The term “Black culture” is curiously direct and broad. You know it when you see it, yet “it” is undefinable. In the early 1900s, after World War I, there was a jettisoning of an “old” culture and an ushering in of a fresher one marshaled by the likes of James Weldon Johnson, Zora Neale, DuBois, Langston Hughes and countless souls that make for today’s required secondary school reading.

We know the name for this movement. The city that played host to this is endemic to the DNA of any learned person of pop culture. It gave shelter to James Baldwin, but it also hosted Diddy. It oversaw the rise of Bumpy Johnson and Nicky Barnes as well as Paul Robeson, Lena Horne, Cam’ron and ASAP Rocky. The spectrum of humanity rests in Harlem, varied and all, staring us in the iris.

It was this spirit that came over me after I devoured all 12 episodes of this show created by Issa Rae. A wave is upon us. Like the aforementioned cultural shift, the wave will be unfurled by a forward-thinking, disgruntled, irreverent and precocious group eager to liberate perceptions from the staid shackles of mainstream culture.

Unlike the aforementioned movement, it isn’t centralized or even literary in nature. The bedrock of this form of storytelling is digital. The leaders of this movement are at home with HTML and ‘@’ symbols and character constraints along with ideations that reflect previously suppressed aspects of culture. The disruptive force known as the World Wide Web has rendered a loner from, say, Bismarck, North Dakota capable of creating a one minute video that captures millions.

Awkward Black Girl started as a 3:40 webisode, and ended with a big enough following to be in network sitcom talks. The amazing part is that the protagonist “J” (played by Rae) is, physically speaking, far from the industry norm. Her show is successful on the strength of compelling everyday stories. Did Tim Berners-Lee conceive this effect when creating this Frankenstein?

Few could imagine the Interwebs becoming a viable tool of democracy upon its inception, even when purveyors of such ideals threaten to curtail it. Media and publishing companies (Marvel Entertainment, Sony Pictures, Viacom to name a few) decry the globalizing force and low barriers to entry (piracy?) the Internet provides, and for understandable reasons.

These reasons directly relate to the dominant perception of “Black culture” (term just rolls off the tongue) in modern media. If the world is force-fed monolithic, fatigued images of a certain way of life, then the Web is a medium that can renovate the kitchen — or at the very least balance the menu.

Black people are a multidimensional lot. Enjoying Seinfeld, Martin and punk rock simultaneously isn’t a foreign feat, a sentiment that’s lost on mainstream media distributors. The gate to the portals of Sony Pictures, Paramount and Lionsgate (which ironically is same company that disseminates Tyler Perry films) remain locked for the foreseeable future.

The gate to the portals of YouTube and Vimeo, on the other hand, are welcoming. Its only discriminating tool is access to low-cost equipment (a feature-length video can be shot on an iPhone and iPad) and the whims of the marketplace. For the cost of Wi-Fi and a crappy camera, a brand can be created. New stories can be told.

George Lucas recently divulged his dismay with how difficult it was to finance Red Tails, a movie about the Tuskegee Airmen. If Lucas — George Lucas — has a hard time pushing through a film with a Black cast, then the wall’s writings are in billboard font.

Issa Rae and the cast of Awkward Black Girl showcased it to the world.

Anyway we look at it, human patterns of Internet consumption aren’t changing anytime soon. If the problem is mass diffusion of limited stories — or stated another way, limited distribution of heterogeneous stories — then the online digital medium is fecund territory to sprout something anew.

Remember when folks could be picky when it came to TV shows with Black casts in the 1990s? That may never happen again, but if you know how to type in a url, that time may come once again…in another outfit.

Stated another way, for real improvement, minorities and whites alike should push more for equal chances in the realm of high-tech development.

Why? Exhibit A.

Taking a more extensive look at the demographics of Silicon Valley’s biggest contributors reveal a striking oddity, or homogeneity if you will.

Yup, you’ve guessed it. They’re all geeks.

Another closer look and it isn’t hard to see an omission of a more obvious kind: melanin deficiency runs rampant among the ranks in the Valley’s offices and executive suites. More specifically, those ranks are largely white, male and Asian.

Considering the ubiquity of technology in our lives, CNN decided to merge that phenomenon with its ongoing Black in America series to chronicle the journey of eight African-Americans seeking to make their dent in the Valley. It’s a noble endeavor and follows in line with its previous iterations: Establish characters that strive to overcome obstacles, hone in on their stories, back up with exposition about the larger context characters work within, zoom back in on characters and take it home.

The New Promised Land: Silicon Valley takes a look at eight entrepreneurs in the tech field coming together for an opportunity to present their business ideas to investors for funding. It starts fast, with the first statement from NewME founder Angela Benton being, “for whatever reason, African-Americans tend to be consumers of technology and not really creators of technology.” Soon, all eight aspirants are blindsided by the Dragon’s Den, a room full of Google heads, pitching their ideas.

It didn’t go to well. And then the story progresses. One of the segments in the doc featured Michael Arrington, founder of Tech Crunch. Despite covering the industry, he doesn’t “know a single black entrepreneur.” In the next breath, he claims Silicon Valley is “not a perfect meritocracy.” When the press cut was released a couple of weeks ago, he and another documentary talking head, industry researcher and professor Vivek Wadhwa took to Twitter to air their differences, with the latter blaming a biased system for the lack of Black faces.

“When I did raise venture capital, my buddies’ advice to me was, they said, ‘Get a white guy to be your front man.’ And I did that,” Wadhwa said in the piece. “I hired a very impressive, six-foot-tall, impressive, polished white guy, and let him do all the talking.”

Goodness.

Is the Valley a meritocracy? Recently, industry analyst CB Insights found that less than 1 % of all venture capital money went to digital start-ups with African-American founders in 2010. Less than one percent. Not even one in a 100.

November 7, 1991. Twenty years and two days ago.

Arguably the most recognizable face in sports, not to mention a household staple in the African-American community, confessed to the world that he was afflicted with…HIV?

No. Can’t be true. Nahhhhhh. Only gay men and drug users and miscreants get that. Not Magic. No way.

And thus Earvin “Magic” Johnson, basketball extraordinaire, catalyzed a national dialogue, with every emotion from despair to torpor to suspicion being tossed around like a Twitter meme. HIV (and by association, AIDS) would never been perceived in the same fashion again. And now, 20 years of more research, more cases, more access to information later, there is still a vague cloud surrounding this disease.

Is it man-made? Monkey serum? Sign that God hates gay people? The questions that surround this issue outweighs common sentiment of how to rid ourselves of this houseguest that we’re not exactly sure “who” let it in. Or how it got in.

But this much we do know: It is a problem.

After the press conference, Magic retired. Friends were questioned about his sexual habits, leading many to openly suspect homosexual behavior. Magic flatly denied those rumors. But that wasn’t enough. So he went on The Arsenio Hall Show and professed his “innocence”. And the crowd gave him a rousing applause.

A pat on the back for not being gay. Nevermind that he still had the disease, but God forbid he got it because he played both sides of the fence. Coming up in a milieu that provides great incentives for pursuing the opposite sex, I can certainly understand the sentiment of many in that audience. It stemmed less from bigotry and malice and more from ignorance and confusion.

However, looking back on that moment reveals a population segment not having its best moment. For the conversation of HIV/AIDS victims became divided, implying that one group deserved less attention than others. The gay community had been confronted with this disease for years with little to no damns given, and here was a grand moment to shed light on the matter. Then a superstar makes a statement to the crude reaction of an audience, effectively bursting the balloon.

I often wonder exactly how much that division clouds our approach to an epidemic that, statistically speaking, currently affects my race more than any other. To Magic’s defense, it’s not certain he actively sought applause and could have been just out to tell a simple truth. To Magic’s credit, he has worked hard at traveling the world to serve as a pedagogue on this subject for all victims.

In 1991, HIV/AIDS was the second leading cause of the death among men 25-44. Yet, nobody gave a thought that it could happen to a rich, married and handsome athlete. Magic Johnson was the anti-HIV candidate. And then our illusions were torn asunder.

His disclosure sparked a spike in testing. Awareness rose for sure, but so did disdain for the “original” victims. To assume homosexual promiscuity is a greater cause for the spread of HIV/AIDS than heterosexual promiscuity misses the point completely. Though incidences of this retrovirus is higher within gay pockets, it’s fallacious to assume that many victims assume a “one or other” stand. Also, blood transfusion and drug usage play major agents in the virus spread.

How much does the sentiment of ignorance and confusion expressed by those in Hall’s audience aid (no pun) the increase of a “silent killer”?

Cain and Abel.

Marvin and Tammi.

Palin and the Tea Party.

Love and Monogamy.

Well, according to author Christopher Ryan, the latter two concepts are not necessarily linked. Not groundbreaking stuff, but he goes even further. Being faithful to a partner in modern times clash against biological instincts, he says. Monogamy today is akin to the evolving structure of our eating habits from eating meat to only eating vegetables:

“All the evidence points to the fact that we’ve evolved as omnivores, but that doesn’t mean that living as an omnivore in today’s world is inherently superior than choosing to be a vegetarian. Being a vegetarian can make perfect sense, it can be ethical, healthy and smart — but it’s not going to come naturally, right?”

It’s easy to write off Ryan’s musings as whimsical and apologetic of succumbing to the unmitigated desires of the flesh. His view isn’t supported by hardcore (quantitative) research; more by broad generalizations of hunter-gatherers and the evolution thereof. If you wanted to use that deficiency to knock his theory, I wouldn’t blame you.

However, I won’t do that. Ryan doesn’t claim to know the answer to relationship bliss or harmony. He seems to be careful about coming to such a conclusion. The book that elaborates on this, Sex at Dawn, is co-written with his wife, Cacilda Jethá. Although they haven’t admitted to an open relationship, Ryan stated the issue of monogamy is a “live issue for us.”

Throughout life, we are constantly assessing, acting and altering. We determine what feels good to us, what’s good for us and try to close the gap between the two. Many of us die trying. For the lucky few, that gap becomes nonexistent.

From dietary changes to sexual habits, it’s unavoidable. The sedentary lady told by the doctor that her lack of exercise will result in health issues has a choice to make. The guy busted by his woman but doesn’t want to lose her has to decide if keeping her is worth the change. For those who do change and adapt, the scent of old habits will always have its allure, even on the most miniscule levels.

“Just because you’ve decided to become vegetarian doesn’t make you an herbivore. You’re an omnivore who’s chosen to live as a vegetarian, but bacon is still gonna smell good and you shouldn’t feel guilty about that.” – Ryan

Here’s where things get testy. Implying that vegetarianism is newer and more unnatural flies in the face of anthropological studies over the years claiming the opposite. He also implies that meat is more exciting and desirable (obvious pun notwithstanding). Well, he does more than “imply.” It’s damn near stated.

I imagine this idea won’t gain much traction among those wary of male privilege’s ugly symptoms, simply because it does nothing to address ancient gender stereotypes where men tend to come out on top. If this attitude was to catch on, and women acted accordingly (being liberated sexual beings as their counterparts), the stigma would remain. So in a way, “vegetarianism as monogamy” reeks of patriarchal rubbish passed down from generation to generation, backed by pseudo-science and a woman’s face (the co-author of the book) to sell it.

Of course I’m not that cynical. At its heart, this issue explores the relationship between “what is natural” and “what is cultural.” Depending on the context, the two are not mutually exclusive. Whether monogamy is “good” or “bad” is another question, which often gets placed to the forefront of these debates.

If anything, time has shown that our knowledge of love and relations can be bankrupt. People seem to have an answer when it comes to the science of sharing space with another person of interest. But science is fortified through trial and error. In the case of a couple questioning the laws of monogamy, chalk this up to exploration.

However, there is a vital component “studies” like this often neglect to examine. Let’s concede the argument that the way people lived in pre-agricultural communities may have embraced polygamy or sharing. That still doesn’t address its relation to modern context. Monogamy didn’t just catch on because of religious dogma and government. It also caught on because of the explosion of industrial capitalism.

Monogamy leads to the formation of families, which is a safeguard against the demands of a market economy, where currency trumps the non-market value of love. Can human families thrive without monogamy (or striving toward it) in the current milieu?

Could a polygamous culture (with its emphasis on non-attachment and loose multiple connections) instill children with a sense of commitment, service and cordial relations, skills that are needed to ensure a well-ran economy?

As faulty as our definitions of relationships can be, this much goes without saying: It’s as big a biological need to be a part of a supportive family as it is to eat, copulate and procreate. (Among those biological needs is survival, as monogamy can be effective at thwarting sexually transmitted diseases).

Any issue that addresses non-monogamy and its “evolutionary changes” have to take these questions into account. Otherwise, it risks being blown away with the flotsam of liberal fancy.

There was the Cam Newton saga, which began when Carolina Panthers owner Jerry Richardson shared on Charlie Rose the pre-draft conversation he had with his young African-American quarterback.

“Do you have any tattoos?”

“No, sir. I don’t have any.”

“Do you have any piercings?”

“No, sir. I don’t have any.”

“We want to keep it that way. We want to keep no tattoos, no piercings and I think you’ve got a very nice haircut.”

This seems reasonable. Newton just signed a $22 million contract and is set to be the visual of the franchise. Why not want a clean image? However on second thought, it seemed overly paternalistic. The Panthers have players up and down their roster with tattoos, including recently signed tight end Jeremy Shockey (who is white). One wonders whether their starting quarterback last season, Jimmy Clausen, was given this slick directive. And if he was, the owner didn’t go out of his way to make it public.

Clausen is white. Doesn’t take 20/20 vision to see what kind of slope this is on.

Then there was the Touré piece. Assuming a rock has been your dwelling place the last four days, here’s the gist: Touré (essayist and author) explores the complex nature of Vick and race in ESPN the Magazine. The piece — entitled “What if Michael Vick were white?” — was published on the site. If the title isn’t eye-catching enough, the multimedia accompaniment picked up the slack.

Picture Vick’s facial features and hair with a coat of all-white everything.

For a reputable and serious journalistic institution, it’s pretty silly; more irreverent than offensive. It set a “tone” that whatever was coming wasn’t interested in promoting serious discourse to a serious hypothetical question.

Then came the article.

I won’t address the piece in whole here, because many better than I have chimed their three cents. The points the writer made and posed that offended many (“Vick’s style is so badass, so artistic, so fluid, so flamboyant, so relentless — so representative of black athletic style” or “If Vick grew up with the paternal support that white kids are more likely to have [72 percent percent of black children are born to unwed mothers compared with 29 percent of white children], would he have been involved in dogfighting?”) aren’t new. If anything the piece was more derivative than outrageous. And it missed the main point: It wasn’t the crime, the act of killing dogs and starting the mother lode of dogfighting operations that activated the racial discussion.

It was the reactions — from PETA to Vick supporters to stakeholders in all things athletics and race – that spurred the polemics and polarizations. Implying one’s well-being based on race does two things: a) It victimizes people and minimalizes personal responsibility b) It assumes problems intrinsic to a race. That’s just a long URL of flawed thinking.

It’s clearly deeper than that, after all, people of all races are prone to bouts of ineptitude.

Here’s the rub though: The piece got us pissed. Got me writing. Got you thinking. Within the context of quick soundbites and media overload that is 2011 society, it was a rousing success. The strings yanking our shoulder blades amidst Geppetto’s guffawing should be noticeable to anyone paying attention to the use of race-based provocation in media.

A story about a young man overcoming the drastic mistakes he made has been blunted by the primitive economy of ethnic grouping. An essentially human story has been reduced to a parenthetical because of our fascination with race. The grand notion of Human Connectedness is given lip service, but always plays Racial Divide’s subordinate.

Quiet as kept, the Washington Post published a story that day about Hispanics now outnumbering Blacks in college enrollment. Only it’s not completely true. Actually, Hispanics between the “college student ages” of 18-24 outnumber Blacks in the same age bracket. Overall, Black students still outnumber Hispanics. But that doesn’t matter.

To the editors, the headline did.

Starting the week off, The Help finished another weekend as number one in the box office, which makes the disappearance of African-American-led sitcoms and movie leads even more appalling. As we know, race sells. And has sails, because that boat is in full steam, led by slave-owning descendants and crafty observers and even – gasps – descendants of slaves. Race is an intransigent part of the American landscape, that won’t wash away with memorials or elections or melanated figureheads.

The racial narrative has multiple pimps, many of whom make Iceberg Slim look like Ward Cleaver. I imagine an effort could be made to advance discourse about a subject that has burdened and constricted people for so long. That effort could generate eyeballs and spread mind unraveling memes that would push mankind forward. But…why abandon a sure thing?

Let me unpack that for a second. Whenever I seek to understand why I adhere to a philosophy or why a belief holds sway over me, I try to control for race. In other words, can I vet myself as a human without attaching a color? I find that, fortunately or unfortunately, in this matrix, my base experiences are seen and felt through a certain prism.

That prism is the dichotomy of rich and poor, right and wrong, black or (whatever your race is), 0 and 1 (computer nerds unite) and so forth. To transcend that would be to embrace alienation and isolation; in other words, survival is predicated on learning how to live and thrive within a flawed system.

Our quest to just be with no apology is confronted daily by standards that say otherwise. So when I say “as a man,” I’m including all the factors therein. Most prominently, being an African-American man in a society that won’t let you forget that.

This brings me back to the subject of feminism, something I never, until recently, challenged or fought to understand because, frankly, it didn’t directly concern me. Intellectually I understood its purpose. Yes women are undervalued. Get paid less in corporate settings. Get stigmatized for acting on the same human urges men do. Fall victim to senseless double standards. I got all that. But that didn’t stop me from enjoying the perks of being the latter chromosome.

Being a writer and editor for Clutch, I’ve grown over the years in this regard. Talented minds and writers have graced this space with insight that stood up to reason, antiquated dogmas and flat-out rubbish that dominates the male-female relationship.

I’ve grown up with a lot of Black men who never really cared to synthesize how sexist thinking and actions perpetuated brokenness. Perhaps many Black men feel they (we) have more “pertinent” issues on board and sounding the alarm about gender-based oppression doesn’t register.

Or maybe Black men feel that patriarchy is the Big Joker in a weak hand. The one trump card that when all else fails, we’re good, because guess what? We’re men and genetically a cut above. Many of us hold this thought while failing to see we’re borrowing from the same ideological capital that was used to enslave us.

(My shield: Two grandmothers who demonstrated early that women, in many instances, are not only a man’s equal, but his superior.)

Last week, Jamilah Lemieux penned a piece about an encounter she had on the Twitternets with someone who took offense to this article. This someone ended up making an about-hour long video debasing her thoughts and the like. Cool, all in the game. But then he got personal. What had started under the guise of intelligent refutation, ended up being a study in therapy, only without the proper diagnosis and prescription.

Rhetorical dissent tends to come when a system’s inconsistencies is brought to the light. But in 2011, defending (or knocking down) a point with ad hominems is so fatigued as to be on a respirator. What ad hominems also do well is expose glaring insecurities.

Black men who show an aversion to feminism are generally a product of a thought process that goes something like this: For me to win, somebody has to lose. False dichotomies fuel our cognitive engines to the point where disagreements turn to glorious exercises in bitching and moaning.

James Baldwin once wrote, “I would like us to do something unprecedented: to create ourselves without finding it necessary to create an enemy.”

The black guy who hates feminists because “they just wanna run things and wanna blame men for every problem and not take personal responsibility” is as misinformed about the intentions of feminism as the woman who blames men for everything that is wrong with the world.

Of course, this is not limited to black men. Because the infighting is played out in media circles and enflamed by articles (seemingly every week) that puts a spotlight on black men and women, we have a unique relationship to this subject. We’re constantly conditioned to see the end game as the acquisition of power. Battling patriarchal slants is seen — consciously and unconsciously — to the exclusion of stacking ducats and attaining “elite” statuses built around male domination.

And if status can’t be had in the monetary and social sphere, we damn sure won’t give it up in the domestic sphere.

What a shame. A much richer experience awaits when each sex is recognized as what they are. Not queens. Not kings. Not bitches. Not epithets.

But humans. Being born with a shaft shouldn’t make me more able to enjoy and suffer through the human experience than anybody else. A certain rapper once flowed, “Being human’s hard, on the boulevard.” 
It seems that respecting humanity is even harder.

“You cool man?”

“Yea, I’m good. Long day, that’s all.”

The inquiring soul continued with his query, asking what happened. How long was I upset? Have I talked to anybody about it? Prayed on it? Took deep breaths? Punch air?

“Yo, I’m good! What’s with the 21 questions?”

With that, another human interaction flaw was exposed. The intersection of seeking to help someone and gratifying our own ego is prevalent. The two aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. But many times, the latter takes over. The concept of sympathy is intriguing, because it relies on imagination and the projection of one’s self into the thick of another’s plight. When saying “I sympathize with you,” are you really understanding their situation or just projecting how you would feel if placed in their situation?

Accordingly, any “sympathy” would seem at best well-calculated guesses (where personal experiences become a plus to draw from), and at worse, prime opportunities to inject your own views into a scenario that doesn’t warrant it.

Placing advice and wisdom into somebody’s narrative is a hobby for many of us. “I understand what you’re going through” easily turns into “I know what’s wrong with you and here is the way.” Personal relationships with loved ones are marred by this type of approach as the marriage between being selfless and sympathizing is doomed before it starts. Sometimes people ask for one’s input. Other times, nothing is asked but the high horse cavalcade comes in out of nowhere and starts levying blames and declaring solutions. We’ve all seen and played a role in this movie.

Self-centeredness cloaked in “other” centeredness: a sneaky persona that grows easily and dies hard.

It isn’t the mere appearance of it that’s problematic; it’s our tendency to turn a blind eye to it. The ego is a powerful beast, one that seeks to protect itself without our conscious help. It’s a necessary component of survival, but can prevent us from loving and opening fully. The human race — in this post-racial (can’t type that with a straight face) and post-industrial world — is full-steam in the “I” over “We” stage.

Which brings me back to initial scene of this piece. When it comes to seeking the well-being of folks close to us we think we mean well and confuse goodwill with altruism. Sometimes, unsolicited opinions have benefits, notably when it pertains to holding people accountable to a task previously taken on. Holding people accountable as an adult/mother/teacher/whatever is one thing. Using another person’s trials as ground zero for cleaning off your pedestal is another. As we acquire the knowledge that goes with living in this world, it’s natural to correct and reform where fit.

But yo…you gotta chill.

Oftentimes, the hand that seeks to lift confuses itself for The hand that lifts. Beware of this type, for they are ubiquitous. The God-complex makes itself home within those who let people “know” how close they are to God. God in this case, meaning Right.

Not because of the common reasons. Yes, he can be overly schmaltzy in his music. He can come off hollow and like a cornball. And when he’s not expressing his sorrow for unrequited and unfulfilled love, he gets downright escapist.

Money, women, drinks, smokes, recycle, then again.

How does that stand out in an era inundated by much of the same vices? It’s the figure, or the medium, if you will. From his half-Jewish heritage to his previous exposure to the world through the teen drama Degrassi to the suspicion that he’s a guy you don’t want around if a conflict breaks out, he is an easy target in an industry where street ethos (Rick Ross notwithstanding) is the primary currency. On top of that, here is a Canadian-born artist with an adopted Southern accent palling around with Lil Wayne, Bun B and Kanye.

It just seems too easy. He appeals to white America, and 2011 or not, there is still the nagging notion of inauthenticity that comes with having a broad “other” fanbase.

Then there’s the hanging punchlines and manufactured steez. To many, he just seems…forced.

None of these reasons actually bother me. The source of my agitation as it relates to Drake? The tease.

There’s no denying the intelligence and talent that Aubrey Graham possesses on the mic. In an odd way, he seems likable off the mic. Drake has a gift that’s evident to anybody who’s listened and worked with him; a sound that can be as magnetizing as it is clever. But when you make music from a package with the aforementioned traits and your music becomes ubiquitous, there is a certain effect your music has that raises accountability.

Artists are respected for their work ethic, originality — even if that originality is only in the packaging — and producing art that relates to the human experience. Drake comes through on all three. So what’s the problem?

Well for one, he sells powerful emotions. Love, rejection, euphoria, hurt. When So Far Gone was released, there was promise. Gone is arguably the greatest rap mixtape of all-time in terms of its quality, “who is this?!” factor and mass reception. Signing with Universal eroded that vulnerability (or at least the perception of it) and replaced it with more banal bravado and empty frivolity.

The emotions stayed, but the depth didn’t.

As is the case with many artists who sign distribution deals with major labels, music tends to be diluted in favor of “mainstream” appeal (the definition of which seems to change every year).

Gone came and lifted anticipation. Despite his stellar numbers since, he doesn’t seem interested in finishing the job started “when he dropped the mixtape” and the “sh– sounded like an album.”

Thank Me Later featured more slow dopey tracks than desired from a rapper as gifted as Drake, but many of the subjects very thoughtful and relatable. On its veneer however, it was an example of a rapper gone Downy on us, which might be a bit unfair. In fact, one of the greatest of our time, Kanye West, is just as revealing and openly insecure. Yet, ‘Ye comes through because people sense strength even in his weak moments (personal tragedy and the co-sign of Jay-Z doesn’t hurt either).

Drake isn’t there and doesn’t seem to care. Songs like “Marvin’s Room” highlight this. There’s a difference between airing hurts just to vent and airing hurts that present opportunities for reconciliation and growth. Great artists have the ability to emphasize the latter; to make weakness sound strong.

It’s not that Drake lies about his pains as much that he doesn’t go far enough in vetting them. I’m not sure if it’s because of inability or unwillingness.

But there is a silver lining in his approach. Whining about a lost love while downing her current one is the sappiest of the sap. But who among us would argue that this isn’t common? After all, isn’t bearing witness of common pains and scenarios what we demand of our artists? Whether Drake’s “stories” are agreeable or not, his quest to make himself a martyr of sorts in his storytelling is applaudable.

Like it or not, he is very much a culturally relevant and fascinating figure because of this.

Drake gives me (us) enough in the way of catchy hooks and glib flow and relatable rhymes to keep my ear attuned to the latest singles he drops. Even as disappointment mounts and the bathos goes unabated, I don’t ever see myself not giving a damn.

A conundrum indeed.

OK, it isn’t Gladwell’s fault. The weight of numbers has been around as long as the black hole. But just how effective is it at living?

It’s easy to see how people are loyal to the digits; it has become the primary barometer of our effectiveness. Ever since grade school, we’ve been attuned to the importance of reaching that number, a figure that propelled us to increased recognition or, at least, to the next grade.

Bank statements are here to remind us of how much we do and don’t have. Intelligent quotient (I.Q.) tests of many variations are used as “objective” measures of how acute one is.

Counting calories has become an American pastime, to the point where scale fluctuations dictate the next move, as opposed to the lifestyle of wellness. “Getting to 130 pounds” is more at the forefront than “I want to become fit and have more energy.” Forgetting that there are multiple tools of measurements, round numbers catch our fancy–whether it’s how many kilograms we weigh or what time we have to be at a meeting (nobody ever says, “let’s meet at 9:37 a.m.”).

Even on a more juvenile level, we use sexual body counts to gauge how chaste or impure one is. Or on a more common level, socioeconomic status is a qualifier to a fulfilled life.

We tend to approach birthdays with dread and contemplation–kicking and pressuring ourselves at what we haven’t accomplished, instead of the fact that we’re still sucking air.

However.

It’s impossible to extract progress or regress without numbers. After all, we were born on the, say, third month 28th day in 1985. We keep track of this figure to guesstimate how far we are away from death, drinking legally (yes, people still wait until their 21st year to sip something; don’t know where, but I imagine it happens), renting a car, and so forth.

Also, there are a certain amount of hours in a day. When we slice up time for activities, one could argue, it is our way of respecting a finite resource to maximize our existence. To not be conscious of time is to neglect time management, and that ultimately leads to ineffectiveness. There is merit to this point, but I would counter that time management and embracing quality is not mutually exclusive.

If numbers can’t be done away with because of its irreplaceable value, our overdependency on them can. Constantly quantifying tasks can detract from the capacity to actually live and enjoy and take away from giving our full weight to the moment, which produces the best results anyway.

When meditating, praying, or decompressing, there isn’t a time limit. When spending time with loved ones, there usually isn’t enough time. As with reading a novel. Each of these activities is enhanced when the tick-tock is not a factor.

When dealing with daily tasks and goals, numbers are excellent signposts on the way to a destination. Accordingly, engaging with the constant present should be the focus. The journey–the scenery, music, gas station stops, traffic–is where the learning lives, with each moment suspended in time.

The problem with setting a standard “10,000 hours” as a sine qua non for mastering a subject or hobby is that it implies that we all learn at the same rate. We don’t. That standard is as culturally – dare I say individually – biased as standardized tests.

In a recent piece titled, “Why The World Is Run By Bean Counters,” Steve Denning elaborates on how, in business, the quantitive-over-qualitative focus on the bottom line, while once effective, is simply antiquated in the more democratized era of internet commerce.

Immeasurables such as customer service, ease of functionality, and brand rep are a more and more accurate barometer of a company. Likewise, as individual brands, constantly looking out for the “bottom line” robs us of the moment. The importance of metrics is inescapable, but it shouldn’t supersede intuition.

How can a three-month rule be applicable to every new couple? Twenty sit-ups for me and you could have different effects. Some people function better off six hours of sleep. But we could never know what works best for us if we stay reliant on “objective science.”

As Albert Einstein once said, “the intuitive mind is a sacred gift, and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honours the servant and has forgotten the gift.”

Our gift is the moment. Everything else is a subordinate.

Becoming uncomfortable with the silence, and driven by the fiery of another excuse, I started to speak again. But before opening my mouth to utter another critiquing word, it hit me:

People generally do the best they can.

Some would call this a “coddling” or “apologist ” thought. But there are many—yours truly included—who received the business end of this “coddling” at one point in life. In that vein, the dynamics of “why X has it together” and “why Y can’t do right” is not as cut and dry as it seems.

Being hard on loved ones is easy when their foibles and acts of ineptitude become a weekly episode. Everybody has their own cross to bear; however, you let them tell it, the world hates them and conspires for their demise. Self-accountability becomes nonexistent, and seeing them make the same mistake and singing the same sad song becomes commonplace. Thus, the clashes. The temporary fallouts. And in the worse cases, the severance of the relationship.

A close observation of addictive and deviant behavior for most of my life has saddled me with this very conundrum. Why can’t these people see the frustration in the eyes around them? The easy answer to a growing adolescent mind is the moral deficiency card.

“She wants things she shouldn’t want.”

“He needs the church.”

“No restraint.”

“Their parents had the same problem, so that explains it.” And on and on.

The fact that all of those reasons may or may not be true isn’t the issue. Those reasons are too simplistic to explain the variables affecting the life of a “troubled” individual. The greatest trait of any effective communicator is the ability of the communicator to meet and talk to people as they are. Not talking above their head, nor condescendingly, but to their current state. That takes actual understanding of what a person is going through, even if you don’t agree.

But playing the “understanding” card solely can veer into the reductive realm as well. Alone, it’s anemic and doesn’t work to get rid of the problem as much as to explain it. For people experiencing the flotsam and jetsam of folks’ endless mistakes, this won’t cut it.

There isn’t a person sucking air who hasn’t faced extreme disappointment from a person close to them. It also isn’t a stretch to assume that most walking on Earth is confronted with remnants of that disappointment on a consistent basis. Generally, we like to think we’re on the side of “right.” Who actually admits without prodding that “I’m a f—up?”

If life has taught us anything, it’s that, chances are, you are that person that has made somebody’s life difficult at one point. So it becomes a balancing high-wire act: forward progression, take no excuses in our own lives, but patience toward the stunted development in your [insert friend, sister, brother, etc]’s life.

It takes a special (mutant-like) power to roll with people while they struggle, while they take from you in the process, while they repeat mistakes time and time again. Some people aren’t built to be pushed when they need to “do better,” and that doesn’t make them trifling. People generally do the best they can with the information they have.

The oldheads used to tell me: “If you knew better, you’d do better.” The older I get, the more I understand that. Instead of being stressed out because those close to you aren’t living up to expectations they don’t have for themselves, use that energy for bettering yourself.

The biggest impediment to a broken person’s drive for improvement is the perceived judgment from his or her peers. Or put another way, pride. Use their pains to make you stronger. Lower their defenses. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll come with you.

Am I advocating placing yourself in peril to help those who don’t seem to want to help themselves? Of course not. Distance is generally necessary to maintain your positive energy (as well as giving them space to grow). It’s when apathy creeps into the picture that a problem occurs.

Even if you know someone is blowing it, it’s better to accept them as they are. Nobody can be forced to do better and you’ll be better off in the process.

Life has a way of placing us as the recipient of “coddle treatment” at various points. For every trial a person has emerged from, there is another person who shouldered their pain bravely or almost died trying. Everybody has to play their part. When your role comes, you just gotta be ready to step up.