Cameron Conaway's Blog, page 6
January 27, 2020
On Kobe's death and holding complexities
Shook. That’s how I felt when I heard the news. As a basketball fan, I cheered for Kobe (and against him when he played against Scottie Pippen), but, like many, I was inspired more by the mindset that fueled his work ethic, The Mamba Mentality. On efforts ranging from workouts to writing, tapping into this mindset throughout the years allowed me to dig deeper.
Even though I knew the details of what happened in Vail, Colorado.
How he’d at first lied to police about the alleged rape, then opened up about the details. How, according to the police report, he said:
Kobe’s death has exposed a disturbing underbelly in our culture: what seems to be our increasing inability to hold complexities. The term “cancel culture” is now frequently used to describe how a culture boycotts or “cancels” a person’s entire career or reputation based on a single action deemed offensive or unpopular.
But this doesn’t capture the entirety of what’s going on. More than cancel culture, there seems to be a bend toward black & white culture; it’s characterized by an inability or unwillingness to hold disparate or opposing ideas simultaneously. It’s a culture that sets fire to the gray and comfortably sets up shop at one of the poles.
As it relates to Kobe, sympathy and heartbreak poured in from around the world. Thousands shared stories about Kobe’s positive impact on their life. Many others expressed anger, believing the rape case was swept under the rug as our patriarchal society gave yet another male celebrity a pass on an issue involving violence against women.
Arguments broke out, and people called each other names and then blocked each other. I couldn’t help but feel I had a bird’s eye view into a #B&Wculture incapable of being inspired and disgusted with parts of Kobe’s life—while maybe even sitting elsewhere on the continuum with some other parts of it.
I’m disturbed by the details of the rape case for a variety of reasons, including how the majority quickly rushed to Kobe’s defense and painted the alleged victim as the perpetrator (an act so common many of us fail to see how toxic it is). But I also like how Kobe could drop in a Lord of the Rings reference during an interview, and I saw him as a creative storyteller with the potential to have an award-winning second act in life.
I at once wonder about the irreparable harm he may have caused women and what other stories may still come to light, while seeing the potential in Granity Studios, his content company, which seems poised to publish books and other content that inspire groups of kids that are typically underrepresented and not often cast as heroes.
It felt… scary to write those two paragraphs above. Scary because embracing the complexity of a human’s life means going outside the tidy box with which many of us want to put most lives other than our own—and that enrages a lot of people.
In 1855, Walt Whitman published Leaves of Grass, a work containing this now-famous line:
The multitudes. That’s what drew me to poetry, both to the writing and studying of it. Poetry, to me, is far more about the practice of simultaneously holding disparate, diverse, and even contradictory thoughts as it is about the rhyme schemes many of us learned in high school.
Today, as I reflect on Kobe’s death and what his life meant and still means to me, I’m reminded why I believe poetry remains a vital genre. In quick-fix cultures where people not only reduce complex lives to soundbites but quite literally will go to war over those soundbites, poetry offers a gift for those willing to unwrap it: a beautiful opportunity to discover the multitudes contained within ourselves and others.
***
Additional reading:
-For perhaps the best read you’ll find about Kobe, check out ESPN’s Mamba Out
-Jill Filipovic’s thoughtful piece: Kobe Bryant and Complicated Legacies: On the inconvenient women who make matters worse
-For more details around the rape case, check out this piece at The Daily Beast.
Even though I knew the details of what happened in Vail, Colorado.
How he’d at first lied to police about the alleged rape, then opened up about the details. How, according to the police report, he said:
“I should have done what Shaq does. Shaq gives them money or buys them cars, he has already spent one million dollars.”
Kobe’s death has exposed a disturbing underbelly in our culture: what seems to be our increasing inability to hold complexities. The term “cancel culture” is now frequently used to describe how a culture boycotts or “cancels” a person’s entire career or reputation based on a single action deemed offensive or unpopular.
But this doesn’t capture the entirety of what’s going on. More than cancel culture, there seems to be a bend toward black & white culture; it’s characterized by an inability or unwillingness to hold disparate or opposing ideas simultaneously. It’s a culture that sets fire to the gray and comfortably sets up shop at one of the poles.
As it relates to Kobe, sympathy and heartbreak poured in from around the world. Thousands shared stories about Kobe’s positive impact on their life. Many others expressed anger, believing the rape case was swept under the rug as our patriarchal society gave yet another male celebrity a pass on an issue involving violence against women.
Arguments broke out, and people called each other names and then blocked each other. I couldn’t help but feel I had a bird’s eye view into a #B&Wculture incapable of being inspired and disgusted with parts of Kobe’s life—while maybe even sitting elsewhere on the continuum with some other parts of it.
I’m disturbed by the details of the rape case for a variety of reasons, including how the majority quickly rushed to Kobe’s defense and painted the alleged victim as the perpetrator (an act so common many of us fail to see how toxic it is). But I also like how Kobe could drop in a Lord of the Rings reference during an interview, and I saw him as a creative storyteller with the potential to have an award-winning second act in life.
I at once wonder about the irreparable harm he may have caused women and what other stories may still come to light, while seeing the potential in Granity Studios, his content company, which seems poised to publish books and other content that inspire groups of kids that are typically underrepresented and not often cast as heroes.
It felt… scary to write those two paragraphs above. Scary because embracing the complexity of a human’s life means going outside the tidy box with which many of us want to put most lives other than our own—and that enrages a lot of people.
In 1855, Walt Whitman published Leaves of Grass, a work containing this now-famous line:
“Do I contradict myself? / Very well then I contradict myself; / (I am large, I contain multitudes.)”
The multitudes. That’s what drew me to poetry, both to the writing and studying of it. Poetry, to me, is far more about the practice of simultaneously holding disparate, diverse, and even contradictory thoughts as it is about the rhyme schemes many of us learned in high school.
Today, as I reflect on Kobe’s death and what his life meant and still means to me, I’m reminded why I believe poetry remains a vital genre. In quick-fix cultures where people not only reduce complex lives to soundbites but quite literally will go to war over those soundbites, poetry offers a gift for those willing to unwrap it: a beautiful opportunity to discover the multitudes contained within ourselves and others.
***
Additional reading:
-For perhaps the best read you’ll find about Kobe, check out ESPN’s Mamba Out
-Jill Filipovic’s thoughtful piece: Kobe Bryant and Complicated Legacies: On the inconvenient women who make matters worse
-For more details around the rape case, check out this piece at The Daily Beast.
January 26, 2020
The real challenge of Malaria, Poems
Many readers over the years have asked: What was the most challenging aspect of writing Malaria, Poems?
Add-ons to that question typically assume it was researching tropical medicine, or maybe trying to weave science with human stories.
The real challenge was in moving from beyond mere recognition of my privilege to figuring out how best to use it in the service of others.
This took countless hours of purposeful meditation as a range of questions emerged at various stages of the manuscript. Here are a few among many:
1. I’ve never had to suffer from its impact, so should I be the one writing this book?
2. I’ll be meeting hundreds, potentially thousands of people who have suffered from it. How should I explain what I’m doing and why?
3. How can I leverage my privilege to be an ally in service?
Many signals, including these three, informed my decision to move forward:
1. Malaria, as far as I could tell, hadn’t been taken seriously as a literary topic since Theodor Geisel (Dr. Seuss) wrote about it while he was a captain in the U.S. Army during World War II. Yes, I’m sure others had, but I’d convinced myself that a full-length collection completely dedicated to it could be a valuable contribution both to the literary community and to the world.
2. Here I was. I’d received a grant to write it, knew plenty of researchers, and could travel to see its impact. These were all significant privileges, but throwing them away felt far worse than mindfully using them (this was particularly true when I saw the way malaria brutally ravages people and their communities).
3. Poetry mentors, researchers, and community leaders believed I should move the project forward. This was the most important aspect for me, as I'm often slow to make decisions because I want to absorb the perspectives of the smartest people I can find.
Many authors will tell you their love of writing books is in large part because of their love of learning. That’s certainly been true in my case. And working on Malaria, Poems, taught me that the challenging and completely unexpected type of learning is the most beneficial.
Add-ons to that question typically assume it was researching tropical medicine, or maybe trying to weave science with human stories.
The real challenge was in moving from beyond mere recognition of my privilege to figuring out how best to use it in the service of others.
This took countless hours of purposeful meditation as a range of questions emerged at various stages of the manuscript. Here are a few among many:
1. I’ve never had to suffer from its impact, so should I be the one writing this book?
2. I’ll be meeting hundreds, potentially thousands of people who have suffered from it. How should I explain what I’m doing and why?
3. How can I leverage my privilege to be an ally in service?
Many signals, including these three, informed my decision to move forward:
1. Malaria, as far as I could tell, hadn’t been taken seriously as a literary topic since Theodor Geisel (Dr. Seuss) wrote about it while he was a captain in the U.S. Army during World War II. Yes, I’m sure others had, but I’d convinced myself that a full-length collection completely dedicated to it could be a valuable contribution both to the literary community and to the world.
2. Here I was. I’d received a grant to write it, knew plenty of researchers, and could travel to see its impact. These were all significant privileges, but throwing them away felt far worse than mindfully using them (this was particularly true when I saw the way malaria brutally ravages people and their communities).
3. Poetry mentors, researchers, and community leaders believed I should move the project forward. This was the most important aspect for me, as I'm often slow to make decisions because I want to absorb the perspectives of the smartest people I can find.
Many authors will tell you their love of writing books is in large part because of their love of learning. That’s certainly been true in my case. And working on Malaria, Poems, taught me that the challenging and completely unexpected type of learning is the most beneficial.
January 25, 2020
You are not self-made
A search on Forbes.com for self-made surfaces 2,865 results. A book search here on Goodreads brings up 1,108 results.
It’s safe to say we're obsessed with the idea of being “self-made.”
Unfortunately (or fortunately), it doesn’t exist.
Nobody, not you or me or anybody we collectively know, is self-made. We are part of interconnected webs involving everything from the clean (or not) air we breathe and the people in our networks to the political, economic, and technological systems shaping the world around us.
Should you get motivated by people who work hard to achieve success? Of course, if that helps you build your best self and achieve your dreams.
Should you outright reject stories suggesting whatever successful people achieved they achieved alone? Yes, unless you're self-made. In which case, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.
It’s safe to say we're obsessed with the idea of being “self-made.”
Unfortunately (or fortunately), it doesn’t exist.
Nobody, not you or me or anybody we collectively know, is self-made. We are part of interconnected webs involving everything from the clean (or not) air we breathe and the people in our networks to the political, economic, and technological systems shaping the world around us.
Should you get motivated by people who work hard to achieve success? Of course, if that helps you build your best self and achieve your dreams.
Should you outright reject stories suggesting whatever successful people achieved they achieved alone? Yes, unless you're self-made. In which case, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.
January 24, 2020
On one uppers
You feel it when it happens. The conversation miraculously transitions from the story you were telling to their better or worse version. Your accomplishment, illness… whatever you were talking about becomes juxtaposed with theirs and, of course, it pales in comparison.
My default was to assume malicious intent, so I’d often feel disgusted when the shift happened. Now, I become curious, which to me is a much more interesting place to be than disgust.
That’s because there’s another side; not all one uppers are created equal.
Many do not have the tools to move conversations forward without shifting it to themselves. They find something relatable in what you said, and they latch on and take it from there. With this insight, it became clear to me that these types of one uppers are generally scared to or are not good at asking questions.
The next time you get one-upped, consider the intention. Was it driven by ego or an inability to ask?
My default was to assume malicious intent, so I’d often feel disgusted when the shift happened. Now, I become curious, which to me is a much more interesting place to be than disgust.
That’s because there’s another side; not all one uppers are created equal.
Many do not have the tools to move conversations forward without shifting it to themselves. They find something relatable in what you said, and they latch on and take it from there. With this insight, it became clear to me that these types of one uppers are generally scared to or are not good at asking questions.
The next time you get one-upped, consider the intention. Was it driven by ego or an inability to ask?
January 23, 2020
Slowing down to wake up
The core of my online poetry class, now 3,500+ students strong, is the concept of slowing down to wake up.
It has applications just about everywhere. Consider how it works when we approach that red light we always seem to get. When we slow down and come back to our breath, we can see there’s a far better use of our finite energy on this earth than burning it in the frustration we typically feel in this moment. That’s waking up.
The practice remains, I believe, an untapped resource for writers, which is why I built an entire class around it.
The most powerful entertainment and technology giants would prefer we keep going fast and remain asleep as we consume their content. The more going fast becomes a habit for us, the more profitable it is for them. As such, I see slowing down to wake up both as a radical act of defiance and as a radical act of self-compassion.
It has applications just about everywhere. Consider how it works when we approach that red light we always seem to get. When we slow down and come back to our breath, we can see there’s a far better use of our finite energy on this earth than burning it in the frustration we typically feel in this moment. That’s waking up.
The practice remains, I believe, an untapped resource for writers, which is why I built an entire class around it.
The most powerful entertainment and technology giants would prefer we keep going fast and remain asleep as we consume their content. The more going fast becomes a habit for us, the more profitable it is for them. As such, I see slowing down to wake up both as a radical act of defiance and as a radical act of self-compassion.
January 22, 2020
From lean in to lean on
Regardless of what you thought of the book with the same title, lean in has become part of the corporate lexicon thanks to Sheryl Sandberg. It’s used in all sorts of ways, mostly around leaning in to have important but perhaps discomforting conversations.
But those within patriarchal cultures (and therefore part of the often individualistic social outlook it lives by) struggle with what I see as the next step after leaning in.
Once ‘in,’ it’s often critical to lean on others. It’s here where trust is formed, new perspectives can move from heard to absorbed, and the power of community begins to manifest.
But those within patriarchal cultures (and therefore part of the often individualistic social outlook it lives by) struggle with what I see as the next step after leaning in.
Once ‘in,’ it’s often critical to lean on others. It’s here where trust is formed, new perspectives can move from heard to absorbed, and the power of community begins to manifest.
January 21, 2020
I'm angriest when...
Students over the years have told me that my calmness makes them wonder if I ever get angry and, if so, what makes me the angriest.
First, of course I do! See that exclamation mark?
Second, though I’m working on transforming the anger I feel around the following topics, they still occasionally get to me. I didn’t want to be too broad and give one-word responses, so here are five specific and recent examples:
1. When a father whose daughter has been raped blames his daughter for “bringing shame to the family” or for some other absurd reason. This is unfortunately still quite common around the world.
2. Religious hypocrisy of various types, most recently around the Catholic Church’s systemic rape and molestation of boys.
3. The denial of white, male, and other forms of privilege. We still struggle as a country to have complex, nuanced discussions on gender and race. In my mind, this is in large part because the privileged refuse to do the inner work necessary to recognize the depth of their privilege. Do the work! It’s worth it!
4. When I want someone to listen, but they won’t. I especially get angry when my listening isn’t reciprocated. The anger here arises because I view listening as a form of respect and, right or wrong, actively not listening as a sign of disrespect.
5. When I see the planet being irreversibly destroyed by powerful corporations for the sake of short-term financial gain. My anger here runs deep as this touches on what I see as a uniquely grotesque form of selfishness.
First, of course I do! See that exclamation mark?
Second, though I’m working on transforming the anger I feel around the following topics, they still occasionally get to me. I didn’t want to be too broad and give one-word responses, so here are five specific and recent examples:
1. When a father whose daughter has been raped blames his daughter for “bringing shame to the family” or for some other absurd reason. This is unfortunately still quite common around the world.
2. Religious hypocrisy of various types, most recently around the Catholic Church’s systemic rape and molestation of boys.
3. The denial of white, male, and other forms of privilege. We still struggle as a country to have complex, nuanced discussions on gender and race. In my mind, this is in large part because the privileged refuse to do the inner work necessary to recognize the depth of their privilege. Do the work! It’s worth it!
4. When I want someone to listen, but they won’t. I especially get angry when my listening isn’t reciprocated. The anger here arises because I view listening as a form of respect and, right or wrong, actively not listening as a sign of disrespect.
5. When I see the planet being irreversibly destroyed by powerful corporations for the sake of short-term financial gain. My anger here runs deep as this touches on what I see as a uniquely grotesque form of selfishness.
January 20, 2020
The ripple effect of wise speech
Last year, I attended a workshop led by Donald Rothberg about cultivating wise speech. A meditation teacher for over 35 years, Rothberg’s communication style was an embodiment of the lessons he shared.
At its core, wise speech is about practicing this vow from Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh:
“Aware of the suffering caused by unmindful speech and the inability to listen to others, I vow to cultivate loving speech and deep listening….”
Rothberg shared many insights and practical strategies, including the Four Guidelines for Wise Speech, which have since become a habit (as well as sticky notes posted on the wall above my work computer). They are as follows:
1. Truthfulness
2. Helpfulness
3. Kindness
4. Clear Intention (including good timing, appropriateness, non-distractedness)
The key here is more about consistent practice than discovering your take on the word-level meanings (although that is important).
Many of my work calls take place via computer-to-computer video conversations. Right before each call, I take a few deep breaths and then spend 10-20 seconds internalizing each guideline.
As seemingly insignificant as that sounds, this time allows me to check-in with how I’m feeling—a critical first step to ensuring that my inner suffering (such as unrelated negativity or frustration, for example) doesn’t manifest in some form that causes suffering for the recipient. Wise speech is all about entering into conversations with our best and most authentic intention—which demands feeling our feelings, not faking kindness.
Herein lies part of the ripple effect: I didn’t realize how good the practice of wise speech would make me feel as it’s happening. Before developing this practice, I thought wise speech was mostly a way to improve the life of the recipient.
The ripple continues from there, as my now outwardly projected inner sense of awareness and well-being is absorbed by the recipient who then (as I’ve been told now on several occasions) extends that energy into their next interaction.
It’s a glimpse into what Thich Nhat Hanh refers to as interbeing, a concept describing our interconnectedness. In this case, however, the concept is made small enough to feel real, and practicing it only takes a few minutes each day.
At its core, wise speech is about practicing this vow from Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh:
“Aware of the suffering caused by unmindful speech and the inability to listen to others, I vow to cultivate loving speech and deep listening….”
Rothberg shared many insights and practical strategies, including the Four Guidelines for Wise Speech, which have since become a habit (as well as sticky notes posted on the wall above my work computer). They are as follows:
1. Truthfulness
2. Helpfulness
3. Kindness
4. Clear Intention (including good timing, appropriateness, non-distractedness)
The key here is more about consistent practice than discovering your take on the word-level meanings (although that is important).
Many of my work calls take place via computer-to-computer video conversations. Right before each call, I take a few deep breaths and then spend 10-20 seconds internalizing each guideline.
As seemingly insignificant as that sounds, this time allows me to check-in with how I’m feeling—a critical first step to ensuring that my inner suffering (such as unrelated negativity or frustration, for example) doesn’t manifest in some form that causes suffering for the recipient. Wise speech is all about entering into conversations with our best and most authentic intention—which demands feeling our feelings, not faking kindness.
Herein lies part of the ripple effect: I didn’t realize how good the practice of wise speech would make me feel as it’s happening. Before developing this practice, I thought wise speech was mostly a way to improve the life of the recipient.
The ripple continues from there, as my now outwardly projected inner sense of awareness and well-being is absorbed by the recipient who then (as I’ve been told now on several occasions) extends that energy into their next interaction.
It’s a glimpse into what Thich Nhat Hanh refers to as interbeing, a concept describing our interconnectedness. In this case, however, the concept is made small enough to feel real, and practicing it only takes a few minutes each day.
January 19, 2020
What feedback often misses
Feedback is key to both personal and professional development. While there are entire books written on how to give it well, the authors often miss a critical point: it’s essential to provide positive feedback that is specific and coachable.
Managers often give feedback in the following order:
1. Here are some great things you did (they are incredibly vague here, saying things like, “you have great energy”).
2. Here are some specific ways you can improve (this is great).
3. Here are more fluffy things without details that you do well.
It’s referred to as “the compliment sandwich.” But, as you can see, #2 misses a critical opportunity. Why? Often because of an underlying assumption: the giver assumes the receiver is fully aware of what they do well.
It’s important to be specific when giving positive feedback, but it’s also important to coach through it by addressing questions such as:
1. Why was this so important?
2. What makes it unique?
3. Where might there be opportunities to use this strength elsewhere?
4. How can this strength be further developed?
If I had to pinpoint one moment that set me on the path to being a writer, it was when Todd Davis, my professor at the time, complimented a move I made in a poem and then through coaching answered the questions above. Truth is, I didn’t know I’d done anything special; I certainly wouldn’t have pointed to that part of the poem as a strength.
As a young writer, I’d received plenty of red pen feedback. It was always about weaknesses to shore up, which led me to think that was all that mattered in writing; as long as you continuously work on your weaknesses you’ll be okay.
A strengths-based approach to feedback, however, keeps the weaknesses top-of-mind while granting the recipient a chance to develop mastery over their strengths. I believe mastery, rather than blind allegiance to continuously shoring up infinite weaknesses, more often leads to a competitive advantage.
Managers often give feedback in the following order:
1. Here are some great things you did (they are incredibly vague here, saying things like, “you have great energy”).
2. Here are some specific ways you can improve (this is great).
3. Here are more fluffy things without details that you do well.
It’s referred to as “the compliment sandwich.” But, as you can see, #2 misses a critical opportunity. Why? Often because of an underlying assumption: the giver assumes the receiver is fully aware of what they do well.
It’s important to be specific when giving positive feedback, but it’s also important to coach through it by addressing questions such as:
1. Why was this so important?
2. What makes it unique?
3. Where might there be opportunities to use this strength elsewhere?
4. How can this strength be further developed?
If I had to pinpoint one moment that set me on the path to being a writer, it was when Todd Davis, my professor at the time, complimented a move I made in a poem and then through coaching answered the questions above. Truth is, I didn’t know I’d done anything special; I certainly wouldn’t have pointed to that part of the poem as a strength.
As a young writer, I’d received plenty of red pen feedback. It was always about weaknesses to shore up, which led me to think that was all that mattered in writing; as long as you continuously work on your weaknesses you’ll be okay.
A strengths-based approach to feedback, however, keeps the weaknesses top-of-mind while granting the recipient a chance to develop mastery over their strengths. I believe mastery, rather than blind allegiance to continuously shoring up infinite weaknesses, more often leads to a competitive advantage.
January 18, 2020
The courageous ‘I don't know’
It’s a short phrase with the same amount of syllables as “I love you,” but it hasn’t received the same kind of societal acceptance.
Saying “I don’t know” is often seen as a symbol of weakness, and weakness is a trait many of us believe should be masked at all costs.
I recently asked a candidate a difficult question, but rather than redirect or make something up, they admitted with equal parts courage and confidence that they did not know. Their humility hung in the air in the brief pause after their words.
It was a beautiful gift to receive—a glimpse into their unwillingness to either run away or rely on some collection of widely accepted falsities or unknowables. Each candidate, more or less, brought the same technical skillset to the table, but this candidate will receive an offer.
Saying “I don’t know” is often seen as a symbol of weakness, and weakness is a trait many of us believe should be masked at all costs.
I recently asked a candidate a difficult question, but rather than redirect or make something up, they admitted with equal parts courage and confidence that they did not know. Their humility hung in the air in the brief pause after their words.
It was a beautiful gift to receive—a glimpse into their unwillingness to either run away or rely on some collection of widely accepted falsities or unknowables. Each candidate, more or less, brought the same technical skillset to the table, but this candidate will receive an offer.
