It’s easy, when you’re starting an entrepreneurial venture, or trying to carve your own unique creative career out of an unforgiving landscape, to stress about each lost opportunity and worry or despair about how long the road stretches out without a breakthrough or “success.”
But in doing interviews for a review of the George Lucas film Red Tails, which came out in theaters last week, I got a sharp reality check from two men whom most would deem very “successful.” Their stories gave me some valuable perspective on my–or anyone else’s–expectations, when it comes to passion-inspired projects we choose to pursue.
In or around 1952, a Tuskeegee Airman by the name of Robert Williams wrote down his recollections of his time as a Tuskeegee Airman (the group of African-American pilots trained as an “experiment” in World War II, to see if “Negros” could, indeed, do something as challenging as flying an airplane–and who ended up being some of the most sought-after and successful bomber escort pilots of the War) intending to turn them into either a book or a movie. He wrote a screenplay based on his and his colleagues’ experiences and started pitching it to people, trying to get support for the project.
The Tuskeegee Airmen’s story was, it seemed, a natural sell–underdogs who became heroes–but Williams found it very difficult to get anyone interested in his project. Over the years, he re-wrote and re-wrote the screenplay, trying to make it better, and more likely to get support. In the mid-1980s, Columbia Pictures finally said they wanted to produce the movie … until they were bought by Sony, which killed the project’s funding. It wasn’t until the mid-1990s that HBO finally agreed to produce the screenplay as a made-for-television movie, with a tiny budget (although huge for a TV movie) of around $8 million. The Tuskeegee Airmen, starring Laurence Fishburne, Cuba Gooding, John Lithgow and Malcolm Jamal Warner, finally aired in 1995–43 years after Williams began working on the project.
A decade before HBO released The Tuskeegee Airmen, filmmaker George Lucas (creator of the Star Wars and Indiana Jones mega-success movie franchises) came across the Tuskeegee Airmen story and decided he’d like to do a movie about it. He even had the ability to self-finance initial production of a movie that he hoped would be the greatest World War II movie ever made. He had a name, resources, and a track record of astounding successes. And yet, he could not find a single taker to back or distribute the movie.
As Lucas told host Jon Stewart on The Daily Show shortly before the film was released, Red Tails doesn’t have any significant “white” characters in it, and the budget for the movie ($58 million) was far more than Hollywood had spent on any “black” movie. The studios, he said, didn’t think a movie about black pilots would gross enough money to make the investment worthwhile, especially since they didn’t believe it had much of foreign market potential, even with George Lucas’s name on it.
In the end, it took George Lucas 23 YEARS or persistent effort, with lord knows how many rejections, to get the movie finished and released. And yet, here it is, hitting the big screen at last. [click to continue…]
It’s rather an odd quirk of the calendar that each January, we feel the need, or ability, to rewrite the scripts of our lives. Not that I think it’s a bad thing. But, really, January 1st isn’t the turning of the solstice from dark to light, or any “real” beginning of a new life cycle. The shift from the “old” to the “new” exists only in concept and the paper (or digital) calendar world.
Nevertheless, there’s something about the “new” year that makes us feel a stronger compulsion to clean out cluttered closets, sweep away some of the baggage that’s accumulated during the past year, and start afresh with desks and slates wiped clear, leaving us unlimited possibilities for reinvention. It’s why gyms are so overcrowded each January.
And even if those best intentions don’t last much beyond February (see one of my earlier posts on the difficulty of change, or browse a whole selection of posts related to the subject of change), taking time to think about what you’d LIKE to change is always a good exercise.
Taking time to think, of course, is one of the items many of us probably need to put on the list of things we need to change, or do more of, in the coming year. I’ve written on this subject before, at The Atlantic), but the writer Pico Iyer wrote a particularly good essay in the New Year’s Day edition of the New York Times that reinforced many of those same points. Titled “The Joy of Quiet,” the piece is well worth reading.
In truth, it perplexes me a bit that people have to pay extra for a room without electronic connections, or software to disable their “downtime eliminators” of email or internet access, in order to find that quiet time. In my case (although I don’t consider myself representative of the majority of people), my mind seems to seek that balance naturally; indeed, almost instinctively.
Over the past few months, as my life has gotten more burdened with tasks that distract my focus and pull me in too many directions already, I find myself less interested in keeping up with all the news and noise going on around me. Even if the newspaper is lying there, begging to be read, my email box is overflowing with requests for attention, and the whole internet lies at my fingertips, inviting me to wander lost for hours among all its data, I find myself with no desire to even turn the computer on, or to do anything more than scan the print headlines in front of me. [click to continue…]
I‘ve been struggling a lot, lately, with the frustration of being pulled in too many directions and, as a result, feeling as if nothing is being done well enough. (I am also, by the way, increasingly in awe of how people manage to be parents, family members, and career people all at the same time. Especially anyone in a creative field, where big chunks of quiet, focused, and sernely undistracted mental time are required in order to produce anything of value.)
On one level, I actually recognize that getting my stepson-to-be successfully prepared and launched into whatever college track or plan is going to make him a happy, balanced person in the world is more important than whether I get a feature article in The Atlantic, or get a New York Times bestselling book published. Just as it’s more important to get my aging parents’ house successfully cleared out, and my parents happily resettled into a new and more suitable home for them.
And yet, the pressure of career expectations pulls at me. I’m used to excelling at everything I do. And we certainly hear enough about these super people who seemingly manage to have families, keep in marathon shape, and simultaneously broker peace agreements in the Mid-East without breaking into a sweat. Or entrepreneurs who become billionaires with innovative, change-the-world products that become the buzz and baby of media and Wall Street alike.
In point of fact, I’m writing a book about passion (which, like everything else, isn’t getting enough of my time or attention these days), and I’m writing about some of those change-the-world types of entrepreneurs and trailblazers. I have a lot of admiration for them. And I share some of their passion. But I’m realizing there is a difference between us.
I interviewed one of those world-changing entrepreneurs last week and asked him what the greatest cost was of continuing to pursue his vision in a new start-up company. “Time with my family,” he said. “I missed my daughter’s entire college career. And I’ve missed most of my youngest kid’s high school events and time, as well.” The wife of another world-changing entrepreneur told me that when their son had been asked by his kindergarten teacher to draw a picture of his father, he drew his father with a suitcase in tow.
I certainly possess more than the average share of passion for my own vision in life. It’s led me to pursue a freelance writing career, a pilot’s license, and adventures on six continents. And yes, I’d love to have a bestselling book in print–especially given that I have two books in process, waiting for the time and focus to finish them. But in the end, I’m realizing that my passion for my own pursuits does not trump my passion for making sure that those closest to me are okay. I’ve often said that accomplishments come down to “how badly do you want the mountain?” I want the mountain … but not badly enough to sacrifice either my time with, or my ability to meet the important needs of, those who love and depend on me.
The tough thing about that position is letting go of the mountaintop. Knowing that it is within my capabilities, but not within my reach–at least, at the moment–without letting go of other priorities and obligations that, in the end, I’m not willing to sacrifice. Coming to peace with that truth is tough, in our achievement-focused world.
But as the holidays approached last week, I got a bittersweet reminder of another truth: that the world is actually changed in many ways. And that letting go of the high-profile and grand achievements can be just as important, and just as significant in impact, as letting go of other things in order to focus on those bigger visions and pursuits.
The reminder came by way of the death of a man I’d known my whole life. Jim Rice was the same age as my parents, and I knew him through the small commuity church that both of our families attended, while I was growing up. But I was stunned to read in his obituary that in his youth, he’d played for the NY Giants football team. Because he never once mentioned it. For many people, that would have been the highlight; the athletic equivalent of a book on the NY Times bestseller list.
But that’s not what I remember Jim Rice for–or, indeed, what anyone remembers him for. The obituary also said that he owned two businesses of his own, and had worked as an environmental consultant. I never knew about that, or cared about that, either. [click to continue…]
Ed Note: “I Do This Because …” is a series of guest essays on this site by adventurers, entrepreneurs, and brave explorers of experience, uncharted territory, and life. As the title indicates, the essays offer the authors’ reflections on why they chose the path they did, and why they continue on that path, despite all the challenges, costs, and discouraging moments that come with any uncharted adventure.
For more information on the origins of the “I Do This Because” essays, see my own entry. And, as always, if you know of anyone you think would make a good guest essayist, or have your own answer to why you’re pursuing the particular, challenging path you’re pursuing, please share it!
About the Author
Lakshmi Vempati is an instrument rated private pilot working on her commercial rating. She is an avid blogger/writer and travel enthusiast, and is passionate about aviation. She loves to fly to exotic destinations for that $100 hamburger and write about her adventures. When not flying, traveling or blogging, she is actively involved in modeling and simulation, performance assessments and conduction analysis of advanced NextGen capabilities. She is one of the contributing bloggers on Forbes Wheels Up. You can also follow her on her personal blog at Flynthings.
I do this because …. I must… for nothing less is acceptable!
If I could breathe more, I would
If I could eat more, I would
If I could fly more, hell I definitely would!
I gazed skyward, apprehensive yet unable to snatch my eyes away. The massive shape with lights in the night sky looked ominous. The sound loud and scary. Alone, on the terrace of my two-story home I watched. On the one hand I wanted to dash downstairs and hide behind my mother’s sari, on the other hand I watched fascinated at this massive shape, zooming by in the night sky with lights illuminated, resplendent. I was 10 years old and that was the first memory I had of viewing an airplane in the sky.
“You have to be the prime minister’s son or really rich to fly airplanes,” was what I heard throughout my childhood. “Flying is not for the common man.” The only person that we knew of who was a pilot, was the then Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s son. I returned daily to watch the airplane, as it made its way to land at the nearby airport, and slowly the fear was replaced by amazement of this man-made creation that flew and soared like the birds.
I devoured any books I could lay my hands on flying at the local British library. Television was just gaining popularity in India and I glued myself to all BBC programs. It was one afternoon while watching a program about airplane crashes on takeoff, that my fate was decided. While the details of the exact program are vague in my mind, that was the precise turning moment in my life. When I silently acknowledged to myself that I wanted to be an Aeronautical Engineer. [click to continue…]
Back in August, the New York Times ran a front-page story in one of its Sunday sections titled “Maybe It’s Time for Plan C.”
The gist of the story was that many people who left safe, secure jobs to start their own businesses … or even those who started their own businesses because those safe, secure jobs weren’t so safe and secure anymore … were finding it harder than they thought it would be. Self-employment, they discovered–apparently to their surprise–didn’t mean an easier life.
And yes, I hear every single entrepreneur and self-employed person out there chuckling already.
The odd thing to me is that the New York Times thinks the fact that self-employment is hard–harder than just going to a set job every day–is not only news worth reporting, but front page news. Perhaps it’s because the editors at the Times have never worked for themselves. Or perhaps–equally perplexing–is the idea that there are actually people out there who took the plunge into entrepreneurship or self-employment without talking to a single person who’d ever done it, first. Of course, there are people, I’m told, who arrive at Everest base camp, fully intending on climbing the mountain, without ever having used crampons before. So I guess it’s possible.
Or maybe, the Times just understands that there are a lot of dreamers among their readership for whom having their own business is more of an escape fantasy than an actual passion or life dream. I kind of hope that’s it.
It is true, of course, that any adventure, from flying around the world to starting your own business, sounds a whole lot better ahead of time, in the dreaming stage, than it does when you’re in the thick of the challenge of it. I got an email in September from my soon-to-be-stepson Connor, who was living in a Yurt in Mongolia, herding yaks. (And no, I’m not making that up.) He took two weeks of Mogolian language classes in Ulaanbataar before heading out to live with the nomads, but still, he said he was struggling. And for an 18-year-old male to admit that says something. Of COURSE you’re struggling, I wrote back. What you’re doing there is HARD. That’s why most people don’t do it.
I often joke, in fact, that one should beware any sentence that begins, “Why doesn’t everybody…?” If everybody doesn’t do something, there’s generally a reason. And it generally has to do with how difficult or uncomfortable (or expensive) it is. And that goes for polished airplanes, flying relief supplies into African war zones, herding yaks with nomads in Mongolia … and, yes, working for yourself. [click to continue…]
Over the past week, I found myself discussing my last post (“Of Achievement and Happiness“) with a couple of friends. And both of them had additional thoughts on the subject that seemed worth adding to the mix.
The first friend is an entrepreneur who graduated from an Ivy League college but gave up a lucrative career as a tax attorney to pursue a more meaningful and independent path manufacturing gourmet chocolate for export within Ghana. His company is successful enough, but it’s a lot of work. And he’s also had to balance that work with raising three children and a family life. His home, which I visit whenever I’m in the area, is a warm and casual environment full of children’s art projects, sports gear, and all the chaos that comes with that. But it speaks of a happy family unit, and they always somehow make time for guests, as long as the guests don’t mind fitting in with the chaos.
I asked him, on this last visit, what he thought about achievement and happiness, these days. He laughed. “Yeah, you know, what they don’t tell you, in college, is that in deciding what you’re going to excel at, you’re also deciding what you’re going to really suck at. Because you can’t excel at everything. If you’re going to push hard on your career, other things are going to suffer.”
I liked that idea–and the way he phrased it. Because it’s true. Everything in life is a trade-off, and the important thing is figuring out what elements matter the most to you. For they will, guaranteed, come at the price of compromising on something else. In deciding what you want to excel at, you are most certainly also deciding “what you’re going to suck at.” [click to continue…]
A couple of weeks ago, the New York Times ran an opinion piece about the new breed of “Super People” emerging from the ranks of the nation’s young adults. Just as wealth in the country has become more concentrated in the hands of a few at the top, over the past 20 years, so, the piece argued, have all the “good” opportunities and positions.
It’s true that young people today, as a whole, are much more scheduled than their peers of 30 or 40 years ago. College-bound high school kids also routinely take four AP classes, in the hopes of being competitive at the good schools. When I went to high school, we only had one AP option––math, in our senior year. We had honors classes, of course, and maybe the difference isn’t so terribly great. And there were certainly achievement-obsessed kids, and kids whose parents’ wealth, status and connections gave them an unfair advantage in terms of experiences and opportunities, even then.
Fewer kids were jetting off to have application-enhancing experiences doing volunteer work in southeast Asia, of course. But if I were a college admissions director, I’d be far less concerned with what a young person had done than the quality of their thoughts, curiosity, insight and maturity. In part because I’ve been around the block enough times to know that people’s resumes can make almost anyone seem intimidatingly accomplished. But also because I’m not so terribly impressed with all that accomplishment, anyway.
Accomplishment, after all, is a fairly straightforward process. Sign up for an activity, push hard, focus, and move forward. You don’t necessarily have to develop depth, balance, insight or compassion to be accomplished. You don’t even really have to impact other people. Indeed, if you’re really focused on achieving personal goals, or a ton of things to make your resume or application look better, you’re likely to take less time to really give to the people around you. And I don’t mean “give” in the sense of “I volunteered at a food co-op each week (because that looks good) – but “give” in the more everyday, unglamorous ways that make up the real fabric of community. Helping with daily family tasks to keep the ship running more smoothly. Listening to a friend in need. Taking out an elderly neighbor’s garbage. Taking time for that kid who always hangs around, wanting to join the basketball game. Figuring yourself out better so you can be a healthier, happier person in all your interpersonal interactions. Cultivating a curious mind and asking a lot of questions to expand your understanding of other people and the world.
None of that translates particularly well to an college application or resume, of course. So, maybe you don’t go to Harvard. But truth be told, I’m not sure that’s all that bad, either. I know some very impressive people who actually went to Harvard. A couple of them are prominent journalists, one is a dean of a business school, a couple are in government. They’re all working on “important world issues.” On the other hand, the CEO of Proctor & Gamble went to tiny Hamilton College in upstate New York, and Steve Jobs dropped out of college entirely. [click to continue…]
It’s been an odd few weeks. After not having gone to the Reno National Air Races for over 10 years, I found myself there again this year, on assignment for the EAA’s Sport Aviation magazine. I’d been involved with three different Unlimited Air Racers in the past: The Super Corsair, Tsunami, and the Pond Racer. So I used to go to the races a lot. But all three of those planes crashed; two of them taking the pilot with them. And some of the fun went out of it, then, for me. But air racing is a bit like NASCAR, in that it’s a family event. There were people I saw there that I didn’t see anywhere else. So, I kept going for a while. But I hadn’t gone since 2000.
As anyone who watched the news anytime on September 16th or 17th knows, this was not a good year to go to Reno. (For anyone who didn’t watch the news on those days, one of the highly modified P-51 racers broke and went out of control, crashing into the front of the grandstands, killing 12 people in addition to the pilot, and maiming or injuring many more.) In fact, I may have been there the day that racing died. The Cleveland Races were shut down in 1949 after a racer crashed into a house and killed two people. Jimmy Leeward, in his “Galloping Ghost” P-51, killed 12. (Not that he was aware of that. From all indications, Leeward was unconscious from the Gs he puled by the time the plane left the race course.)
I was also much closer to the accident site than I normally would have been, because EAA had a chalet close to the grandstands. Normally, I would have watched the race from the pits. But this year, I was standing with other EAA folks in front of the chalet – 50-75 yards away from where the plane hit. If the vagaries of aerodynamics had played out just a little bit differently, the plane might very well have hit us, instead.
Even if I were inclined to dwell on how awful those few seconds were, I’m not sure I’d have adequate words to describe it. But I’m not inclined to dwell on it. Leave that to the TV folks. It was a horrible tragedy, and there’s nothing good to be said about it. I can only wish comfort to those injured and the families of those lost.
But I have found myself dwelling, since then, on the question of what should be done about the races, now. Nobody who watched that crash play out, real-time, in person, would try to say anything cavalier about it. It was horrific. It may be that even if the races continue, many of those who had a front row seat to the tragedy will not choose to go back.
And yet, even as I felt sick over the loss … there was, and is, a piece of me that thinks the races should continue. Thinks that it might even be important that they do.
No, World War II fighters aren’t going to revolutionize the world. But it’s hard to say where any of us get our inspiration for innovation; for thinking outside the box; for imagining ways we might make something faster, better, or more efficient. Passion and inspiration get sparked by unpredictable things. And I can’t help but wonder if, should the races be shut down, it wouldn’t cause another loss–a loss of something that acted as a tinderbox for sparking not just new technology per se, but new ideas and dreams, and new, innovative thoughts and thought patterns. After all, innovative ideas rarely hit out of the blue. They’re much more likely to strike in minds that are already limber and practiced in imagining ways to make things different or better.
That theme of innovation and loss was echoed again for me last week, when Steve Jobs died. [click to continue…]
Ed Note: “I Do This Because …” is a series of guest essays on this site by adventurers, entrepreneurs, and brave explorers of experience, uncharted territory, and life. As the title indicates, the essays offer the authors’ reflections on why they chose the path they did, and why they continue on that path, despite all the challenges, costs, and discouraging moments that come with any uncharted adventure.
For more information on the origins of the “I Do This Because” essays, see my own entry. And, as always, if you know of anyone you think would make a good guest essayist, or have your own answer to why you’re pursuing the particular, challenging path you’re pursuing, please share it!
About the Author
Colleen Griffin is a writer, motorcycle rider, adventure seeker and travel enthusiast. Since realizing her dream of circumnavigating North America last year, Colleen explored 1,300 miles of South Africa’s craggy coastline, climbed winding mountain passes and traversed its famously fragrant wine country–on a motorcycle, of course; and she has plans to do the same in New Zealand and Australia next year. When not riding a motorcycle across various countries on the planet, Colleen can be found 35,000 feet above it, in an airplane, serving drinks and peanuts to airline passengers and dreaming of new adventures.
To learn more about Colleen and her motorcycle adventures, visit her blog: www.but-thatsjustme.blogspot.com.
I do this because … it was born from a dream.
My passion to ride motorcycles began in the 1970s with a television commercial. During the commercial, a motorcycle traversed rolling hills on twisty, country back roads. I was immediately captivated by the sense of freedom and adventure portrayed in these 30 seconds. At the end of the commercial, the rider stopped the motorcycle and, removing the helmet, shook out a long brunette mane. She looked into the camera and with a wry grin said, “What did you expect?” That commercial got a young girl dreaming about riding a motorcycle across North America–a dream that would not come true until she turned 44 years old.
I do this because … I chose to live life without excuses, or regrets.
As an adult, I made excuses for why I did not pursue my dream: my priorities changed as the years went by and owning a motorcycle seemed “impractical;” I had a career and couldn’t afford to take as much time off as my dream trip required; I didn’t have anyone to ride with; and last-but-not-least, I had the usual fears and financial responsibilities that come with age and mortgage payments. Then a friend reminded me of this quote from Mark Twain:
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
I do this because … my adventurous spirit prevails.
Originally, I planned to do the entire North America trip accompanied by a fellow rider and friend who had more years of riding and camping experience (and equipment) than I did. I planned on following her lead, literally, and learning from her as we rode. As the departure date of the trip grew nearer, these original, well-laid plans changed. [click to continue…]
Can’t even remember where I came across this site, recently. But for anyone looking for a life adventure with some social meaning attached to it, Idealist.org appears to be a resource well worth checking out.
Founded as an “Idea list” for “idealists,” the site has a blog and, even more importantly, an impressive data bank of jobs, volunteer opportunities, and organizations that have some higher purpose of improving or changing the world attached to them.
Just to see what the site had to offer, I did a search for volunteer opportunities in Mongolia (9 results), jobs in Norway (1- a mediation expert for the Norwegian Refugee Council), and internships in Spain (1- a position in Environmental Appropriate Technologies and Eco Construction). That’s in addition to over 6,800 jobs, 8,800 volunteer opportunities, and 4200 internship positions available in the United States.
Even as a search tool to see what kinds of jobs or opportunities might exist, in an effort to ignite that spark of inspiration I wrote about in my last post, the site seems like a good place to spend some exploring, musing, and imagining time. Inspiration, after all, comes most often from stumbling across an idea or vision you hadn’t thought about, or known about, before.
And, really. Any kind of job or volunteer opportunity in Thailand (122), Botswana (5) or Bhutan (1) is bound to be an adventure. No matter what.
