When you want a cup of coffee, the purest way to drink it is black.
Nothing in it.
Letting the flavour stand on its own.
Tasting it for what it is and nothing more.

But for those who don’t find it palatable, there are many ways to doctor it up:
Add sugar, milk, cream, foam, flavouring, syrup, chocolate mix, blended, more water and give it fancy names.

You still get the coffee essence (and caffeine), but without the strong smack to the taste buds.

The same can be said for a truth we’re trying to deliver.

We spend an inordinate amount of time trying to doctor up our truth to make it more palatable for people to take in. It’s a good way to get them to taste the message.

At some point, though, you’ll need to serve it to them black. If you don’t, they may never know what you really want to say.

Nobody reads books anymore.
If they do read, they don’t read fantasy.
If they do read fantasy, the long, epic fantasy genre died in the nineties.
There isn’t an audience for it.
No publisher wants that anymore.

Good thing Brandon Sanderson didn’t listen to any of those criticisms. His kickstarter campaign for a special edition of his epic fantasy, The Way of Kings, hit $4 million in one day.

While I’m sure there will be some who attempt to deconstruct his process and emulate what he did in hopes of similar results, they miss the big picture:

He did what he loved and found an audience for his work.

Despite the repeated attempts by major conglomerates to manufacture a mainstream interest, it’s the niche audiences that show up and prove somebody still wants it.

And that audience is usually much larger than people think.

It takes only minutes every day to scan your lawn for any weeds, removing any that have cropped up.

If you don’t…

Those minutes turn into “later this week.”

Later this week turns into “I’ll take care of it on the weekend.”

Taking care of it on the weekend turns into “I should get to it this month.”

Each time a decision is made to do it later, the time commitment becomes longer and excuses become easier. It’s harder to find the motivation to block out hours of time to get the job done when minutes was all it took in the first place.

Eventually, the lawn is infested with weeds and no longer controllable unless drastic measures are taken.

It wasn’t the action of a single day that caused the outcome, but the compound effect of repeatedly neglecting one.

A 3m diving board is a thrill to jump off.

However, the decision to make that first leap comes down to the mentality when approaching it.

There are some who see it as an exciting adrenaline rush and leap off without thinking twice, absorbing as much fun on the way down as they can.

The rest must face the enemy inside their own heads, which puts them into complete analysis mode. Their brains go into overdrive as they make the decision, pitting their fears against their desires.

This results in one of two outcomes: jump or don’t jump.

The decision to jump, which could take a wide range of time, quickly builds a re-enforcement loop that allows the jump to happen again:
“I did it–what was I so afraid of?”

The decision not to jump also builds a re-enforcement loop:
“I can’t do it,” or “I’ll do it another time.”

When it comes to the decisions of life, the first group that jump without thinking twice are our trailblazers. They just do, see where it leads and are usually the people we wish to be.

However, the second group is where we usually end up and if we’re not careful, we can spend our whole lives making excuses.

Overcoming the decision paralysis requires some emulation:
Jump the moment you hear your brain fighting against your desires. Adjust afterwards.

Ready, fire, aim.

In watching this interview with Elon Musk on the Joe Rogan podcast, the comment that stuck out to me most happened at this point.

In describing his Neuralink and its capabilities for the future, Musk comments that language is a barrier to explaining complex ideas. An idea must be compressed, simplified, communicated and then it is interpreted and decompressed by the receiver.

This is a brilliant insight for many reasons.

For starters, it teaches that complex ideas cannot be fully understood with simplistic analogies. They help understanding, but don’t teach it in a way to elucidate its many facets.

The danger of constantly oversimplifying ideas is readily observable. People have a misguided sense of knowledge about a topic they know little about, but posture as they do because they saw it explained on a meme/tweet/info graphic/five-minute video, etc.

In my favourite category of religious expression that is mysticism, it applies in a profound way.

A completely spiritual experience is impossible to describe, leaving the realm of the mystic clouded in poetic language because that’s the best thing available. It helps, but it doesn’t capture the depth of its complexity.

My friend and co-author Matti Silver recently read a fantasy book I drafted. His observations are uncanny (in many ways) and asked me whether the way my characters use their magic is what I experience during meditation/prayer.

Re-reading my descriptions of those events, I marvelled at my unconscious attempt to describe the experience. However, the description still wouldn’t get the reader to feel the same way and I resorted to figurative language to help bridge the gap.

Then there’s the barrier of language between two people who can’t seem to communicate on the same level and always seem to be talking about two different things while frustrated the other person fails to see their viewpoint.

An example of this is any couple, ever!

Many of our communication issues could be solved if there was some way to transcend language.

It’s the best thing we have, but it’s still a barrier.

In my opinion, it’s one gigantic shit-show of self-important narcissism. Some people have Instagram accounts with over 1,000 photos posted. The 1,000 photos are not what’s impressively sad; it’s that those photos are of themselves in various stages of flex, undress, partying, whatever. Narcissism is being damn kind; this is sickness. Clearly achievement’s barometer nowadays is measured by how many likes and comments your margarita selfie receives. Me, me, me, as if anyone really cares.

MJ DeMarco, Unscripted

Book review forthcoming, but this quote stunned me for a number of reasons.

I’ve wrestled quite a bit with the direction of social media, its effect and my distance to it. Every few months you will see another post on this site about it as I come to some new conclusion.

Reading this quote solidifies the missing link of what bothers me most:

Social media doesn’t want you to grow up.

Before the bells of “OK Boomer” chime on, consider the natural progression of a person’s concerns of the thoughts of others. As a young person, you care deeply what others think about you (despite the posturing, which suggests otherwise).

You want to impress others, make an impression on them, discover your identity and share that particular identity with the world.

Then, as you age, you really stop caring what others think… or realize nobody (outside of your loved ones) is really thinking of you anyway. You feel bold enough to act on your own volition and progressively realize the last ten years of your life were the best ones.

In its current state, sites like Instagram stunt that growth.

Rather than connecting with others and sharing your gifts with the world, you must progressively filter and edit your life out of fear of what others think. And heaven forbid you mature or form different opinions as time goes on because that will not be accepted.

Since the Internet doesn’t forget, people find those early posts of yours and bring them to the forefront to shame you.

So you either leave the platform temporarily or permanently.

And since the addiction level of these platforms are so high and the thrill of getting another like/heart/thumbs up/emoji/gif response resonates within our boundary of personal accomplishments in life, we keep up the mindset of what others think about us.

Can the platform be used for a better purpose?
Does it have the potential to mature?
Can it elevate people beyond repetitive platitudes repackaged through different filters?

Yes, of course!

Will it?

Even the perpetual optimist in me doesn’t think so.

This is the “last week” of school.

Normally it’s met with the excitement of young people unable to control their jitters as they countdown the seconds until the summer is theirs to claim.

Attendance is down, everyone is tapped out and we’re all just holding our breath until the final bell.

My school has a particular tradition where teachers stand outside the doors of the school and wave goodbye to all the students as they leave. It’s a way of saying thank you for being in our care and we really did have your best interests at heart.

This year will have none of that.

The world was flipped upside down and while it’s good to have a sigh of relief the marking is done, I am saddened by it. I feel shortchanged we all left in March with some semblance of hope of returning, only to be informed the year will be finished at home.

Understanding the health reasons/risks for this decision, my mind still gravitates toward the unfinished loops.

I think about all the students who were finally coming on board with their reading and writing and the ones who were falling off the bandwagon–academically and socially.

I think about the opportunities missed for them to show me their perfection in some way, shape or form.

I think about the missed opportunity to say goodbye not only to them, but to my colleagues as I prepare to transfer schools next year.

Our minds naturally want to gravitate towards the negative and I know this, yet I still slip there.

In an effort to combat my own psychology, I created a new notebook of all the positive outcomes this year has brought. I looked at their work, their reflections and the accomplishments of the year.

I beam with pride at my students who started the year as fake readers, only to discover there are books out there that interest them and they know profess to be bookworms.

It brings me joy to see them work through complex mathematical problems without my guiding hand.

Then the emails poured in.

So many students offering their thanks for being a great teacher to them…

and while I’ve been humbled many times in my life (almost daily by my spouse), these got to me. I still don’t feel like I have this teaching craft down yet to a level where I’m comfortable, and there’s still so much for me to learn, yet something went right for them this year.

It’s validating that I’m onto something and I need to keep trusting my instincts. Despite the cascading effect of articles and professional development resources claiming, “You need to do this!”–I’m doing me and it’s working.

The funny part is me “doing me” is just focusing on them: What do they need?

In reflecting on the year, something tells me students are going to need more than usual come the fall.

I hope to be ready.

I’ve made so many.

And I promise, if there was an opportunity to go back and correct every one of them, I would. Yet, I have to be prepared that so many more will be made.

The best I have right now, and the best all of us have, is forgiveness.

Forgiving ourselves first,
seeking the forgiveness of others,
and being gentle to ourselves as we learn for the future.

Many mistakes can’t be fixed, but they can be corrected.