Through the Prism: Learning to Dance with Chaos

The Identity Trap: How to Be Less Wrong

Human beings are unreliable narrators who mistakenly think they are painting an image of self that corresponds to the reality they interact with.

We implicitly assume that our identities are static, and from there, we lead ourselves towards the only logical conclusion: the need for a systematic framework that anchors who we are so we can maintain this consistency.

We use the mask of specific values to draw perimeters — defining good and bad, right and wrong — and we then live our lives within them . . .

Some people can recognize the fact that having and maintaining a systematic identity is an illusion, one that leads to frequent missteps, and as a result, they can then correct course before it occurs. . . .

The world around you exists independently of the opinions of right and wrong that you enforce on it. . . .

Always being consistent makes you inconsistent with the reality around you. . . .

Values and frameworks are best utilized when they are referenced as orienting generalizations — roughly right — rather than hard, fast truths. . . .

We have to learn to dance with chaos.

We can still respect our identity systems and our values, but we also have to develop the capacity to step outside of them when circumstances demand. . . .

When we really break this down, the ability to correct mistakes and to be less wrong over time comes down to one thing: the capacity to embrace and understand the contradictions that arise in the world when they do. . . .

The world around us is inconsistent, and whether or not we want them to be, so our identities. The way to fight this chaos isn’t by forcing it to conform to a pre-existing solution; it’s to live in a fluid and malleable way.

Rule 5: Always let whatever you follow get in the way of whatever you believe in

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Just because it's normal to be fine doesn't mean it's fine to be normal.

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When you have more than you need build a longer table not a higher wall.

Let America Be America Again
Langston Hughes

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine—the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!

From The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes, published by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Copyright © 1994 the Estate of Langston Hughes