...I owe you everything

Asymetrical Obligation Part 1

Not everyone agrees that systemic inequality is a problem in America. But even the most ‘MERICA!-pilled among us could see that certain challenges can make achieving the American Dream™ a bit more difficult.

Challenges in childhood like housing instability and lack of access to education resources due to poverty. No one would say that attending seven schools in grades K-6 is a better start than having some stability. Nor would anyone likely say that growing up subjected to PTSD inducing abuse is a rock-solid foundation.

Further, one would likely not be advised to AWOL themselves out of the military, throwing away the GI Bill and VA benefits in the process. Or recommend quitting and starting a new job every six months or so for several years.

All of this and more is part of my background. Yet I sit here typing this in a house I own, one that includes both a bedroom converted to a Peloton studio and a private office where I can work my six-figure salary job in fintech from home. Parked outside are two cars I own outright. Measured by net assets I sit here at midlife having done what I was told could be done starting poor in America.

These are my burdens, but they aren’t unique to me. And so many struggle with so much I did not have to face, like different treatment because of the color of my skin or presentation of my gender. But how did I overcome it all? I worked hard, but lots of people work hard with little affluence to show for it. I know I’m not as tired at the end of the day as someone barely getting by working construction and hustling on an app based side gig.

It certainly wasn’t by pulling on any bootstraps.

And I don’t tell you about what I have today to brag that I “made it”. Consumer culture affluence is fleeting, and should some ill fate befall me I wouldn’t be the first one in line at a food bank reminiscing about the life I used to have.

No telling you about what I have puts some context into what I owe.

I did not arrive where I am today born on the wings of self-reliance and a can-do attitude. Often enough I exemplified the opposite of those traits. But for every wall in my way, there was a ladder to climb over it. For every fall into a pit of despair, there was a hand reaching down to pull me out.

The friend whose family welcomed me into their home and treated me as one of their own. The coach who picked me up before dawn to give me time to workout before school. The church leaders who told me and showed me that I was valuable. The mentor who drove 30 miles each way twice a week to invest in my growth.

None of these people owed any obligation to me. Yet without these impactful contributions I would not be the person I am today. In any measure, time, money, or the intangible, I cannot repay them for helping me build this life I enjoy so much.

Behind every person’s success is a crowd of people like this. For some it is their family, nurturing and providing. Or maybe their pastor. Or a work spouse. Or friends who were always just “there”. We are the amalgamations of so many small investments made by so many. Successful Kickstarter campaigns in human form.

“You might have needed all of that,” you might say, “but I didn’t. And if I got it, I didn’t ask for it. I owe nobody nothing. I made me.”

I agree. You are the architect of you. That’s a foundational idea of this whole thing, Architectural Humanism, thank you for giving me the set up for the plug. But the materials you built with? They weren’t all supplied by you.

Allow me a quick anthropological aside, if you would. When we find the remains of humans from thousands of years ago, one of the markers that they were in a “society”, as opposed to just being a group of foragers, is the evidence of healed bones.

To allow a bone to heal, a person must be cared for by others. Allowed to consume and not need to contribute, until they are whole. From this simple foundation, humanity has developed a complex society that constantly enriches the lives of those within it.

You benefit from the ingenuity of people long passed, the ones who figured out how to grow more food with less work, who eradicated diseases, people who tricked slabs of silicon into thinking. Especially if you live in an advanced economy, you are the beneficiary of generations and millennia of the contributions of people you’ll never know.

That’s the human project. We didn’t ask for it, but we are all the recipients of the personal investment of the people in our lives, the infrastructure we take for granted in the background, and the fruits of the struggles for individual dignity and agency.

Alone a person can survive. Being lifted by others a person can thrive.

So what do we do with this? How do we face a debt owed to so many? It’s overwhelming! Do I need to go give everything I own to Goodwill? Or to… “human civilization”? How do you even do that?!

First, we acknowledge the debt. You don’t need to list out every person who contributed to your life. That would be a good practice for orienting towards gratitude, but not the point of this essay. You don’t need a spreadsheet of each person and what they did. Understanding that the debt exists is enough.

Second, we need to understand that the debt cannot be repaid. How do you repay John Snow? No, not the Game of Thrones guy, the 19^th century doctor who figured out disease was being spread by contaminated water and not “bad air”, leading to modern germ theory? Or Marie Curie for essentially sacrificing herself so that we can understand the dangers and applications of radiation? Do I need to tip the radiologist when I get an X-ray? What do I owe to the Ethiopian shepherd who apocryphally discovered the coffee bean?

Simple. You can’t repay them. You may be able to repay kindness in kind to a friend. But not repay the teacher who gave extra attention, or the coworker who mentored you. And if you had loving and nurturing parents? Anything you do to repay them is like trying to empty the ocean with a bucket.

And thus, we are left with this truth. “I owe everything.”

And we cannot know or even comprehend all of the things people have contributed to us in our life. We are each the return on investment of so, so many people. The abstract mass of humanity that is defined as not being me.

The all-encompassing other outside of oneself. “You”. All of you.

But we don’t deal with an “amorphous mass of the collective of all humans who are not me through time and space”. We interact with people. So we can only address repayment to individuals. Not the whole world. But that guy across the street mowing his yard. Or the lady you happen to ride in the elevator with every morning at work.

For each person we interact with, the truth is always “I owe you everything”.

But how do we repay all the people we interact with? I’m only one person… I only have so much to give. And if I give too much, my future capacity to give is compromised. How do we measure? When is enough enough?

And what happens when I choose not to give? Because that is going to happen. A lot.

The debt is infinite. But you are not. What is important is what you can give. But what you cannot give is also infinite. Infinite and overwhelming.

What you can give is good. Good is what affirms a person’s dignity. Good is what provides benefit to another. There is certainly a lot of harm and evil in the world. But on the net, we are here with a complex and interwoven society because there is more good. And any act of good is a contribution to the net good of all.

We have more to give than money. Or stuff. That woman on the elevator you see every morning? She’s wearing earrings modeled on Van Gogh’s Sunflowers. They go remarkably well with the glasses she’s wearing today. So what can you give?

You can give your attention. You notice her. She is not simply a part of the blurred background of your daily journey to your desk. She is a person. She has chosen her accessories, her earrings, the glasses, to express who she is.

You have 30 seconds together in the elevator. She gets off on 4, you get off on 5.

“I like your earrings, those are neat… and they go well with your glasses.”

The door opens on 4. She mumbles an awkward “Thank you,” and steps out.

You go on with your day. What you didn’t know was that she was self-conscious about the glasses. She wasn’t sure they were the right choice, but she is now more certain. She has a presentation to give today on camera. She delivers with an almost imperceptible increase in confidence. She nails the presentation. It’s going to be a good day.

Its small. Its not going to be written about in the history books, or even in her Instagram “New glasses, who dis?” selfie post that evening out with her friends. She wasn’t sure if she was going to go. But her day went well, and she is in the mood to be social.

And whether you realize it or not, you’ve recorded a small credit in your ledger.

That’s how we contribute to what we owe. We are present. We recognize the humanity of others. We understand a situation’s context, and if possible, contribute what we can. Even the small contributions add up to a kinder world.

And its not just with the individual interaction. After all, we are all components of vast, interconnected systems of people. Families. Neighborhoods. Faith groups. Corporations. Nations. Swifties.

You can’t solve climate change alone. But you can make sure you are aware of what’s happening. You can measure your carbon footprint. You can understand that corporations are responsible for the vast majority of CO2 emissions and vote with your dollars. You can share what you know with who you know. You can fund a nonprofit that is working toward the changes we need.

But sometimes, you just can’t. You can only afford the cheap laundry soap, even though you know that the more expensive one is more sustainably produced. You have to drive your carbon emitting car because you cannot afford electric, and you live in a municipality built for cars, not people.

I owe you everything. What I can give is my attention, my empathy, and my will to act when I can. And my understanding that the stamina of my attention is, my empathy, and my will are not infinite.

If you step into the elevator the morning after your partner lost their job, you don’t have anything to give in those 30 seconds. Your mind is still reeling, how will we pay the bills? Can they find work before the severance is done? Do we have enough savings?

You do not have the capacity to give. This doesn’t mean you can absent yourself from the world; after all you are there in body if not present in mind. But you understand that choosing to not give when you can’t isn’t a failing, its responsible accounting.

A fire can only burn with the fuel it has. If it burns brighter and hotter than it can be replenished, it goes out. A burned out flame gives no light, no heat.

You must manage what you can give. Record your good. Record your harms. Sometimes you just want to go for a drive. You know it will be an unnecessary carbon output. But you just… want to. That’s ok.

We don’t live in a perfect world. And we aren’t perfect moral beings. We can’t be. But we can be aware of what we are. And we can use that awareness to tip our contributions to the positive.

Be aware.

Be present.

Act when you can. Think about your actions.

It can be hard to have this focus. Like any skill or muscle, it needs practice to hone and grow. But each time you are mindful and see a way to contribute a good, the next time is easier. Every time you reckon with a harm, you become more responsible.

It is your ledger. It is written whether you are intentional about it or not. Your actions influence so much more than you can ever know. Be intentional. Extend good to others.

Be aware of how you impact the world. You can’t control anyone else, you can only control yourself. If you want more good in the world for you, the only thing you can do is increase the good in the world.

I owe you everything. It’s not a burden of debt. It’s a contribution to all, including yourself.