I remember playing outside my home one bright summer morning, a happy little kid running around happily with all of my happy little friends, when my parents approached me with a proposition.
“We're going to the Beach today!” they pronounced through broad smiles.
I was only five years old, had no idea what “the Beach” was, and, besides, I was having a grand time with my friends in our yard, so I politely passed on the opportunity and kept playing.
That's when my parents pulled out their PowerPoint slides.
The Beach
- Water!
- As far as the eye can see
- You can walk or swim in it
- You'll be completely safe
- We'll hold your hand
- We won't let go
- Sand!
- As much as you want
- You can dig holes in it as deep as you like
- We'll even let you bury us in it
- Candy and Ice Cream!
- Amusement Rides!
OK, ok, I was sold. I sent my friends home, climbed into the car with my parents, and off we went.
And went, and went, and went. When you're only five years old, a couple of hours trapped in a car is a very significant percentage of your life to date.
So, peering ahead through the windshield, straining to see as far up the road as I could, I tried to spot this Beach I'd been sold. I'd see a house in the dim distance, or a tall tree, and I'd figure Wow! That must be the Beach! A few minutes later, though, we'd motor right past it, so I'd ask:
“Are we there yet?”
At first, my parents would smile and explain that the Beach was farther away, but that we'd be there soon.
So, I looked ahead again as far as I could see, and spotted a telephone pole, or an office building, and figured, “well, then that thing surely must be the Beach.” But we'd drive past it a few minutes later, and I'd ask again if we were there yet, and my parents would repeat, through thinner smiles this time, that the beach was farther away and we'd be there soon.
Our collective patience waned pretty quickly as I asked over and over, until finally, typical salespeople, they ordered me to stop asking and suggested I take a nap.
I woke up as we finally made it to the Beach, which was very hot, and very crowded, with impossibly long lines of sunburned tourists trailing up far ahead of us to every amusement ride. Yes, there was plenty of water, but it was dirty and cold and rough and full of strange people. Yes, there was plenty of sand everywhere, including in my ice cream, on my candy, and especially in my bathing suit and sneakers.
Covered in greasy sunscreen and toasted in the spots we missed, we packed up after a few hours and headed silently back home in our car. As the Beach faded in our rear-view mirror, I put the whole miserable experience out of my mind. Until I grew up.
My professional life sometimes feels like my childhood trip to the Beach. People are selling me the Future all the time, a Future filled with wonderful products and services, a marvelous place where everything works and everyone's happy. We're off to “The Beach!”
It's a bumpy ride, though, so be sure to buckle up.
Questions
- Is your Future actually a real place before it becomes your Present? Go deep on this: what makes you believe that?
- Is optimism a virtue or a character flaw? Can it be both?
- How can waiting for some future promise to materialize hurt you in the present moment?
- Is the future something you shape or something that happens to you? What risk do you run by trusting in the latter?
- How do commonly accepted hype-words like “Disruptive,” “Transcendent,” and “Singularity” affect our personal view of our Future?
