6 More Weeks of Winter

It is early Feb­ru­ary, which means it is time to turn our eyes to peo­ple gath­ered round a hole in the Penn­syl­va­nia Earth…  and watch a rodent.  Yes it is Ground­hog Day.  It is always fun to see if we will have 6 more weeks of Win­ter based on the activ­i­ties of Phil.  All day, we get to say to each other things like “Oh no,  6 more weeks of winter.”

Of course we all know that Ground­hog day is a lie — albeit a fun one.  Win­ter is dic­tated by the posi­tion of the Earth cir­cling the Sun, com­monly mea­sured by our Cal­en­dar.  Win­ter will be over the same time it is over every year.  Still, there is no fun in that is there?  So we per­pet­u­ate the lie in a good way.  We have fun with the dol­drums of Win­ter by giv­ing it a Mas­cot and a fairy tale.  It gives us some­thing to hope for, chat about, and have fun with.  We want to believe that our weather is dic­tated by a cute rodent because it is silly and fun dur­ing an oth­er­wise gray time of the year.  This is the con­cept that Seth Godin writes about in his book, All Mar­keters Are Liars — of his best books, with one of his worst titles.

In life, it helps to be able to spot the dif­fer­ence between valid pre­dic­tions and fairy tales.  Doing so does not ren­der the fairy tales mean­ing­less, and can some­times even make life more mean­ing­ful.   Lying is good?  Not exactly.  Let me explain…

The lot­tery is a fairy tale.  My brother in law describes it as a tax on peo­ple who are bad at math.  I know the odds are that I will never win,  but I still it play occa­sion­ally.  It is fun to dream about what I would do if I won, and every few months that is worth a buck. I buy the lie for fun, and deep down know the truth is that I will still have a stack of bills come Monday.

Here is another exam­ple.  I like to drink Gatorade.  Deep down I know that Gatorade does not make me a bet­ter ath­lete.  If I want to do some­thing like run a marathon, no amount of col­ored corn-syrupy salt water will make that hap­pen.  The truth is that to accom­plish some­thing big requires hard work.  Still I buy the lie that drink­ing it after I run is help­ing me to achieve my goals.   It is a mas­cot for my real­ity. It takes the monot­ony of run­ning, and makes it more inter­est­ing.  It keeps me engaged.

Mole­sk­ine note­books pro­vide yet another exam­ple.  Much to the dis­may of my wife, I love them.  These leather cov­ered note­books are the same as those used by Hem­ing­way.  They are cool.  Hav­ing a Mole­sk­ine alone does not make me a bet­ter writer.  What the Mole­sk­ine does for me is add mys­tique to the writ­ing process.  I buy the lie.  Some­times just the lit­tle extra push of hav­ing a cool note­book gives me a silly rea­son to write, draw, and cap­ture my thoughts.  I become a bet­ter com­mu­ni­ca­tor by actu­ally prac­tic­ing my com­mu­ni­ca­tion skills.  I know this to be a fact.  Still, the lie of the Mole­sk­ine makes it more appeal­ing, so I buy in.

Be care­ful what you buy in life.  Real­ize that much of what we do and buy and talk about is a lie.  Use this knowl­edge to place things in proper per­spec­tive, and then buy in accord­ingly.  Buy­ing a mega-millions ticket here and there may be silly, but the value for most is the fun of dream­ing.  You may not want to drop your pay­check on a day­dream, but a buck here and there just might be worth it.

Whether it is wear­ing your lucky jer­sey on game day or eat­ing the same break­fast every Tues­day, there is value in the fun of the sto­ries we cre­ate.  Ground­hog day to me sym­bol­izes this idea to me, and that is why I enjoy it.  That is why I buy in.  It has absolutely noth­ing to do with the weather, and every­thing to do with peo­ple hav­ing an excuse to talk about the weather in a dif­fer­ent way, once a year, every year.  We buy the lie, because it makes life a lit­tle more fun.

Happy Ground­hog Day!

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