The Myth of the Training Montage

Whether you’re watching The Karate Kid, Mulan, or Rocky, the trope of the training montage is designed to show characters getting good at something quickly.

This is a problem because these montages, from classic movies which we’re all likely to have seen, teach us that real-life success is supposed to come as quickly as it does in the movies. When it inevitably doesn’t, it can be discouraging, as is often the case when we’re taught to expect one thing and something else happens instead.

These movies also fail our expectations when they show training to be an exciting event. Training is probably going to be boring, and it’s definitely going to be hard.

Good.

No one is cheering you on when you’re learning HTML at night after a full day of work.

No one is there to pick you up when you stumble during a practice drill that’s lit by moonlight.

No one is there when you’re combing through the 2000-page textbook trying to find the specific sub-section of the tax code you’re looking for.

When you finally build that app, or throw that game-winning pass, or get that Big Four job, those are the moments of glory, and they should be savoured. These are the peaks of life, and they are separated by incredibly long valleys.

The valleys aren’t meant to be “troughs”—they’re not bad, they’re just necessary. Most of your life will probably be spent becoming good at something. You might not be passionate about that thing for the first few weeks or months, but you keep at it. You know your work in the valleys will pay off.

So enjoy the challenge, and await the mountains.

                                                                                                                                       

Hey, thanks for reading. This post was inspired by this Zen Pencils comic and a conversation with a good friend. Sorry if this post isn’t as good as the others, but the idea of enjoying the process felt like it was an idea worth sharing (and TED hasn’t asked me to do a talk yet). Besides that, I have 2-3 other posts that went unpublished and I didn’t want to make a habit out of it. Anyway, constructive criticism appreciated. 

The Consequences of Limiting Yourself

I always thought I was clumsy. When I was a kid, I would always spill things or drop cups; it was never on purpose, but all of these actions proved to me that I should be extra careful when handling anything. It also taught me that there were some things I just shouldn’t pick up.

This belief did some incredible harm when my cousin was born. Like all babies born into loving families, she was held constantly.

For as long as she was a baby, I never once held my cousin. I couldn’t bring myself to hold her out of fear that something terrible might happen.

My cousin is six now and I can see how she is not as close to me as she is to those who held her. I see it every time her parents have to tell her to give cousin Jeremy a hug instead of her running to do so like she does with other relatives.

This is, perhaps, a blessing in disguise since it has shown me how babies bond and extend love to even peripheral family members. But this silver lining wouldn’t have been necessary if I had just realized my limiting belief.

Self-limiting beliefs give us the excuse not to get better. By saying you’re “not a math person”, yes, you’re probably protected from ever having to do math again, but you’re also denied the opportunities that come from being good with numbers.

Like many things, it comes down to cost-benefit. The benefit of my believing in clumsiness may have been a few spills that didn’t need cleaning and glasses that didn’t get broken.

But it came at a cost that will never be worth it.

Editor’s note: I’ve missed you. I’m sorry if this post isn’t as good as the other ones might have been (keyword there is might). It’s tough getting back into form and I appreciate all of you who have stuck with me. If you have a topic idea, I’d love to hear from you! Suggestions can be made in the comments section or on Twitter @JeremyDeMello.

Progress is Possible, or, How I came to love numbers.

My last post on potential got some pretty solid traction; everyone loved reading about what was, for all intents and purposes, an epiphany.

Except for one of my best friends. The message I received from him was “Stop writing blog posts, go back to do doing math!”

My friend knew that my New Year’s Resolution was to stop being afraid of math, specifically data. I came up with this particular promise because I finally realized, after more or less a lifetime of running from them, that numbers were and are an essential part of being in advertising, or in marketing, or in running a start-up. These are all things I hope to do.

I could keep running. Or I could stand and fight.

For a while, I was somewhere in-between. Reading and writing about math isn’t the same as doing it. The only one you fool in the end is yourself.

I started using math in real life. The most meaningful example of this came when I was riding the bus with a friend in the morning and she couldn’t decide whether to get off to get a coffee. 

See, the bus driver always got off at a particular stop for a break, but sometimes he only went to the washroom. If she went to get a coffee while he went to the bathroom, there’s a high chance she’d be late for school. Then again, if she didn’t get a coffee, she’d get to school on time but she wouldn’t be as productive. 

The best option can be calculated using something called a Decision Tree, which you can find below:

$25,000 is approximately the tuition we pay. The cost of time is calculated as the length of a class; if you are late to class, it is highly unlikely you will get marks for participation, which I have taken here to be lost productivity. If you're curious, the textbook on the right is about operations, and is completely unrelated.

The idea is that you multiply the probability of something occurring by the benefit you’re expected to gain or the loss you’re expected to incur. Based on this concept, which is called “expected value”, I figured out that my friend should get a coffee.

It took me 15 minutes to do this, and I did it because I was bored in another class. Phrased differently, you might even say that I did math for fun.

It’s important to not exaggerate the progress this represents. This mostly comes down to simple multiplication and organizing options logically.

And yet, the impact was tremendous. We just had an exam with plenty of numbers, and for the first time, I didn’t shy away from them; I produced three or four pages of numbers that I was confident in. When the professor later revealed that most of the rest of the course would be qualitatively focused, I was sad. This from the guy whose pulse used to be regulated every time a prof said “qualitative is just as important”.

Now, I’m excited to do numbers. Numbers imbue a type of certainty to things, a way to know their feasibility. Of course, it’s important to remember that this type of certainty is contextual, and it’s important to remember that some things are simply not quantifiable. Sometimes, we should take risks despite the numbers, and other times, we should ignore opportunities that seem like numerical certainties.

Progress is possible if you apply lessons in ways that are relevant to you. For the first time, it seems like I’m close to understanding numbers. The value of this is probably quantifiable, but is priceless in my eyes. 

Editor’s Note: Yes, I am uncannily lucky in finding inspiration on public transit. If you have a topic idea, I’d love to hear from you! Suggestions can be made in the comments section or on Twitter @JeremyDeMello.

Potential Isn’t Practical, or, Why you seriously need to stop comparing yourself to others.

It was 11 at night and I was at school. A good friend, one year younger, walked in and we got to talking. He told me about One Young World, an incredible opportunity to meet world-changers and influencers from across the globe.

I was already aware of this organization. I had consciously decided against applying because when I stacked my resume against those of people who were selected, I wasn’t even close to being in their league.

My friend, much wiser than his age would dictate, told me that the organization places great value on the potential to make change. And he told me I had that potential, and that I should apply.

My first action was to thank him for these kind words. My second, third, fourth, and fifth actions were to raise reasons why I wouldn’t even bother applying. All of these were variations of the phrase “I’m not good enough.”

But if the whole process is based on potential, which even I think I have, then why wouldn’t I take a shot?

And it dawned on me that, somewhere along the way, I had managed to convince myself I wasn’t good enough. I might be good in my little bubble, where I know most people and can woo a crowd when I need too. But I’m a little nervous when we move a few steps beyond that level. And I believe I’m simply not good enough when we move to the level of, y’unno, doing important, positive work.

It wasn’t the big failures that drove me to this state of mind but the little ones. Failing to keep up small habits. Failing at things I had done dozens of times before. Failing to take control when doing so could have made all the difference.

Somewhere between all of these little trials, I started to believe I wasn’t good enough. I know it because my dream started to change.

Since I was 14, I have wanted to be the Prime Minister of Canada. We’re a great country with so much potential, if only we could realize how great we could be.

How could I have the audacity to dream of doing something so powerful as leading a nation when I couldn’t even manage to cook an egg properly, or catch the bus on time, or get a single case in class correct (and yes, there were days when all three of these happened).

No, I couldn’t lead. I couldn’t even think of doing it. The country deserved better.

So I pulled back my ambitions. I would have a successful career. I would have many great friends and hopefully a special someone. I’d be okay. In fact, I’d live what might be considered a textbook definition of a good life.

And yet, there was still that tiny whisper inside me, spoken by a voice somehow not silenced.

That voice demands more.

I don’t know if I can provide that “more”, that need to do something positive. I listen to this voice because it makes me feel like I haven’t given up. This feeling is cold comfort when you haven’t actually done anything to prove you haven’t given up on being something spectacular.

Now being the good people you are (thanks again for reading!) you’re probably thinking about the time I wrote about comparing yourself and how it serves no purpose but to make you feel bad.

But through this pep talk, I’ve discovered that it can do something even worse: comparing yourself can make you limit yourself. It makes you focus on what you can do, not on what you could do.

Comparing yourself makes you, or at least made me, think in a way that might be called practical.

Potential isn’t practical. If we measured potential by what was to our knowledge possible, then I sincerely doubt I’d be typing this right now. Literally, the keyboard, computer monitor, and Internet would probably not have been invented.

I know these blogs usually end with some degree of lesson learned or mission accomplished or, on occasion, an almost funny joke. I don’t have one for you this time. I have a story that has yet to be concluded.

I have the knowledge that I’ve been limiting myself. I have the annoyance/blessing/pain of an internal voice that demands more from me. I have the guilt of almost shooting down someone who had the courage to have faith in me.

All of that moaning being released, I’m going to apply to the conference. Because I have nothing to lose, sure. But also because someone sees something in me that I used to. If I don’t get chosen, that faith will not diminish. If I do get chosen, I don’t think it will restore the confidence I used to have, though it will probably help.

But if I don’t take control, then nothing will change. Things will only be okay. And now, finally, the little voice inside isn’t the only part of that can’t accept this.

Editor’s note: If you have a topic idea, I’d love to hear from you! Suggestions can be made in the comments section or on Twitter @JeremyDeMello.

 

General resolves, or, How I will make 2014 awesome.

2013 was, in a nutshell, alright.

I made dozens of new friends. I learned to cook. I started writing a blog, and I believe I became a better writer.

I was more stressed than I’d ever been before. I was always afraid of failure. I spent so many nights either apathetic to my work or praying for miracles. I never missed a deadline, but I never quite did my best. I still did well, because producing under pressure is a by-product of being a “good” procrastinator. I still felt guilty, because that is the primary symptom of all procrastinators.

It felt great to beat the odds, even if I couldn’t beat the demon that was the fear of failure.

There’s nothing I’d love more than to make a sweeping declaration, here and now, that I would never again let that fear hold me back. It would make me feel good and impart to all of you the hope that I believe you’ve come to expect from this blog. The hope that we can all be better.

Yes, we can all be better. That part is true.

But it starts with a belief. More than any quotation, any philosophy, anything at all, it starts with one belief: it’s the belief that you are in control.

There is something alluring about the belief that we are not in control. The belief that I need to be in the mood to work or have the right circumstances to produce. The problem is that, for me, this mood or these circumstances always rose up as the clock counted down.

No more.

Here’s the deal I’m going to propose to you. I’m going to spend one year taking full responsibility. I might still fear failure. But I refuse to let it hold me back anymore.

No more “doing my best, given the circumstances” when I  am the one who brought those circumstances about.

No more “being busy”. Busyness is an excuse. “Oh, why couldn’t you read that paper to know what’s actually happening in the world?” You weren’t busy, you were lazy, and to the point above, you chose not to read it. Being legitimately busy is one thing. Using it as an excuse is quite another.

I have resolutions, which I’ll share next time. If you’re making goals, remember to write them down and to structure them. If you’re so inclined, post them in the comments as a public commitment, and check back in a year to post an update.

Let’s make 2014 awesome. Let’s do it together.

                                                                                                                                       

As an aside, I wanted to say how thankful I am that you took the time to read this post and all the others. I didn’t start blogging to help people, but I continued because I did. What I didn’t expect was to open up as much as I did, and for the blogs to hold me to account as much as they did.

Thank you for reading. Thank your for inspiring me to be better. Have a happy and safe December 31^st, and until next time, C-Suite Dreams!

Editor’s note: If you understand the reference in my title, you’re wonderful. If you have a topic idea, I’d love to hear from you! Suggestions can be made in the comments section or on Twitter @JeremyDeMello.

Santa is real, or, The importance of symbols.

I still believe in Santa Claus. Allow me to explain.

Every year, the halls are decked, cookies are baked, and Christmas specials are watched.

Every year, more importantly, people donate millions of dollars in the form of gifts, food, and volunteer hours.

Make no mistake, Christmas is magical.

What could it be about a season that makes us give so warmly? After all, short of a terrible disaster, such a spirit of goodwill towards our neighbours is hardly ever observed.

I believe that Santa Claus symbolizes all the good of this wonderful season. There is something more than extraordinary in the way that he makes children’s imaginations light up, in the way he makes their eyes widen and their smiles wider.

This is a time of year in which hope seems to be the default state of mind for many. It’s incredible really, that we can spend so much time during the year afraid or stressed or unhappy, yet for one moment, however brief, we can look around or look up and be filled with wonder.

That sense of magic, that feeling of wonder, that inclination to hope, that is what Santa Claus represents, to me and to any other person who wants to believe.

See, it doesn’t matter that Santa is logically impossible. It doesn’t matter that it isn’t possible for a man to fly all around the world in one night and deliver presents to every good little boy and girl. In the context of symbols in general, do details matter at all? What matters is the effect that symbols have on people; in Santa’s case, people are often inspired to be kinder or more patient.

Now, to everyone who is imagining the myriad of ways in which images of Santa Claus inspire people to act in ways exactly opposite of kindness or patience, remember that Santa is a symbol. If I want Santa Claus to be a symbol of hope, he is. If I interpret Christmas as a time of materialism, and see Santa as the manifestation of that, then that’s what he is.

Like so many other things, symbols are a choice. We choose to believe and so we give them power. We choose not to believe and so leave them as a red and white costume.

Would Christmas still be a time of wonder and happiness without Santa Claus? Almost certainly, in no small part because of He who Christmas is eponymously named. But, is Christmas better because of the existence of Santa Claus?

Like I said, it’s your choice.

Editor’s note: I’m incredibly proud I made it through this piece without making a single Batman reference. If you could not help but make the connection, then this is likely the reason we’re friends.

If you have a topic idea, I’d love to hear from you! Suggestions can be made in the comments section or on Twitter @JeremyDeMello.

“That’s easy!”, or, Look how far you’ve come.

Most of you reading this are probably tied down with exams or end of the year work projects. If this is true, then I want to thank you for giving me some of your time.

You’re probably pretty stressed. You’ve worked hard and some of the material still doesn’t make sense, or parts of the project just aren’t coming together.

Imagine for a second that you ran into someone in first year or a new company hire. You see them with an introductory textbook, or you know they’ve been hard at work on their first project. And you see that they’re struggling.

Whether wanting a break from your own difficult work, or just wanting to help, you offer an explanation that’s brilliant in how simple it is.

“So that’s the State of Nature?” they ask, in awe of how well you explained it.

“I can’t believe I was missing that analysis metric!” they say when you point out what seemed like an obvious flaw in their report.

And then you go back to your desk, pounding away on work that seems almost unfairly difficult, not realizing the significance of what you just did.

You helped them like it was nothing. Those concepts that were so difficult to them were once just as difficult for you. And look at you now, cutting through jargon like the veteran you are.

Whether your career is academic or professional, you need to see how far you’ve come. Sure you’re more frustrated than you’d like to be, but that shows that your mind is trying to learn. And the fact that you haven’t given up, that shows determination.

All of this shows you’ve got what it takes. Prove it. You know you can.

                                                                                                            

Editor’s note: I kept this one short on purpose, because as much as I appreciate your time, you really should be working. Remember, trying to find motivation to study is the same as procrastinating.

If you have a topic idea, I’d love to hear from you! Suggestions can be made in the comments section or on Twitter @JeremyDeMello.

Revenge IS like a poison, or, The necessity of awareness.

I’m not someone who’s ever been into revenge. It never solves the problem, it’s never as satisfying as the movies and Shakespeare make it out to be, and it’s more than a small waste of time. All of this, plus the fact that my problems don’t get better by making someone else feel worse, means that I’m one of those who believes that the best “revenge” is living well.

And then I got rejected from touring a consulting company’s headquarters.

Disclaimer: If you’re a recruiter and you’re reading this: 1) Thanks for reading. 2) This is one of those stories with a happy ending that hopefully still includes you hiring me. Also, as I’ve now spoiled the ending of this post for you, the least you can do is read ‘till the end.

That’s a lot to italicize.

Anyway, normally, this rejection wouldn’t be a big deal. I’ve applied for more scholarships than I can remember, and I’ve only ever won a handful. This wasn’t even an application that required a lot of effort-they just wanted a resume and transcript. By all accounts, this one should’ve slid off my back like the others. Sure it’d add to the dry streak I’ve been on for wins lately, but hey, those happen.

And then this firm decided to come to my school to run a case competition.

For you non-business readers (you’re great too!), a case competition is an event where you and a team are given a package of information about a real-life problem a company is facing. In this competition, we would have four hours to come up with a solution and present it to a panel of professors and company representatives.

A normal person would have perceived this as “Oh, cool, a case competition”. But in my weird, glory-deprived state of mind, I thought of it as “You come to my territory, to challenge me to present?” Presenting is the thing I do best, and I made it a personal mission to show this firm what they had missed out on.

And here’s the problem: I became so focused on winning that I failed to learn very much from the competition. Think about how much time I wasted-instead of learning to think more like a consultant, I was strategizing the best way to deliver an “oh, by the way, you rejected me” at the winners’ lunch.

Consider how often you’ve gone into a situation with a negative attitude-a club meeting, a lecture, even a date. I was looking for any excuse to call out the firm and show them how awesome a candidate they were missing out on. These were actions I didn’t take, but in hindsight, actions that would have only validated their rejection of me.

The best I can do is tell you to be more aware, as I know I’ll be. You might not be able to control how you feel, but you can at least know you’re being affected and compensate.

Sure, there’ll be other case competitions, just like how you might have that lecture every Tuesday. But that date could be once-in-a-lifetime. Be aware enough to be at your best.

Editor’s note: If you have a topic idea, I’d love to hear from you! Suggestions can be made in the comments section or on Twitter @JeremyDeMello. Also, if you understand the reference in my title, you’re wonderful.

It’s not terrible, or, Why we need to judge with our own eyes.

Have you ever read awful reviews about a movie that you wanted to see? What about terrible Yelp ratings for a restaurant you wanted to try? Did you end up seeing that movie, or ordering-in from that place?

For better or worse, when we base our perceptions of objects or events off of the feelings of others, we often make different decisions.

Have you ever asked yourself just how deep this tendency runs in you? What important decisions have you made that were very much influenced by the input of others?

Did you choose a school without visiting? What about judging someone before talking to them?

For me, this extended to one of my favourite interests: philosophy. Now before you decide to stop reading, just remember that philosophy, translated from Greek, means “love of wisdom”. If that doesn’t keep you hanging around, then go see that movie you decided against and read the rest of this later.

You still here? Cool.

In the political branch of philosophy, there is a book by a woman named Ayn Rand called Atlas Shrugged. It’s a fiction book that weaves in her philosophy, which is called objectivism. In a nutshell, the book discusses individualism, economics, and the virtues of selfishness.

Atlas Shrugged has made a tremendous impact on modern politics, especially in the United States, where many of those against a larger government or higher taxes often refer to Rand’s work. These people tend to be on the more extreme side of the political spectrum, and since extreme policies tend to be over-simplified and incorrect, I don’t often care to listen to them.

Here’s how this ties back to that movie you never saw: based on the policies created in her name and the kinds of people putting them forward, I never actually read Rand’s work. I just assumed her books would border on propaganda, since they are pretty much treated that way. I thought I knew what I’d find, and I thought that I wouldn’t care for it.

Besides, Atlas Shrugged is 1079 pages long and written in the smallest font you’ve ever seen.

Then a scholarship which gave out substantial prizes for reading and writing an essay about Rand’s work came to my attention. Since my tuition recently quadrupled, I decided to tear open that sucker and see how far I could make. I expected the worst.

My review of Atlas Shrugged? One of the best fiction books I have ever read. It was engrossing, it was incredibly well-written, and it conveyed her ideas eloquently and in a context where you could imagine them being correct, valid, and even just. That’s right: I read over a thousand pages of a philosophy I didn’t particularly like just because it was a great story. Considering I have never read even close to that much of philosophies I do support, I take-away a valuable lesson about storytelling, in addition to another perspective on morality and government.

But I wouldn’t have learned anything if I hadn’t turned to page one.

Editor’s note: If you have a topic idea, I’d love to hear from you! Suggestions can be made in the comments section or on Twitter @JeremyDeMello.

We’re their success, or, Honouring our teachers.

This past week, two good friends of mine lost teachers who were tremendously influential on whom they have become today. Those friends are good, kind people. This post is written in respect to their grief, and as a reminder to the rest of us to be grateful for those who have made us who we are.

I talked a couple of posts ago about standards of greatness. How to define greatness is a question that has bothered me for a long time. I know I want to be great, but I’m not entirely sure what exactly greatness means.

Greatness could mean wealth, or fame, or power. Let’s go deeper though; rather than asking what greatness is or how to get it, let’s ask why we want it. Some will immediately say they want greatness in order to be happy. Not every great person is happy, and depending on your definition, not every happy person is great.

I would say the vast majority of us want greatness for the same reason: we want to be remembered. We want to leave a legacy. The danger with not defining greatness is that we open ourselves up to pursuing any avenue towards this end goal of being remembered.

Teachers have no such problem.

Teachers, whether they instruct inside or outside the classroom, know their standard of greatness; while it does not exclude wealth or fame or power, it does settle for these things either. The teachers I’ve been lucky enough to have have been successful in music, architecture, masonry, archaeology, and business; these are all fields my teachers pursued and left. They wanted to leave a legacy, and found these were not the field in which they could make this happen.

Teachers leave a legacy through their students. Teachers define greatness as creating better people. Teachers are not often remembered around the world or in the annals of history. Yet they and their lessons live on in their students, and in the people their students teach, and so on. Our teachers are great. Our teachers leave both the smallest and largest legacies imaginable.

To my friends who have lost two of their most formidable instructors, you honour their memory every day. You were privileged to have role models like them, and I’m sure they thought equally of you as students.

And to the rest of us who still have our teachers to talk to, what’s a quick email or phone call to say thanks? Teachers love to create better people, and showing gratitude is a hallmark of the best people.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some emails to send.

Editor’s note: If you have a topic idea, I’d love to hear from you! Suggestions can be made in the comments section or on Twitter @JeremyDeMello.