team

Photo by Willian Justen de Vasconcellos on Unsplash

I learned about an effective way to map out the future by looking into the past from my colleague, Dave Kerwar (thank you!). I’m a nomad, there’s excitement in not knowing the road ahead. But I need to set goals or else I’ll wander off somewhere I don’t want to be.

When we moved two years ago to a new city and a new job, I had no idea what to expect. But if I could pinpoint where I was now, I could map one step ahead to where I wanted to be. Doing so would enable me to use this new opportunity to help me get there.

So, I thought to myself, what have I learned at every stage of my life? At Hamilton College, I learned:

1. How to question assumptions

I talked to many fascinating people about complex topics: journeys, presentness, perspective, pain, spirit, and world. I had to think hard to keep up with smarter people. One-on-one conversations were the best. Like many other conversations, spending hours with a friend questioning the legitimacy of things we take for granted caused me to see the world in a fresh way. I walked home and saw new life in everything around me. Does that tree exist before I notice it? What does that mean about myself? I followed these threads, dove into deep ideas, and practiced questioning everything.

2. How to use logic

I majored in Mathematics and Philosophy, the combination of which I view as logic. In Math we spent most of our time assuming stuff and using those things to prove other stuff. In Philosophy, I learned how we can and should assume anything, because everything should be questioned. I play with assumptions, prove more things, and see what happens. For example, let’s assume that I have free will, even if everything appears deterministic. As a result, I gain confidence in taking responsibility. That’s a good result. Free will may be an illusion, but it could be a beneficial one. As a result of this practice, I can better use logic to question and seek truth in ideas.

3. The power of a team

I rowed on the Crew team. We would sweat and bleed together. Individuals would fight and disagree, but we all worked toward winning together. In some moments, I truly felt that our team achieved something greater than the sum of our individuals. There’s an experience in rowing when all rowers are perfectly in sync: the boat starts floating on top of the water and every ounce of effort compounds into more and more speed. This is the rower’s version of nirvana. We achieved that heavenly state only a few seconds in all four years. By living this, I know that a team can accomplish superhumanly things by working toward a common goal.

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Photo by Scott Webb on Unsplash

The entire season had led to this. Sweating, pushing, and training together. Moving and thinking as one unit; one team. It was the day before our championship race. It was also the last day of classes. So, most students were partying. But we were at practice.

As we were warming up, a few underclass team members approached me and told me that they had seen a freshman named Bart drink a beer earlier that morning.

Wait, what? This morning?

This morning?

My mind went reeling.

Bart was not supposed to do that. Our team had a rule of no alcohol 48 hours before a race, not to mention Bart was underage. The coach would ban Bart from racing, his boat would be scratched, and three other teammates would lose the opportunity to compete. The whole team would know. Bart would be ostracized and hated.

I pulled Bart aside and asked him whether he had drunk a beer. He paused, and then admitted yes, but it was “only a beer.”

Ugh. What do I do? The behavior itself was wrong. But telling the coach would cause so much trouble. It was only a beer.

If I had been in this situation earlier in my life, maybe I would have covered it up. Because that sounded easier. Because nobody likes a tattle-tale. Because things were going so well that season. Because I thought managing the expectations of a few underclassmen was easier than involving the whole team. Because this was my second-to-last day.

Typically, I take time to reflect alone on decisions like this. But I didn’t have time. I had to react fast. It was a Trebuchet problem, but with the deadline of a Rubber Band problem. My cheeks and palms swelled as the raw gravity of responsibility knocked me sideways.

Photo by chuttersnap on Unsplash

So, I took a chance.

I told the coach.

Coach got angry at me.

Then coach got angry at Bart.

Then Bart got angry at me.

The boat didn’t race the next day.

Bart didn’t return the next season.

Photo by Matteo Vistocco on Unsplash

I had the responsibility to maintain lasting trust in the structure of our organization. This structure required that every team member live in a way that benefits the organization and does not harm it. This way of life was partially codified by the explicit acceptance of concrete policies such as no alcohol 48 hours before a race and no underage drinking. But it was also constructed by the implicit acceptance of ethical customs, like everyone suffering at practice together instead of partying.

As a team, we needed a real demonstration of these explicit and implicit limits. And to reinforce them, an example had to be made showing what happens if these boundaries were overstepped.

The context surrounding this event had been stirring for years. It unearthed the tectonic cultural forces that had been changing the team from social club to serious competitive squad. It highlighted the effects of us replacing Friday night ragers with movie nights.

To this day, I don’t know whether I made the right choice. I may have ruined Bart’s life, caused social anguish, and crushed his dreams. I don’t expect forgiveness. But I tell myself that I left the organization better than I found it, and I prevented many future “just a beer”s. I hope Bart understood why I chose that way.

Moving forward, I’m concerned that I’ll be faced with more difficult ethical problems requiring faster reactions.

What if Bart had been in my boat? And if banning him meant squelching my own opportunity to compete? Or if Bart had been 21 and the 48-hour policy hadn’t been formally in place? These problems are difficult to solve.

Word travels fast in our ultra-connected world. So, small actions can have large-scale effects. It’s impossible to predict whether a tiny misstep will be overlooked or will ruin lives. The best thing we can do is to think simply, with honesty and humility. Because even if we are clumsy, at least we are trying.