August 12, 2021

There’s no place in this world where I’ll belong when I’m gone

And I won’t know the right from the wrong when I’m gone

And you won’t find me singin’ on this song when I’m gone

So, I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here.

—“When I’m Gone” (Lyrics by Phil Ochs)

It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you at liberty to neglect it.—Rabbi Tarfon

As the world turns dark, my job is to shine a light as best as I can, and to try, if only a little, to brighten this ailing world back up. I have no illusions that I can fix the world. I am only one person. So perhaps the scope of that light won’t shine much farther than on my family, some of my neighbors, a few friends, and my audiences that come to laugh and forget. But that’s OK. That’s a start. At least I am doing something.

Because as Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur gallop toward me, hopefully I’ll be given another chance and more time to fix the twisted and broken branches of this world. Then I will use the broom of wisdom to sweep clean the debris from this past year.

Because as Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur gallop toward me, hopefully I’ll be given another chance and more time to fix the twisted and broken branches of this world.

Because the alternative of doing nothing is a paralyzing thought. To do nothing is to give up my citizenship as a person. To do nothing is to be barely human. To not correct is incorrect. We have seen the direction the world takes when people either do or say nothing, either consciously or unconsciously. It’s too late to do nothing. The clock will not tick backward. We are now within its grip.

As hatred grows like unpulled weeds, it chokes the roots of a fragile civilization. As we are now witnessing, it’s much easier to destroy than it is to build. Since I have become aware of these changes, my soul has been ignited. I have always cared about people, goodness and fair play.

I haven’t always acted like I cared, though. I spent many years silently riding the merry-go-round, feeling proud just to pay my bills on time. I worried about my credit rating. But what about that ultimate rating: the one for your soul. The rabbis might say I was asleep, and that saddens me. I lost precious time. I personally feel somewhat responsible for the decay. But thank God, caring was always in me and, to whatever degree, I now recognize it. I finally hear an echo from the mountain. The supreme voice is angry when I sit still, as if I have not earned idle time. The voice asks that I do something. Something to show I care. Something that proves I am not just words. Something that shows I believe in him and his children.

As the curtain falls on my 60s and I realize I have little time left, my eyes have snapped open. I feel the need to protect my family now more than ever. A day does not pass where I don’t worry about their safety. I care more about being a good husband, father, grandfather and friend. I care more about being helpful. I care more about helping to stop the madness. And it is madness. I care more about being a good Jew. I have never been prouder than I am today of my Jewish soul. I have never been more grateful for the gift I was given when I entered this world. It makes me think that, because of the depth of my love for being a Jew, the roots of these feelings, coupled with my anxieties for my people, are connected to the long, arduous and treacherous roads my people have had to march down—many times, to their deaths. These feelings are so strong it makes me think that this is not the first time my neshamah (soul) has entered the Jewish maze. It all feels so eerily familiar.

So, while the roots of our lives are being torn away, prayer, kindness and especially our time is more important than ever. A hello, a smile, or a phone call asking how a person is has more power than ever before. People are scared. People are angry. People need assistance. A simple hello can reach the heart as quickly as any bullet.

The rabbis have told us that we can’t solve this. We can’t fix this. But we still must do our part.

Mother Teresa never finished the job she was put on earth to do. The streets of Calcutta remain full of the sick and the dying. But she did what she could.

The Chofetz Chaim, the famous work on guarding one’s tongue, did not end lashon hara (negative speech), but Rabbi Yisrael Meir Kagan, its author, did what he could.

The Jewish souls that walked their last steps, shoeless and into stone buildings, still believed with the Shema on their dying lips.

So now, God forbid, before the dark turns permanent and the door is sealed behind us, on this Yom Kippur I choose to light the few candles I have left. A little light is better than none. I believe that each flicker of a candle is a wink from God to keep going.

Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer.

In the third grade, I stood at the edge of the mat, ran with all of my force, and sprang into a powerful roundoff.

I did not stick the landing.

Instead, I broke my radius and my ulna (the two bones in your lower arm) at the same time.

I later broke my ankle playing basketball, and broke both my wrist and my growth plate in two separate, but equally fun, relay races.

All this to say, I’m not exactly the world’s most athletic (or, apparently, coordinated) person. While I’m never going to compete in the Olympics Games I really enjoy watching them. As I’ve enjoyed Tokyo from the comfort of my couch, with a glass of wine in my hand instead of a cast around it, here’s my take on three things we can all do to show up as Olympians every day at work.

Saying yes to saying no.

The world went bananas (and nearly broke the internet) when Simone Biles pulled out of the team event in Tokyo, and here’s why: so many of us desperately crave that same courage to say no.

So how do we do it? It’s actually this simple: If Simone Biles can withdraw from the Olympic team finals, you can say yes to taking a vacation, taking a sick or mental health day, declining a meeting, project, or a Zoom, asking for help, or just saying no.

Seriously, one more time: If Simone Biles can withdraw, are you going to tell me you cannot decline a single obligation?

If you’re still not convinced, consider this: We often look at saying “no” as a sign of weakness, when it’s actually a sign of strength. What Simone revealed in that moment of immense scrutiny and pressure is that we always have permission to make a choice, and that the right choices actually enhance both our reputation and the longevity of our career.

What Simone revealed in that moment of immense scrutiny and pressure is that we always have permission to make a choice, and that the right choices actually enhance both our reputation and the longevity of our career.

Basking in bronze.

Okay, did you see Simone win that bronze? Great, so I’m not the only person who teared up. What a powerful statement for a woman known as the G.O.A.T (the greatest of all time) to bask in her bronze, accepting her medal with such pure and absolute joy.

Basking in bronze is really hard for a lot of us. Especially if you’re a (recovering) perfectionist like me. As Claire Wasserman writes in her book, “Ladies Get Paid,” when it comes to perfectionism we typically believe that:

“Anything less than flawless is a failure; and failing at a task really means that we’re the failure … But by convincing ourselves that having unreasonable standards is in our best interest, we risk getting stuck in the never-ending cycle where we’re pushing ourselves too hard and then being too hard on ourselves for every misstep.

“To be clear,” Wasserman reminds us, “letting go of perfectionism doesn’t mean lowering our standards. It means operating from a desire to do well, not so we can escape judgement but so we can grow.

In Tokyo, Simone reminded us of what can change in our lives and outlooks when we give ourselves permission to bask in bronze instead of beating ourselves up.

The one percent strategy.

For many of us, getting comfortable saying “no” or conquering our perfectionism can feel incredibly liberating in theory, but impossibly daunting or downright radical in practice. That’s why one of my favorite Olympic stories comes from Great Britain’s cycling team.

After winning a gold in Sydney in 2000 and scooping up another two in the ’04 games in Athens, the team got a new coach, Sir David Braillsford, who had a theory. He believed that the team could make a huge performance leap—not by making a massive stride in a single area, but by making incremental changes, one percent at a time, across everythingin their training routine.

So the team started making a large number of small changes to their helmets, their diet, and their training routine, even seeking out the best pillows, and taking them everywhere they went as they competed around the globe. And with one percent changes here and one percent changes there, they went from two golds in Athens, quadrupling to eight golds in the next games in Beijing and holding down eight golds again in their home-town games in London in the Olympics that followed.

Meet me on the podium.

This is the practice of being an everyday Olympian: saying “yes” to saying “no” happens one percent at a time. Letting go of our perfectionism so we can bask in bronze happens one percent at a time. It’s one day at a time one decision at a time.

Randi Braun is an executive coach, consultant, speaker and the founder of Something Major.