Five Words That Changed My Life
“Creativity is a drug I cannot live without.” - Cecil B. DeMille
It was an early August afternoon in Georgia. In the south, summer is heavy and sticky, and the air conditioning in the lecture hall may have had a chance to keep the summer heat outside, if not for the warmth generated by a couple-hundred teenagers inside. Considering the temperature, along with everything that comes with being among hundreds of other high-schoolers at summer camp, it’s a miracle I was paying attention to the speaker at all. It may be generous even to say that I was paying attention, but in between kicking the seat of my friend in the row ahead of me, doodling in my notebook, and stealing sidelong glances at girls, I managed to hang onto a portion of the lecture that has since become one of the most valuable insights I’ve ever heard. Here’s how I remember it:
“‘When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.’ What does that mean - to put away childish things? And how do we know when it’s time to grow up? Well, to answer these questions we can take a look at what uniquely defines a child. Is it that they’re small? No, there are plenty of small adults; our maturity isn’t defined by our physical size. They whine a lot, but we all know that’s not something only kids do. The defining characteristic - that thing that truly makes them a child - is that they can’t survive on their own. They’re dependent upon others for everything. They don’t offer society any value because they’re consumers, but still we treasure children in part because of the potential we see in them to one day become independent. To stand up on their own. To transition away from always consuming to eventually producing. And so when we begin to stand up on our own, when we shed that immature nature of only consuming, that’s the act of putting away childish things. In leaving behind childish ways, we demonstrate that we are prepared to take on the responsibility to give, instead of always to take, and to ask not what others can do for us, but what we can do for others. This is why we find fulfillment in giving: our value is heavily rooted in how much we’re able to provide.
“At some point in life, though, you’ll meet someone who looks like a grown up, but who never really left their childish ways behind. They’re the physical embodiment of wasted potential; they have no interest in contributing to the world around them, or to asking how they might help someone else, They’re only focused on themselves. They’re chronic consumers. They’re children disguised as men. Now you’re all young, but you can’t wait to be respected as adults; you want to know what you have to do to become an adult?”
Bear in mind that at this moment I was 15, and weighed 120 pounds soaking wet. Of course I wanted to know how to become an adult. So the five words that came next struck me in such a way that over a decade later I still haven’t recovered.
“Produce more than you consume.”
I don’t remember the rest of the lecture but I couldn’t get those words out of my head; to this day, I still can’t. From a very young age we’re all eager to step over the threshold from childhood into adulthood, but based on this definition and charter, some never do. On that day, and nearly every day since they, I reflected on various areas in life in which we consume and produce, and I’ve found that those words are absolutely true. I’ve even taken to remembering it easily as an equation: “P>C”. (Brilliant, I know.)
If we consume more than we produce, over time we may suffer a variety of ill effects. Let’s say my spending outpaces my income: over time, I’ll go into debt and without intervention I’ll eventually find myself in poverty. Another example would be eating in a caloric excess - over time, weight gain is imminent. Unchecked, caloric excess can be deadly.* Every aspect of life requires an element of moderation to ensure our net positive contribution outpaces what resources we exhaust.
Humans have developed a natural drive to reject members of a society that do not contribute. Imagine a small tribe, ten thousand years ago, who survive by hunting, cooking, building shelter, and defending against predators. But one particular member doesn’t want to go out and hunt or defend against danger; they don’t cook, they don’t build, they don’t commit effort to the betterment of the village, but they help themselves to the food and the safety provided by others. How long do you think that individual would be welcome in the group? The modern version of this individual is the twenty-something who moves back in with Mom and Dad because his “passion” is playing video games, and he has disdain for soulless corporate America, so he refuses to get a job. We naturally feel contempt when we encounter this kind of person because at a subconscious level, we understand the value that every individual can offer and know that it’s a tragedy when that potential contribution is wasted.
It’s a wholly useful exercise to audit various areas of our lives and determine where we might be consuming more than we produce. Here are a few questions we might ask ourselves:
Am I a good friend to my friends?
How actively do I show support and affection to my spouse?
Could I spend a bit less on myself and give to charity?
When was the last time I went out of my way for someone else?
If I was on trial, how many people would come as character witnesses?
If we are honest with the answers to questions like this, it might be a painful realization and the correction might be quite challenging. The new pair of shoes we want would be a lot more fun than giving the money to someone who doesn’t even have shoes. Being the recipient of fun invites on weekends is definitely more exciting than cooking and inviting your friends over. Giving up hobbies and getting a second job to pay down credit card debt will be humbling. However, the compounding effects of trying to produce more while consuming within our means will pay off incredibly as time goes on.
Life becomes better in response to your willingness to sacrifice short-term pleasure for long-term benefits.
*Though these are both general statements, there are sure to be a handful of intellectuals who will suggest that outliers like billionaires or anorexics undermine the rationale, but the exception does not disprove the rule.