When I was little my idols were mostly Red Sox players: Rice, Yaz, Boomer, Butch. Thankfully back then there was very little “off the field” news coverage, so in large part my heroes remained intact. But grownup Sean knows that was just a fantasy — they were just people, with their own balance sheets of good and bad, strong and weak, kind and cruel.
Back then we had the luxury of imagining that our role models were perfect in every way. Today, nobody survives the spotlight of social media unscathed very long. An impatient glance at a fan or an inappropriate joke after a few drinks, and boom.
It can be a bummer, but it also forces us all — even kids — to be a bit more judicious (and realistic) with our esteem. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, and perhaps the key is to be explicit about the specific actions or behaviors we admire. Kindness and empathy in Fred Rogers, creativity in Jim Henson, bravery in John Young and Jim Lovell. The things that persist even when the humans that model them disappoint us in other ways, as they inevitably do.
This seems important, because the only other way to reconcile the state of our modern world is to go full cynic — everybody sucks, so why try to be good at all? Morals and empathy are for suckers. Frankly that’s increasingly what I see in the public sphere, and it’s just too ugly for me to accept.
So here in my little corner of the world, I present a random three of the many folks that, despite their very obviously flawed human selves, exhibit(ed) qualities that I admire and try to model in my life.
Put Yourself Out There
(John Denver)
I typically get up before the rest of the house, and at least once a week the morning playlist is all JD, preferably recorded live (“so if you sing, sing good, and I’ll try to do the same!”). I’m not much of a concert-goer, but I saw him twice and each time was simply remarkable. He so obviously loved being on stage, drawing everyone into the experience like they were just hanging out. And the percussion set, my goodness… but I digress.
So the music is great — but what I admired was Denver’s ability to stand up on that stage and share his own, raw, internal, personal feelings and fears and loves. Often ridiculed for being cheesy, he really was John Lennon’s Imagine in human form.
- It was the winter of my 27th year, not the summer, but Rocky Mountain High played on repeat in my son’s NICU cocoon until he came home.
- I challenge you to hear Calypso and not go hunting for Cousteau shows on YouTube.
- My daughter and I spun in countless giggling circles to Grandma’s Feather Bed.
- Flying for Me plays at home every January 28th and February 1.
- Listen to the live intro to This Old Guitar; he’s just begging to be shoved in a locker.
- And dozens, dozens more that leave me teary and pretending it’s allergies.
John Denver used his gifts to talk to the world about important things big (wilderness and animal preservation, nuclear weapons, world hunger) and small (falling in and out of love, missing home, being lonely, having a child). I’m not by nature a guy who can be so open and vulnerable … but I try.
Be Curious and Build Things
(Buckminster Fuller)
“Guinea Pig B” kept a detailed record (the Dymaxion Chronofile) of his entire life, an ongoing experiment that began when he decided that his planned suicide was a cop-out. Instead, he decided to take advantage of his time to leave something for the world and find ways to make it “work for 100% of humanity.” Seriously.
Bucky was one of the first and loudest people to challenge the idea that we live in a world of scarcity. Scarcity is literally written in our DNA, so it’s a hard concept to think around — but the truth is, we have more than enough energy, food, water, and shelter for everyone on the planet; we just don’t distribute it with that goal in mind. World Game and the Dymaxion Map (projected so all landmasses are shown in true proportion) were attempts to help people see beyond nations and politics — Quixotic perhaps, but not wrong either. Someday.
The Dymaxion House envisioned shelter for everyone. Shipped as a kit weighing just 3,000 pounds, the house hung from a central mast (tension or “tensegrity” was a hallmark of his building approach) and could be assembled without specialized knowledge and no heavy equipment. The roof elements were built on the ground, then hauled up the mast. The next level was added and hoisted, and so on until the full house was constructed. The only foundation was for the central mast, so it was earthquake proof. The materials needed no painting. Air flowed naturally down through floor vents that also served as air filters. Bathroom fixtures were made of pressed sheet metal with no sharp corners, so they could be easily sanitized with a sponge. The thing was amazing (I got to see the last one made in the Henry Ford museum in Detroit).
And so so many other cool things. He was the ultimate generalist, but not a theorist — he actually built the things he thought up, working through materials and packaging and fabrication and maintenance in the real world. I would so love to have been able to invent with him.
Details Matter
(Walt Disney)
When we were in Disneyland for my son’s 4th birthday, he wanted to meet Minnie at her house. When we finally made it to the front of the line and he told her it was his birthday, she pantomimed that she wanted him to meet somebody and was that ok? He said yes, she took him by the hand, and they walked straight across the street to Mickey’s house so they could wish him a happy birthday together. To this day I still don’t quite understand how they managed the logistics of this — that line was long with tons of people waiting! Maybe it was a clever way to shift change? But whatever it was was, simply, magic.
My daughter was dangerously allergic to dairy proteins, so eating out was always a challenge (remember this was the 90s). Her choices were often limited — but never at Disney. At every restaurant, the chef would come out to our table to understand her restrictions and make versions of the same dishes everyone else got to try, just safe for her. Everywhere. Inclusion matters.
And of course the fun facts you’ve probably heard before: the way music and smells blend as you walk from land to land; forced perspective; secret tunnels to quickly swap out characters; every cast member picking up trash; hidden mickeys; the monorail to keep you “in world” between the park and hotels.
The idea seems so simple in retrospect: a place not just for kids, not just for adults, but for everyone. But it’s the details that made it work, and they’re not easy to get right when time is money (and money is money). Sure it was “fake” — but who cares? Disney built the most amazing, immersive, enchanting getaway in history.
Sadly, it’s lost some of that magic these days — you can only get so big and so corporate before corners start being cut, I guess. But my family was lucky to grow up there when it was brilliant.
Details matter so much. I try to remember this whenever I’m turning a bowl and am tired of sanding the inside that nobody will see — or handling exceptions in software that probably will never happen.
So many lessons from so many good — not perfect — people in our world. Nice to think about at a time when the public sphere seems so full of our worst. Until next time.