My favorite song from the past two years was Chris Stapleton's Starting Over, the second verse of which goes like this:
This might not be an easy time There's rivers to cross and hills to climb Some days we might fall apart And some nights might feel cold and dark
But nobody wins, afraid of losing And the hard roads are the ones worth choosing Someday we'll look back and smile And know it was worth every mile
This verse always stands out to me. Particularly "nobody wins, afraid of losing". It reminds me of the old adage that goes something like: if you want to drive down the road but are afraid of crashing, don't look at the trees.
I've been thinking about this general dynamic lately, because it seems like there's a lot to be afraid of these days. AI, climate, wars (physical & cultural), economic uncertainty, etc etc. And it's easy to focus on the "tree" through all of it, rather than the potential "win".
On a more micro level, I've been watching my son wrestle with a tough slump in the middle of his baseball season. He plays on a very serious club team with a lot of great players, and there's a lot of focus on performance and stats. He got into a bit of a slump for a few weeks, and was feeling really down. He was working his butt off to improve, but it felt to me like something was missing. It seemed to me that he was motivating more from a fear of failure ("what if I don't make the team next year") vs a love of the game ("wow, it feels so good to hit the ball").
My favorite song from the past two years was Chris Stapleton's Starting Over, the second verse of which goes like this:
This might not be an easy time There's rivers to cross and hills to climb Some days we might fall apart And some nights might feel cold and dark
But nobody wins, afraid of losing And the hard roads are the ones worth choosing Someday we'll look back and smile And know it was worth every mile
This verse always stands out to me. Particularly "nobody wins, afraid of losing". It reminds me of the old adage that goes something like: if you want to drive down the road but are afraid of crashing, don't look at the trees.
I've been thinking about this general dynamic lately, because it seems like there's a lot to be afraid of these days. AI, climate, wars (physical & cultural), economic uncertainty, etc etc. And it's easy to focus on the "tree" through all of it, rather than the potential "win".
On a more micro level, I've been watching my son wrestle with a tough slump in the middle of his baseball season. He plays on a very serious club team with a lot of great players, and there's a lot of focus on performance and stats. He got into a bit of a slump for a few weeks, and was feeling really down. He was working his butt off to improve, but it felt to me like something was missing. It seemed to me that he was motivating more from a fear of failure ("what if I don't make the team next year") vs a love of the game ("wow, it feels so good to hit the ball").
Both kinds of motivation can be helpful, for sure. Especially if they get you moving in the direction you need to move in. In my son's case he was able to break the slump, and -- I think -- re-gained some excitement for hitting. But motivating out of fear is really not very fun.
I'm a natural procrastinator, and so I'm very familiar with motivating out of fear. It's the worst. Part of my own working through that is to try and constantly remind myself of the vision and the excitement, as a way of breaking through the fear. Part of which is writing this post :-)
I am traveling home today from Switzerland, having been there for a week for a few board meetings (and also some amazing skiing in between, notching a life goal I've had since I was a teenager).
Every time I travel to Europe I end up fixated on the fact that the physical infrastructure there is so incredible. There is this combination of both really beautiful old things (castles, buildings, streets, canals, etc.), and really beautiful new things (trains, airports, etc.). And just a general sense of loveliness.
This is especially the case in Switzerland, where the transportation infrastructure is nothing short of miraculous. The trains and trams are basically perfect -- always there when you want them, going exactly where you need, spotless and comfortable, smooth and quiet, with amazing apps tying it all together. You get used to it really quickly, and it's clear how it lays the foundation for an exceptionally high day-to-day quality of life.
Both kinds of motivation can be helpful, for sure. Especially if they get you moving in the direction you need to move in. In my son's case he was able to break the slump, and -- I think -- re-gained some excitement for hitting. But motivating out of fear is really not very fun.
I'm a natural procrastinator, and so I'm very familiar with motivating out of fear. It's the worst. Part of my own working through that is to try and constantly remind myself of the vision and the excitement, as a way of breaking through the fear. Part of which is writing this post :-)
I am traveling home today from Switzerland, having been there for a week for a few board meetings (and also some amazing skiing in between, notching a life goal I've had since I was a teenager).
Every time I travel to Europe I end up fixated on the fact that the physical infrastructure there is so incredible. There is this combination of both really beautiful old things (castles, buildings, streets, canals, etc.), and really beautiful new things (trains, airports, etc.). And just a general sense of loveliness.
This is especially the case in Switzerland, where the transportation infrastructure is nothing short of miraculous. The trains and trams are basically perfect -- always there when you want them, going exactly where you need, spotless and comfortable, smooth and quiet, with amazing apps tying it all together. You get used to it really quickly, and it's clear how it lays the foundation for an exceptionally high day-to-day quality of life.
I find myself today flying across the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, en route to Denver for ETH Denver followed by LA for the Upfront Summit. I often end up writing blog posts on planes — partially because of the large block of unscheduled time, but I think it’s more than that. I think there is something about being in flight, in transit, inmotion that gets me going on a deep personal level.
I just love moving. I love driving, biking, walking, skiing, boating, train-ing, flying — really anything where moving ahead, fast is the primary activity. Does everyone feel this way? I’m not sure. But I really really do. I get antsy sitting still for too long, and I think, staying in one place for too long.
My first year after college, I lived in Aptos, CA (outside of Santa Cruz), and somehow managed to get a job (working construction at the time) in Palo Alto. Every day I’d drive back and forth over Highway 17 through the redwoods of the Santa Cruz mountains. It was an exhausting drive, but one of the most beautiful I know of — I can still smell the Eucalyptus trees going over the hill and the salty fog of the Santa Cruz bay.
For the past dozen years, I have lived in suburban Boston but worked in NYC. Every week I make the 4-hour trip each way, most of the time via Amtrak but sometimes by plane. I love being a suburban dad, and also love being a NYC VC. And I love my mornings and afternoons on the train. Seeing the Connecticut coastline off of the Amtrak is the highlight.
Beyond that (COVID notwithstanding) I am traveling constantly, for conferences, board meetings and other trips. I get excited pretty much every time it’s time to go somewhere new. I love landing in an airport, and getting on a train (if in Europe) or renting a car (if in California) and getting busy exploring. I love the feeling of walking quickly through the city and then hopping a streetcar, train or bike. Feeling the motion, and seeing the place quickly, while in motion. The best.
There are, of course, downsides to all of this motion. When I lived in Aptos and worked in Palo Alto, I ended up crashing with friends in PA a lot, and I never really felt like Aptos was home. Splitting time between Boston and NYC is even harder — I always have the feeling like I’m not in either place enough, and choosing between work and family in that way is always really hard. Going somewhere means not being somewhere else, obviously.
When I say motion, though, it’s not just about travel, but really just about moving. Today I took a bunch of boxes to our storage unit. Simple motion like packing the car, driving a few miles, and loading up & rolling the storage dolly just makes me happy. It’s kind of weird. Living in NYC most of my life (before and after college and before moving to Boston), I feel like the subway trip to & from work / school was perhaps the most head-clearing part of the day. For me, motion is a key ingredient to having healthy and active mind.
Looking back now and reflecting on this observation about myself, I think it also explains part of why I got so antsy and stir-crazy during COVID. As much as I love the accessibility of meeting with anyone in the world over zoom, I can’t stand the stasis of sitting in my little office all day long, not moving at all. It’s not that I need a bigger home office, I just need to be moving.
I’ve been this way my whole life, but I don’t think I every really noticed it so concretely until recently. I’m not sure what it says about my personality. My wife would probably say it has something to do with being an Aries; I don’t know. But regardless of the reason, it’s definitely how I am. And now that I realize that, I think I understand myself a little bit better.
Uetliberg train station, overlooking Zurich (credit: jaeschol on flickr)
The common thread that seems to tie together the beautiful old and the beautiful new is a commitment to permanence. When Europeans invest and build, they tend take their time and do it once.
This commitment to permanence also applies to social issues. Generally speaking, the European approach is one of social welfare and a goal of societal stability. A system that is livable, sustainable, and then, relatively un-changing. When things are so lovely and beautiful, why change?
Of course, a commitment to permanence on social issues also means a lack of mobility. Old money has had centuries and millennia to accumulate and calcify; social classes would seem to be more rigid and impermeable. Permanence can have its downsides.
For example, I had lunch with a friend yesterday, who was explaining the dynamics of the real estate market in Zurich. Apparently it is nearly impossible to buy property there -- it's an illiquid market. The reasons for this seem to be: 1/ most of the buildings are long-term assets held by long-term holders. Banks, institutions, old money, etc. And 2/ the structure of the mortgage market discourages re-selling, primarily by disallowing prepayments. In other words, when a housing lender locks in 5% for 30 years, they expect to get the 5% for all 30 years, regardless of who owns the property. Perhaps there are other dynamics at play here as well, but with just these two factors alone, you can get a sense for how this form of permanence results in a lack of economic access and mobility.
The US, on the other hand, rebels against permanence. We prefer change, and optionality. Roads and cars vs. trains and trams. New startups & technological innovation vs. industrial perfection honed over centuries. Social mobility vs. social safety. An endless frontier.
What we end up with, as a result, is a system that is full of excitement and opportunity, but is extremely messy.
I think about my Great-Grandfather, who was murdered in Kiev for being a Jew. And then about my Grandfather who escaped that to come to the US in the early 1900s, an immigrant with nothing at all. And then about my father who didn't go to college but managed to learn a trade (computer programming, in the 1960s) and then start a company through pure hustle and force of will. And now here I am a graduate of a top university and a venture capitalist. That's a lot of change in 4 generations, and is kind of the iconic American story. I'm so lucky because of it.
That's the opportunity side of America. The flip side is risk, and mess. We don't ensure that everyone is basically ok. We don't ensure that our infrastructure is sound and serves everyone well. Ours is a raw fabric, where we encourage and allow for change, but can't make many guarantees.
In the end I just feel conflicted. The European model is so lovely, but potentially so stifling. The American model is so full of opportunity, but so lacking on the fundamentals. I wonder if the right balance can be achieved, and where.
I find myself today flying across the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, en route to Denver for ETH Denver followed by LA for the Upfront Summit. I often end up writing blog posts on planes — partially because of the large block of unscheduled time, but I think it’s more than that. I think there is something about being in flight, in transit, inmotion that gets me going on a deep personal level.
I just love moving. I love driving, biking, walking, skiing, boating, train-ing, flying — really anything where moving ahead, fast is the primary activity. Does everyone feel this way? I’m not sure. But I really really do. I get antsy sitting still for too long, and I think, staying in one place for too long.
My first year after college, I lived in Aptos, CA (outside of Santa Cruz), and somehow managed to get a job (working construction at the time) in Palo Alto. Every day I’d drive back and forth over Highway 17 through the redwoods of the Santa Cruz mountains. It was an exhausting drive, but one of the most beautiful I know of — I can still smell the Eucalyptus trees going over the hill and the salty fog of the Santa Cruz bay.
For the past dozen years, I have lived in suburban Boston but worked in NYC. Every week I make the 4-hour trip each way, most of the time via Amtrak but sometimes by plane. I love being a suburban dad, and also love being a NYC VC. And I love my mornings and afternoons on the train. Seeing the Connecticut coastline off of the Amtrak is the highlight.
Beyond that (COVID notwithstanding) I am traveling constantly, for conferences, board meetings and other trips. I get excited pretty much every time it’s time to go somewhere new. I love landing in an airport, and getting on a train (if in Europe) or renting a car (if in California) and getting busy exploring. I love the feeling of walking quickly through the city and then hopping a streetcar, train or bike. Feeling the motion, and seeing the place quickly, while in motion. The best.
There are, of course, downsides to all of this motion. When I lived in Aptos and worked in Palo Alto, I ended up crashing with friends in PA a lot, and I never really felt like Aptos was home. Splitting time between Boston and NYC is even harder — I always have the feeling like I’m not in either place enough, and choosing between work and family in that way is always really hard. Going somewhere means not being somewhere else, obviously.
When I say motion, though, it’s not just about travel, but really just about moving. Today I took a bunch of boxes to our storage unit. Simple motion like packing the car, driving a few miles, and loading up & rolling the storage dolly just makes me happy. It’s kind of weird. Living in NYC most of my life (before and after college and before moving to Boston), I feel like the subway trip to & from work / school was perhaps the most head-clearing part of the day. For me, motion is a key ingredient to having healthy and active mind.
Looking back now and reflecting on this observation about myself, I think it also explains part of why I got so antsy and stir-crazy during COVID. As much as I love the accessibility of meeting with anyone in the world over zoom, I can’t stand the stasis of sitting in my little office all day long, not moving at all. It’s not that I need a bigger home office, I just need to be moving.
I’ve been this way my whole life, but I don’t think I every really noticed it so concretely until recently. I’m not sure what it says about my personality. My wife would probably say it has something to do with being an Aries; I don’t know. But regardless of the reason, it’s definitely how I am. And now that I realize that, I think I understand myself a little bit better.
Uetliberg train station, overlooking Zurich (credit: jaeschol on flickr)
The common thread that seems to tie together the beautiful old and the beautiful new is a commitment to permanence. When Europeans invest and build, they tend take their time and do it once.
This commitment to permanence also applies to social issues. Generally speaking, the European approach is one of social welfare and a goal of societal stability. A system that is livable, sustainable, and then, relatively un-changing. When things are so lovely and beautiful, why change?
Of course, a commitment to permanence on social issues also means a lack of mobility. Old money has had centuries and millennia to accumulate and calcify; social classes would seem to be more rigid and impermeable. Permanence can have its downsides.
For example, I had lunch with a friend yesterday, who was explaining the dynamics of the real estate market in Zurich. Apparently it is nearly impossible to buy property there -- it's an illiquid market. The reasons for this seem to be: 1/ most of the buildings are long-term assets held by long-term holders. Banks, institutions, old money, etc. And 2/ the structure of the mortgage market discourages re-selling, primarily by disallowing prepayments. In other words, when a housing lender locks in 5% for 30 years, they expect to get the 5% for all 30 years, regardless of who owns the property. Perhaps there are other dynamics at play here as well, but with just these two factors alone, you can get a sense for how this form of permanence results in a lack of economic access and mobility.
The US, on the other hand, rebels against permanence. We prefer change, and optionality. Roads and cars vs. trains and trams. New startups & technological innovation vs. industrial perfection honed over centuries. Social mobility vs. social safety. An endless frontier.
What we end up with, as a result, is a system that is full of excitement and opportunity, but is extremely messy.
I think about my Great-Grandfather, who was murdered in Kiev for being a Jew. And then about my Grandfather who escaped that to come to the US in the early 1900s, an immigrant with nothing at all. And then about my father who didn't go to college but managed to learn a trade (computer programming, in the 1960s) and then start a company through pure hustle and force of will. And now here I am a graduate of a top university and a venture capitalist. That's a lot of change in 4 generations, and is kind of the iconic American story. I'm so lucky because of it.
That's the opportunity side of America. The flip side is risk, and mess. We don't ensure that everyone is basically ok. We don't ensure that our infrastructure is sound and serves everyone well. Ours is a raw fabric, where we encourage and allow for change, but can't make many guarantees.
In the end I just feel conflicted. The European model is so lovely, but potentially so stifling. The American model is so full of opportunity, but so lacking on the fundamentals. I wonder if the right balance can be achieved, and where.
