It's only possible to tell a good thing by comparison. Isolated, anything can be made to look good. Clothes, people, dance performances, movie ideas, anything. A lone couple tears up the floor, commanding your utmost adoration until you see them in the Winter Gardens struggling to keep up with the world champions around them, and you wonder where their magic vanished.
Only by setting a thing against another of its kind do we get an honest chance to evaluate it. I sometimes forget this. I choose in a vacuum, to be later surprised by inaccuracy of my judgment. I end up making commitments that I regret or even despise. And all because I haven't remembered (or haven't contrived) to compare and contrast before making the choice.
This is why shoppers ask about return policies and taxpayers disapprove of no-bid contracts. It's also why people date before marrying. Tyrannical regimes can only convince their citizens they live in a perfect world if they isolate them. Sometimes I feel the very essence of civilization is increasing honesty by allowing us real choices.
Another one of those gems. A perfect concept in theory: good-looking people partying hard. The turbo-folk beat is a guilty pleasure: the songs are indeed brainless, but their raw, vulgar power can be moving at the right stage of intoxication. They tell of slick, naughty men and gorgeous, bold women engaging in legendary shenanigans. As I said, a perfect concept.
In practice, however, it's mainly good for imagination development. Most go home alone from such parties. This suggests either lack of desire or lack of courage. Surprising, either way.
They were so worried that Craig will make a poor Bond that they overshot with the movie quality. This movie is too good for a Bond picture. It's fiendishly involving. It makes us care about the characters. The women are suddenly 3-dimensional and inspiring. I actually caught myself arguing the plot points with my friends afterwards. The last time this happened to a Bond movie, I was ten years old.
Sure, there are chase scenes and an improbable villain. There's brinkmanship and cool cocktails. But this is not your father's Bond: no fluffy, preposterous plot devices; no disposable plastic nymphs; no "cunning linguists" and similarly breezy dialog to gloss over shocking inhumanity of covert ops. And where's the understated yet flippant misogynist we all know and love? Maybe he only shows up in subsequent novels -- this is, after all, the story of Bond's becoming 007.
I was happy to see realism and accuracy in Montenegro scenes, with correct localisms in evidence everywhere: language, alphabets, insignias, etc.
So the movie was excellent, and Daniel Craig makes a lovable bad-ass secret agent. But it will be a while before I associate Bond with this scraggy blond rumbler. Hopefully this is just a normal part of a transition process like the ones happily survived by this franchise before.
Finding a partner, a buyer, or even a job can be remarkably similar activities. All are governed by marketplace dynamics. All follow the familiar seeking pattern that begins with attracting attention and ends with commitment to a careful choice. And they all tend to expose the world's shallowness, rewarding our innate (and often inane) features rather than substantive qualities.
The marketplace dictatorship is both obvious and passionately denied by those selling their advice. It doesn't matter how many times you reread The Game or What Color is Your Parachute if the demand is low and competition crushing. Conversely, if you happen to have something many people want, you'll do alright even without a guru's exalted word. This simple truth lies behind the familiar refrain of people discussing their own experiences: frustration on one side of the aisle, grandstanding on the other.
I think the best advice is actually to be found in The Luck Factor. The book acknowledges that we mostly play the odds, but argues convincingly that the odds can be improved through faith, perseverance, and creativity. Pretty logical, when you think about it.
Knowledge is helpful, too: there's always something in demand, and there is something that can take us there fastest. We often suffer, alas, in ignorance of what that something is. But it's always out there; otherwise, success would never come to anyone at all. So we go on seeking it, consoled by the knowledge that the one thing we can always do is learn.
Everyone knows that following bad advice can have disastrous consequences that are entirely our own to live down. The person giving advice does not always feel obliged to share the responsibility if things go wrong, and even if they do, it's not really their skin in the game. So most of us learn over time to recognize bad advice for what it is and politely ignore it.
But this can be hard. Sometimes the adviser is motivated by perfectly good intentions or they are going out of their way to give us the advice. Ignoring them may seem arrogant or nescient. Other times the adviser is a passionate person, prepared to go to great lengths to ensure the advice is properly heard. It takes supreme self-control to acknowledge such a person's contribution without being talked into some folly.
The worst is, however, if the adviser is an authority figure, like a parent, a teacher, or a priest. These people are explicitly presumed to work in our interest while being blessed with great experience and insight. Ignoring their advice is not merely opinionated, it's downright rebellious. You don't only disagree with one person, you disagree with the entire culture. The culture established that relationship; the society placed the adviser in their position. At the very least, you need to explain yourself and give a good reason for the perceived impertinence. If you are not convincing, you'll be labeled a troublemaker. At worst, you face ostracism or coercion.
And yet, the choice is easy. Neither the "society" nor the teacher will personally bear the consequences. The basic principle of self-preservation requires one to still reject bad advice.
Over time, I've made many mistakes in talking (and arguing) with my friends. In a moment of naive hubris, I've convinced myself that I know and understand most of these mistakes. So I'll write them down for posterity, hoping to leave a lucid roadmap for my future self. Behold, self, the pitfalls of doom:
What not to do:
- don't catch on trifles (and it's all trifles compared to your friendship)
- don't imagine that the stakes are huge; they're not
- don't keep making the same point again and again; trust their ability to get it the first time
- don't assume it's your task to convince them -- all you can really do is offer your opinion; they'll believe you if they want to
- don't think you're responsible for preventing their mistakes
- don't assume that to disagree is to bring your friendship into question
- don't hold a grudge; life is too short to waste time on grudges while disregarding the good parts
- pay attention to what it's really about (mostly validation and support, in my experience)
- keep your integrity
- remember that sooner or later, you'll need their good will
- mention (politely!) whatever is bothering you; keeping it to yourself only brings greater grief
A. J. Jacobs writes in Esquire that we are entering a new age where anything we say can and will be used against us. No more anonymity or privacy for anyone, courtesy of websites that "review [people] like Zagat's critiques a restaurant." Other people are keeping tabs on us, with or without our consent, and their tabs are broadcast for everyone to see. Better think twice about what you say, let alone post. And get ready to be thrashed anonymously by estranged former friends.
This sounds quite alarmist to me. We are in the new age, it's true, where the everyman is suddenly empowered to communicate with massive audiences. But the problem of retaining anonymity is not new -- it has been around for as long as we've had free speech. That anyone can impact your reputation is a price you pay for the freedom to speak your mind. One doesn't go without the other: you can't prevent people from telling each other about you without also curtailing their freedom of speech. This freedom is a cornerstone of western civilization, and our society protects it at considerable cost, believing the benefit to be worth it.
What's more, the society has continued to function despite this ever-present danger to anonymity. Many have managed to live on, despite the increased scrutiny of the world at large. Just ask Monica Lewinsky.
So will we return to "the stocks of the Puritans"? I think not. We will have to keep in mind that all our actions, without exception, could be scrutinized. We will have to consider the consequences of what we're doing and take responsibility for it. With a little courage and humility, we will still be able to take our risks and even sow our wild oats. In all, we'll probably become better versions of ourselves.
But most valuably, we may learn not to judge people hastily. We will be forced to realize just how vulnerable each of us is to one-sided gossip. We will see more and more often how damaging that snap judgment can be. We will then hopefully understand why we owe each other the courtesy of full and intelligent consideration.
Some of my friends believe that honest and fair people cannot succeed in business and will always be edged out by the backstabbers. I disagree strongly with this sentiment, believing that success comes through one's skill and gumption, without requiring one to step over corpses. It could be that I am naive or that my friends are prejudiced, but I don't think it's either. More likely, we both reflect on our personal experiences, which happen to differ because we are in different corners of the business world. I see honest and benevolent people succeed through their intelligence, devotion, vision, and sometimes luck; while my friends probably see questionable characters triumph using sharp elbows, deception, and exploitation. We both form our general opinions from what we see, assuming that our partial views are representative of the whole.
But if this is true, it raises several questions:
- If ethics is a liability in some environments, are these the minority or the majority?
- What causes the difference? Why are some environments harsher on good people than others?
- What should an individual do if they find themselves in one of these environments?
I can't form an opinion on 1. from my vantage point, and I doubt many people can. It takes a long time to truly learn any one environment, and even then reasonable people may disagree on how rotten it actually is. To repeat this learning across many environments surely must take decades and an extraordinary flexibility. It will take either divine brilliance or comprehensive surveys to answer this one.
As for what causes the difference, I think it's probably the scarcity or abundance of opportunities. Where there's plenty to go around, people tend to treat each other with kindness and respect. Conversely, if opportunities are limited, people grow nasty. It's like the checkout line in the supermarket: long waits and slow-moving lines make everyone grumpy and opportunistic, but add a few open cashiers and see how the same people instantly turn into a smiling and respectful bunch.
It's possible that high stakes make a difference, though I'm not sure I personally believe that. I think it's rare that someone will lie and cheat to earn a million dollars but restrain themselves to perfect honesty when the payoff is a mere thousand.
Finally, to the question of what one should do in a rotten business environment. First of all, I think it's a false choice between staying ethical but poor and ditching ethics in favor of what the others do anyway. The real options have to be either to leave or to endeavor to improve things. Leaving for a better environment may be easier, since it avoids unpleasantness and makes life generally better. But this isn't always possible, and it doesn't really improve the world at large. The prospect of improving one's community, while unquestionably daunting, is an opportunity to make a real difference. I cannot think of anything more rewarding than succeeding at this task. After all, what if Nelson Mandela just left?
