An American Dream

Our country seems so big, and with so many people. Too big, sometimes. What could possibly be a common aspiration that most, let alone all of us, have?

My best guess at what we might all want is not fancy. But it is something.

I hope, for myself and for us, that we be blessed with at least one of these four things: the chance to be a good friend, part of a good family, a good neighbor, or to contribute something generously to the greater whole.

And maybe this is not the dream of our whole country. It is probably not the new American Dream. If it isn’t, I hope we are blessed with the wisdom and good sense to hope for something greater than ourselves.

It seems to me that if we don’t dream about something greater, we will dream instead about small things. Namely being wealthier, cooler, or more handsome than the next person. Dreaming about ourselves scares me, because it generally seems to devolve into madness and violence.

The question that changed my life

What I do as a father is not glamorous.

I give Bo food. I carry him around. I make sure he cleans up messes. I wipe up urine. I wash his dishes. I put on his socks. I read him stories. I keep him from jumping off things. I give him hugs and kisses. I make him use his words. I comfort him when he’s upset. I take him with me to the grocery store. I wipe his tush.

What I’m trying to do as a father, is a much different question. I’m trying to help him feel loved and safe. I’m trying to help him learn to be a good person. I’m trying to help him discover some of life’s joys like reading, friendship, love, family, service, and faith. I’m trying to give him a model of how to treat his spouse, his parents, and his children. I’m trying to create the space and courage for him to be himself.

What we do and what we are trying to do are radically different questions. The first question (what we do) is about the very specific actions we take, the second question (what we’re trying to do) is the generous, positive impact we hope our actions make for those we seek to serve. In organizations - whether it be companies, families, churches, community groups, or teams - the nuance here is often lost.

And what a tragedy that is.

Because for a team to be high-functioning both questions have to be answered, very specifically. More often than not, the question of what we’re trying to do is what’s forgotten. Which is a damn shame, because that’s the question of the two that motivates and inspires us to be the best versions of ourselves.

But answering that second question, I admit, is very difficult because it requires us to imagine a future that does not yet exist. I’ve found, however, that once you struggle through the nuance it is absolutely transformative.

Who is my life for? Who are my people?

It has been hard to admit that I am, in large part, a jack ass. I hope I am less so now.

For so much of my life, I prided myself on volunteering and serving. And some of that effort was sincere. But so much, too much, was signaling to others that I was generous, kind, and other-oriented.

This became clear when Robyn and I married, because for the first time any selfless act I made was actually sincere. After marriage I began to actually understand what it meant to live for someone else, and put the needs of someone else before my own. I realized that what I thought was selfless before was merely signaling.

I hope this attitude has cross-pollinated to friends, family, and neighbors. Only time will tell.

And yet, even though I know that I have a tendency to virtue signal, my heart still yearns. To serve, it yearns. To contribute something beyond my own family and friends, it yearns. To leave an anonymous gift, with even a small, lasting impact, it yearns.

I used to wonder what impact I wanted to make. But I think the better question is for whom?

Who do I care about so much that I will take time and energy away from my family? Who do I yearn to serve so intensely that I will intently listen to them and humbly offer to help after really understanding them? Who am I that committed to? For whom does my heart yearn? Who are my people?

An easy answer would have been my heart yearns for people like me. I couldn’t even if I tried, because I have no tribe.

I am Indian, but not really culturally. I am a theist, but not baptized nor a practicing Hindu. No political party has a philosophical underpinning that sits well with my conscience, and if it does it’s priorities are not aligned with mine. I am male, but not particularly masculine. I am a minority everywhere in the world I land, even at home as a resident of a majority-minority City. I can’t help people like me because I am a misfit, always. I don’t even know who people like me are.

My life, I believe, is not my own. It is not for me. I don’t even know if I want it to be for me. I am the residual claimant on my own life, if anything.

And if I believe, my life is for people beyond my family - which I do - than who? Who is my life for?

This is the hardest question I have encountered in many years. I don’t even know how to start answering it, yet. But I can’t help but feeling that it’s critically important one. My gut tells me it is a question worth a struggle.

The Married Mindset

Being married is not the same as dating. It is not even the same as being engaged. The difference is the vows, and what a difference those make.

Robyn and I made the vows traditional for Catholic and Hindu marriage. I like them. They’re simple, bold, and no nonsense. Marriage vows are no joke and they shouldn’t be. That’s why, I might add, I find marriage to be so great. It implies something specific, difficult, and extraordinary.

I was recently talking with Christopher, my brother-in-law, about the difference between being married and being engaged. When I asked him what he thought, he had a beautiful thought, which I’ll try to replicate.

The difference between marriage and engagement, is that there is no emergency exit. It’s on you and your spouse to take care of that marriage and grow that marriage. It’s not something you lease and can take back to the dealership when you have problems, it’s something you build together with your spouse, and have to maintain together. And you promise do it forever, however long forever is.

His real wisdom, however, was in reflecting on how the mindset of a married person must be different than an engaged person. The married person must have a vision. He or she, must be planning and thinking ahead, together with their spouse, on how to build that marriage together. The married person must be proactive and solve problems that arise quickly. Because at the end of the day, there is no out - you must grow together and adjust to life, together, in perpetuity.

And that’s what I found to be the key to his wisdom: timescales. The engaged person thinks on the timescale of getting married - there is a concrete end date with a concrete goal: getting married on your wedding day.

The married person must think on an indefinite time scale and must simultaneously build a unique vision of marriage together with their spouse. And, unlike an engagement / wedding plan there is no checklist to follow. Every couple has no choice but to write their own, one-of-a-kind, handbook.

Marriage is fundamentally different. And it’s much, much harder.

99% of the time, I am grateful to be a happier person

I am a happier person than I was a year ago. That’s a good thing. But my writing has suffered.

For brief, rather very brief, moments, I miss my intense feelings of anxiety and sadness. It was much easier to draw something meaningful into my words - my art - when my feelings were intense. I never liked being overwhelmed by my emotions. But damn, did they make for good copy.

99% of the time, I am grateful to be a happier person. But it presents a challenge. I have to dig much deeper to write. When I am not emotional, I must open my heart wider to bring words from it.

It’s not a dilemma, per se, because being healthier and with more peace is not worth sacrificing for my writing. It just means I must work harder as an artist. It’s a worthy, albeit bizarre, challenge.

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How the iPhone taught me to be a better father to my son

The iPhone won. But that’s okay, because it taught me how to talk to my son.

Bo, our son, is fixated on my iPhone when it is around. My usual tactic was to take it away so that he would do something else instead of stare at a screen. Our parents faced the same problem, except instead of smartphones, they tried to restrict television and video games.

The problem with taking the phone away is that it doesn’t work. Bo does not just forget about it just being in his hands. Trying to force it from him only creates a power struggle between us. And no matter the outcome, it drains both of our energies.

Why does the iPhone win his attention? It’s really well designed.

First, it’s extremely responsive. I don’t think that the problem with screens is that they distract us, but rather that the screen is undistracted for us. The screen is fully focused on Bo. When he picks it up, it is ready for him. When Bo pushes a button, it does something. The iPhone is completely ready to react to Bo and it does so consistently.

It’s also kind and gentle. I’d even call it emotional - because of the colors, the lights, the sounds, and the way the screen seems to effortlessly glide. Even the haptic feedback is subtle and will calibrated. Nothing about the iPhone is jarring. It doesn’t yell at Bo, nor does it shock him. It is calm and predictable.

I don’t think in cliches like this, but I eventually thought something like, “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

Instead of taking the phone away, I began interacting with Bo, more like the iPhone does. I’ve tried to be more emotive, attentive, and consistent. With more touch and sound, and with more immediate responsiveness. With more peace and patience. More than anything, I try to be undistracted. I actually think it’s working. We both have more energy when we play together.

It is bizarre to think of it this way, but the iPhone taught me, very specifically, to be a better father. It upped my game. This is hyperbolic, I know, but the iPhone can appeal to basically all of the right senses to win my son’s attention.

But it cannot love. And if I do the basics right, like the iPhone taught me, I don’t think it will “win” in the long run.

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The art of being adamant about small, but transformative things

One of the things I do very deliberately when I am in public is to pick up single bits of trash I come across. I want the sidewalk to be clean And it’s really very easy.

I always hope that someone notices me doing it. I don’t want credit, but I will admit that I feel nice when the act is appreciated. What I do want people to think having a clean sidewalk is normal and caring enough to pick up a single piece of trash to keep it clean is normal, too.

A key question is: what critical mass of a community needs to be adamant about something for the culture to change? Some folks say 3.5% and others say 25%. It seems to depend on what the objective is, like whether you’re spreading an idea or a behavior.

The good news is, both estimates are much less than 100%. From what I’ve gathered and observed, the key is to be adamant about doing the very specific action for it to catch on.

These are worth being adamant about, to me. If we had even 3.5% of the population doing these, we would have a very different community:

• Picking up a single piece of trash

• Saying “hi”, “good day”, or nodding to people that pass

• Running or riding a bike through the neighborhood

• Shoveling snow promptly

• Keeping grass cut (though I admit to slacking on this)

• Saying thank you when I am a customer

• Asking emotional questions and sharing emotional stories when asked

If a small group of people are adamant about something, it tends to happen. This makes it really important then to be adamant about something. And carefully considering whether those things we go to the mat for make things better, or make things worse.

A question for the comments: What’s something that is worth being adamant about?

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I am the last one up tonight

I didn’t need to be, but I am the last one up tonight. Well, Riley and me.

But I am, because I was watching a movie and (not really) working.

You are asleep. Your little Paddington Bear is snuggled up on your chest. My last acts before bed are easy. First, I put a blanket over you so you and Paddington wouldn’t get cold. I will crawl into bed and try to pray a little. Then I will kiss your mother, who is already sleeping, goodnight - as quietly as I can.

It took me awhile to really understand it, truly, but I know that these are the most important jobs I will ever do. No matter how I earn a living. Nothing could be more important than being your mother’s husband and you and your brother’s papa. Nothing.

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The beautiful, boring, lunch with Bo

I had the afternoon with Bo today. We had a late lunch because his nap extended past 1pm. I had an apple for dessert. Which is funny because when you’re above 30, an apple can actually count as dessert.

In any case, I asked Bo if he wanted to have some too. Bo enjoys fruit as much as I do, so he responded with a characteristic “ya.”

I cut a plane of it off the side and made it into small pieces, about the size of corn kernels.

And then about halfway through eating his slice of apple, he gently put a tiny piece between his thumb and forefinger and leaned in my direction, offering it to me. I opened my palm. He placed it inside. I ate it. It was nice, and very nice of him.

This, in our household, was not a special moment. it was business as usual. It’s not uncommon for Bo, or any other child I suppose, to offer a bit of food to his father. It was something so small, and so fast. Nobody would ever instagram a moment like that, and even if I tried I wouldn’t be able to - the moment passed too quickly. I took a breath in, and by the time I let my breath out the moment was over.

But in a given day these are the moments. They are small. They go quickly. They are not notable. By and large, nobody else will ever know about them.

But they are my life. These are the glimmers I will remember when my brain and body start to fail. All these little moments built up, a sinew that binds my mind and spirt together. Probably 98% or more of my life is these moments, that are boring and un-momentus as it were.

But I love them. The memory of how Robyn’s flip flops clap as we walk our boys down the sidewalk of our street on a Sunday morning. The particular way the water tastes from only our tap. The way Robyn squeezes my big toe when I need to move my leg for her to rise from the couch. Riley’s semi-frequent snoring. The very distinctive crackling of mustard or cumin seeds in the pan when my mom makes a vegetable for dinner. When my father would giggle at his own jokes, in the rare instance that he tried really hard to make one.

The extreme-vast-majority of my life are these little moments and idiosyncrasies that come in an out like a beating heart.

Which is perhaps why I have slowly lost interest in living in a way that produces notable moments. Living moment to moment, I’ve found is a distraction from actual life. I do treasure big moments when they come - like marriage, the birth of a child, or an accomplishment I’m proud of at work. But that is not life.

Those are merely milestones. Life is everything in between. I’ve been coming to a conclusion that the measure of my life is how I choose to act during the mundane but supremely special moments of everyday life. What’s difficult is that everyone else (that doesn’t really, really matter) measures my life by the number and magnitude of big moments I have. Because that’s all they can see, they’re not around for the small stuff and therefore can’t measure it.

Letting go of everyone else that doesn’t matter is so hard, because the big moments that those people care about are so much easier to measure. I think the key is listening. Because by listening we can focus on being the best person we can be in the 98% of moments that nobody else will ever remember, singing the songs that are playing deeply within our own hearts, and letting the big moments be a gift and a surprise when they arrive, rather than an aspiration.

I think Sister Mary Clarance and Ferris Bueller both had it right.

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Reading for fun

Why read?

The practical crowd may argue that literacy is important because it’s a necessary skill to function in society and earn a living. Reading is fundamental. We can’t be productive compliant members of society if we don’t read.

Womp. Womp. Womp.

What a terrible way to convince someone to read who doesn’t read or can’t.

Here’s how I would persuade someone instead.

East of Eden changed the way I see myself and the world. I love pulling up Wikipedia on anything from Roger Federer to the Fermi Paradox, to the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

Reading to my son at bedtime is arguably the best part of my day, every day. You can read mysteries, or about your own family history. Talking to other people about books is so fun. Reading has made me laugh and cry so damn much, and it’s great.

You can read a letter from your mother and father, long after they are gone. Or you can read a letter from your wife, that makes you feel full of love and soul, over and over and over again. The letters I have from Robyn are among my most prized possessions.

You can read poems or ancient religious texts that make you feel more human.

I do care about literacy. I think 100% literacy is an extremely important goal. But come on. How can anyone think they’re going to convince someone to care about reading by talking about how it can help them get a job or get into a famous college? There are so many more emotionally resonant ways to persuade someone that reading is awesome.

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Parenthood has made me less happy, and I’m cool with that

I’ve come to embrace the research which suggests that being a parent is bad for our individual happiness. Parents I now, myself included, have a lot of things that get in the way of being as happy as we were before.

Parents get crummy sleep. We stress about money. We have less free time, because we are tending to a kid. We don’t exercise as much, generally speaking. We don’t get to hang out with friends or go on dates as much as we used to. We also feel terrible pain and anxiety when our kids are going through struggles. We are split between work and home more intensely than our childless peers.

With all that added stress, no wonder parents are less happy, or at least not happier than non-parents.

But, that’s okay. I’m willing to have my happiness decline, because I’ve gained so much - patience, intimacy, love, silliness, peace, and confidence. And probably more. As a parent, I’ve traded happiness for so many other things.

I’ll take it. Happiness is such a temporary state of being anyway.

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I don’t need to be special

I don’t need you to give me special treatment. I don’t need you to pronounce my name correctly. I don’t need you to hold the door for me or even smile as you walk by.

I don’t need you to give me preferential college admissions or pay me dollar-for-dollar the same as the next person. I don’t even need you to stop asking if I’m “a doctor or in IT, right?”

I don’t need you to realize that the white woman walking next to me is my wife. I don’t need you to do me a solid with the restaurant manager. I don’t need you to let me into the golf and tennis club. If it’s easier, you can keep assuming that that Indian person you met really does look just like me. You can keep believing yoga is all about “working out” if it suits you.

I don’t need a political party to pay attention to my individual needs. I don’t need a candidate to look like me, either. I don’t need you to understand the tenets of Hinduism or my complex spiritual upbringing.

I don’t need you to give me a trigger warning. I don’t need you to sugar coat the truth. Even though it would be fun, you don’t have to invite me to your party or get to know me and my individual story.

All these things would be nice, but I don’t need to be treated specially. What I would like is to be treated with respect and decency. And if we disagree, I’d like to resolve it peacefully.

If you could do that, it would be enough for me.

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Breaking the cycle of this foolishness

I am finally understanding why I felt the way I have (anxiety and sometimes debilitating stress) as an adult. There’s finally data (check out this Knowledge Project Podcast with moral psychologist Jonathan Haidt for a flavor) which is showing that that social media, isolation, helicopter parenting, etc. are having an effect on us (millennials and zillenials).

I’ve grieved my history and am trying to move on - I don’t want to feel like a victim anymore.

But how?

There is meditation, cognitive behavioral therapy, journaling and reflection, exercise and perhaps more strategies.

But how do you undo decades of acculturation and mental programming?

We know the causes and the effects of the stress, anxiety, or depression many of us feel - or are at least starting to know enough. But what to do? What does it mean? What comes next?

I think we heal in the best ways we know how. I think we resist the causes of our collective demons. I think we look out for each other, because I honestly don’t think older generations care, or if they do, they don’t know how to help. I think we meditate, pray, exercise, seek therapy, journal, quit toxic environments, or do whatever works for us.

But Robyn also brought up how we can raise our son and future children differently. We don’t have to obsess over what they’ll “be” when they grow up. We don’t have to let them have a Facebook account when they’re in middle school. We don’t have to shield them from every damn situation where they might struggle. We don’t.

We can break the cycle of this foolishness, and that may be a greatest gift we could give our kids. And as Robyn pointed out to me today, that may also be the best way for us to learn how to heal too.

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Reverse Recruiting

I imagine how much different life in our country would be if when people went to work, important, valuable, sustainably profitable work is what actually happened. I care about this a lot, because I deeply believe that wasting human potential is inefficient and immoral.

To be able to have these sorts of workplaces, I believe it’s essential to have the right people are in the right roles.

I believe that life is built in the off season. When applying that belief to talent management, it suggests that the best time to recruit is when you don’t need to fill a job in a hurry. Wouldn’t it be so much better - both for companies and candidates - if we already had a pool of interested candidates that were a skill-set and culture fit, before the job were ever posted?

If that intuition is correct, here’s how I think it could actually be put into practice. Imagine if there were a mechanism like the college common app, except for jobs and hiring. I’d love to hear what you think, especially if you’re an HR professional (or have ever been part of a frustrating hiring process).

Here’s how it would work:

• First, the candidate takes everything that you would find on a LinkedIn profile and import it into a profile. This could be supplemented with a portfolio of work, confidential letters of referral, or instruments like StrengthsFinder.

• Second, the candidate identifies companies they would be interested in working for, were an opportunity available. They’d also identify broadly defined functional areas they were interested in.

• Next, the candidate records video answers to a mix of general interview questions - both prepared and extemporaneous. Some questions could be added that are specific to the companies they are interested in working for.

• Then the companies take over. They could review and filter the profiles of interested parties and build a pool of candidates for different functional areas. For individuals they think are great fits, they could connect individually or hold invite-only recruitment events a few times a year.

• Then, when a job comes up, the process is improved in two ways:

  • It moves faster for the company and for the candidate, because there are loads of people that are already through what would be covered in a first-round interview

  • There’s a better fit for both parties because the initial pool of candidates has been built over time, rather than in a hurry when a job is posted. Quantity drives quality.

Again, the whole goal is to have the right people in the right roles, 100% of the time. Do you think this idea actually solves that problem?

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Everyone has real struggle

Struggle is a part of life. The question is how will I deal with it?

One path is a transfer. This is when I take my pain and suffering and put it into someone else’s shoulders.

Another path is self-transformation. This is when I improve my own ability to deal with pain and suffering.

A third path is denial. This is when I delude and distract myself so I can pretend the pain and suffering doesn’t exist or isn’t that bad.

The fourth path is collaborative. This is when I work to alleviate or better handle my own pain and suffering in a way that helps or teaches others do the same.

I don’t know if there is an always “right” path. There are probably times and places where each path is the most right (or most possible).

What I’ve realized to be true is that every person, no matter what phase of life they are in, is struggling in some way that is significant. Whether rich or poor, young or old, healthy or sick - everyone has some real struggle.

If that is true, however, some of the four paths seem less reasonable than others. If I know with certainty that the person in front of me is struggling, how do I dump more on them or deny the struggle in the first place?

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Jealous of Bo

I am jealous of my son.  

I wish his childhood was mine, or that mine were more like his.  

He is surrounded by family. He has a deeper relationship with his grandparents, and more time with them already, than I did in my whole life. He has met 3 great grandparents.  

He knows his aunts, uncles, aunties, Godparents, and great aunts & uncles. He even knows the family friends of his grandparents.  

He lives in a mixed-race community. His mom is home with him twice during the work week. God willing, he will have a sibling in a few months. He has an older dog-brother.

He has so much that I didn’t.

We spend so much time as men, at least my buddies and I do, thinking about being providers and feeling the pressure of that identity.  

And yet, even though we are MUCH wealthier than my parents were at his age. That has rarely crossed my mind.  

Perhaps jealous is the wrong word. Gratefully envious is perhaps better. But whatever that word is, thank God that I’m it.  

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Imagine if at work...

Imagine if at work...

...there were no emergencies when you got there in the morning, and were generally rare…

...meetings started and ended on time…

 ...competition for promotions wasn’t a clobberfest…

...everyone spent nearly 100% of the time on something that was valuable…

...priorities and anti-priorities were clear…

 ...saying please and thank you were common and sincere…

...when you arrived and left was flexible and predictable…

...interruptions were always important and worth it…

...everyone knew, believed in, and worked the bugs out of the plan…

...the customer’s voice was loud and clear…

...the product was so valuable that margins were comfortable and the customer sold it for you…

...you could always count on everyone to act with integrity…

…and no heroes, all-stars, or herculean efforts were ever needed because we had the right team in place all along.

Imagine if work - that is important, valuable, and sustainably profitable - is actually what happened at work.

For work to actually happen at work, there are three absolute musts: product-market fit, a sustainably profitable business model, and talent-role fit. Strategy is the process to figure out these three things, which makes strategy indispensable too.

Selfless Storytellers

I would’ve never expected Jimmy Fallon’s children’s books - Your Baby’s First Word Will Be Dada and Everything is Mama -  to be among my favorites to read at Bo’s bedtime. They are so simple, elegant, and fun. Bo can follow-along and participate in telling the story. They’re charming and illustrated well. The premise of each is simple but impactful. I like them.

His books don’t heavy-handedly convey a life lesson, either. They just get out of the way of themselves, and still do convey a simple, but special idea, in a way that’s really lovely.

The books we have by Philip and Erin Stead are the same way. We have three (well, four, but one is for bigger kids and we haven’t read it yet), thanks to our friends Mike and Jenny - A Sick Day for Amos Mcgee, A Home For Bird, and Lenny and Lucy. They all are about friendship in one way or another. But they don’t ever explicitly say “friendship is important and great”, they just show it in a way that lasts in your mind.

I bring this up because it’s such a generous way to tell a story. It lets the story be ours. It lets Bo figure important things out on his own. It takes the spotlight off of the author’s opinion. It leaves room for discovery and contemplation. It’s so selfless because it puts the emphasis on the story instead of the author.

There are plenty of children’s books that aren’t like this. Some beat you over the head with an idea. These stories are presumptuous and boring. Other stories are mindless and unrooted in any sort of theme.

Bravo to the storytellers out there who put the story ahead of themselves as the author. It’s hard to explain without reading the story, so here’s a link of Jimmy Fallon reading one of his books.

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I am not a perfect being. I will never be a god. I will die. ​

I am not a perfect being. I will never be a god. I will die.  

I need to write it. And say it, out loud.  

I asked this on Facebook: 

I judge myself unfairly, painfully, and harshly. You might too. Why do we do this?

One friend shared that  “We beat ourselves up first so it doesn’t seem so bad or hurt when others do it to us.”

Another reminded me that self-perfection is a myth. What’s only possible is self-mastery, being our best selves. As he put it, if we condemn ourselves after mistakes, we are agreeing with “the lie.”

I spend my life wedged between these two ideas. I expect self-perfection and thrash myself before others do, because I know it isn’t possible.  

And I want to be perfect because praise has turned out to be a toxic element in my life. But more than that - deep down I know that being perfect is the only way to live forever, to not die. And death intimidates me to the point of fearing it. It is, perhaps, the root of all my fears.

Which is why I must say it, out loud.  

I am not a perfect being. I will never be a god. I will die.

 —

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Highs and Lows

Every night (almost) at dinner, Robyn and I talk about highs, lows, and proud moments*.

Heres how it works: 

• One us asks - “What we’re your highs, lows, and proud moments?”

• That persons shares

• Then we switch

This is a nice ritual for us for a few reasons: 

• We catch up on the day

• We get to read each other’s emotional state and energy

• We get to vent if we need to and move on

• We get to cherish life’s sweet but little moments

But more than anything it’s a lens into our values and a check to ensure that we’re not valuing the wrong things.  

For example, if I said my proud moment is “I made a lot of money today”, I’m revealing something about what I’m valuing. I’m forcing myself to say it out loud and acknowledge it.

And in that moment, I can correct myself and choose to find a different moment to be proud of that aligns with my true values instead of society’s. And that course correction retrains my brain on what I want to and should be proud of.

It’s a great reflection practice that’s very effective, but very quick and easy.  

*March 16, 2020 Edit - In recent months, we’ve shifted from “what were your proud moments?” to “what did you learn today?”.