Inequality: It’s Built Into Human Psychology

We can’t handle choice and unfamiliarity. 

Try this: name 4 social networking sites. Or 4 hip hop artists. Or 4 brands of sports cars.  Or 4 makers of phones. Or 4 international non-profits.

The first 2-3 are easy. The 4th is a struggle. Our minds drop off the cliff when it comes to its natural retention of more than 3 data points in any given category. We stick to our 3 favorites of just about everything: beer, jam, star employees, gadgets, musicians and authors. Our entire thought processes and decisions are made largely through our confined window of familiarity into the world.

Our politicians are manufactured on this phenomena. Arnold Schwarzenegger rose from action hero to governor of the largest state in America. Imran Khan, Pakistan’s revered cricketeer who brought home the world cup in 1992, is a serious contender as the next Prime Minister of his country. 

Our celebrities are manufactured on this phenomena. Many of the most popular musicians don’t even produce their own music. They are the brand and face of a well-oiled industrial machine pumping out what people are familiar with.

Our businesses are manufactured on this phenomena. Jack Welch, the former CEO of General Electric, believed that any of his divisions which aren't the best or second best in its industry should be divested his company's portfolio. That mindset was key to GE’s revival from a laggard to one of the world’s most revered companies. 

Choice is so much easier when we put a ceiling on the number of possibilities in our minds. Where we make our choices, our wallets will follow. As the worlds population base continues growing exponentially, wealth and access will inevitably shine itself ever more brightly upon the lucky 3. 

After all, inequality is built into our psyche.

Does choosing a corn cob stress you out?

The Virgin Voyage - Buying and Riding a Motorcycle in Pakistan

I have always wanted a motorcycle ever since I rode a scooter for the first time in Thailand 7 years ago. I still remember the unlimited sense feeling of freedom I felt in the paradise of Thailand's beaches, working my way up a strenuous mountain path to be rewarded with an incredible view and a delicious pad thai. After riding on the back of a few bikes recently and feeling the exhilarating rush of air in my face, I knew that Pakistan would be as good of a place as any to finally realize my dreams of owning a motorcycle. 

My colleague Jamshaid gave me my first and last motorcycle lesson. So the right pedal is a brake, the left pedals are for gearing up and down, the right handlebar is the front brake and the left handlebar is the clutch. 30 minutes and a couple spins around the neighbourhood later, Jamshaid tells me with the authority of a wise master guru "you are ready". Woohoo!

Moazzam, another colleague and avid automotive enthusiast with 3 cars and 4 motorbikes, took me to Lahore's sprawling automotive market to buy my first bike. He worked in the automotive sector for 30 years before joining AMC and knew every single person in the market. It was an incredible place, reminding me of a scene out of the dusty planet Tatooine from Star Wars. There were shops everywhere with people banging away loudly at metal or pouring hot oil solutions to clean out different automotive parts.

I fell in love with the first bike that I saw, a 150 cc Ravi. Moazzam told me maybe I should be less ambitious for my first bike so we moved on. Then I saw her. It was like a moment at a house party where I lock eyes with a beautiful girl who's into me. Her headlight gazed right into my soul from 20 meters away and I was inextricably drawn to her. My love at second sight was a 2012 Honda CD100 with 100cc's of raw amateur-level-motorcycle-power. Moazzam negotiated an amazing price for me and I'll be only paying maybe $10/month of depreciation on it. 

We returned a few days later to drop off my cash and pick up the bike. Moazzam brought his son who was extremely excited to help me drop the bike off at my home. He beamed with joy at the opportunity to ride my bike and offered to buy it from me after I leave Pakistan. In all my excitement Moazzam also

ended up buying a gorgeous 150 cc Suzuki from the same dealer... I might end up trading in my bike to his son and borrowing his Suzuki after a few months!

I scarfed down lunch while catching up with my friend and fellow Bailey before hopping on my bike with the same amount of excitement as when I got my first Nintendo 64. My first challenge was getting the bike out of my uphill driveway. It took 5 frustrating stalled efforts to get my bike out of my house... great.

The hardest part about riding a bike is getting her started without stalling the engine. The clutch on a bike is much less forgiving than that a car's. Not to mention the distraction of cars whirring by inches away from me with the nonchalant flair of the Pakistani driving culture. 

I found myself a nice quiet residential strip to practice launching my bike before making my way out to the main roads. Driving in Pakistan is absolutely insane. Cars don't yield to you proactively. You basically get in their way and assume that they will just move to avoid you. Somehow, the flow of traffic ends up working out in this country.

The relatively empty Sunday roads made for a real fun day to learn how to ride. I fumbled through my gear shifts, feeling an uneasy lurch every time I gave too much gas or didn't release my clutch smoothly enough. There were just way too many data points in my head to process and I reminded myself of the power of emotion and the subconscious. I stopped trying to think my way through riding and started following my emotions. I felt the cracks of the road, the rumble of the engine, the clicking of the gears just before they merged seamlessly with the drive train, and it changed everything - I started cruising effortlessly through the experience.

I floored it a couple times and loved the feeling of the bike's engine roaring between my legs, giving a whole new level of meaning to the word "horse power". As I whizzed by other bikes, sedans, jaywalking pedestrians, rickshaws and donkey carts, I found myself naturally gravitating back to the center lanes of the road where I was no longer scared of being surrounded by traffic. It was a feeling of pure bliss and liberation. 

Along the main roads were all the signs of service to the elites of society - all the western brand names were well represented on the main strips. I cruised by glitzy malls with brands such as Armani and Rolex situated alongside fine Western dining establishments such as KFC and McDonalds. After a good 30 minutes of riding I figured it was time to go back home. 

Lahore is quite confusing to navigate and I found myself taking a wrong turn and going through a narrow dirt underpass under a railway track. I entered a whole other world on the other side of the tracks. Only but a railway track demarcated the division between rich and the poor. There was an entire community created, and thriving, along the other side of the tracks. I cruised by children playing cricket on the streets, teens idling away their Sunday afternoon on billiards tables set up on the side of the railway tracks, and entrepreneurs selling curries out of crude vats of steel off the tracks. 

It was a fascinating slice of Pakistani life that lasted about 2 kilometers before I found a railway crossing to return home. The gates were down and I waited patiently alongside a sea of Pakistani drivers. Acumen says a lot about "standing with the poor" but they never said anything about "waiting to cross a railroad with the poor and wearing a stealth mode bike helmet yet still attracting tons of curious glares from commuters stuck in traffic who don't see a lot of foreigners."

Soon, the gates flung open and traffic started moving. Everyone was honking at each other and maneuvering opportunistically to get a couple slots ahead in traffic. I got my bike started and started the arduous journey uphill through the track crossings while surrounded by many impatient commuters. Talk about a high pressure situation. And I passed the test without stalling.

My new pride and joy. Her name is Da Bang.

What We Did Last Time

It’s too easy to fall into a trap of repeating the past as we create the future. That approach worked last time for me... let’s use it again.

Our commitment to getting stuff done has cultivated bad habits for creation. We don't challenge ourselves to solve problems in new ways because it's easier to simply do what we were told to do last time. We strive for efficiency and chase the path of least resistance based on proven models and approaches. We stop taking risks because we can get to a product that is “good enough” without trying anything new.

As I move forward into my creative passions this year, I find myself constantly compelled to follow my past successes. Harmonizing my melodies in my music based on chords that I know too well. Tying my thoughts together in my writing with logical pyramids. Using the same compositions and processing techniques in my photography. Articulating myself with structure and form rather than raw emotion.

Innovation comes from intercepting that nagging urge to repeat ourselves and replacing it with an authentic pursuit of the art of creation. With every brush stroke should come an equivalent effort to erase the modes we know so well from the past. 

If this post doesn't inspire innovation then... here's a goat in a sweater

If a Tree Falls…

If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound? What if the tree was the largest and heaviest of all the trees, crashing faster and harder than any tree before it?

We have more intellectual capacity in our society than ever before, yet the same issues of misunderstanding and hatred between caste, creed and religion continue to burn deeply into our humanity as they have for millennia.

The felling of 12 Parisian trees roared throughout the forest with a thunderous boom that rattled the very roots of its existence. The felling of 2,000 Nigerians trees echoed but only a whisper. The forest did not feel the pain of these falling trees; trees that were of a different color from the other side of the forest, but trees nonetheless.

All the reason and thoughtfulness in the world cannot solve our problems alone because we share in common only our unreasonableness. The common denominator between people is not the intellectual, but the emotional. We may not think the same but we feel the same.

Our greatest writers and philosophers may succeed in amplifying the sound of each and every falling tree, but what have we done to make the forest listen?

So Far Away...

Thoughts racing through my head during a village homestay in rural Pakistan on January 4, 2015

I drew a lottery ticket when I was born into this world. 

I could have been privileged. I could have been a trust fund baby from England. A prince from Dubai. A politician’s daughter from India. An accountant's son from Canada. 

I might never have known about the other side.

I could have been impoverished. I could have been born far far away on the highest mountain. The driest desert. The deepest jungle. The furthest field. 

I might never have known about the other side.

I might never have known that far far away, the diseases that my friends and family die from are easily prevented or treated. When I suffer, I suffer because my father suffered the same. As did his father and his father before him. 

I might never have known that I am considered uneducated. I go to school five days a week and work diligently in my studies. Some days, my teacher doesn’t come to class or he shows up drunk, but that is okay. I can learn from the textbooks given to me that I was never taught how to read.

I might never have known that someone could buy a yacht or own real estate worth millions. Nobody told me that the 85 richest people are as wealthy as poorest half of the world. Nobody told me that a few of them use their money to help people just like me.

I might never have known that I am considered poor. Nobody told me that living on $1.25/day means that I am impoverished. Nobody invited me to that expensive meeting, far far away, to debate the latest benchmark for poverty. 

I might have aspirations to move to the big city someday. My uncle tells me "life is tough in the city but if you work hard you can become successful just like me." I might not get access to a toilet but that is okay. My village didn't have one either. I just want to see the bright city lights. I just want my family to see me rise.

I might hear that far far away people are not like me. When I am happy, I laugh. When I am sad, I cry. When I am angry, I fumble. How can someone from far far away possibly be the same as me?

We are worlds apart.