I watched my aunt cease to live.  I have never seen anyone die before.  I saw her draw in one suffering breath after another.  We all knew that she would soon die, but she was still alive.  Another breath, yet another, and then… nothing.  No additional breath.  No more life.

And in my heart and in my mind, this changed everything about her. 

I felt a sadness settle deep within as I looked at her serene and unmoving face.  The sadness was amplified by memories of animation.  Memories of smiles and frowns.  Memories of her face asking a question, or being surprised by an answer.  Memories of a unique creativity and expression that I would never see again.  In the moment that she died, my aunt was transformed from a suffering invalid into a memory of the ideal person that she always was.  

Like reading a book, page after page, it is only when the final page is turned, when the story is done, that it is transformed into meaning.  Suddenly, there is no yesterday, no ongoing tomorrow.  The book crystallizes into a single essence that finally adds itself to the reader's life.

The passing of a loved one brings sadness, and grief, and introspection, and religiosity, and belief, and funeral arrangements and a confrontation with the reality of death.  Once all these are past, the most valuable aspect is the reminiscing - the telling of fond memories, the relating of sad ones, the painting of a picture about what that person means to you.  This shared act is one of liberation.

I learned so much about my aunt after she died.  I appreciated her so much more then than I ever  have before.  Her brothers and sisters told stories of their shared youth.  They told stories about her love of reading and of watching the news and of knowledge, of how she completed her education against all odds.  From the start she was determined to be independent.  She taught herself to sew.  She bravely traveled to Canada from her birthplace in Kenya.  I heard about her aspirations, remembered how she hummed a tune when she had a good hand of playing cards and summarized her character as one of hard work and devotion to the family.

I wish I had known all these things about her while she was still alive!  I wish I had appreciated everything that she was when I could have appreciated it with her.  I wish I could have celebrated my memory of her before it became a memory.

That is the tragedy of life.  When there is a tomorrow, we rarely care about today.  Only when there are no tomorrows left do we remember yesterday.  Think now of all those around you, and ask if you truly know who they are, and whether you should know more.  Ask if you know of their youth, of their struggles, of their hopes and dreams and fears.  Ask what it is about them that makes them unique, that gives them their character.  Savor it.  Appreciate it.  Share it with them.  Compliment them on it.  Do not  be afraid that they will change - for even if they do, it will add to their ideal, and make them more interesting.  As humans, we tend to postpone judgment until the end, when the plot has run out of twists.  Let people live knowing how would be remembered when they are no more.

Personally, I would much rather die with the summary of my character in my heart than for it to be celebrated without my awareness and without my presence.

Thank you bai aunty.  For your wonderful and unique life.  For this insight.  And for making a difference in our lives.  It has been exactly 40 days since you left this world.  We shall always remember you fondly, and pray for your soul. 

Today, I did some work at Starbucks and enjoyed their chai tea latte while contemplating the rain.  As often happens when I partake of caffeine, I eventually had to visit the restroom.  From this mundane occurrence came a valuable insight.

I had my laptop with me, one worth thousands of dollars, containing much of my life and thoughts as well as valuable proprietary information.  Should I leave the laptop on the table while I visited the restroom?  Or should I close it up and take it with me?

To some, the answer may be obvious.  For me, I felt a twinge of guilt for even considering that someone would steal from me.  What would they think?  I asked myself,  would they understand?  Or would they wonder:  "doesn't he trust us?"

As I put the machine on standby and picked it up, I truly realized how much we trust each other in our society, whether we know each other or are complete strangers.  That trust is such a fundamental part of everything that we ever do that we take it for granted and are mostly unaware of how absolutely critical it has been to our success.

Thousands of years of civilization have built up an impressive infrastructure - from the Ten Commandments to marriage to common law to liberal democracies to centralized banking and finance.  Each of these mechanisms (and many, many others) have contributed their share in creating a system where people do what they say they will do, and entities truly look out for the partners and customers with whom they do business.

Trust lets us run faster, make assumptions that stick, increases predictability, makes things more efficient, increases mutual co-operative benefit, saves time and resources, increases scope of activity and creativity.

Is it any wonder that cultures with strong elements of reciprocity (such as "do unto others and they will do unto you") have been the ones that have succeeded where others have failed?  Some cultures have tried to instill the net benefit to society as a reason to play one's part (Confucianism, Taoism), others have relied on God's Will to punish those who do not.

In fact - many of our themes revolve around trust, and the implications of its breach.  Our TV shows commonly feature betrayal - whether it is a cheating significant other, the betrayal of a long-time trusted friend, to a traitor to the government.

However, trust is a funny thing to build.  It needs to be given before it is received.  It's like that old game that I'm sure you've played - the one where you close your eyes and fall backwards in order for others to catch you.  You play that game every day. 

How do we build trust?

Most often, we assume it of people who are similar to us.  People who belong to the same family, culture, faith, geographic location and special interest groups.  Having an objective in common increases our perception of the others' good intentions towards us.  Otherwise - the trick is to build it iteratively.  Like a good parent growing a child, one builds trust on the essentials - punctuality, consideration and reliability.  Once the basics are proven, trust increases in an ever expanding spiral.  Our way of doing business thrives on this.  It is often called networking.

Over the generations, trust is increasingly built into our blood.  We become ever more complacent, giving in to the advantages, and taking into stride the individual incidences of robbery, violence and betrayal as a cost of living our lives.  The more we trust, the better we can be as a society, but the greater the harm that can be caused by one malicious person, one con (wo)man, or one terrorist attack.

That is the true tragedy of 9/11 - that single event destroyed a great deal of trust we had in the infrastructure around us, in our governments, and in each other.  It slowed down the overall development of humanity and continues to propagate the assumption of evil intentions between the countries of our world.

I trust that you have enjoyed this.  I hope you are enriched with just a little bit of insight.  I wish that you are able to take some small action to make all of our lives just that much better.  Trust me.  I do.

Mrs. Jinnah’s Cookies

© Shafiq Shariff 2006

Tareq imagined biting into a soft warm cookie laced with gooey chocolate and crunchy walnuts and chasing it down with a sip of cold white milk. Few things could so completely engage his senses and suspend him in a moment of sheer bliss, and this was one of them.  He craned his head over the haggard looking man ahead of him in line to catch a glimpse of the front counter and tried to ascertain how long he would have to wait until he reached the front of the line.  He was glad to see that this was a popular destination.  Tareq adjusted his blue silk tie and glanced at his designer watch, realizing that he was more dressed up than any of the people he was queued up with.  He still had plenty of time to make it to the airport to catch his flight back home to Chicago, but if the line didn't move a little faster, it would be a close call.

Having nothing else to do, Tareq re-read the large sign against the wall, hanging behind the large serving counter.   "Welcome to the original home of Mrs. Jinnah's Cookies™", it read in bold, friendly print.  Underneath, in smaller, still friendly script, "A sweet experience that you won't soon forget!"

Underneath the sign, the area behind the counter was an immaculate environment with aproned men and women quickly and efficiently taking orders and adding sweet treats to boxes decorated with a stylized picture of a large cookie wrapped in a bow.  To the side, Tareq let his eyes roam over a busy kitchen filled with huge ovens from which emerged large trays of fresh cookies of a dozen different varieties.  From that kitchen wafted the tantalizing aroma of just baked cookies.  Tareq took in the familiar smell and smile crept into his well-groomed beard.  His eyes lost their focus on the present and let his thoughts take him back to a sweet memory from a long time ago.

Tareq wasn't the most popular boy in the fourth grade.  In fact, it could be argued that he was the least popular boy on his third day at Gilliam Grade School.  It wasn't that he was unpopular, it was just that nobody really knew that he existed.  In the distance, he could see a group of girls over at the swings, trying to go as high as they could.  Nearer to where Tareq sat against a tree, a clique of energetic boys were enjoying their lunch hour playing a game where they threw a tennis ball at each other and against the wall of the school yard.  Naturally shy, unathletic and more than a little stocky, Tareq couldn't bring himself to introduce himself to any of his other classmates, though he had tried hard to talk himself into it. 

Instead, he unfastened the clips on his yellow lunchbox and opened it to reveal an expansive lunch into which he immersed himself.  Even then, he had been a connoisseur of good food, and thoroughly enjoyed his meals, despite their contribution to his waistline.  Finishing his sandwich, he opened his carton of milk and raised his head to take a long sip.  As he brought it back down, he was surprised by the sight of a brown-haired girl in braids standing in front of him, hands behind her back, apparently waiting for him.

"Hi!  You're new to Gilliam, right?"

Tareq's cheeks colored.  He subconsciously averted his gaze and stammered, "Y-yes."

"My name is Samantha.  What's yours?"

"Tareq," he mumbled, at a loss to add anything more valuable to the conversation.

Samantha seemed on the verge of turning away, when she brought her left hand forward, holding out an open paper bag.  "Here, have a cookie.  I brought it from home..."

Tareq was inclined to refuse, but couldn't resist the offer of a homemade cookie.  There were two cookies lying within the paper bag.  He tentatively picked one up and looked it over.  "What kind are they?"

"They're chocolate chip and walnut.  My favorite!"  Samantha said brightly.  She waited as he nibbled at a corner.

His eyes widened in approval, all shyness forgotten.  "They're really good!"  He took a bigger bite, "Did your mom make them?"

"No.  We get our cookies from Mrs. Jinnah, she lives down the street from our house.  She makes the best cookies."  Samantha gushed, "My mom gave me two and said I had to share with my friends at school, so I'm glad you like it."  She grinned at his obvious enthusiasm. 

He grinned back, "Thanks, Samantha."

"You can call me Sam.  All my friends do."  She waved and ran off, "See you around!"

Back in line at the cookie shop, Tareq couldn't wait to take a box of their favorite cookies back to Samantha.  He was now three people away from the counter.  He could hear the attendant at the counter, "Ms. Jones, our system says that you bought a dozen with extra chocolate chips the last time.  Did you enjoy those?  Shall we package some more of those for you?”  At least that was somewhat similar.  Tareq had worked with Mrs. Jinnah during the summer before college, and he remembered she had always known what her customers liked.

"These are for Mr. McArthur, he likes his cookies softer than usual.  And this little batch, of course, is for Samantha.  Extra crisp!"  Mrs. Jinnah put her hand on a small package wrapped in oil paper, "That's it for today.  Thanks for all your help, Tareq."  She smiled.  "After you get done delivering these, can you make a hospital trip?  We haven't made one in a week."

"Of course, Mrs. Jinnah!  As long as you keep funding my education by giving me a paycheck, I'll do anything you want!"  Tareq teased.

"Isn't Samantha coming by today?"  Mrs. Jinna looked out the window of the quaint house that she lived in, a house forever infused with the wonderful smell of baking.

He and Samantha had remained friends since they had met, many years ago.  She had helped him become a part of the school, and of the town.  She had even helped him get this job when his scholarship had fallen through.  She often came by in the evenings to sample one of Mrs. Jinnah's creations and see how he was doing.  They talked as old friends did of everything and nothing, of relationships and ambitions.

"I'll go by her place and pick her up on the way to the hospital.  We'll make the trip together.  She really enjoys going there."

He could still remember their weekly visits to the hospital, giving away the cookies that Mrs. Jinnah reserved for the patients and the elderly.  The regulars were always glad to see them, and newcomers were often surprised, and quite delighted.  "It makes it worth being sick!" One of them had said.  More than that, he had been surprised at how much he had enjoyed it.  Those weekly trips had played a large role in Samantha's decision to become a doctor.

Breaking out of his reverie, Tareq reached the front of the line and leaned his palms against the edge of the counter, his arms outstretched.  "Have you been here before, sir?"  A young man wearing a school jersey under his apron asked from behind the counter, pencil in hand; poised to jot down the response on a pad of paper.

Tareq hesitated, "No, I haven't... but I know what I want."

"What will you have?"

"A dozen of your classic chocolate chip and walnut cookies, please!"

"Any customizations?  Extra chocolate?  Extra walnuts?  Softer?  Crispier?"

"I'll get them with extra walnuts, and make them extra crispy, please!"

The young man walked away to gather the order.  Tareq waited, using the time to finish reliving his story.

He and Samantha had parted ways when they left for college.  It didn't take long before he had realized that he missed her far beyond a mere friendship.  During his first year of business school, they had talked often and dated others half-heartedly.  After that year, he had returned home in great shape mentally and physically.  He had been brimming with confidence.  He asked her out, and was ecstatic when she reciprocated his feelings.

Drumming his fingers against the counter top and casually looking around, Tareq noticed a placard on the counter proclaiming that a portion of the profits from cookie sales were donated to local hospitals, "Because that's the way Mrs. Jinnah would have wanted it."

Mrs. Jinnah had passed away a few years ago, and the entire town had come to her funeral.  She had no children, and some distant relatives had acquired her original recipes and her property.  They had then built a cookie factory in order to honor her memory and her legacy.  He had heard that it was a fast growing franchise, one that he was considering investing in.

A year after that, he and Samantha had been married.  It had been the happiest day of his life.  They began their life in Chicago shortly after returning from their honeymoon.

The young man returned with a nicely packaged box.  "Here you go, sir!  That will be fifteen dollars." 

The price had risen since Tareq had been a delivery boy.  He paid in cash. 

"Thank you for coming by!  We sincerely hope it will be a sweet experience that you won't soon forget!"

Leaving the factory store, he entered the rental car he had parked in the lot and hurried to the airport.  After a harrying security check, he finally sat at a window seat in the airplane that would take him back to his home and his wife.  It had been three days since his company had sent him out here to evaluate the cookie factory for a possible acquisition.  The town had changed substantially since he and his family had lived there, and he was anxious to return to Chicago.

Unable to resist, he opened his carry-on and removed the box of cookies.  He opened the cardboard package and pulled out a single cookie and looked it over, oblivious of the envious glances from the passenger in the neighboring seat.  His teeth closed over the pebbled and powdery surface of the cookie.  He took a bite, chewing methodically, tasting.  He finished that cookie and ate another.  They weren't quite right.  Though they tasted similar to the cookies he had grown up with, they hadn’t satisfied him as he had thought they would.  They were missing something. 

He leaned back against his seat as the airplane inclined and began to take off, lost in thought.    The cookies were missing one key ingredient, an ingredient that could never be added by a commercial enterprise.  It was the one ingredient that had ultimately brought so much happiness into his life.  Mrs. Jinnah had baked love into her cookies, and that had made all the difference.

Resistance is a necessity for growth.  An infant constantly fights gravity to earn her strength to walk.  In the same way, it is to our advantage to reach for lofty goals in order to preserve our vitality.  However, we should not forget to take pleasure in each step, enjoying the journey - not simply pining for the destination.

I had the good fortune of watching Good Night, and Good Luck this evening.  The movie played on ideas that have been resonating in my mind for some time.  The message was simple:  that the media has the capacity to educate and inform, rather than simply entertain and insulate.  While the movie was set in the 1950's, this message is as true today as it was then.

 

The right way to make any important decision is to study the facts - align them with your principles, and then make an appropriate choice.  The decision you eventually make will only be as good as the information that you receive.  Unfortunately, the decision will be flawed if the source is slanted, unclear, sensationalized or ambiguous.  This will ultimately prevent you from being true to your principles.

 

Lamentably, this is the only kind of information that I see on television today.  I see hours of debate over the latest celebrity and political scandals.  I see opinions of dissenting "experts" on the latest medical legislation.  I see conflicting rhetoric about central political issues that affect us all.  There are so many twisted words that it becomes impossible to separate the sometimes subtle difference between an actual event and a projected possibility.

Very little is told without dramatic effect - very little is prioritized.  Television exists to entertain, and the nightly news is just another episode in an ongoing drama.  Nowhere does anyone teach me the actual content of the latest legislation.  Nobody goes out of their way to broadcast factual observations about life in some of the war-torn areas of the world.  Every story finds a slanted quote and presents it as fact.

 

Sometimes it seems that the media believes that we are too stupid to form our own opinions and insists on interpreting things for us - usually in an indirect fashion.  That is NOT the role of the media!  Just the facts.  Please!  Many of us are more than capable of understanding content and deriving our OWN opinions, if only they would let us. 

 

Where are the true journalists who act simply as our eyes and bring the world home to our doorstep?

 

Once we are given the information to understand a situation and aren't lost in the rhetoric, maybe there will come a day when a Presidential debate will be judged by the content of answers  rather than solely on the charisma of the candidates.  Only at that point can we actually fulfil the promise of a democracy and make the right decisions to rule our own destiny.

 

On a related note:  The media has such great power to teach, it is a pity that the lack of educational content is stemming us from being a better educated nation.  Late one night, I stumbled on a television show teaching statistics - and I was enthralled.  It refreshed many ideas and presented many others.  I learned.  From television!  Could television give children a leg up at school?  Can it be the remedial classes that many are searching for?  Could it elevate teachers to the rank of celebrities - as they truly deserve to be?

 

Here's wishing.  Good night.  And good luck!

Inspired by programs such as Nova and books such as A Short History of Nearly Everything (and ideas that have been knocking around in my head for the last 10 years) , it is obvious to me (and forgive me if it is already obvious to you) that the current state of human activity is directly a result of minute observations and insights added one upon the other by millions upon millions of individuals who were just like you or I.  Each newborn is primed with a culture that has been cultivated over thousands of years. 

 

This societal learning is deeply embedded into each one of us - without thinking about it much, we embody this enduring legacy along with our own contributions and the contributions of our generation.  We (as a society) take all these insights and transmit them (implicitly and explicitly) to the next generation.  This is what we call culture - it encompasses how we raise children, how we communicate with each other, how we lay out our houses, the vaccinations we give, the rituals we use to avoid disease, the technology we use, the ethics we instill, the attitudes we carry... 

 

It amazes me how much is wrapped up in each and every fragile human being.  Take as an example how we think of disease, or how we now think of time.     The idea that disease is caused by micro-organisms (or even the very idea of micro-organisms) was un-conceptualized prior to Pasteur's time.  Yet now, one would be hard-pressed to find someone who didn't think about disease in this way.  Such a concept influences everything from our stories, to our language, to how we conceptualize other analogues - such as computer viruses.  Think also of time.  The synchronization of time is a relatively recent occurrence (even the idea of a standard hour did not exist until the 1300s)!  Yet - as a society, we have embraced it SO completely that the idea of waiting around all day for a meeting to occur is alien.  This idea of a steady beat of time is ingrained into almost every human on the planet, even though it was only recently contributed to our collective consciousness.  (What about the idea of working through the night?  That was completely unthought of until Edison's invention - such a very short time ago...)

 

The dangers that we obviously face are that some cultural lessons (some of these quite powerful for their time) become outmoded and ultimately prevent a society from being as flexible as it needs to be.  Like any dynamically evolving entity - our society must walk that fine line between preserving the existing order and incorporating new concepts and ideas.  To continue to grow, it must stay at the edge of chaos.

The actions required for a successful society are the same as those that enhance successful innovation.  The objective is to create a society that adapts quickly to change and continues to increase its experience (and learning from this experience) at the most rapid possible pace - avoiding annihilation at all costs.

 

The following conditions are necessary to achieve any progress:

Societal progress and innovation achieve their highest velocity with the following conditions exist:

Co-incidentally, the principles that lead to a more progressive and adaptable society are the same ones that lead to innovative organizations, individuals and families.

 

We each have only one life (that we empirically know of) - would we spend the small measure of creative time that we have in furthering a whole greater than ourselves, or spend our measure only on our own tiny lot in life?