A woman I mentored a while ago caught me up on her life recently and she offered an insight that everyone should gain at some point along the journey.

Smart woman, hard-working, energetic, and, as is the case with many entrepreneurs, she was pursuing a business model that wouldn’t work. It happens quite a bit, because not every great idea can be a great business. In her case, the product’s price and the profit margin were too low to cover all the overhead costs, which is a fatal flaw shared by many start-ups and about 99% of the internet companies I invested in during the 1990s.

After switching gears and changing direction, she described the new path she's on and sent me an upbeat update, including this priceless insight: “Currently unlearning everything I was taught to believe equals success and happiness, and learning that none of the things I thought would bring success and happiness are necessary for either of those things.”

I’m very happy for her, because that’s a bit of wisdom that many of us miss as we keep pursuing the wrong goals on the basis of flawed advice.

None of us gets through childhood without some adult telling us, “If you want to be X when you grow up, you have to Y.” And they’re adults, the big people in the room, the people who never ask us for advice and only give it, so they must know something. They tell us how to eat and how to behave and how to put on clean underwear before we get to the emergency room (or something like that) and how to build the financial security that we realize, in hindsight, they never achieved for themselves.

Some of the advice is useful, like looking both ways before crossing the street, but much of it is terribly flawed. Without question, though, the worst advice we ever get concerns one or both of our most important goals: success and happiness.

When we’re still young, we have no idea about this stuff. Even worse, some of the people who advise us have no idea, either, but they either don't realize it or they can't handle the truth. Looking back, we realize that the key to success we learned about at ten wasn’t based on the experience of the speaker, but rather on their own misconceptions about other people’s achievements.

Even worse, none of the pearls they cast before us applied to us and our lives. It was impossible, of course, because we hadn’t lived enough of our lives to have a clue. It takes at least a few decades, sometimes more, for us to gain enough experience and scars and perspective to understand the whole thing, and our progress is slowed along the way by bad advice from people who really didn’t know.

When we’re kids, we think adults have all the answers, mostly because they are bigger and stronger and older, but mostly because they keep telling us they have all the answers. When we become adults ourselves, we realize how little we know and how much we have to fake it on the path to making it. And that’s the point when all of us should be pausing like we’re in a sitcom and saying, “Wait a minute……….

"I’m older and more experienced than the person who told me how to live my life six decades ago and I still don't have a clue, so why do I think they knew anything at all? Maybe I should get off the path they prescribed when I was, what, ten?"

I'm very happy for my onetime colleague, needing less time than I did to take a fresh look at her own values and move forward with a plan of her own. “…none of the things I thought would bring success and happiness are necessary for either of those things.”

We gain knowledge by learning new things. We gain wisdom by learning which ones to forget.

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I donate to dozens of charities every year, mentor young people, pay my taxes, hold the door open for strangers and, on a good day, I might even let someone merge into my lane of traffic. And every morning I wake up with the certain knowledge that 8,000 people would be happy to kill me.

I don’t know any of them, I hope, and I hope they don’t know me, but it makes no difference. I am a Jew and there is nothing I can do in life to annul their decree. I live in a state of grace, not the grace of a benevolent God but of a murderous horde.

If only a tenth of a tenth of a tenth of a tenth of a tenth of a tenth of the world’s population would do the deed…and that’s not tough to imagine after watching all the pro-Hamas protestors flooding the streets over the past six weeks, my would-be assassins are legion.

What if I’m exaggerating, though? What if it’s only a tenth of a tenth of that number or a tenth of a tenth of a tenth? What is the right number of people who should be willing to kill you?

Reality is different for the Chosen People. We’re the smallest of minorities, but responsible for all the world’s ills. We’re capitalists and communists, rich and vermin, white supremacists who really aren’t white at all. We provide a rare source of agreement for both far left and far right, following very different paths to only one conclusion. We are the shmoo of bogeymen, used by the powerful to shift blame from themselves for more than 2,000 years.

Humans are tribal, defining our identities both in terms of shared traits and shared enemies. And when it comes to enemies, Jews are the perfect foil. We live everywhere, except for a number of Muslim countries where infidels are prohibited, and we are always a small minority. We’re only in the majority in Israel and—what a coincidence!!—millions of people demand not merely that Israel change its policies, but that it cease to exist.

(This is where I have to respond to the whatabouts I’m certain to receive. I am very concerned about Gaza civilians who had nothing to do with the attacks, even though I am aware that many of them would like Israel eradicated. That’s because it is morally consistent to value all human life, even the lives of people who disagree with you. This should not require saying, but...)

I know people who say they are anti-Zionist, not anti-Israel, but that façade drops off after about 15 seconds of conversation. Like the folks who start sentences with, “I’m not a racist, but…” the reality leaps out pretty quickly. We believe all women, unless they were raped by Hamas. We demand freedom for political prisoners, except those kidnapped by Hamas. We support gay rights, except when trampled by Hamas. We never blame the victim, unless they're victimized by Hamas. You get the idea. All over Chicago’s progressive neighborhoods, people have lawn signs that say, “Hate Has No Home Here,” but they need an asterisk: *Unless you're a Jew.

Antisemitism is part of the background noise for all Jews, sometimes a hum so quiet that it doesn’t even disturb the silence. More recently, it’s grown from static to signal and the message has been received. The aftermath of October 7, much more than the terrorism itself, is driving a new assessment of our roles and relationships.

What happens next? In terms of world opinion, nothing willl change. Whether the IDF provides guided tours of Hamas tunnels or all the hostages are returned or Israel vacates the premises again, almost everyone will believe what they believed on October 6.

In terms of world progress, though, the outlook has deteriorated. Jews have been consistent catalysts for minority rights, tolerance, and education, joining in and supporting the battles of non-Jews in a religiously and culturally driven mission to heal the universe. We’ve known what it means to be The Other and we’ve tended to support other Others in struggles that aren’t ours.

That support has included public statements, political coalitions, personal engagement and funding, and all of it is certain to decline as we absorb the antagonism of our supposed friends. We won’t be marching against anyone or calling for wanton slaughter, but the change is occurring already.

The arc bends toward justice, but it’s going to be bending more slowly now.
 
 
 

The most dangerous thing in the world is an anecdote, a story that encapsulates a viewpoint so well that it stands as the archetype for the entire world. It’s a perverse power for a word that comes from the Greek for “not to be published,” but maybe that says it all about the way we support our views these days.

In a country of 330 million people, you can find an example of anything, but it seems some people keep using the same example over and over again. After a while, I get the feeling that some of my friends think these events happened to them, not to some friend of a friend of a guy I saw on the bus. It’s a bit like Munchausen Syndrome, with a dash of politics, and it’s all based on a true story.  

Well, sometimes it’s based on a true story, and sometimes it’s based on a story that could conceivably be true, or not. Anecdotes don’t need to be true to be effective, and it seems the fake stories are the best at proving whatever point someone wanted to make in the first place. If it fits the narrative, almost true is good enough, especially when it’s MY truth.

In Chicago, nobody goes out of business because they have a bad product or bad marketing or bad management. It’s always crime and taxes, which don’t seem to affect the other businesses that continue to thrive in my home town. Some businesses do suffer from crime and there’s no question our taxes in Illinois are pretty stupid, but a million things combine to bring a company down and no company announces they are closing because, “We sucked at running a business.”

Whoever puts out the press release controls the narrative, at least at first, and the story is a Rorschach test for whoever passes it along. 

Property insurance rates are rising? Clearly, it’s global warming, unless it’s the Fed’s interest rate increases, or profiteering, or rising losses on claims. What a beautiful anecdote, offering so many options for anyone who wants to use it to prove whatever point they want to make.

Did you hear about the guy who died within three days of getting his Covid shot? Did you hear about the politician who voted to outlaw abortions and paid for one for his mistress? Did you read that story about the liberal think tank that created a toxic environment for its minority workers? Of course, you did, and many of us will be using these stories to paint a picture broader than the horizon.

The best thing we can say about anecdotes is that they boost productivity. Imagine how many work hours we’d lose, how many school programs parents would miss, how many cable shows would fail, if we actually had to search for new examples of the things we hate, or support, or hate others for supporting. Even better, the same anecdote can be used by the legendary “both sides” of an issue, with only the blame changed to fit the narrative.

That’s what makes anecdotes so powerful, so appealing, and so lethal. In fact, I knew a guy who knew a guy who had a friend who was starting to tell an anecdote, but then he died right in the middle of the story. Clearly, these things are even more dangerous than fentanyl and drag shows combined.

A friend of a friend said you should click here to subscribe, and he/she/it knows about these things.

The saddest thing about all the indictments of Donald Trump et al is that they don’t make any difference whatsoever.

The people who support him are somehow vindicated by every accusation, each bit of proof that he is being targeted by his political opponents as part of the weaponization of the DOJ. The Passion Play that unfolds for their Savior is a validation of their covenant, an assurance that He is suffering for them. When He says “they” are coming for his supporters, but He is in the way, they know He is speaking the Truth, and they are grateful.

The people who oppose TFG are somehow certain that the next indictment, the next leaked document, the next accusation will somehow convince Trump supporters that they have followed the wrong path, and that they will repent their scurrilous faith. Like people who speak more loudly in English so they can be understood in a foreign nation, these benighted souls are certain that truth, justice, and the American Way will triumph if only the Trump cult would heed their latest tweet.

Yes, this is the tweet, the meme, the post, the ultimate proof that will enlighten the MAGA world and inspire them to forsake their false idol.

Not gonna happen.

Seriously, exactly who is out there whose mind has not been fixed by now? Who is the lone holdout waiting for one more bit of evidence, one more explanation, the absolutely critical keystone that will hold it all together and allow them to draw a conclusion? And, if we found that person, how much would we trust their judgment on anything?

Speaking of judgment, how many partisans, pundits and prevaricators will they weed out before they find Twelve Good Men and True for any juries? What voter can stand before the judge and attorneys and swear they are not already biased, that they still have an open mind, and that they will be swayed wholly by the evidence presented in the trial?

Fast forward to the next six months and the odds of a runaway jury, or jurors, are at least equally overwhelming. Nobody will need to tamper with a jury that will undoubtedly be happy to tamper with itself. Will there be more secret MAGAs or more hidden Antifas on the panel? We don’t know, yet, but it’s pretty much a certainty there will be at least a few.

Even if they do find a dozen people who can provide impartial justice, it will make no difference in the end. Whether the trials yield guilty verdicts or acquittals, everyone will interpret the results according to the views they held today, and the day before, and the day before that. How many people will read the verdicts and say, “Gee, I guess I was wrong?”  How many people will change their vote after the judgment is rendered?

The answer, of course, is zero. Twitter overflows with sound and fury, but the people have spoken. They don’t agree, and many of them are idiots, but they’ve spoken anyway. Those who think Trump is guilty see each new charge as another nail in the coffin. The people who see him as a Christ figure view each charge as one more thorn in the crown.

And yet, we have no choice to go through with the trials, because that’s what the law requires. Different courts, different jurisdictions, different rules, different co-defendants, a veritable pantheon of legalities, all carrying enormous weight and minimal impact. It’s going to be a long ride and it’s not going to get any smoother.

We’ll be talking about other stuff from now on, so it’s safe to click here to subscribe without fear of being offended, or reassured, by our thoughts.

Question: When is an apology not an apology?

Answer: When it’s on Facebook.

This is the week when many of my Jewish friends post blanket apologies online as we sprint past Rosh Hashanah and race toward Yom Kippur. The Days of Awe are an intense period if you take it seriously, but all the religious rites are reserved for our relationships with God. When it comes to other people, any beefs have to be addressed directly with the individuals involved and there’s no prayer that lets us off the hook.

That’s where all these Facebook apology posts arise, as our modern transgressors adopt a wholesale purge of guilt by saying oopsie online. “If you’re one of the people I’ve hurt in the past year, I’m sorry. If not, feel free to move on. And my work here is done.”

I sympathize; really, I do. With so many aggrieved souls in our circles, the list of required apologies is endless. I have to apologize to Ed for being late and to Andrea for being too early; to Bill for ignoring his birthday and to Gwen for reminding her how old she is; to Stacy for calling too late at night and to Robert for waiting until the next day to give him the news. Maybe I can’t do anything right or, maybe, my contacts are simply looking for a reason to feel slighted.

Either way, the tally of bruised psyches multiplies until it would take more than a decade to deliver all the groveling demanded from me. I understand the temptation to call on Facebook to deliver a simple, high-volume solution for pique response.

Except that’s not how it works, and it’s not just my coreligionists who appear unable to offer a proper mea culpa these days. Nobody seems to know how to make amends, especially those sensitive souls who begin their pseudo-confessions with, “If I hurt you,” or “If I offended you.”

If.

“If you were hurt when I stole your car and ran off with your spouse and emptied your bank account and slandered your name all over the place, I’m sorry. Of course, you’re way too sensitive about the whole thing and it was really not that big a deal. But, if it bothers you so much, then I’ll be the bigger person and apologize.  Are we good now?”

Non-apology apologies seem to be the norm and not the exception, focusing on the fact that someone took offense and not on the offense itself. Does anyone know how to apologize for what they actually did? Apparently not.

Maybe the problem starts with childhood, when parents tell their kids to, “Say you’re sorry,” without insisting that they actually be sorry. Maybe It’s the mantra that, “I’m a good person,” so anyone who is offended is sadly unaware of my kind and giving nature. Or, maybe, we’re just a bunch of selfish and insensitive jerks.

A real apology is the most counter-cultural thing we can do, rejecting all the norms of our current age. There are no apps, no websites, no intermediaries or filters available to do it right. A real apology has to be direct, one to one. We have to speak directly to the person we’ve harmed, specify what we did, and express real remorse for our actions. Hard to believe, but most people actually did that a long, long, long time ago, at least when they weren’t dueling at dawn.

It's much different now. Everyone’s offended about everything and, quite frankly, I’m just a bit offended at their insistence that I somehow owe them an apology for absolutely nothing. I’ll apologize to them after they apologize to me, first, and some anodyne disclaimer on Facebook ain’t gonna cut it.

What else? Oh, yeah. To anyone who posted a generic apology on Facebook in the past year, please know that IF I HURT YOU by sharing my opinions, I am so very, very sorry.

If I actually do owe you an apology, please send me a detailed message, including receipts and warranty cards, and I’ll get back to you right away. If not, just click here to subscribe and I’ll consider us even.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

I like big maps. I cannot lie.

There’s something about a 30-by-40 sheet of paper with a million lines and colors that just begs to be savored.

A real map is a lesson in geography, human history, and politics, a tutorial about where we are and how we got here. Here’s the river bend that drew settlers and here’s the forest that still counts humans as an alien life form. These are the spots the politicians thought important enough to connect with roads and here are the blockades demanded by land owners who wanted a barrier around their properties. Governments have always picked winners and losers. Highways, or lack thereof, are Exhibit A.

The difference between a dot on a screen and a real map is the difference between data and knowledge. When you locate yourself on a screen, you can find out where you are. When you look at a real map, you can find yourself. With a real map, you can discover the road less taken and, as we know, that could make all the difference.

Online maps make us dumber, and there’s no better proof of that than a ride-share trip. I take a dozen ride-shares every month and the experience is always the same. The driver has been carting people around for five or six years and they still have no idea how to get around downtown. There’s a screen in front of the dashboard and a street with signs and actual traffic in front of them, but they only know how to read one of the two. Half my trips involve me asking why the driver is going in the wrong direction, although I know the answer before I bother to ask. It’s what the app says and they don’t know how to find anything IRL.

To be fair, I’ve fallen into the same trap, at least partially. I can’t remember the last time I needed to memorize a phone number, and I’m much more likely to check my phone than step outside when I want to know how warm it is. Yes, I’ll use GPS when it’s the only option, but I recognize this poor substitute for the impostor that it is. I’ll also settle for Jack Daniels when there’s no Maker’s Mark available, but I’ll know I could have done better. 

Soon, maybe it has happened already, reading a real map will be a lost art, much like memorizing a phone number and paying with cash. On the upside, I’ll feel like a Jedi, knowing how to redirect the force while those with weak minds must depend on Google Maps, but it’s going to be a loss for the rest of civilization.

Unlike online maps, life doesn’t follow only one path and the closest connection from A to B isn’t always the fastest, or vice versa. Sometimes, the best route is slower and scenic, maximizing enjoyment along the way. Watching yourself as a dot on a screen, tracing a predetermined path like a miniature Pac-Man, is the fate of avatars, not people. Real maps liberate us to see both what is and what could be, to consider all the potential of our physical and allegorical journey.

The smaller your screen, the smaller your world. Full-sized maps can save us, if only we believe.
 
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