Cardboard, Not Concrete
I’m running very late.
There’s a tight 15-minute window that I’m about to miss.
A wedding?
Graduation?
Emergency surgery?
Nope.
I’m at the mall to pick up a new iPhone.
(According to this email, I need to arrive precisely between 10:15 and 10:30)
Yeah, ok.
How busy can an Apple Store be?
I turn the corner, walk past the intoxicating aroma of Cinnabon, and catch a glimpse of my destination. The long line stops me in my tracks.
Wait, it’s STILL like this?
15 generations into these phones?
This is not the most advanced technology in the world. Not even the most powerful smartphone available. But, holy shit, think of the impact of this device.
We get so used to everything, don’t we? No matter what it is. Just becomes par for the course. But sometimes your heart feels like sounding an alarm. Tapping your brain on its shoulder. Saying, “Forget the mental routine of this. Actually let it in. Really look around.”
So, I listen to my brain tap.
I stare at the long line again. But, this time, with the appropriate sense of awe.
Forgetting for a moment how “normal” it is to see people with iPhones in 2023. Instead, I consider what this actually is. And what it actually was. How all of this started from a dude tinkering away in his garage. Much like those kids in school who seemed to always be messing with their circuit boards. We learned over time to think of Steve Jobs as STEVE JOBS. But he was just a guy named Steve. Someone who pitched weird ideas and heard:
“Why would regular people want a computer?”
Years later, all of us are impacted. Using words like “Facetime” and “iMessage” as common parts of our daily vocabulary. Words that could have sounded like complete gibberish. If a guy named Steve was more of a follower.
Man, the impact…
Even how millions of us look down every day and automatically know what the color blue means in our text messages.
How many times did people say he should stop tinkering?
And how many of us would have listened?
Suddenly, I notice the large number of people in line wearing Air Jordans. Almost like it’s part of their uniform. Were these young guys even alive to watch him play? I start doing the quick math in my head…
Ok, Michael retired from the Bulls in…wait…1998?
My heart gives another tap to the ol’ brain…
Forget the mental routine of being used to this.
So, basically, nobody under the age of 35 has a memory of watching his career. And yet they’re touched by it. Lacing up their “Jordans” each morning.
I push through the cobwebs in my head.
Taking it all in.
That Jordan is, in fact, a name. Of a high schooler who was cut from his varsity squad. A kid named Mike who worked his butt off all summer to improve. Less recruited than someone named Buzz Peterson in his college class.
And now this level of impact.
All these years later.
Not a mall in America we could walk through without seeing people wear his name.
Another tap on the brain…
Have you ever considered how absurd it is to tell someone their dreams are unrealistic?
And how absurd it is to believe that about yourself?
But, every day, we pass our limitations on to others. They do the same to us. Not intentionally, of course. Just a game of tag. An endless circle of projection. As we build mental ceilings for each other. Over time, they keep getting lower and lower.
Until we learn to stop paying attention to our dreams.
Programmed to believe these ceilings are real.
While we walk through malls, buying sneakers and phones, forgetting to look at the limitless possibility all around us.
And within us.
It’s easier to build safe little boxes for ourselves. To live in them. To forget that great possibilities existed for us. And still do. Things can change in such big ways. But something inside wants us to forget that. Because it’s more comfortable within the safety of our limits.
Within our mental routines.
Within the boxes we have built.
