhood is fitting because it is a necessary part of our own formation and survival as individuals as well as the great necessity to our survival as a species. However, the Marian heart of our being recognizes that we are moved to honor motherhood because our glint upon life’s waters is a reflection of the Divine given to us through our mothers, and our formation occurs in the shadow cast by their unconditional love.

Thank you to my mom and all of the beautiful mothers in my life. What a glorious vocation and gift. A gift for all of us.

Somewhere in the distance
When we fall in love again
Planets will be dancing
The moon plays violin
We’ll laugh at all the silly things
That we’ve both said and done
And step into forever
On the bright side of the sun

Men Without Hats, Bright Side of the Sun

In 1987, Men Without Hats released a fancifully flighty album called Pop Goes the World. I loved it immediately. One of the tracks on the album was a modified cover of an old Italian love ballad called O Solo Mio which compares the face of the writer’s love with a bright, beautiful sun. On the album, Bright Side of the Sun, provides a poetic prelude to the peppy and poppier O Solo Mio.

I awoke to the song playing in my head this morning after watching the relatively new Kevin James movie, Solo Mio, last night. Spoiler alert. First of all, the movie was refreshingly wholesome. The characters were innocent without being boring or puritanical. The humor was clean without being lame. The plot was simple and farcical but still able to touch upon some of the wildly complex themes of love, loss, and relationship. The movie was real, entertaining, and emotionally engaging without tipping into the Hallmark zone or debasing itself with shock to draw attention.

For Sally and I, fresh off weeks in Italy, it was a visually stunning return to a place we have come to love. One of the first scenes of the movie introduces us to Kevin James’ character abandoned at the altar by his runaway fiancee. We immediately recognized the church as the Trinita dei Monti, a beautiful renaissance era basilica located at the top of the Spanish Steps, overlooking Rome’s historic center and a road that runs directly into the Vatican about 1.5 miles away. Just a few weeks ago, we celebrated Mass in that church and enjoyed a few remarks of the rector of the convent and retreat that is now operated by the Emmanuel Community who carries on its French lineage.

Let the memory reel role!

The film is filled with such beautiful sites captured in cinematography that is amazingly effective at conveying the scope and beauty many impossibly glorious places. Later, we see James sitting alone on the famous Spanish Steps, an impossibility for any regular visitor to the Piazza di Spagna which is always full of tourists mingling about and moving in between the luxury stores lining the narrow cobblestone streets. The promo photo gives a hint of the film’s eye for beauty, showing James sitting on a bench on an overlook with the massive dome of St. Peter’s Basilica looming in the background. It is a feast for the eyes.

James’s character, Matt, falls-in with two unlikely supporting characters played by Jonathan Roumie and the hilarious Kim Coates who are both on the honeymoon package tour Matt was supposed to take with his bride who isn’t. The men become entertaining foils for James as they come to represent the angel and devil voices for Matt, encouraging in mostly non-helpful but sincere and humorous ways. Of course, trouble ensues.

The unlikely twist is an unexpected romance that blossoms between Matt and a local Italian coffee shop owner, Gia, who is the sunshine of the movie. Gia’s character captures the essence of a beautifully hopeful and life-loving personality, full of energy, wonder, and joy. The scene moves to Tuscany as Matt offers his extra ticket to Gia and she unknowingly takes the place of his missing bride, traveling with Matt’s new friends, in their own imperfect marriages, on the honeymoon excursion.

Along the way, we are taken to the villa of Andrea Bocelli, who we discover is the uncle of Gia, and are treated with his beautiful music right in the middle of movie, as well as a rather funny duet sung with James shortly after. The Tuscan countryside burst onto the screen, creating its own sense of awe and wonder. Though I can’t say we saw any of the actual countryside shown in these scenes during our trip, I was transported to similar vistas in my own memory: sunrises, sunsets, and rolling beauty in between.

Reviews of the movie highlight its Catholic disposition – it is unapologetic in its depictions. From the destination wedding to be held in a Catholic Basilica to the Sign of the Cross appearing before Andrea Bocelli’s pre-meal prayer, to the priest throwing holy water on Bocelli’s horse pre-race in Siena, there is no escaping the thread. Most impressive is that the Catholicity of the movie and its characters flows lightly, neither encumbering nor shrugging, it just is. Present. Steady. Intertwined.

Oh yeah, Siena. A great addition to the visual splendor and story is the minor tie-in to the famous Palio horse race held twice a year since the 1600s in the walled city of Siena. The scope and pageantry of the event is captured beautifully, as we see the banners of the Goose, one of the 17 contrade of Siena, the wards or neighborhoods that mark the geography of the city and infuse local pride with a sense of identity. Oca, the Goose, is actually the current holder of the Palio title and shows through brightly in the images from these scenes. The Goose was also the the contrada of St. Catherine of Siena.

Conflict emerges as we move to the Palio but there is something moving more deeply underneath. I’m reminded again of Men Without Hats, O Solo Mio:

So high give me your love imagination
Run wild and tell me your mine, I can never remember your name
So high give me your heart hey guardian angels
More light I’m falling in love and I want to remember the way

There is a whimsy, passion, and innocence, to the storyline and its closing movements toward unity and resolution. Somehow, someway, James and fellow writers Charles and Daniel Kinnane, capture the essence of Italy in both its otherworldly oldness and the beautifully joyful possibility emerging in its landscapes, energy, and people – which the actress Nicole Grimaudo evinces wonderfully as Gia. The movie is able to move lightly across the heavy, give us the necessary tension of the conflict, and bring us to a happy close in an ending full of hopeful possibility.

The expression “solo mio” translates to “only mine” or “just mine.” The title comes from the misapplication of the expression by Kim Coates, suggesting that James’s character is all alone, which Gia later corrects for him. The movie is a movement through the sunshine of O Solo Mio, past “only mine,” and on to the shared experience of love and loss against the stunning backdrop of Italy. It does this while entertaining us, moving us, and reminding us that the pure, the wholesome, and the faithful doesn’t have to be boring or puritanical.

Thank you Angel Studios. Bravissomo!

What happens when you cross a tour guide, a janitor, a restroom, English as a second language, and a case of mistaken identity? They say great comedy takes the right setup and perfect timing. Standing in line at what was apparently the only water closet amid the ruins of the ancient Roman Forum, I felt like I’d walked into the surrealism of a Saturday Night Live skit. I watched as the janitor knocked on the door of the bathroom for the third or fourth time, and listened to the muffled response indicating both occupation and disinterest in a dialogue with the outside world. I wondered where this was going.

Our guide had encouraged us to a bathroom break at this particular juncture, access was going to be a challenge going forward. I was surprised to discover a single serve restroom with a line of men in front of it and a janitor pounding on the door. The janitor clearly needed access to something within this particular water closet – I didn’t sense he was overly concerned about the biological needs of those in line – and he repeated his knock with a rather non-specific “Sir” as his request. I suppose the implied message was “hurry up!” but there was clearly a lack of understanding in the exchange.

About 15 minutes into my wait, I heard the voice of a woman behind me calling across the courtyard, “Mr. Chen?” She repeated the call several times before she found her way to our line. Walking to the janitor, she asked, “Is Mr. Chen in there?” The janitor shrugged and knocked on the door again. “Mr. Chen?” The woman, who we discovered was a tour guide, began banging on the door, “Mr. Chen?” Then “Mr. Chen?” And then, “Mr. Chen!” as her sense of urgency increased. The man behind the door mumbled some broken English but it didn’t really sound like a response to any question.

Apparently, the expression, “Mr. Chen” conveyed a variety of meanings and no additional words were needed. I watched as the janitor, the tour guide, and Mr. Chen, engaged in a verbal exchange in which no one seemed to be responding explicitly to the other person. Looking at the other men in the line, I saw smiles appear as we all seemed to encounter the Saturday Night Live effect simultaneously. Apparently, everyone was Americanized enough to understand the humor of the unfolding bathroom skit happening before us. Some of us never outgrow the sophomoric in what entertains us.

As the exchange built into a crescendo, the man behind the door finally yelled in quite articulate English: “I AM NOT MR. CHEN!!!” The tour guide, not fully convinced, asked three more times: “Mr. Chen?” Then the janitor added, “Mr. Chen, we need you out of there.” Again, “I AM NOT MR. CHEN!!” It took a few moments for this to register as the janitor’s supervisor walked up and asked, who is in there? Reflexively, the janitor responded: “Mr. Chen.” By the time the supervisor asked Mr. Chen if he was ok, the man behind the door was apparently far enough past the struggles of his now 30 minute journey in the restroom, to yell several more times that he was not Mr. Chen.

At this point, the supervisor retreated and the tour guide resolved herself to the conclusion that she would have to find Mr. Chen somewhere else. Only the janitor and the six men in line remained to greet the rather agitated man as he opened the door to the bathroom. The man’s English was limited but was clear enough as he got in the janitor’s face: I am not Mr. Chen. A line he repeated a dozen times before a large Australian man intervened to calm the situation, “It’s ok mate. He’s just trying to do his job.” Nonplussed, the janitor entered the water closet, grabbed some supplies in a cabinet and left to continue his day.

As the men in line were finally able to go about their business, the mutual greeting after leaving the bathroom became “It’s all yours, Mr. Chen” to which the proper response was “Thank you, Mr. Chen.”

Italy is a beautiful country and we had the opportunity to experience the amazing treasurers of art, architecture, food, and culture. We journeyed through many Holy Places, saw the relics of Saints, and celebrated Mass in beautiful chapels and basilicas. As other-worldly as much of Rome can be, I found it very comforting to witness the common ground of our shared humanity. Though he did not know it, the mysterious Mr. Chen reminded me of just how common that ground can be.

I don’t believe I’ve ever waited 30 minutes in a line for a restroom. However, some dramas are too good to pass up. Finding our tour guide a few minutes later, she asked what happened. I laughed out loud as I heard someone down the hill calling, “Mr. Chen?! Mr. Chen?!”

Happy Easter! Today we celebrate the most sacred day of the Christian year, turning our eyes ad orientum, to the east, to experience the rising of the sun in a posture of joy and hope in the Resurrection.

Sixty five years ago, Pope John XXIII initiated the Second Vatican Council in a spirit of renewal within the Catholic Church. The purpose of Vatican II was one of development as the Church responded to a rapidly changing modern world. One of the key documents produced during the Council was Gaudium et Spes, which means Joy and Hope. The document remains very relevant today and seemed a fitting reference point for a reflection on Easter and the message of the Christian faith to the world. Today’s post offers deeper dive on this document, it’s message of joy and hope, and some applications we might find for it in our working lives. May it meet you where you are and remind you of your own reasons for joy and hope on this special day.

Gaudium et Spes opens with: “The joys and hopes, the griefs and the anxieties of the men of this age, especially those who are poor or in any way afflicted, these are the joys and hopes, the griefs and anxieties of the followers of Christ.”[1] With these words, the Council Fathers invite Christians and non-Christians into a unifying dialogue on the difficulties of modernity, the hope of Christian faith, and the Catholic Church’s Christ-centered answers to “some problems of special urgency.”[2] In many ways, St. Augustine’s famous quotation, “You rouse him to take delight in praising you, for you have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you,”[3] captures the central message of Gaudium et Spes. The Second Vatican Council’s Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World blends doctrinal principles and pastoral application in response to a world in which man’s great progress in power is equaled only by fears and anxieties brought by hearts hungry for a God increasingly pressed into the shadows of modernity. “For faith throws a new light on everything, manifests God’s design for man’s total vocation, and thus directs the mind to solutions which are fully human.”[4] Gaudium et Spes affirms man’s supreme calling to communion with God through a universal holiness reflected in humanity living fully in its God-given dignity, then proposes fully human pathways for the modern world to fulfill that dignity through man’s treatment of self and others. In its call to the modern world, Gaudium et Spes outlines the Church’s pastoral mission in the context of man’s total vocation and some fully human ways for its fulfillment, however, it begs the question: how might we as individuals living and working in this modern world more actively foster the call of Gaudium et Spes in our day-to-day lives? This essay will explore how Gaudium et Spes characterizes man’s total vocation through the lenses of human dignity and work, then how we, as followers of Christ, can help fulfill the document’s pastoral mission by cooperating with God in our secular enterprises to facilitate man’s total vocation through solutions which are more fully human.

            “For sacred scripture teaches that man was created ‘to the image of God,’ is capable of knowing and loving his Creator, and was appointed by Him as master of all earthly creatures that he might subdue them and use them to God’s glory.”[5] The first movement of the Council Fathers in establishing the dignity of man is biblical, referencing Genesis in stating that human beings are made in the image and likeness of God. Man’s dignity is innate, built-in to our person through the grace of God. But “sin has diminished man, blocking his path to fulfillment,”[6] so the joys and hopes of mankind are mixed with griefs and anxieties amid “the call to grandeur and the depths of misery”[7] that mark our human experience. Human beings are blessed with dignity by virtue of God’s grace, but original sin holds us back, making the Church’s role critical for the fulfillment of God’s design for man’s total vocation. The Council Fathers go on to describe three signs of human dignity: intellect, conscience, and freedom. “Man judges rightly that by his intellect he surpasses the material universe, for he shares in the light of the divine mind.”[8] Man’s intellect enables him to search for truths: those from observable data as well as those “perfected by wisdom…a love for what is true and good.”[9] But man’s reason alone is an imperfect reflection of the Imago Dei and falls short of full human dignity. “It is, finally, through the gift of the Holy Spirit that man comes by faith to the contemplation and appreciation of the divine plan.”[10] Man needs God’s grace to elevate reason with wisdom and faith, bringing it closer to the light of the divine mind.

            Though wisdom and faith bring human reason closer to the light of the divine mind, “the root reason for human dignity lies in man’s call to communion with God.”[11] How does man come to communion with God? Through his choices. “In the depths of his conscience, man detects a law which he does not impose upon himself, but which holds him to obedience…For man has in his heart a law written by God; to obey it is the very dignity of man; according to it he will be judged.”[12] God has given man the ability to discern right and wrong, good and evil, but “only in freedom can man direct himself toward goodness.”[13] Communion with God comes through the choices we make. Man’s dignity is wrapped up in his ability to reason those choices, discern their goodness, and choose the good freely. In this way, man is given the opportunity to live his God-given dignity in communion with his Creator.

            However, original sin disfigured man’s dignity by introducing death. “Not only is man tormented by pain and by the advancing deterioration of the body, but even more so by a dread of perpetual extinction…the mystery of death utterly beggars the imagination.”[14] Here, the Council Fathers take us back to their opening move on the dignity of man as created in the image of God. “The truth is that only in the mystery of the incarnate Word does the mystery of man take on light. For Adam, the first man, was a figure of Him Who was to come, namely Christ the Lord. Christ, the final Adam, by the revelation of the mystery of the Father and His love, fully reveals man to man himself and makes his supreme calling clear.”[15] Mankind, whose God-given dignity was disfigured in the Garden of Eden, is returned to communion, to full dignity, in the person of Jesus Christ, “Who is ‘the image of the invisible God’ (Col. 1:15)…the perfect man.”[16] Human beings have a role to play in assenting to their God-given dignity and are called to follow Christ’s example. “He blazed a trail, and if we follow it, life and death are made holy and take on a new meaning.”[17] In Jesus Christ, the living face of God, man’s disfigured dignity is glorified, and his supreme calling to holiness made clear. Next, we’ll explore how the Council Fathers viewed work, in the fully human sense, as an opportunity to reflect human dignity and bring man to communion with God and each other.

            After characterizing the dignity of the human being in the context of man’s creation in the image of God through intellect, conscience, and freedom, then pointing to Christ as the point of fulfillment of that dignity, Gaudium et Spes journeys into the realm of human activity, under what conditions it fulfills man’s total vocation, and how man’s labor can and should reflect his dignity. First, the Council Fathers connect the span of human labor to God: “…by their labor they are unfolding the Creator’s work, consulting the advantages of their brother men, and are contributing by their personal industry to the realization in history of the divine plan.”[18] Man’s call to be a good steward of all the earth and his own capacities is a mandate to glorify God through his efforts. The “triumphs of the human race are a sign of God’s grace and the flowering of His own mysterious design”[19] as well as a deepening of man’s responsibility to himself and the world – the fulfillment of his dignity. In Gaudium et Spes 35, the Council Fathers further connect the human activity of work to man’s dignity: “Human activity, to be sure, takes its significance from its relationship to man. Just as it proceeds from man, so it is ordered toward man. For when a man works he not only alters things and society, he develops himself as well.”[20] Man’s growth and progress is made good to the extent that it cooperates with God’s divine plan. “Hence, the norm of human activity is this: that in accord with the divine plan and will, it harmonize with the genuine good of the human race, and that it allow men as individuals and as members of society to pursue their total vocation and fulfill it.”[21] Unified with God, man’s labors reflect his dignity and help bring it to fullness in the pursuit of his total vocation.

            After the long 19th Century, the industrial revolution, two world wars, and the onslaught of communism, the Council Fathers fully recognized the potential for work to lessen the dignity of man through the conditions, purposes, or nature of his labor, particularly in community and the demands of growing societies. “In the economic and social realms, too, the dignity and complete vocation of the human person and the welfare of society as a whole are to be respected and promoted. For man is the source, center, and the purpose of all economic life.”[22] Growth and advancement for its own sake or to the benefit of only a few has great potential to undermine human dignity and devalue the labor of the individual. The Council Fathers saw the diffusion of power as one means for helping to protect the individual, and community as a mechanism for helping to ensure that all can participate in man’s advancements. “By his labor a man ordinarily supports himself and his family, is joined to his fellow men and serves them, and can exercise genuine charity and be a partner in the work of bringing divine creation to perfection.”[23] The Council Fathers go to great lengths to describe how societies and governments can support the dignity of the individual, and their collective responsibility in ensuring human dignity through economic, social, and political means. However, the Fathers also make a great call to individual Christians, stating in Gaudium et Spes 72 that “Christians who take an active part in present-day socio-economic development and fight for justice and charity should be convinced that they can make a great contribution to the prosperity of mankind and to the peace of the world.”[24] Fully human solutions become ways man lives his dignity in how he relates to his fellow man as well as the forms those solutions take in how they foster the dignity of the other. “Whoever in obedience to Christ seeks first the Kingdom of God, takes therefrom a stronger and purer love for helping all his brethren and for perfecting the work of justice under the inspiration of charity.”[25] Now, we turn to more specific opportunities for Christians to bring forth fully human solutions which can help facilitate the fullness of dignity for the individual in rising to his, or her, total vocation.

            “Bent over a material that resists his efforts, the worker leaves his imprint on it, at the same time developing his own powers of persistence, inventiveness, and concentration. Further, when work is done in common—when hope, hardship, ambition, and joy are shared—it brings together and firmly unites the wills, minds, and hearts of men.”[26] Pope St. Paul VI writes that work has the power to elevate man, but how does the faithful Catholic translate these flowery words practically in a modern world that is competitive, ambitious, and driven by self-interest? Grounded in Lumen Gentium’s “universal call to holiness”[27] Gaudium et Spes envisions working environments in which justice and charity prevail as men behave in recognition of their dignity, as well as the dignity of others around them, and holiness is manifested in Christ’s call:  “As I have loved you, so you also should love one another.”[28] In today’s working world, words like “love,” “justice,” and “holiness” come across as abstract, fluffy, expressions of sentiment that have little practical value in getting a job done and even less value in man’s great ambitions for wealth and power. However, the Council Fathers saw Jesus’ call to holiness and love as fundamental to mitigating the anxieties of the modern world and bringing human beings to fullness of life, both on earth and in eternal communion with God. “For the glory of God is a living man; and the life of man consists in beholding God. For if the manifestation of God which is made by means of the creation, affords life to all living in the earth, much more does that revelation of the Father which comes through the Word, give life to those who see God.”[29] Creating man in His image, God’s great design is His own glory reflected in living man which is the very definition of being fully alive. A human being is fully alive when he or she is living in the fullness of his or her God-given dignity. This is human flourishing.

            Businesses have a unique opportunity to foster flourishing by recognizing everyone’s human dignity, creating an environment that supports it, and connecting each person in community with others to a greater purpose in their labors. For the business, this applies to employees, but it can also apply to customers, members, patients, partners, or individuals within the broader community. The first move to fostering human flourishing in a work environment is recognizing the dignity of the Imago Dei in each person and understanding that he or she has been created with unique gifts and a specific calling. The individual call to holiness may manifest itself differently from person to person, but earthly flourishing occurs when the individual is living in the fullness of their call within their vocation(s). But how does a business create an environment that supports human dignity? A foundational model offered by Gaudium et Spes comes in the concepts of solidarity and subsidiarity. Solidarity reflects the communal nature of man, joining together for the achievement of common ends, common goods, and common protections. For the business, solidarity draws those within the organization into broader mission and purpose, part of which can be for the service of others in their flourishing. Solidarity also applies to how individuals inside an organization collaborate, share, or support those outside of the organization in a spirit of communion and mutual affection. Modeling subsidiarity, the business can structure itself to give greater agency to each employee by pushing authority and resources closer to where their direct application is needed. By design, subsidiarity gives the individual the freedom to be fully what he or she can be in his or her role, the resources to achieve the mission of the role, and the protection from unnecessary higher-level interference in his or her freedom to fulfill the purpose of the role. Critical to effective subsidiarity within an organization is clarity in role definition and scope as well as objectives. Underlying concepts of solidarity and subsidiarity is the recognition that justice demands that no person is ever viewed as a means to an end, and fullness of human dignity requires the individual to make virtuous choices in how they fulfill their role: for their own dignity as well as the dignity of others. Properly implemented, Catholic notions of solidarity and subsidiarity create a culture of accountability and self-sufficiency which recognizes the dignity of the individual and enables them to live to its fullness while seeking union in broader community to foster mutual peace and success. In the end, the call to love is manifested in recognition of each person’s God-given dignity, giving them an opportunity to flourish in their work and share in the fruits of their labor while creating a culture of communion where human dignity takes primacy over human utility.

            “Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope, but do it with gentleness and reverence, keeping your conscience clear, so that, when you are maligned, those who defame your good conduct in Christ may themselves be put to shame.”[30] By more fully defining man’s total vocation and proposing fully human solutions in the context of Christ’s call to love one another as he has loved us, Gaudium et Spes fulfills its pastoral mission by giving a reason for the hope of the Church. The Church truly shares in the “joys and hopes, griefs and anxieties” of modern man, reminding us that we will remain restless until our hearts rest in the source and summit of our total vocation: Jesus Christ. At the same time, Gaudium et Spes is practical in its proscriptions for ways modern man can be more human. First, in the recognition of our own God-given dignity and opportunity to make virtuous choices that fulfill it. Then, in how we love others by honoring their God-given dignity in the ways we accompany, support, employ, or interact with them. One major area in which we move closer to fulfilling our total vocation is in our places of work: in how we fulfill our duties, collaborate with one another, and create cultures of solidarity and subsidiarity that enable all within our dominion to flourish. Gaudium et Spes brings the light of Christ’s good news to our modern world by further elucidating the Council Fathers’ universal call to holiness and applying it to areas of special urgency in ways that we, the People of God, can answer through the many activities of our daily lives, becoming more fully human as we embrace the joys and allay our anxieties by coming closer to God along the way.

[1] Second Vatican Council, Gaudium et Spes, Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World, December 7, 1965, sec. 1, in The Word on Fire Vatican II Collection, (Park Ridge, IL: Word on Fire Institute, 2021), 215.

[2] Gaudium et Spes, Part II, 270.

[3] Saint Augustine of Hippo, Confessions, trans. Anthony Esolen (Gastonia, NC: TAN Books, 2024), 1.

[4] Gaudium et Spes, sec.11, p225.

[5] Gaudium et Spes, sec. 12, 226.

[6] Gaudium et Spes, sec. 13, 227.

[7] Ibid., sec. 13, 227.

[8] Gaudium et Spes, sec. 15, 230.

[9] Gaudium et Spes, sec. 15, 230,

[10] Ibid., sec. 15, 230.

[11] Gaudium et Spes, sec. 19, 234.

[12] Gaudium et Spes, sec. 16, 231.

[13] Gaudium et Spes, sec. 17, 232.

[14] Gaudium et Spes, sec. 18, 233.

[15] Gaudium et Spes, sec. 22, 238.

[16] Ibid., sec. 22, 238.

[17] Ibid., sec. 22, 238.

[18] Gaudium et Spes, sec. 34, 251.

[19] Gaudium et Spes, sec. 34, 251.

[20] Gaudium et Spes, sec. 35, 252.

[21] Ibid., sec. 35, 252.

[22] Gaudium et Spes, sec. 63, 293.

[23] Gaudium et Spes, sec. 67, 297.

[24] Gaudium et Spes, sec. 72, 307.

[25] Ibid., sec. 72, 307.

[26] Paul VI, Populorum Progressio [Encyclical Letter on the Development of Peoples], The Holy See, March 26, 1967, sec. 27-28, in The Word on Fire Vatican II Collection, (Park Ridge, IL: Word on Fire Institute, 2021), 299.

[27] Second Vatican Council, Lumen Gentium, Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, November 21, 1964, sec. 39, in The Word on Fire Vatican II Collection, (Park Ridge, IL: Word on Fire Institute, 2021), 100.

[28] John 13:34

[29] Saint Irenaeus of Lyons, Against Heresies, trans. Alexander Roberts and William Hautenville Rambaut, ed. Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson (1885), (Jackson, MI: Ex Fontibus, 2020), 424.

[30] 1 Peter 3:15-16

The word “yes” came to my mind this morning and with it, memories of the movie “Yes, Man.” I was reminded of a post I wrote about it two years ago. Here is part of that 2024 missive:

Recently breaking from the modern scrolling dilemma, we went old-school scrolling, and physically sifted through the DVD archives to find a movie to watch. It seems we’ve had the same scrolling issue for years, it’s just become more efficient with technology. We finally found success in our agreement to watch 2008’s Yes Man starring Jim Carrey and Zooey Deschanel. Stuck in a rut after a divorce, Carl (Carrey) finds himself at a motivational seminar in which inspirational guru, Terence, (played delightfully by Terence Stamp) challenges him to “enter a covenant” with the universe and say “yes” to anything asked of him. Of course, clever and cringeworthy hilarity ensue as Carl goes all-in on this strategy.

The moral of the story ultimately arrives as Carl discovers that saying “yes” to everything is not a great strategy but that “yes” is a powerful way of opening oneself to the possibilities of life.

Considering Carl’s pre and post-yes self, a curious revelation appears. One might think of his “yes” as a counterpoint to saying “no” to the possibilities of life but that’s actually not the case. Carl’s problem wasn’t that he said “no” to life. His big failing was not choosing. In his avoidance, indifference, half-heartedness, and bland lack of effort, he found himself mired in the middle of nothing in particular. His “yes” was an answer to the sloth that had seized his soul.

Yes, became a decisive antidote to the “I don’t wanna” that had thrown his life into a depressing journey to the bottom. He eventually discovers that even his “no” has power in this context because it is a choice, a commitment to a direction. In between yes and no, we find ourselves tossed about on the seas of life, blown to wherever the wind will take us. A resounding yes, or no, is a cure to half-heartedness and indirection.

The call in that post was to reject the malaise of sloth in being open to the many possibilities that life throws at us. I suggested that we often miss these invitations:

Every day, invitations come our way. Invitations to go, to be, to do, to think. Many of them, we don’t even see. Most of them, we don’t respond to. Regarding the scrolling phenomena, consider for a moment how many invitations appear in just five minutes of swiping up and down on our phones. The vast majority aren’t worth responding to. But when we do, something happens. Now, we’re in motion. Our mind and energy move in a direction.

I went on to suggest that “yes” is about creating momentum. Though I’m not sure I really like the scrolling example above, I understand where I was trying to take it. Saying “yes” is about getting ourself in motion, moving toward something as willful action.

Saying “yes,” or “no,” to the invitation of the moment is definitive. It is a choice, and perhaps a more profound direction with the examples above would be to discuss the half-heartedness of scrolling itself. The mindless activity of looking at endless content with no particular destination or purpose in mind. Breaking it with a purposeful “yes” or “no” is some form of antidote to the massive waste of time scrolling can become.

But I’m thinking of a different “yes” today. What do we do with the many invitations to things that we’d prefer not to do? More specifically, the “offer we can’t refuse” that comes in the form of struggle, suffering, disappointment, or change. What role does “yes” have when those things come along?

The deeper reality of our lives is that we encounter far more unavoidable struggles than invitations to great possibility. Or do we? Of course, all of us would prefer chances to say “yes” to grand adventure, great advancement, and wildly positive change. Nobody wants trials, difficulty, or suffering. Yet, they come nonetheless.

How would the “yes” guru Terence coach Carl in saying “yes” to the struggles? What would it look like to say “yes” to suffering? Would he propose it as joyful masochism? As in, “thank you, sir, may I have another”? Maybe he would suggest a stoic “yes”- grim-faced and gritting one’s way through it. Perhaps it would be a tense, grimacing “yes” that fearfully braces for impact. I’m really not sure that Hollywood could muster anything other than something darkly comedic.

There is a different kind of “yes” and it is custom-designed for the unavoidable struggles, trials, and changes of our lives. It’s called “assent.” Most of us don’t go looking for difficulties but they find us and nobody welcomes them with open arms. However, when we assent, we see the difficulties for what they are: reality. Then we accept them and walk forward with hope and trust. To assent is to accept the reality, face it with courage, and seek the opportunity in it. Opportunity within it?

So often, we get hung up on the way we want things to be. Our happiness. Our joy. Our consolation. Our pleasure and satisfaction and ideal circumstance. Reality often has something else in mind, and strangely, the harder we grasp the way we want things to be, the more painful reality tends to be. There seems to be some law of physics with regard to suffering that makes it more painful the more we resist it.

What might happen if we say “yes” to irritation or burden or inconvenience or loss? Not the “yes” of “thank you sir, my I have another,” but the assent to the reality and what it might reveal. How might it go differently if we can let go of the way we want it to be and look for some other truth in our reality?

To assent is to surrender but not in the form of giving up. To assent is to submit to the reality of the situation but not in an inactive, passive fashion. Real assent is to see the reality, the truth, of our circumstance and take the next step trusting that something greater will be revealed. It is taking the hit and walking without crumpling because you believe there is something is beyond it. It is accepting the invitation to a reality that you may not have wanted, knowing that somehow, someway, you will come to more through it.

There is great freedom in assent. Yes, it can come at a tremendous price. Often, it is a freedom which we really didn’t want. It is the freedom of acceptance. An active surrender that allows us to be caught up in the reality of a movement greater than us knowing we will land on the other side…somewhere further along than where we started. Somehow more than what we were when we began. This kind of “yes” brings us the liberation of realizing that our life is not about us and frees us to pour ourself out like a libation to something more than ourselves.

I don’t think Hollywood would find any comedy there, but I find it beautifully poetic.

The morning air was just warm enough, though still cool in the light breeze. Slow moving clouds, hovered just above me, sprinkling light drops of rain as the moisture and mist conspired in shifting eddy’s, revealing glimpses of the sunrise in gaps and thin, translucent portions of the floating bank. The light and colors were surreal and my mind was drawn to Scripture, first to Matthew 5:45: “for he makes his sun rise on the bad and the good, and causes rain to fall on the just and the unjust” and then Genesis 1:2: “”The earth was formless and void, and darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was moving over the surface of the waters.”

The moment marked a deep breath in a week…weeks…of movement on all fronts, in a year that has embraced a chaotic rhythm which is not so much frightening as it is unsettling in pace and expectation. The wild movements on global and national stages seem mirrored in local flavors, and yesterday’s moments were full of a sense of good and bad, just and unjust, amid the formless void of chaos, calling for order and a pause to catch one’s breath. The movement into the lovely pause brought a sense of peace and hope.

Chaos of another form found us shortly after, as six of our grandchildren descended upon our morning. Amid donuts and kolaches, I found myself in a conversation with Cooper, now nearly 9 years old and into his basketball season. “Are you ready for your game today?” Looking at me a bit sheepishly, he replied, “Yes, but we’re probably going to get beat.” Surprised, I asked him why he thought that.

There is an interesting self-narrative that emerges with all of us as we approach moments of test or conflict. Are we prepared? Do we know what to expect? The fears and uncertainties can claim our headspace and we find ourselves telling a story that has not yet been written. In Cooper’s case, this particular school had produced some very good teams, past and present, and though they had not yet played this team, part of the story had already been written.

We often start there because it fosters a sense of safety. Maybe if we lower our expectations, we won’t be disappointed. Certainly having realistic expectations is helpful when we approach any contest but there is something insidious in the inner voice that sounds the defeatist alarm before we’ve shown up on the battlefield. “Have you played this team?” I asked. “No, but their teams are always really good. They have athletes.”

Ahh, yes, athletes. For those of us who spend time around kids, the words they use are sure signs of their sponging little voice recorders. They hear everything and put it in their rapidly growing library of words, stories, hopes, and dreams. In this case, “athlete” suggested a young person who had greater than average skills on the basketball court. Perhaps even an unfair advantage, like they had played in other leagues or practiced more than the average player. Often the narratives we pick up are things shared by others: peers, opponents, leaders, parents, friend’s parents, etc. Ideas are like seeds, once planted…

Moving close to Cooper, I cupped his face in my hands and said, “Coop, I want you to listen closely. What we tell ourselves has great power – whether its on the basketball court, on a test, or in pretty much anything we undertake. What we feed into our mind often becomes reality. I want to share something with you.” Grabbing my phone, I did a quick search for an old poem. Strangely, I keep a printed version of it on my desk and had been reflecting on it earlier this week.

The Man Who Thinks He Can, by Walter D. Wintle

If you think you are beaten, you are
If you think you dare not, you don’t,
If you like to win, but you think you can’t
It is almost certain you won’t.
If you think you’ll lose, you’re lost
For out of the world we find,
Success begins with a fellow’s will
It’s all in the state of mind.

If you think you are outclassed, you are
You’ve got to think high to rise,
You’ve got to be sure of yourself before
You can ever win a prize.
Life’s battles don’t always go
To the stronger or faster man,
But soon or late the man who wins
Is the man who thinks he can.

Earlier in the week, I was catching up with a friend. “Three years ago when you told me you were launching a TPA, I thought you were crazy,” he said. “Yes,” I smiled back, “You pretty much said that.” There are narratives we write and there are the ones others give to us. My friends hesitation at our plans was formed in his understanding of the difficulties and the nagging question, why? Why take the risk? Why take on the headaches? Why? Of course, one’s “why” makes all the difference in the world.

Finishing the poem, I looked into Cooper’s eyes and said, “Coop, you may lose the game. They may have more skills or simply play better today. But the only thing that matters is that you go into the game and do your best. You can’t control what your opponent does, but you can look forward to the challenge of the game and the chance to play. And, if you get in there and do your best, you might win simply by the fact that you believed you could.”

There is great chaos in the world around us and it is easy to feel tossed about in the massive ocean of all the things beyond our control. Now nearly 18 years into my journey as an entrepreneur, I’ve won and lost enough times to know I don’t have it all figured out, not all of my ideas are good ones, and there are no guarantees as to what lies ahead. However, I’ve also learned that some of the greatest destinations we’ve come to were once the little seed of an idea and that many of the most exciting adventures came from simply moving in a particular direction because we thought we could. Control has never been the point but there are always opportunities to bring order and hope.

Watching Cooper’s team yesterday, I thought about our conversation earlier in the morning and wondered what was going through his mind. From the beginning, his team looked outgunned, trailing by as many 10 points…which is a lot in a game where they only score 20 points or so. However, they hung in there and ended up winning by two points. After the game, he didn’t say anything about winning, scoring points, or any bad calls by the refs. Looking at me, he smiled because he knew. There was pure joy in showing up and just playing the game.

And I am proud to see him becoming a man who thinks he can.

A recent conversation on culture and leadership left me reflecting on some of the lessons of my entrepreneurial journey over the last 18 years. My mind went to a post I wrote almost exactly 11 years ago, sharing one of my most profound lessons which had occurred a few years earlier. Some lessons are worth revisiting.

Something was wrong. Over the previous weeks, the pressure in my chest had been building. No, it wasn’t the fuse on a heart-attack. As a business owner, it was a feeling I recognized. It was that knot of stress that comes with very challenging times. It had morphed from the positive pressure of being pushed to rise to an occasion to the nagging heart-burn of feeling overwhelmed. It was turning into something unhealthy, and I knew it.

A wave of orders coupled with some personnel changes and a few administrative barriers had conspired to put our operation behind. As customer calls started coming in to me, I knew we had a problem. I sprang into action. Periodic updates became multiple meetings throughout each day. Summary reports became deep dives into all the details. From purchasing to production and on through shipping and communication I jumped in with a high sense of urgency. Things started to move but not all of them in the right direction.

During the first and second weeks, my efforts were productive. Into the third week, I started to see signs of fatigue in my team. Not physical fatigue. The emotional and spiritual fatigue of the “death march”. The forced march to some goal that doesn’t seem to be getting any closer while someone is standing behind you asking “are we there yet?” You know of what I speak. By the third week, my incessant questions, presence and interruptions were weighing heavily on everyone around me. By the end of the first month, I felt the knot in my chest tightening as I recognized the destructive effects my sustained “motivational” efforts were having on the entire operation – including myself.

There are moments in business that require us to escalate our efforts. Times when we have to rise to the occasion and sprint to the finish line. There are also times when we’ve got to make adjustments to accommodate changes in the environment around us. As driven leaders, our inclination is often towards making things happen through force of will. In my case, this worked briefly from a throughput perspective. My rally lifted production to an impressive level: within a month, we were up 100%+ culminating in a final weekly number that was almost ten times the previous month’s! However…..the wheels were falling off.

The wake-up call came on a Friday. Running between offsite meetings, I reappeared in the afternoon for another of what had become daily interrogations of my management team. The knot in my chest had tightened to a point where I thought I might literally be heading towards a heart problem. I could read the look on the faces of everyone in the office; my very presence created stress at every level. The meeting turned from a status check to a heated exchange and I realized I had pushed my team over the edge.

A while back, someone asked me if I “believed what I wrote and followed my own advice.” I carry that question in my mind and revisit it frequently. As I retreated from that heated meeting, I found myself thinking back through my blog posts wondering if I had any wisdom for myself in this situation. Not only had my team reached the breaking point, I had reached the breaking point. I can count on one hand the number of times that uneasiness in my gut has escalated to a knot in my chest and it is not a place I care to be. I took a breath and thought of basketball.

Basketball? Yes. As a player, coach and a spectator, I’ve spent a lifetime around the game. Much of my philosophy of leadership comes from this sport. Its finite scope and simplicity provides a wonderful window to fully see the impact of many behaviors. When things get tough, ineffective coaches almost always try to micromanage their players. As momentum shifts against them, they hold tighter and it only fuels the slide. Players begin to tense up and over-think decisions. The worse things get, the tighter the coaches squeeze. And so on.

As I considered my options, I realized that there was little else I could do to effect near-term change. My die had been cast. My team was in place and I realized that they were in the best position to manage the challenges we were facing. I decided to let go. Not give up. Let go. Not quit. Let go. Almost immediately, the knot in my chest unraveled. I had been trying to control something by gripping more tightly and the correct answer was the exact opposite. I called my managers into the office, acknowledged their efforts and dedication, admitted my mistake, asked them if they felt they had things under control, and then walked away.

Running a business or leading any venture is a very messy, organic enterprise. In the process, we maintain a unique intimacy with the world around us and it can be difficult to separate ourselves from our perception of that conversation. The most complex elements involve people and the level of our success is dictated in almost every way by how we relate to those people and they to us. As leaders, we must continually reassess how we push, pull or guide those around us based on what the situation demands. Sometimes we have to walk in the opposite direction of our instinctive drive to control.

For me, letting go meant relinquishing day-to-day ownership of deliverables and allowing my team to do what I hired them to do. I didn’t shirk my responsibility; I recognized my limitations and repositioned my role in the process. My team was closer to the situation and more able to do what needed to be done. By jumping-in, I had created another wave of disruption that was perhaps more overwhelming than the first. By letting go and validating their roles and responsibilities, I freed them to be more effective. I affirmed their capabilities and gave them permission to succeed.

In his book Super Habits, Andrew Abela tells the story of a submarine captain whose command and control style led to a fatal accident involving a smaller ship. The U.S. Navy investigation into the incident concluded that the collision was a “series and combination of individual negligences” including the commander’s “disregard of standard submarine operating procedures and his own Standing Orders” as well as members of the ship’s crew failing “to work together and pass information to each other.” Abela references this story in a chapter discussing the super habit of forgiveness. Why forgiveness? Part of the assessment of the commander’s failing was that he had created an environment in which his crew was afraid to speak up, a culture that led to the fatal incident. The author attributes this to a commander who was unforgiving toward subordinates who questioned orders or gave undesired feedback.

As I read this story, I thought back to my 2015 blog post and some of my brushes with command and control inclinations as a coach and as a leader. Abela writes that Jim Collin’s described this leadership pattern as the “genius with a thousand helpers” approach. He writes: “When leaders have high opinions of their own abilities, they have a clear picture in their minds of what the right order of things is, and they expect their subordinates to follow their direction and keep to that picture. Penalties for subordinates who deviate from the picture can be high…”

When seas are smooth, the leader’s job is navigation and preparation. Making sure the team knows where it is going and how it will get there is critical. It is equally as critical to ensure that the team is staffed adequately and prepared fully to achieve the mission. When the seas get rough, the leader’s priority shifts to order and clarity. Back to the basketball analogy, the team is assembled, prepared in practices, and given a game plan for each contest. Once they take the floor, the coach’s job shifts to helping them stay calm, reminding them of the game plan, ensuring the right people are on the floor at the right time, and encouraging them through all the difficulties.

In 2026, my mind and heart are focused on the notion of human flourishing as it relates to my company and my leadership. I’ve become convinced that my responsibility as a leader centers on fostering it as much as I possibly can. Though there are numerous facets to human flourishing, a key part of flourishing in any role is having the agency, the ability to make decisions and act independently, to fulfill one’s mission. As a player on the court, agency means having the freedom to act fully with all of one’s skills and flourishing would encompass that agency without fear of reprisal at every mistake.

In the story from my 2015 post, human flourishing was the farthest thing from my mind and I’m not sure I had ever heard of the word “agency” as it relates to individual accountability. The situation was dire and my initial answer was to grip it and try to will it to the conclusion I wanted. My practical lesson was that I needed to let go and let the team do what they were already equipped to do. However, I see it now as a great example of the necessity of individual agency and how it contributes to the flourishing of that individual and the organization.

In many ways, these stories get to the heart of the function of leadership and the struggle to balance control with individual agency. As leaders, we must maintain a necessary tension between what and how we see something needing to happen, and the freedom, the individual agency, necessary for those on our teams to achieve their mission and ultimately to flourish in their roles. Too much either way and we get disorder, chaos, and disillusionment.

In the case of the submarine captain above, he failed to foster agency for his team and resisted ideas other than his own. This was a failure of preparation and created a culture of the “genius with a thousand helpers.” In the case of my own example, my efforts to control were equivalent to jumping on the floor as my players were playing the game, causing further stress and chaos, while undermining their ability to do what they were equipped to do. In both cases, removal of agency impeded flourishing at the individual and the organizational level.

Some lessons are worth revisiting.

Forbes Magazine loves its lists and, apparently, we do too. A recent headline for one of their lists caught my eye: Self-Made Billionaires Under 30 Hit Record High. I didn’t bother clicking on the link but the headline troubled me. Does someone at Forbes really believe the individuals on their list are “self-made”? Even more disturbingly, does anyone on that list believe themselves to be “self-made”?

What a lie. What a deep and disturbing lie.

Forbes says that about 67% of billionaires world-wide are self-made, with 33% inheriting their wealth. Of course, data being data, there is always another angle on it. Another data point served up by Google says that about 37% of billionaire wealth is inherited while 60% “is derived from inherited, crony, or monopolistic sources.” Apparently the meaning of the term “self-made” is subject to some interpretation.

But the definition of self-made really doesn’t matter. Even if we define the term as a person who began life in complete poverty and is today a billionaire because they founded a massively successful business, they did not earn their wealth on there own. They did not make it all happen by sheer brilliance, force of will, and heroic effort. Any road they took was marked by many, many, people who helped make it happen and countless moments of fortune.

And the reality doesn’t stop there. Look closely at the story of any great athlete, artist, physician, musician, politician, lawyer, engineer, teacher, or saint, and you’ll find the same thing. Nobody is self-made. Nobody achieves greatness alone. Every single person was born into a set of circumstances over which they had no control, were genetically programmed with specific traits that were not chosen, raised by parents who did or didn’t do many things in their childhood, grew up amid social and cultural dynamics over which they had zero influence, and matured within schools, gyms, churches, and social circles, in which they found themselves.

We are all dealt a hand over which we had absolutely zero influence. Now, one might argue that self-made means the collection of choices an individual makes, the effort he or she sustains, and the determination with which he or she pursues his or her goals. And they would be right. The many people we admire for great achievement put in tremendous time, effort, and sacrifice, to attain whatever height they reached. But even then, it was never alone.

There is a deeply American ethos built around self-sufficiency, freedom, and grit. We’re the don’t tread on me, find a way, can-do, country that has mapped a course through history to the pinnacle of power, wealth, and dynamism. We honor our great with headlines, monuments, and adoration. Power, wealth, and fame, are nearly worshipped in a culture built upon the mystique of picking ourselves up by the bootstraps and making greatness happen by grit and resourcefulness.

We love our cult of the individual, the hero, the superstar, the unicorn. The one who came from nothing to win it all. We love it because, in America, we believe we all have the potential to achieve such greatness. Or at least a slice of it. That has always been the dream and remains so even today.

Many have argued the point of luck versus effort. In Zero to One, Peter Thiel writes that “you are not a lottery ticket.” People don’t just “win” success or achievement, it is earned through grit, determination, and choice. His point is that we have the ability to move with purpose and choose boldness over triviality, not waiting for some random spin of the dial to achieve our dreams. He’s not wrong about choice, purpose, and effort, but there’s more to it.

The American ethos of self determination, of being self-made, is a great strength, but like all strengths, tips into weakness at its extremes. The place where we begin to believe that we are completely self-sufficient. That we did it on our own. We made it happen. We don’t need anyone else.

Look at our founding. Independence couldn’t have happened without the support of France. Neither could keeping it 36 years later. All the way to today as we lead the way in the world upon a pile of debt beyond comprehension. A number so large as to be like the air we breath, we can’t see it even though we’re swimming in it. We want to believe we don’t need anyone else, can go it alone, and control our destiny, but that is simply not true.

We are fascinated by extremes. We can’t get enough of the stories of people operating at human limits. Whether they are feats of physical prowess, performances that enchant us, books and podcasts that enthrall us, scientific discoveries that astound us, projects of such size and cope that amaze us, or those with riches so great that captivate us, we watch with mixed feelings of awe, admiration, and resentment. That is unbelievable, they did or didn’t deserve it, and why not me?

The headlines will continue because we are obsessed with those edges, the people that appear there, and the falls that often accompany those flights to the heights which often accompany those who, like Icarus, flew too close to the sun. But the story of Icarus isn’t really about flying too high – it’s about the hubris of grasping, and the lie of self-sufficiency.

At the heart of those falls is typically the person who started to believe that they were self-sufficient, it was all about them, and that they had reached a point beyond the threat of falling. Isn’t that often what lies at the center of our pursuit for more? When we finally get there, we will be safely self-sufficient. We won’t need anyone nor will they be able to reach us.

As I think about those young, self-made, billionaires on the Forbes list, I hope they don’t believe it. My prayer for them is that they have the humility and self-awareness to know that their success is absolutely not self-made. The truth for most of them is that the greatest tests of their humanity are still ahead. The places where they discover that they don’t have it all figured out, they can’t do it alone, or that perhaps they weren’t chasing the right thing to begin with.

Please, celebrate success. Throw parties. Print headlines. Write books and make movies about the great achievements of great people. There are so many worthy of our admiration. But don’t lie to them, or yourself, about their self-sufficiency or level of control of their destiny. None of us get anywhere alone and whatever amount of control we think we have will never be enough to keep us safe or cocooned from the struggles of life. There is no self-made man and real freedom comes in the humility of admitting that we are not self-sufficient. Then in recognizing that we’re not supposed to be.