Tapestries-43 | What I learned this year
Reflecting on what I learned in 2021.
Saying it’s been a “big year” is becoming trite. They’re all big years, and even if they’re not that eventful, we’ll find enough things to channel our energy and insecurities into to make them feel big. So here we are, with simply one more year in the books. And as each one passes, it leaves many lessons to ponder.
This year brought welcome change from what was a dizzying and emotionally-charged 2020. But while the volume and tenor of the chaos was turned down a touch, I found the year retained a healthy dose of disorientation. The experience of time, space and place felt distorted, almost like a global “locked-in” syndrome where the world around us moved and changed at breakneck-speed, while our own lives had never been more physically anchored to a finite space.
Perhaps this distortion opened us up to new frequencies, to hear and see things in different ways. Or maybe we are indeed living through a shift to some “new normal” and this is just how the world is going to feel moving forward. Either way, the quest to separate signal from noise is as important as ever. And on that note, here are five things I think I’ve learned this year, followed by seven books I learned the most from in the period. I hope you find some use in the below, either as resources or as prompts for your own reflections.
#1 Anti-Semitism, that unique 360-degree hatred, is back
It’s a pretty silly sentence to write, as it implies that anti-Semitism went away for a period. It didn’t. Anti-Semitism is history’s oldest and most persistent hatred, so it doesn’t really go away, but it does rear its head in more conspicuous ways from time to time. And 2021 was indeed one of those times, where the rise in anti-Semitic incidents compelled me to write three separate pieces on the topic.
There were two events this year that illuminated the dual threats Jews currently (and have always) faced on the basis of a baseless hatred. The first was the January 6 storming of the Capitol in Washington DC (I wrote about it here), where some previously fringe-lunatics paraded around the US Capitol building wearing t-shirts emblazoned with classic hits like "Camp Auschwitz" and “6mwe” (“6 million wasn’t enough”). The second event was the flare-up of conflict between Israel and the Palestinians just a few months later, whereupon the woke mob found more oppression-crack to feed its destructive habit of viewing the world exclusively through race and oppression. These events helped remind us that anti-Semitism is once again a real threat to Jews around the world.
In all three relevant pieces this year, I wrote some variation of the following: "Ultimately, Jews today are too "privileged" and "white" for the left, not "white" enough and too race-muddled or subversive for the right, and too "globalist" for the regular working person." My entire history and upbringing is belting its fist on the table, yelling that delegitimization is the first step down a scary path. I’m not going to ignore the lessons of our history, and this year I learned that I must more actively and publicly engage with this topic.
If you read nothing else I wrote this year, I hope you read this piece (about the flare-up in Israel), or this piece (about anti-Semitism’s general resurgence). I finished the last piece by stating: “The way we all respond to anti-Semitism is a test for the health of our societies. The message of this piece is therefore equally important for those who aren’t Jewish: anti-Semitism is the canary in the coal mine. It is the sign of a sick society; one that accepts conspiracy over reason, and has a willingness to tolerate hatred, as long as it's directed against the "right" group as determined by the loudest voices.” We’re all bound to end up on the “wrong” list at some point, so the danger inherent in anti-Semitism’s resurgence applies to all of us.
#2 The importance of affirmatively standing for something
This is potentially the most important lesson I learned this year, and it derives from a few places. Here’s a brief explanation of where it comes from, and what I intend to do with it.
First, I made an important shift in the way I think about myself this year. Instead of viewing myself as a single, standalone point in time and space, I’m now trying to view myself as a thread in a particular history. This thread has had many people and things come before it, and hopefully will have many that follow; a tapestry if you will. One consequence of this shift is that it requires a clear articulation of what I believe, and why. In this sense, the importance of making a clear statement is tied to legacy.
Second, I noticed in myself and others a comfort with negation—the position of being against something or negative towards it. I wrote a piece in April that observed “we have a tendency to define ourselves by what we're against, instead of what we're positively for.” I want to break out of this cycle of negation, and affirmatively state what it is believe, and hold myself accountable to particular guiding principles. In that piece I chose “dignity” as my guiding principle, which is a good start, but one that requires more exploration. In this sense, the importance of making a clear statement is tied to accountability.
And third, I think we are living through a crisis of courage, driven by a culture that has made it harder to honestly say what we think and feel. We are complex creatures, living in a confusing world. But striving for virtue in these conditions shouldn’t involve embarrassingly contorting oneself into spouting illegible woke orthodoxy. Instead it should involve an honest and good faith accounting of what one believes, why, and how one aims to live in a manner that compels virtue. We are a lazy and entitled culture, and only within this period of time could I call an honest exploration and the making of an affirmative statement courageous, but here we are. In this sense, the importance of making a clear statement is tied to honesty, integrity and virtue.
With these three angles in mind, I’ve decided to write a book. I wrote about the background, content and process recently here. Take a read, I’d love your input.
#3 There’s a difference between what we want to be true, and the complex reality of a messy world
This year has been full of emotive, complex stories, some of which are extensions of stories we’ve been living through for several years. Our experience of many of these stories is mediated through the media; we do indeed directly engage with things like COVID, inflation, and social unrest, but the majority of our interaction is through our conversations and phones, not our direct experiences (this is a form of privilege I’m not oblivious to). We therefore rely on the media to report, communicate, interrogate and inform on our behalf. And unfortunately, when it comes to the year’s most complex and important topics, the mainstream media’s record isn’t great. Here’s just a few examples from this year.
Inflation is very real and potentially persistent, despite the fact we’ve been told all year that it’s transitory and probably “republican fearmongering.” It is now at least plausible (a pretty low bar) that COVID leaked from a lab in China, despite the fact that to even suggest it was a non-zero possibility was labelled as racist. The Russia collusion case against Trump has now been shown to have been based on a dodgy intelligence dossier, despite assurances that the case was built on clear-cut evidence, with the promised smoking gun always around the corner. And COVID vaccines do a really good job of reducing the incidence of severe illness, but they don’t stop transmission, despite the monumental push for vaccines to be approach #1, #2 and #3 for ending the pandemic. I could go on and on and on, but I won’t; this topic requires its own piece, and it’s one I may cover in the book I’m writing. I want to instead focus here on what I’ve learned from watching the progressive, mainstream media consistently get it wrong.
I wanted impeachment as much as anyone; I got jabbed as soon as possible in the hope the vaccines would end the pandemic for me and the rest of the world; and I really want inflation to be transitory too. But there’s a monumental difference between wanting and hoping something to be true, and it actually being true. We have been fed stories and narratives that are politically or socially expedient, at the expense of much more sober, nuanced and considered analysis; we have ceded critical thinking to the desire to be validated, or for events to conform to our worldview. Nobody is more guilty of this than the mainstream media, and they should know better.
I repeatedly find myself in conversations where it’s clear that those around me—often similarly-minded progressive people—are unwilling to consider that their worldview is comprised of a progressive orthodoxy crafted by a compromised mainstream media. My lesson here is that we must all make an incredibly important choice as we move forward: will we commit to seeing the world as it is, or as we want it to be? I’ve learned that the only logical and rational approach is the former; if you choose the latter, my guess is the future will continue to confound you.
#4 Australia is more conservative than I thought
I haven’t visited Australia since the start of the pandemic, almost two years ago now. I’ve therefore watched the country from a distance, for a long stretch, as it confronted a global challenge in its own unique way. I expressed some strong views on the subject, which you can read here and here. But instead of revisiting those emotive subjects, I’d rather reflect on what I’ve learned about my country, and my main takeaway is that it’s a more conservative place than I realized.
There is a clear trend when you look at Australia’s COVID-response alongside other key policies, especially those related to the climate, the treatment of our indigenous people, and our stance towards refugees and asylum seekers. Consecutive Australian governments have exhibited a comfort with cruelty, and we as Australian citizens have broadly accepted it. The policies of a democratically elected government should theoretically represent the views of a majority of its people, and the jarring realization I’ve had is that a majority of Australians do indeed support these policies, whether directly or not.
I always knew Australia was a conservative country with relatively conservative politics; there’s nothing wrong with that. But the experience of watching from afar—seeing the approaches, reading the news, and speaking to family and friends—was jarring. It revealed that approaches I considered inhumane, un-democratic and non-sensical, were considered reasonable and proportionate by people I thought I was aligned with. Watching the Australian government criminalize its citizens’ return from India, or make it effectively impossible for citizens to return home from elsewhere, seemed to me and other Australians overseas as a clear-cut case of insanity and abandonment. But it was illuminating to hear people I know in Australia support the approach; it was strange and disorienting.
I raise these observations without judgment; I am not always right, Australia is not always wrong, and there is no perfect approach to hard problems. I also acknowledge that the distance may have distorted my perception of reality, and thankfully I’ll be flying home shortly to finally shatter that distance. But watching Australia over the last two years has been an illuminating experience, and one I’ve learned a lot from.
#5 Markets may be about to teach us a lesson; best to be humble
I work in the investment world. It’s been a wild two years, first with the March 2020 sell-off induced by COVID’s introduction, followed by a phenomenal run of performance across most asset classes. This year has seen valuations go from expensive, to indefensible, to absurd. Chances are if you own equities, a house, or cryptocurrencies, the last two years have been good for your balance sheet. And for certain asset managers, the results have been astounding. But as we enter a new year, I think now is the time for humility and self-reflection, especially for young investors.
We are living through an experiment in monetary policy. At its most basic level, the last two years have seen a historic inflow of money into the economy, and because interest rates are at 0, everybody with excess cash has been incentivized to put that money elsewhere. This applies to individuals as well as institutions. Much of that money has found its way into a range of asset classes (equities, credit, real estate, cryptocurrencies), and as a result asset prices today—on both absolute and relative bases—are incredibly high.
To the new investor, it is difficult to conceive of different market conditions, where earning multiples of your money on an investment in a short period of time is unusual, not the norm. But current conditions cannot continue in perpetuity, and capital markets will evolve; it is a fool’s game picking when that moment will come, but whether it’s in six weeks, six months, or longer, conditions will eventually change. And when they do, capital will retreat from speculative corners back towards quality assets. It is our job as investors to play the probabilities, and to effectively plan for the future. Probability suggests the future will not look like the immediate past forever, and planning compels us to understand what we own, and what we want to own, when conditions eventually shift. We must acknowledge that the success of the past two years has a lot to do with timing, and less to do with skill. Said another way, the trades of the last 2 years won’t continue making money forever.
One of my favorite lines in sports was when Shane Battier—after going 6 of 8 from 3-point range in the 2013 NBA Finals—said “it’s better to be timely than good.” We should acknowledge we have been incredibly timely investing in this market, be humble enough to acknowledge the driver of our results, and self-aware enough to prepare for the future.
On reading the above, I’m conscious there’s a critical tone weaving through many of the stated learnings. It’s not intentional, but it’s also not by accident. When I look around I sense a growing complacency in the state of the world. We are being asked to believe mistruths, to deny reality, and to live in the inertia. It feels to me that the gap between what is projected as truth, and what is actually is true, continues to grow. That distance inevitably compresses at some point, and it usually happens with a bang.
I use my monthly writing as a means of testing and exploring different viewpoints. I can also reflect on what I wrote about during a year to understand what questions and issues were of real importance to me. In this sense, my writing serves a useful reflective function; it reminds me what I cared about, and why, which is important when the world moves so quickly. And in a forward-looking sense, my desire to write a book is a means of using writing as a tool for affirmation and accountability. Writing continues to be something I love and derive great satisfaction from, and will continue to be a focus of mine in the coming year.
So as I enter 2022, I aim to do so with clear eyes, honesty, authenticity, and most importantly, critical thinking front of mind. Despite the critical tone in this piece, there is indeed much to be excited and optimistic about, and I look forward to focusing on these elements with you, Tapestry readers, in the new year.
The following books are those I took the most from reading this year.
The Revolt of the Public, by Martin Gurri
The New Class War, by Michael Lind
Finite and Infinite Games, by James Carse
Wayfinders, by Wade Davis
Superpower Interrupted, by Michael Schuman
Morality, by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks
Food of the Goods, by Terrence McKenna
Their insights and lessons definitely feature in some of mine above, and I’d highly recommend reading any of them.
Photo by Luca Baggio on Unsplash