Tapestries-30 | What I learned this year
Reflecting on what I learned in 2020.
2020 has been like a long fog. It has disoriented and obscured. But within the bewilderment, outrage and fatigue, there have been important lessons to learn. It has been a year of growth for me both personally and professionally, and for that I count myself incredibly lucky.
As I end the year, this is what I think I've learned:
#1 We are defined by what we do, not what we think
We spend a lot of time in our own heads. We reflect upon the past, project into the future, and identify with the internal narratives we have created about ourselves. I've learned this year that those are just stories we tell ourselves and that we are prone to over-identify with them. When we over-emphasize the importance of our internal narratives, we forget that our lives — and the way we impact those around us — are defined by what we do, not what we think.
I have a particular image of myself that I've created over 30 years that include the following attributes: family-oriented, physically active, environmentally aware, spiritually-engaged, community-minded and many others. But when I reflect on my actions and how I actually spend my time, there are clear inconsistencies between who I am and who I think I am. In 2020, “physically active” meant a few push-ups a week on the yoga mat in our apartment; the importance of “Never Again” as a Jew stood for little when scrolling past news of the Uyghur genocide. The version of myself that exists in my head at times doesn’t map to the reality of my actions.
There are two responses here: either I shift the image to more closely map to reality, or I change my actions to more adequately fit the person I want to be. I don't yet know how to respond, but I believe asking the question can be profound. To quote the title and premise of a great book I read this year, we must get Out of Our Heads and define ourselves by how we actually interact with the world.
Source of the lesson: Personal reflections in a year of significant personal growth. I wrote about this topic in greater detail this year in a piece called "Tell me what you own", where I consider the question with the aid of an investing analogy.
#2 The power and importance of narratives
"We human beings are biologically hard-wired to respond positively to a positively-responding crowd, and every high-functioning sociopath in Washington and Wall Street and Hollywood and Silicon Valley and every other concentration of political or economic power both knows our biological weakness and uses this biological weakness against us."
This quote (from here) is probably the one that will stick with me most from this year. Its insight helped me pierce through what is otherwise a world of bullshit narratives. The examples — both malicious and benign — are all around us. Take your pick: the notion that “whiteness” is a real thing that we must endlessly apologize for; the narrative that markets can legitimately “ignore” economic calamity for an indefinite period; or the view that it’s impossible for certain demographics to vote for Trump. These narratives took hold and had real world outcomes on the state of cultural discourse, market valuations and the US election.
Narrative power has only strengthened as the tools for disseminating information have grown in subtlety and nuance. If nothing else, our modern information landscape has created the conditions for generating incredible informational momentum by allowing the loudest voices to dominate. The narratives in the examples above were able to sustain because a sufficiently large crowd responded positively to them, validating and substantiating them.
Being aware of the positively responding crowd is the first step in constructing the space to think for yourself, and this is one of the most important lessons I’ve ever learned.
Source: Feeling the overwhelming pull of the positively-responding crowd, with the strongest example being the nature of 2020's market narratives.
#3 We are all performers
We are compelled to constantly “perform” by the nature of the tools we use to interact with the world around us. And performers are nothing without an audience, so we optimize our messages and behaviors to grow and satisfy our audiences.
The clearest example I witnessed this year was the posting of black squares in response to the Black Lives Matter movement. The response was well-intentioned, and the cause was one that absolutely justifies support, but the general execution was problematic. We invest so much in the curation of our digital avatars that we view them as the primary channel for expressing our view on anything, irrespective of how complex the content is and whether a more effective investment of effort would be on something less public but more substantive.
If we have implicitly consented to the totality of our lives being presented in our avatars’ endless performances, then the things we don’t post about — the things absent from our performance — say as much about us as the things we do post. There are three important consequences from acknowledging that we live in a performative world: (1) we prioritize the performative over the substantive, (2) inauthenticity is inherent in the structure of our realities, and (3) we must qualify everything.
Within these conditions I've learned a key lesson: needing an audience is toxic and constrains the ability to think independently. If you can find a way to live without the constant need to perform, my advice is to follow that path. A network and environment built on authenticity is the foundation of both success and equanimity.
Source of the lesson: (1) observing how people and brands tried to respond to the multiple calamities of 2020, and (2) working in investment management and watching everyone try to have an “answer” where one was not possible. I wrote about both in "The world is your stage" and "So many opinions" respectively.
#4 We now “possess” information
I’ve become intrigued this year with my relationship with information. One of my observations has been the way we value “our” own information over that of somebody else.
Here’s an example: when I used to come across an article in my personal information landscape (comprised of newsletters, Twitter feed, conversation with certain people etc.) that resonated with me, I’d send the link to others I thought would also find it interesting. I shared, but more often than not, the recipients never read the article. In reverse, when others would send something to me, subconsciously I’d either be skeptical of the level of signal or feel burdened by the need to consume something from somebody else's information universe. The same is true of this publication; in its early format (emailed PDFs), people I thought would read my posts, didn't. I offer these observations without judgement, and only provide them to establish that these behaviors are indicative of the same thing: the way we value our curated information more highly than somebody else's.
I am still teasing out the implications, but an early lesson is apparent: in a world where we are empowered to curate our own informational universes, the echo chamber may not be the greatest risk to productive discourse. The bigger risk may be, or become over time, that we do not respect the veracity or insightfulness of things that emerge from information landscapes that are not our own. The ability to access and curate may be a double-edged sword, with polarization the clearest example of the potential downside.
Source of the lesson: Observing the way I use certain tools, like Readwise or Roam Research, to scaffold and capture my own information landscape, and realizing that possessing the information had become a goal in itself.
#5 Technology's pivot
The quote below is from a piece I published (but didn't send to subscribers) a few weeks ago:
“Technology has changed the texture of our individual realities. This change has been overwhelming, but I think we're beginning to emerge from the intense period of adaptation. As we emerge, and begin to exert more control over the technology we use and build, I believe we will create tools that work with us, not against us.
My thesis is that we will shift focus to a more textured type of technology, one that supports creativity and shared experience, and de-emphasizes their poorer relatives, efficiency and connection. I believe we will gravitate towards tools that address us and our higher-level needs, instead of our current suite of tools that exploit us for our attention or productive capacities.”
I have felt this year that we are approaching the ceiling of our productive capacities. I am learning that the essence of being human is not work, productivity or efficiency, but is instead creativity, spirituality, mystery and belonging. I believe we are at an interesting point where our growing technological dexterity and general emotional fatigue will point us in a new direction: one that seeks to support our human interests instead of treating us like units of production.
Perhaps this lesson is more personal than universal. But if it does apply broadly, I think we’re set for a new and exciting style of engagement with technology. If interested, you can read here: "The texture of technology".
Source: A feeling of general disappointment with what consumer technology has delivered us, and a feeling of excitement about products I'm beginning to see.
Bringing it together
I have continued writing consistently through this year. I have written at least weekly, sometimes daily, and posted monthly. Writing is a craft, and just like the lessons and learnings described above, it requires ongoing investment for continuous improvement. I write because I enjoy it, but knowing I’ve got a small group of people who appreciate the effort means a lot. So thank you, and see you in 2021 for a fresh start.
Photo by Pepe Reyes