Category: Nonfiction

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Modern TV: Everything to Watch, Nothing Worth Watching

Modern TV

A sarcastic look at reality TV, endless reboots, and how modern television forgot how to make us laugh.

We live in the golden age of television. Modern TV delivers hundreds of channels, dozens of streaming services, and enough programming to occupy a person from birth until the end of universe. Yet somehow, I can spend 30 minutes scrolling through menus before announcing there’s absolutely nothing worth watching.

Humanity has placed a television studio in virtually every pocket, developed algorithms capable of predicting our behavior, and made entertainment available anywhere on Earth. Yet apparently, nobody can figure out how to make a decent half-hour sitcom. I’m not asking for Shakespeare. Sometimes I just want a goofy character, a ridiculous misunderstanding, and a punchline that makes me laugh hard enough to snort whatever I’m drinking. Preferably without requiring me to apologize to the furniture.

Reality Television: Making Stupidity a Renewable Resource

Somewhere in Hollywood, an executive discovered that hiring professional actors and competent writers costs money. Why bother when you can put twelve people with questionable judgment in a house and encourage them to behave like unsupervised toddlers? And thus, reality television conquered civilization.

We have strangers marrying strangers, wealthy people arguing with other wealthy people, and contestants competing for romantic relationships with individuals they probably wouldn’t speak to at a bus stop. Every episode features someone crying in a bathroom, a dramatic confrontation, and at least one person declaring, “I’m just being real.” No, you’re being obnoxious. There’s a difference.

And why are we supposed to enjoy watching people humiliate themselves or each other? Prank shows are particularly baffling. Frightening an unsuspecting person, ruining their afternoon, and shouting “It’s just a prank!” doesn’t suddenly make the behavior clever. It makes you the reason warning labels exist.

I prefer comedy where everyone gets to laugh together. Nobody needs to cry, call an attorney, or issue a public apology afterward. A little silliness, a terrible impression, or the ridiculous convergence circumstances can accomplish the same thing without requiring a psychological evaluation.

Cooking Competitions: Because Apparently Your Taste Buds Are Wrong

I enjoy food. I eat it several times a day, sometimes when I’m not even hungry. I consider myself reasonably qualified on the subject. What I don’t understand is why watching someone else prepare food I cannot taste is entertainment.

And apparently, cooking and baking must now be competitive sports. Three celebrity chefs solemnly declare that one person’s chocolate soufflรฉ is superior because it possesses a more sophisticated flavor profile. According to whom? Perhaps I don’t like truffles. Perhaps lavender belongs in soap rather than dessert. Perhaps I prefer my steak without a decorative smear of something resembling finger paint. Taste is subjective, regardless of how expensive the judge’s culinary education was.

Then there’s presentation. A contestant spends four hours preparing dinner, only to be criticized because the garnish fails to communicate a coherent artistic vision. It’s a pork chop, not a Renaissance fresco.

The baking competitions are worse. Someone constructs a six-foot Eiffel Tower out of cake, fondant, and what appears to be industrial scaffolding. The judges inspect it like a structural engineering project before announcing that the sponge is slightly dry. Perhaps that’s because the contestant spent eleven hours building a suspension bridge out of frosting.

And the same absurdity extends to dancing and runway competitions. Technical skills can be evaluated, certainly, but whether a performance is moving or an outfit is beautiful remains personal preference. Yet a handful of industry insiders pronounce their opinions as though they’ve discovered universal truth. Meanwhile, I’m sitting at home thinking the dress resembles a shower curtain and the dancer appears to be having a medical emergency. But what do I know? I haven’t been professionally trained to appreciate interpretive anguish.

HGTV: Home Improvement for Millionaires

Remember when HGTV actually taught home improvement? You could learn to replace a faucet, repair drywall, install a backsplash, or renovate a bathroom without taking out a second mortgage. You might even finish the episode knowing something useful.

Now we watch a freelance butterfly photographer and a part-time wellness consultant shopping for a $1.7 million home. They need five bedrooms, a gourmet kitchen, mountain views, and enough outdoor entertaining space to host the G7 summit. Naturally, they reject the first house because the guest bathroom has brass fixtures. Apparently, replacing a faucet is an insurmountable obstacle when you’re spending seven figures.

Then come the renovations. A perfectly functional house is purchased, and within twelve minutes, someone is swinging a sledgehammer through the kitchen. Why? Because the house has walls. Every home must now be “open concept,” resembling an airport terminal where the entire family can enjoy the sights, sounds, and smells of whatever is burning in the kitchen.

And can we please stop calling it an open concept? A concept is an idea. Once you’ve knocked down the walls and built the damn thing, it’s an open floor plan. You don’t live in a concept. You live in a house. Although, judging by some of these renovations, the concept may have been better left on paper.

Naturally, the contractor discovers a dramatic problem behind a wall. Plumbing! Electrical wiring! Structural supports! In a house! Who could possibly have anticipated this? Fortunately, the problem is resolved by adding another $85,000 to the budget.

I miss the days when home improvement meant learning how to save $200 replacing a toilet, rather than watching someone spend $200,000 relocating one. At this rate, the next HGTV series will feature a couple spending $3 million renovating a garden shed because the lawnmower deserves an open floor plan.

Whatever Happened to Just Being Funny?

Remember sitcoms? How I Met Your Mother gave us friends navigating relationships and the general stupidity of adulthood. Two and a Half Men gave us Charlie Harper, a man whose entire existence demonstrated why good judgment matters. Neither required us to reconsider our worldview. They just made us laugh.

We had Cheers, Frasier, and The King of Queens. Ordinary people making ridiculous decisions, misunderstanding each other, and occasionally learning absolutely nothing. It was glorious.

Consider how little was required. Cheers needed a bar. Seinfeld needed an apartment and a diner. Frasier needed two brothers capable of turning a cup of coffee into an international incident. Today, Hollywood apparently needs $200 million, seventeen executive producers, a cinematic universe, and a traumatic origin story to accomplish the same thing.

And when executives can’t think of something original, they reboot something we loved 25 years ago. Except now everyone is miserable, emotionally damaged, and required to deliver important speeches about contemporary society.

Imagine a modern Gilligan’s Island. Gilligan spends six episodes processing childhood trauma, the Skipper confronts his authoritarian leadership style, and the Professor delivers a passionate monologue about climate change. Meanwhile, the Minnow is still sitting on the beach because nobody bothered to fix the damn boat.

I’m not opposed to thoughtful television. MASH* and All in the Family addressed serious subjects brilliantly. But they understood that entertainment and meaningful storytelling could coexist without every episode resembling mandatory workplace training.

Sometimes I just want to laugh at something gloriously stupid. A ridiculous voice, a terrible song about a sandwich, or a grown man attempting to convince his family that the dog has been secretly running the household finances. Nobody’s being humiliated, nobody’s delivering a message, and everyone gets to laugh together. Except perhaps the dog, who has apparently been embezzling the biscuit budget.

Congratulations, You’ve Reinvented Cable

Remember when streaming was supposed to save us from expensive cable bundles and commercials? Now we subscribe to multiple services, each with its own password, pricing tiers, and mysterious collection of programming. And the commercials are back. At least cable had the decency to put everything on one bill.

Finding an old sitcom now requires an archaeological expedition through six applications, only to discover it moved to another service last Tuesday. And when I finally locate it, the television demands that I verify I’m a member of my own household.

I’m sitting in my living room, holding a remote control, surrounded by furniture I purchased, being interrogated by a television about whether I belong here. I half expect it to demand two forms of identification, a utility bill, and a notarized statement from the dog. The dog refuses to cooperate. He’s watching squirrels and considers the entire process beneath him. Frankly, I’m starting to agree with the dog.

Just Make Me Laugh

Perhaps I’m getting older. I prefer to think I’m becoming increasingly selective about how much nonsense I’m willing to tolerate. I don’t need strangers screaming at each other, another million-dollar kitchen renovation, or a beloved childhood character reimagined as a miserable shell of their former self. And I certainly don’t need every television program joining the endless cultural argument.

Give me clever sitcoms, ridiculous misunderstandings, terrible impressions, and silly songs. Give me a detective who solves crimes, a spaceship that explores the galaxy, or a game show where somebody wins a refrigerator and everyone applauds. Give me characters who are funny because they’re human, not because they’re delivering a carefully constructed message.

The world is already serious, divided, angry, and exhausting. I don’t need my television joining the argument. Sometimes I just want to sit on the couch, turn off my brain for half an hour, and laugh.

Instead, I spend 30 minutes searching for something to watch, give up, and go to bed.

At least the pillow doesn’t require a subscription.

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We Have Apparently Defeated Boredom

How We Live With Boredom While Being Entertained Constantly

The more I think about it, the phone itself probably isn’t the problem. Blaming the phone is like blaming the refrigerator because you ate an entire cheesecake. The phone was just there. It’s what we’ve put inside the phone that deserves some attention, because we have become extraordinarily good at creating things that prevent us from ever having an unoccupied moment, avoiding boredom.

TikTok may be humanity’s finest achievement in this area. TikTok doesn’t even ask what you’d like to watch. It has removed that burden from your life. You open the app and TikTok basically says, “Don’t worry. We’ve been watching you. We know what you like.” Which should be terrifying. Instead we say, “Great. Show me the raccoon.”

And TikTok does. Then another raccoon. Then a guy fixing a carburetor. Then a woman explaining a murder from 1987. Then a recipe involving cream cheese that seems medically irresponsible. Then another raccoon. At no point did you request any of this. You didn’t wake up that morning thinking, “I’d really like a nice mixture of small mammals, automotive repair, unsolved homicide and dangerous amounts of dairy.” But TikTok knew.

That’s the genius of the endless scroll. There’s no ending. Books end. Movies end. Television shows end. Concerts end. Relationships end. Eventually even a trip to IKEA ends, although by that point you’re carrying a lamp you don’t remember selecting and your marriage has been tested. The scroll just keeps going.

Instagram has a slightly different purpose. Instagram lets us keep track of all the people who are currently having a better day than we are. Apparently everyone is in Italy. I don’t know when this happened. I’ll open Instagram on a Tuesday afternoon and discover that seventeen people I know are standing somewhere along the Amalfi Coast. Was there a meeting? Did I miss an email? I’m sitting at home eating leftover chicken, and apparently everyone I’ve ever met is drinking something orange beside the Mediterranean.

And everyone looks fantastic. Nobody posts a picture from the fourth day of the vacation when the family is tired, somebody has diarrhea and Dad has become irrationally angry about the hotel parking situation. I would follow that account. That’s useful travel information.

Facebook has become something entirely different. Facebook is where you keep in touch with family, remember birthdays and discover that someone you knew briefly in 1996 has developed extremely strong opinions about things. You don’t remember this person being particularly opinionated in 1996. You barely remember this person. But apparently Kevin has done his research.

Kevin has thoughts about monetary policy now. Kevin used to eat glue. But perhaps Kevin has grown. Either way, he has prepared a fourteen-paragraph post about interest rates, and somewhere underneath it two people from your graduating class are about to stop speaking to each other.

YouTube gets me in an entirely different way because YouTube doesn’t feel like wasting time. YouTube feels educational. That’s dangerous. I’ll go to YouTube because I need to know how to fix something. This is responsible adult behavior. I type “how to replace bathroom faucet,” find a seven-minute video, and feel like a capable homeowner.

An hour later I’m watching a 54-year-old man named Steve build a log cabin in northern Idaho using tools from 1883. I don’t live in Idaho. I don’t own land in Idaho. I’ve never considered building a log cabin. But Steve is about to start the chimney, and at this point I have an emotional investment. I’m not leaving Steve now. He’s done beautiful work.

Reddit is even more dangerous because Reddit contains the answer to every question you didn’t know you had. You can type almost anything into a search engine followed by the word “Reddit” and discover that hundreds of people have already spent several years discussing it. “Why does my washing machine smell weird Reddit?” Boom. There’s your community.

Four people know exactly what’s wrong. Three insist you bought the wrong washing machine. Someone recommends vinegar. Someone else says vinegar will destroy it. Two people begin arguing about front-loading machines. Then, somehow, someone blames the government. You close Reddit knowing less than when you arrived but feeling strangely involved.

And then there are news apps. I check the news several times a day, which I tell myself is because I like to remain informed. That’s probably true the first time. By the sixth time, I’m apparently just checking whether civilization is still there. It is. Excellent. I’ll check again after lunch.

Sports apps may be worse because sports have the audacity to happen slowly. Baseball is particularly troublesome. I’ll check the Red Sox score: 3โ€“2. I’ll put the phone down, thirty seconds will pass, and I’ll check again. Still 3โ€“2. What did I think was going to happen? It’s baseball. The pitcher may still be looking at the catcher. Nevertheless, apparently I need visual confirmation.

But perhaps the strangest thing is that the phone itself knows exactly what we’re doing. Every week my iPhone sends me a Screen Time report, and I hate this feature. “Your screen time was up 14% last week.” I don’t remember asking for a performance review from my telephone.

It’s especially irritating because the phone was there the entire time. It participated. You can’t spend all week saying, “Hey, look at this. Somebody liked something. Breaking news. The Red Sox are losing. Someone you barely remember has a birthday,” and then show up Sunday morning wearing little imaginary glasses like an accountant. “Chris, we need to discuss your numbers.”

You were my dealer. Now you’re my therapist? The phone will even suggest that perhaps I should reduce my screen time. That’s rich. This is like a bartender sliding your eighth beer across the counter and saying, “You know, you should really think about drinking less.” Maybe I should, Gary, but you’re sending some mixed signals.

The remarkable part is that we have done all of this because, apparently, at some point we collectively decided that boredom was unacceptable. Not merely unpleasant, but something requiring immediate intervention. Waiting for the dentist? Phone. Waiting for coffee? Phone. Sitting on the toilet? Phone. Watching television? Somehow, also phone.

That last one is particularly impressive because we’re already being entertained. We’re sitting six feet away from a 65-inch television containing professional actors who have spent months and millions of dollars attempting to hold our attention, and halfway through the show our brain decides, “This is good, but I wonder what strangers are doing.”

So we check. Someone made tacos. Excellent. Back to the murder mystery. Wait, what happened? Rewind. Check the phone during the rewind. Miss it again. At some point you have to admire the efficiency.

We’ve managed to turn watching television into a task requiring two screens, three attempts and a recap from the person sitting next to us who was also on their phone. Nobody knows who killed the victim, but we all saw the tacos.

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The Red Sox Didn’t Find Superstars. They Found Roles.

How injuries, opportunity, and a clubhouse full of overlooked players reminded us that success often comes from roles and clarityโ€”not celebrity.

If you had told me back in May that we’d be talking about the Red Sox as one of baseball’s hottest teams, I’d have politely asked if you had accidentally switched to watching the 2004 DVD collection. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The roster was banged up and lacking punch. Established players went down. The trade deadline rumors were already beginning to swirl. Every sports talk show had a list of players who “needed” to be acquired because apparently every problem can be solved by spending someone else’s money.

Instead, something unexpected happened. The Red Sox started winning, and not because a superstar arrived. Not because someone suddenly hit 25 home runs in three weeks. They started winning because baseball did what baseball has always done, it created opportunity. That opportunity clarified roles.

Injuries Changed Everything

No coach wants injuries, and no true fan roots for them. But injuries have an interesting side effect. Under certain circumstances, they eliminate role uncertainty. When the roster is healthy, everyone competes for playing time. Players wonder if they’ll start tomorrow. Young prospects look over their shoulders after every 0-for-4 night, and veterans feel pressure to justify their contracts. Too many players, too few roles.

Then injuries happen. and suddenly there isn’t a debate anymore. You’re playing, go figure it out. Sometimes that’s exactly what a player needs. Positional logjams disappear, the next available player has the job and their role is clarified.

Role Clarity Is Powerful

One of the foundational ideas of the EIPA Framework is that knowledge without clarity rarely produces excellence. Before people can act confidently, they need to understand what success looks like. They need clarity about their role. Peter Lijnse (2025) states “When these roles are clearly defined and intentionally connected, the organization gains bothย strategic alignmentย andย execution excellence“.ย  Players don’t simply want opportunity. They want to know where they fit.

A player who knows he’ll be batting sixth every night can prepare differently than someone who finds out thirty minutes before first pitch that he’s in left field because a player tweaked a hamstring and another has a wrist issue. Having a few more roles defined helps stabilize a clubhouse.

In EIPA terms, Epistฤ“mฤ“ asks leaders to truly understand the talent they have, while Idea challenges them to create clarity around how each person’s strengths contribute to the larger mission. The Red Sox haven’t simply stumbled onto a hot streakโ€”they’ve begun placing players into positions where preparation and opportunity finally intersect.

Confidence often follows consistency. Consistency creates rhythm. Rhythm creates performance. That’s true whether you’re playing second base, leading a software development team, mentoring a new employee, or raising a family. Clarity of roles across a team or in a situation creates positive performance and trust.

When people know their purpose, they’re free to execute it.

Baseball’s Greatest Secret

Fans love prospect rankings, while general managers love payroll flexibility. Media members love blockbuster trades. Baseball, however, has a funny way of reminding everyone that chemistry isn’t found on the back of a baseball card.

Every season a handful of “Who?” players become household names. Why? Because talent has always existed deeper than people realize. The difference is that someone finally gave them enough innings, enough at-bats, enough defensive reps, and enough trust to show what they could actually become.

Preparation finally met opportunity. That shouldn’t surprise anyone. Organizations often underestimate the capability already inside their own walls because they’re too busy searching for the next big acquisition. Conversely they may have too much talent for too few roles, or worse they’ve overestimated the talent of one while neglecting another.

The Clubhouse Changed

Winning changes everything, and players stop trying to be heroes. Instead of swinging for five-run home runs, they move runners. Pitchers attack the strike zone (The one consistent superiority in Boston all season) Defenders relax. A dugout that looked tense in May suddenly looks like a group of kids playing backyard baseball in July. Roles become clear in situations and positions, move the runner, drive in the rbi takes precedence over heroics and individual accolades.

That’s where another element of EIPA quietly appears.

Agapฤ“ is often translated as selfless or servant leadership. In sports, it shows itself when players stop chasing personal statistics and begin celebrating productive outs, relay throws, sacrifice flies, backing up teammates, and doing all the little things that rarely make the highlight reel.

Championship cultures aren’t built when everyone tries to become the star. They’re built when everyone becomes indispensable in their role. The role is anything from utility player to move the runner over, because that run wins it. Roles can change based on situation, day, weather, the pitcher being faced, or the gut instinct of the 30 year coach. But knowing with clarity from day to day and situation to situation who does what.

Confidence is contagious, so is panic. Thankfully, only one of those tends to produce winning streaks. Sometimes addition by subtraction creates the opportunity for confidence and roles clarity.

The Leadership Lesson

This season has become a reminder that organizations often underestimate the talent already inside their own walls. Or overestimate some while underestimating others. When results struggle, the instinct is to search outside. Fire someone and hire someone. Trade for someone. and spend more money.

Sometimes that’s exactly the right move. But sometimes the answer has been sitting three lockers down all along. The person simply needed a chance, or clearer expectations. Or a manager willing to say, “This is your job now.”

That’s where Praxis becomes the difference-maker.

Knowledge and planning are valuable, but they remain ideas until someone is trusted to act. Opportunity without execution accomplishes nothing. Execution without preparation rarely lasts. Great leaders connect the two.

Amazing things happen when people stop wondering if they’re allowed to succeed and simply get to work. One of the great misconceptions in leadership is that success comes from finding extraordinary people. More often, it comes from helping ordinary people discover they were capable of extraordinary things all along.

It’s Still Baseball

Will this last forever? Probably not. Baseball has a remarkable ability to humble everyone eventually. A hot July can become a frustrating August in a hurry. That’s part of what makes the game so endlessly entertaining.

But whether this surge carries into October isn’t really the point. The point is that this team has reminded us of something bigger than baseball. The Red Sox have unintentionally become a case study in the EIPA Framework.

They learned what talent they possessedโ€”Epistฤ“mฤ“.

They gave players clear responsibilities and a vision for successโ€”Idea.

Those players seized the opportunity through consistent executionโ€”Praxis.

And somewhere along the way, individual success became secondary to the success of the clubhouseโ€”Agapฤ“.

That’s leadership, that’s culture. And that’s why teams with far less star power occasionally outperform teams loaded with household names. The Red Sox didn’t suddenly discover a roster full of All-Stars. They discovered something even more valuable. A clubhouse full of players who finally knew exactly what their role wasโ€”and were ready to own it.

Sometimes the biggest acquisition isn’t made at the trade deadline. Sometimes it’s the confidence that’s been waiting inside the clubhouse all along. Whether you’re managing a baseball team, running a business, leading a nonprofit, serving in the military, or mentoring the next generation, the lesson is remarkably consistent.

Know your people.

Give them clarity.

Trust them to act.

Serve something larger than yourself.

That’s baseball.

That’s leadership.

That’s EIPA.

Reference:

Lijnse, P. (2025, October 20). Power of role clarity. BRM Institute. https://brm.institute/power-of-role-clarity/

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Standards Are What We Accept

People rarely rise to the standards we publish. They riseโ€”or fallโ€”to the standards we consistently accept.

Businesses have employee handbooks; schools have honor codes. Sports teams have playbooks and core values. Governments have laws. Families have expectations that may never be written down but are understood just the same.

Yet the greatest threat to any institution is rarely the absence of standards. It is the quiet acceptance of lower ones.

We often believe culture is built by grand speeches, strategic plans, or mission statements framed on the office wall. In reality, culture is built in thousands of ordinary moments. It is shaped by what leaders praise, what they ignore, what they correct, and what they quietly excuse.

Football provides a useful illustration. Every coach worth listening to teaches the fundamentals of tackling. Keep your head up. Lead with the shoulder. Wrap up. Drive your legs. Those principles don’t simply make a player more effective; they help protect the player, his opponent, and the integrity of the game.

Yet anyone who has watched enough football has seen players abandon those fundamentals. Sometimes it happens because the game is incredibly fast. Sometimes it happens because players chase the spectacular hit instead of the fundamentally sound tackle. Regardless of the reason, the question for leadership remains the same:

Was it corrected?

The answer to that question says far more about an organization than the words printed in the coaching manual. The same principle applies in every aspect of life: a manager says punctuality matters but repeatedly overlooks chronic lateness among high performers. A teacher says academic honesty is essential but quietly ignores plagiarism because confronting it would be uncomfortable. A parent says respect is expected but laughs off behavior that undermines it. A leader says collaboration is important while rewarding those who succeed by stepping on everyone around them.

Every one of those decisions sends a message, not the message leaders intend to send. The message people actually receive. Standards are not established by proclamation. They are established by repetition. That is why stewardship matters.

Leadership is often portrayed as decisiveness, authority, or vision. Those qualities certainly have their place. But at its heart, leadership is stewardship. A steward protects what has been entrusted to themโ€”people, institutions, values, and history. They recognize that every overlooked compromise, every convenient exception, and every lowered expectation becomes part of the culture inherited by those who follow.

This is not an argument for perfection; people make mistakes and circumstances vary. Compassion and grace are essential qualities of healthy leadership. But grace is not the same as abandoning standards. Healthy institutions distinguish between a person who falls short and a standard that should be lowered. Good leaders mentor the person while protecting the principle.

That distinction matters. Too often, organizations respond to recurring problems by rewriting expectations instead of helping people meet them. It is easier to lower the bar than to invest in coaching, mentoring, accountability, and growth.

The result is predictable: performance declines, trust erodes, and culture weakens. Eventually, people stop believing the standards were ever real.

One of the quiet truths of leadership is this:

People rarely rise to the standards we publish. They riseโ€”or fallโ€”to the standards we consistently accept.

That truth applies whether you’re coaching a youth baseball team, leading a Fortune 500 company, teaching a classroom, commanding a military unit, serving on a nonprofit board, or simply raising a family.

Standards are not burdens to be carried. They are promises, the kind we make to one another about the community we are trying to build and the people we hope to become.

Healthy institutions are not defined by flawless people. They are defined by leaders who have the courage to protect those promises with consistency, humility, and compassion. Because in the end, culture isn’t created by the standards we write, it is created by the standards we choose to live.

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Healthy Aging Is About Participation, Not Perfection

Why losing an inch off your waist may matter far less than gaining years of mobility, connection, and participation while aging.

I have a confession to make.

At not quite six feet tall and over 200 pounds, I’ve come to terms with a few realities. The lower belly is a stubborn tagalong, aging with me. The love handles appear to have signed a long-term lease agreement. And despite decades of effort, I never benched 200 pounds. Somewhere along the way, I accepted that I was not destined to become a fitness sensation. The world will somehow survive this disappointment.

Like many people, I’ve spent time focusing on the numbers. Weight, waist size, cholesterol, and blood pressure. Repetitive workouts, miles walked. Golf scores that resemble area codes. Those measurements matter (a little), but the older I get, the more I realize they are not the objective. They are indicators, not destinations along the path of aging.

The destination is something much larger.

Time is the most expensive resource any of us possesses. Money gets all the attention because it is easy to count. We can track investments, savings accounts, and retirement balances down to the penny. Time works differently. We spend it whether we realize it or not. We cannot save it, borrow it, refinance it, or earn more of it. Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow is promised to no one. Every day is a withdrawal from an account that never receives any further deposits.

The military taught me many lessons, some more useful than others. I still question whether the tenth safety brief of the week was truly the difference between success and catastrophe, but I understand the purpose now. Repetition creates competence. Competence creates confidence. Confidence creates capability. Aging without capability is not a desired outcome.

There is a reason emergency responders, pilots, military units, and medical professionals practice the same things repeatedly. When something goes wrong, there is no time to wonder where the tourniquet is stored, no time to search for the EpiPen. There is no time to develop a detailed strategic plan complete with PowerPoint slides and stakeholder engagement sessions. One of the strangest things about high-stress situations is that everything seems to slow down while simultaneously moving far too fast. People who have experienced emergencies often describe the same phenomenon. Every detail becomes crystal clear, yet there is no extra time available. Fear tends to occur before and after the event. During the event, there is usually a job to do.

That lesson extends far beyond emergencies. The habits we build today become the capabilities we rely on tomorrow. The future version of ourselves is largely built through boring, repetitive actions that nobody posts about on social media because they aren’t particularly exciting.

Take a walk.

Get some sleep.

Eat reasonably well.

Lift something heavier than the television remote.

Repeat.

Not exactly the material of blockbuster movies.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that fitness isn’t really about appearance. At least not primarily. Fitness is about participation. I want to drive my own car at 80. I want to walk a golf course without feeling like I need a pickup before the 7th hole. I want to travel, explore museums, wander historic cities, and spend far too much time reading plaques that everyone else walks right past. Healthy aging, a healthspan, is the goal.

Most of all, if I’m fortunate enough to have grandchildren someday, I want to watch them play baseball. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I don’t just want to watch them play baseball. I want to have a catch afterward. That’s the difference. I don’t want to remain in the bleachers because I have to. I want to walk onto the grass and say, “Grab your glove.”

When viewed through that lens, health becomes something different. Losing a few pounds, walking more, improving mobility, strength training, and making better food choices stop being acts of vanity. They become acts of stewardship. We are taking care of the machine because we still have places we want to go and people we want to spend time with.

If I lose one inch around my waist over the next year, that would be great. If I lose two inches, even better. But if I lose only one inch while experiencing less pain, sleeping better, playing better golf, enjoying more time with friends and family, and maintaining the ability to do the things I enjoy, I would consider that an unmitigated success.

The inch is not the victory. The life that comes with it is. When I think about healthy aging, I don’t picture a fitness magazine cover. I picture an afternoon in Italy.

Imagine walking into a small cafรฉ in Siena or Florence at 90 years old. You set down a cane that is more of a classy accoutrement than a necessity. You order a coffee and a Moretti. You probably don’t finish the beer. The coffee gets cold because you’re talking too much. Your Italian is questionable. Their English is equally suspect. Yet somehow everyone understands each other perfectly.

Stories are exchanged. History is debated. Someone argues about soccer. You explain why baseball is superior. They insist you are wrong. Everyone laughs anyway.

That image has become my personal test. Not, “How much can I bench?” Not, “What do I weigh?” Not even, “How many inches are around my waist?” Instead, I ask, “Am I making decisions today that increase the likelihood of that afternoon becoming reality?”

There is one final piece to this picture.

Imagine a 50-year-old walking into that same cafรฉ and seeing the 90-year-old at the table. He is still curious. Still engaged. Still mobile. Still participating in life. The older man doesn’t give a lecture about fitness. He doesn’t discuss protein intake, calorie deficits, or the latest miracle supplement that promises eternal youth and probably delivers expensive urine.

He simply lives. And maybe the younger person leaves inspired. Perhaps they decide to take a walk, or finally book the trip they’ve been postponing. Maybe they lose a few pounds, maybe they call an old friend.

The best leaders often teach without teaching. They demonstrate what is possible.

I don’t need to look like a movie star. I don’t need to shoot my age in golf. I don’t even mind carrying a cane someday. I would simply prefer that the cane be optional and stylish rather than mandatory and frustrating.

My goal is not perfection, it is participation. I want to remain curious, mobile, and engaged. I want to continue learning, teaching, writing, traveling, mentoring, laughing, and spending time with the people I care about.

The goal is not to avoid aging, it is to age well. And if that journey happens to include a smaller waist, a better-fitting polo shirt, and the occasional compliment along the way, I am willing to make that sacrifice.

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The Power of Boundaries and the Importance of Being Reasonable

Boundaries, Belonging, and the Courage to Be Reasonable

There seems to be a growing belief that every problem requires an absolute solution. Someone disagrees with you? Cut them out of your life. Your boss asks for help? Establish a boundary. A family member annoys you? Toxic. A neighbor has a different opinion? Problematic.

Sometimes I wonder if we’ve confused healthy boundaries with building a moat around ourselves. Don’t get me wrong. Boundaries matter.

If someone is abusive, manipulative, or consistently harmful, protecting yourself isn’t selfish. It’s responsible. If work is consuming every waking hour of your life, it is reasonable to push back. If a relationship only functions when one person sacrifices everything, that relationship isn’t healthy.

But somewhere along the way, we seem to have forgotten the second half of the equation: being reasonable. A boundary is not a weapon, nor a way to win an argument. It is not a declaration that your needs are the only needs that matter.

A boundary simply defines where your responsibilities end and someone else’s begin. The challenge is that life is rarely black and white.

A friend may need help moving on a Saturday when you’d rather watch baseball or a coworker may ask for assistance when you’re already busy. A family member may call at an inconvenient time because they genuinely need support.

Reasonable people understand that healthy boundaries and healthy flexibility can coexist. You can help without becoming responsible for everyone else’s problems. You can say no without being cruel.

Conversely, you can say yes without becoming a doormat. You can disagree without ending a friendship (Respect, Disagreement, and the EIPA Framework).

For much of my life, I wasn’t particularly good at setting boundaries. Part of that was personality. Part of it was wanting to help. Part of it was simply wanting people to like me.

If you’ve ever struggled with social anxiety, felt left out, or spent time wondering why you didn’t quite fit in, you know how powerful that desire can become. You don’t want to disappoint anyone. You don’t want to create conflict. You don’t want to be the reason someone is upset.

So you say yes. You volunteer, take on one more responsibility. You accept treatment you shouldn’t accept. You convince yourself that if you’re accommodating enough, helpful enough, or agreeable enough, eventually you’ll earn your place.

The problem is that people who struggle with belonging often become experts at carrying burdens that were never theirs to carry. I know because I’ve done it. Not because anyone forced me to, but because saying no felt uncomfortable and stressful. Saying no felt selfish. Saying no felt like risking rejection, or worse.

The irony is that failing to set boundaries doesn’t create healthier relationships. It creates confusion, resentment, and exhaustion. People begin expecting what should have been appreciated. You become responsible for problems that aren’t yours. And eventually you realize you’ve spent so much energy trying to make everyone else happy at the cost of your own sense of well-being, that you’ve forgotten to ask what you actually need.

Healthy boundaries weren’t something I learned because a book told me to set them. I learned them because I eventually discovered that constantly trying to earn acceptance is a losing strategy. The people worth having in your life don’t require you to sacrifice yourself to keep them there.

The strongest leaders understand this balance better than most. A leader with no boundaries eventually burns out trying to satisfy everyone. Every request becomes urgent. Each complaint becomes their problem, every conflict becomes theirs to solve.

However, a leader with rigid boundaries isn’t much better. They become unavailable, detached, and unwilling to adapt when circumstances change. The best leaders know when to hold the line and when to bend.

Think of a tree during a storm. The tree that refuses to move may break, but the tree that bends with every gust may never grow straight. The healthy tree does both, using roots while maintaining flexibility.

There is another side to this conversation that often gets overlooked. Not everyone arrives at a workplace, team, classroom, or community with the same experiences. Some people naturally speak up, while others confidently establish boundaries. Some walk into a room assuming they belong there, others do not.

There are individuals who carry years of being overlooked, excluded, bullied, or dismissed. They may hesitate to share ideas. They may volunteer for everything because they fear disappointing others. They may avoid conflict because conflict has historically come at a personal cost.

These individuals are not weak. In many cases, they have simply learned different survival strategies. This is where leadership matters. The EIPA framework challenges leaders to move beyond managing people and toward understanding them.

Knowledge asks us to learn who people are.

Clarity asks us to see their strengths, challenges, and potential honestly.

Action asks us to mentor, coach, and develop them.

Service asks us to invest in their success rather than merely extracting their effort.

A good leader recognizes that every person brings something different to the team.

The loudest voice is not always the wisest, and the most confident person is not always the most capable. The quiet individual sitting at the edge of the room may simply be waiting for someone to show genuine interest in what they have to offer.

When leaders take the time to understand those differences, something remarkable happens. The person who struggles to set boundaries begins learning that their value is not dependent on saying yes to everything. The person lacking confidence begins finding their voice. The person who once felt left out begins discovering where they belong.

They start to feel a sense of belonging, not because they were forced to fit in. Not because they changed who they were. But because someone helped them recognize the strengths they already possessed. That is mentorship; it is leadership. And perhaps most importantly, that is how future leaders are created.

One lesson I’ve learned over the years is that service and self-sacrifice are not the same thing. While helping others is noble, serving others is worthwhile. But service without boundaries eventually becomes depletion, even despair. You cannot continuously pour from an empty cup, lead without energy, support others without rest, or help people while neglecting yourself. Particularly when you feel overlooked or discounted.

Healthy boundaries are not selfish; they are an act of stewardship. They allow us to continue showing up for the people who matter most without losing ourselves in the process.

In EIPA terms, boundaries are where knowledge, clarity, action, and service meet. They require us to understand our limits, see situations honestly, act consistently, and care for both ourselves and others.

The ultimate goal is not to teach someone to build higher walls. It is to help them develop the confidence to open and close the gate themselves. In a world increasingly encouraging us to choose sides, draw lines, and separate ourselves into smaller and smaller groups, perhaps the real skill isn’t setting stronger boundaries.

Perhaps it’s learning how to set healthy boundaries while still leaving the gate open. Because walls divide, but boundaries guide. And reasonable people may know the difference if they are taught.

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The Fish and the Tree: What the Red Sox Can Teach Us About Leadership

Providing the Challenge and the Opportunity

The Boston Red Sox have no shortage of talent. They have stars, prospects, veterans, coaches, executives, and millions of passionate fans who care deeply about the organization. Yet as I have watched the conversations surrounding Brayan Bello, Rafael Devers, and the club’s future, I find myself thinking less about baseball and more about leadership.

Specifically, I find myself wondering whether organizations sometimes focus too much on labels and not enough on people.

Brayan Bello and the Search for Consistency

Consider the Bello situation. Every Red Sox fan can see the talent. The sinker has movement. The changeup can be devastating. On the right night, Bello looks like a pitcher capable of dominating major league hitters. Yet consistency has remained elusive, and the discussion often becomes simple: Should he remain a starter, move to the bullpen, or be sent to AAA?

Those are fair baseball questions. But I think there is a more important leadership question. Where can Bello best help the Red Sox win? That may sound like a minor distinction, but it is an entirely different conversation.

The Fish and the Tree

A popular saying, often incorrectly attributed to Albert Einstein, suggests that if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it may spend its entire life believing it is incapable. Whether Einstein actually said those words is beside the point. The idea is hardly new. Similar lessons appear in educational fables such as George H. Reavis’ The Animal School, where animals are judged against standards that fail to recognize their natural strengths. The lesson remains powerful.

Perhaps Bello is baseball’s version of a fish being asked to climb a tree. A fish is not untalented, nor lazy, nor broken. A fish simply thrives in the water.

The question is not whether the fish possesses talent. The question is whether we have placed it in the environment where its talents can flourish. That is where leadership enters the discussion.

Too often, organizations approach struggling performers with a verdict.

“You failed.”

“You are not good enough.”

“We need someone else.”

Honest Conversations Matter

Good leaders approach the situation differently. They provide both challenge and opportunity. Challenge plus opportunity is a leader’s responsibility, a concept that aligns closely with the principles outlined in the EIPA Framework. Challenge without opportunity becomes criticism. Opportunity without challenge becomes complacency. The two must coexist; learning to have talent conversations (Center for Creative Leadership) is non-negotiable for leaders.

Imagine a conversation with Bello that begins not with a demotion, but with belief.

“Brayan, we know you have the talent to succeed, and we think you can help this team win.”

“We also believe there may be another path that allows your strengths to emerge more consistently.”

“We want you learning from veteran pitchers, in their environment.”

“We want you working alongside people who have experienced success, adversity, reinvention, and pressure.”

“We are not giving up on you, we are investing in you.”

Of course, in this instance, a previous conversation with prospective mentors has to take place. They need to be willing and able to take Bello under their wing, teach the nuances, and provide the left and right safety nets to function.

That is a very different conversation. Perhaps the answer to Bello’s struggles is mechanical. Perhaps it is statistical. Perhaps it is mental. None of us can know for certain. What we do know is that people often perform better when they understand the challenge before them and can clearly see the opportunity on the other side.

I often wonder about Rafael Devers. Not because I know what conversations occurred behind closed doors, but because I understand the importance of communication. Imagine if several years ago the organization sat down with Devers and said:

“Raffy, we want you in Boston for your entire career.”

“We believe you can become one of the greatest Red Sox players of your generation, if not all time.”

“We want to challenge you to improve defensively at third base.”

“We also want to create an opportunity for you to learn first base.”

“Not because we are replacing you.”

“Because we see a future where versatility extends your career, increases your value, and keeps you wearing a Red Sox uniform for years to come.”

Would the outcome be different? Perhaps, perhaps not. No leader can guarantee success. No coach can guarantee buy-in. No executive can guarantee acceptance. Leadership is not about controlling outcomes.

The Importance of Mentorship

Veterans such as Aroldis Chapman and Garrett Whitlock have experienced the highs and lows of professional baseball. They understand something many young players eventually learn. A player’s value is not determined by a title. Be that title Starter, Reliever, Setup man, or Closer.

Those are labels. The real objective is helping the team win. Red Sox history provides a valuable reminder. The 2004 World Series championship team is remembered for David Ortiz, Manny Ramirez, Curt Schilling, and Pedro Martinez and rightfully so.

But the Red Sox do not win that championship without Mike Timlin and Alan Embree (or Bellhorn, Cabrera, or Mientkiewicz, et al., for that matter).

Championship teams require stars. They also require players who embrace roles and excel in them. That lesson extends beyond Brayan Bello. The leadership needs to forget the label and provide the challenge (think role) and the opportunity (innings reliever behind an opener, perhaps). Excelling with the challenge and opportunity may build the exact mental state needed to be a superstar, ignore the label and pressure that comes with it, and fill the role or need.

Leadership Beyond Baseball

Leadership is about creating the conditions where success becomes more likely. That requires more than action. It requires conversation.

The conversational requirements of leadership are honesty, support, accountability, and genuine care. Honesty without support feels harsh. Support without honesty feels hollow. Care without accountability creates excuses. Accountability without care creates resentment.

The best leaders combine all four. They tell people the truth. They provide support. They demonstrate genuine care. They establish accountability. And, most importantly, they help people see a path forward.

Whether in baseball, business, education, government, or family life, people are more willing to accept difficult challenges when they understand the purpose behind them and believe someone is committed to helping them succeed.

That is why leadership is not simply about evaluating talent. It is about developing talent. It is about identifying potential. It is about helping people become capable of more than they believed possible. The goal is not to force people into boxes; it is to identify where their strengths can flourish.

Because once a fish finds the ocean, nobody worries about how well it climbs trees.

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Finding Common Ground Part II: Respect, Disagreement, and the EIPA Framework

Common Ground โ€” Essays on shared experiences that bring people together.

Modern life often feels defined by disagreement. The first essay in this series focused on the shared experiences that bring people togetherโ€”the quiet moments where division fades without effort. This essay moves to the next step, finding common ground.

Finding common ground is not only about shared environments or experiences. It is also about how we engage when differences are clear, when agreement is unlikely, and when the conversation itself becomes the test.

This essay moves from shared experience to disciplined engagementโ€”applying the EIPA framework to disagreement without division.

The Discipline of Respect (EIPA)

There is a quiet failure in modern discourse.
Not a lack of intelligence. Not a lack of information.

A lack of discipline.

We no longer struggle to understand each otherโ€”we struggle to value understanding at all.

Under the EIPA frameworkโ€”Epistฤ“mฤ“, Idea, Praxis, Agapฤ“โ€”finding common ground is not a soft skill. It is a structured practice. One that demands clarity, restraint, and ownership.

Epistฤ“mฤ“ โ€” Knowing What We Share

Before debate, before position, before conclusionโ€”there is reality.

Most people share far more than they admit:

  • A desire for stability
  • A need for dignity
  • A responsibility to family
  • A hope for a better future

These are not ideological positions. They are human constants.

The failure begins when we ignore these foundations and jump directly to differences. When we do that, weโ€™re not engagingโ€”weโ€™re posturing.

Common ground is not discovered at the extremes.
It is identified at the base layer.

Idea โ€” Reframing the Objective

If the goal of a conversation is to win, it is already lost.

A better objective:

  • Understand the other personโ€™s position clearly enough to explain it back to them
  • Identify where alignment exists, even if small
  • Accept that disagreement is not a defectโ€”it is a condition of independent thought

Agreement is not required. Respect is.

There is strength in saying:

โ€œI see your position. I donโ€™t agree with it.โ€

No embellishment. No insult. No performance.

Just clarity.

Praxis โ€” How This Looks in Practice

Finding common ground is not theoretical. It is behavioral.

It shows up in simple, repeatable actions:

  • Listen without preparing your rebuttal
  • Acknowledge valid points explicitly
  • Own your errors immediately and without qualification
  • Do not celebrate being right
  • Do not punish someone else for being wrong

This is where most people fail.

Accuracy becomes ego.
Correction becomes humiliation.
And dialogue collapses into distance.

The discipline is in restraint.

You can be correct and still damage the outcome.
You can be wrong and still strengthen the relationshipโ€”if you own it.

Agapฤ“ โ€” The Standard of Conduct

At the highest level, this is about how we choose to treat people.

Not those who agree with us.
Everyone.

Extending a hand is not weakness. It is control.

It says:

  • โ€œI am confident enough not to diminish you.โ€
  • โ€œI am grounded enough to stand without pushing.โ€

Respect is not earned through alignment.
It is demonstrated through conduct.

And when that standard is held consistently, something shifts:

  • Conversations slow down
  • Defensiveness lowers
  • Understanding becomes possible

Not guaranteed. But possible.

The Discipline of โ€œAgreeing to Disagreeโ€

This phrase is often dismissed. It shouldnโ€™t be.

To genuinely agree to disagree requires:

  • Full comprehension of the opposing view
  • Acceptance that resolution is not always achievable
  • A decision to maintain respect regardless

That is not avoidance.
That is control over ego.

Not every issue will resolve.
Not every belief will align.

But every interaction presents a choice:

Push people away.
Or leave the door open.

Closing Thought

Common ground is not a compromise of belief.
It is a commitment to how belief is carried.

Own your mistakes.
Hold your accuracy quietly.
Extend your hand first.

Most people are not as far apart as they appear.
They are simply standing behind defenses that no one has chosen to lower.

Be the one who lowers it.

Author

Chris McCarty writes about leadership, culture, and the role of sport in community life. His essays explore how shared experiencesโ€”particularly sportsโ€”can bring people together in a divided media environment.

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The Gap Between Cruise and Flight โ€” And the Missed Opportunity in Plain Sight

The Observation

Every day in Miami, thousands of travelers disembark from ships at PortMiami by mid-morning. Their flights out of Miami International Airport are often scheduled for late afternoon or evening. That leaves a predictable gap:

  • 4 to 8 hours
  • Luggage in hand
  • No defined place to go

The system moves them off the ship efficiently. It moves them efficiently onto a plane. It does not account for everything in between.

The Constraint

Airports are not designed for waiting. They are designed for flow. Move people:

  • From curb to gate
  • From gate to aircraft

Seating, amenities, and services are optimized for short dwell times, not extended ones. Airlines reinforce this:

  • Bags cannot be checked too early
  • Security access is tied to boarding windows

The result is a structural gap, not an oversight.

The Missed Alignment

This gap exists despite clear incentives:

  • Airports benefit from increased non-aeronautical revenue
  • Cruise lines benefit from repeat bookings
  • Airlines benefit from bundled travel and retained customers
  • Travelers are willing to pay for comfort, convenience, and simplicity

Everyone stands to gain.
No one is specifically aligned to solve it.

A Simple Model

A purpose-built solution does not need to be complex. A dedicated, pre-security space for cruise-to-flight travelers could include:

  • Secure luggage intake and storage
  • Flexible seating designed for extended stays
  • Shower and personal hygiene access
  • Workspace and quiet areas
  • A full-service, high-capacity restaurant
  • Optional travel planning desks for future bookings on cruises, flights, or both
  • Reliable Wi-Fi
  • On-demand media access

Access would be tiered:

  • Entry for general use (seating, basic amenities)
  • Pay-per-use services (luggage, showers/hygiene, work pods)
  • Premium bundled options (enhanced connectivity, concierge services, premium media access)

Revenue would come from:

  • Access fees
  • Service usage
  • Restaurant leasing and participation
  • Travel booking commissions

This is not a reinvention of the airport. It is a targeted adjustment to a known pattern.

The model would bring together cruise lines, airlines, the airport, and local and state stakeholders to address a clearly monetizable gap.

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March Madness Is Still Greatโ€”But the Format Is Showing Cracks

The NCAA March Madness tournament is the most entertaining event in American sports. Thatโ€™s my viewโ€”but even if you disagree, itโ€™s hard to deny its place as the bridge from winter into spring. March Madness delivers unmatched excitement, but beneath the buzzer beaters and Cinderella runs, the structure of college sports is increasingly shaped by television revenueโ€”not competition.

The pageantry, heroics, and Cinderella runs create lasting stories. The emotionโ€”raw, immediate, and often unfilteredโ€”cements the tournament in American lore. One play, one shot, one steal can turn a teenager into a national figure overnight. As an example, in Storrs, Mullins will be remembered forever, while the name Laettner is still spoken of like a villain from a different era.

But the format, like the College Football Playoff, shows cracks. Play-in gamesโ€”especially for 11 seedsโ€”highlight a system driven less by competition and more by television inventory. More games mean more revenue. Thatโ€™s the reality.

The losing team in an 11-seed play-in goes home without ever reaching the true field. Why not seed them properly as 12s? Because few would watch expanded games at the lowest seeds. And realistically, are there 68 teams capable of winning a national title?

College football faces the same question. Are there truly 12 to 16 national title contenders? No. The regular season still mattersโ€”or should. Instead, power conferences continue to consolidate programs, concentrating talent and influence. Again, television drives the structure.

March Madness remains exceptional. But selection and structure still favor large conferencesโ€”the ones that deliver ratings. Visibility, not balance, shapes the field. Sports create shared moments and common ground in ways almost nothing else can. But when revenue becomes the primary driver, the game doesnโ€™t just changeโ€”it quietly stops being fair.

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