Just because the prison environment is insular and purposeless does not mean that I need to adopt those qualities. With all my might, I fight prison’s attempts to make my world small. I stretch myself, test my limits, and reach out, and in those ways, I remain accountable to myself and my family for making something of value out of our time apart. In the latter half of June, I took on a writing project that was an act of positive rebellion against limitations.
My buddy Shawn turned me on to the Buerggren Prize Essay Competition that is put on Nicholas Buerggren, a billionaire finance dude who launched a magazine called Noema. Shawn heavily encouraged me to enter based on his high opinion of my previous work. My initial reaction was that the contest was a bit out of my league, and when I started reading the submission guidelines, I became even more skeptical. It began with the theme:
“Humans live on a finite planet on which we depend to survive. Earth operates as an integrated, intricate, and fragile ecosystem, containing myriad layers of interdependency between nature’s systems and living beings–both human and non-human. These systems are geochemical, biological, social, and computational. For the first time in human history, a rapidly developing, planetary-scale technostructure of sensors and super computers is enabling us to perceive, monitor, and predict this vast and complex system. In so doing, technology is making the world seem smaller, and our collective belonging to it and each other more undeniable.
In short, the planetary technostructure that humans have created and in which we are embedded is revealing our condition of planetarity–that is, the inescapability of our embeddedness in an Earth-spanning biogeochemical system in which humanity cannot thrive unless the systems we inhabit are themselves thriving.”
Ohhhhhkay. It went on like that with mentions of Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Ralph Waldo Emerson, and the like. I sat with it for awhile and found myself wondering what on Earth I might have to contribute in this context. And then an idea hit me. I wrote out the premise of an essay that I still wasn’t sure at that point I intended to write.
“My premise is the expression of a deep concern about humanity’s lack of qualification to play the role of steward that we have seemingly been assigned in the interconnected planetary system on which we have overlaid our ‘technostructure.’ We fancy ourselves to be the pinnacle of evolution, the philosopher-kings who wield material wealth and technology for the benefit of humanity and nature alike. But our track record of relationship to each other and interrelationship with our environment makes a stronger case that we are like an eight year old playing with our dad’s gun–a tragic and irreversible accident waiting to happen.
The fundamental reason why we find ourselves in this precarious position is that our technological progress has outpaced our cultivation of personal character and the principle of justice, even and especially in our most advanced societies. At the heart of justice lies accountability, and this essay will illustrate, beginning from the level of the personal working outward to the planetary, how we must rediscover that heart if we wish to avoid fatally undermining the progress we struggled so hard to achieve.”
I read the statement to Shawn, fully expecting him to say, “You can’t say that to these people.” When I finished, he paused for a moment and said instead, “You have to say that to these people.” Two weeks and many hours later, with an assist from my dad, my 9,301 word essay entitled “Bridging the Accountability Gap” was submitted to the contest.
The process of creating the essay was empowering. I started with brainstorming ideas and pulled together information from various sources, including my previous writings and interviews of the guys at the camp. The brainstormed content was then mind-mapped by topic. And finally, I sketched out a visual narrative chart to use as a roadmap as I wrote. For bigger pieces like this, I have learned that planning is more than half the battle. My preparation allows me to get in the flow when I start writing, confident that I won’t wander off-course.
Once I was ready to write, I put on my headphones and turned on the music. Ten to twelve hour days went by as the words poured out. I took a break periodically to read sections to Shawn and another buddy Dre, gathering their feedback and making revisions. It was a grind, but it felt great to push myself.
The final obstacle to completing the essay was in my mind. While typing up the near-final draft, that old voice of unworthiness spoke up and said, “Who do you think you are to be saying such big and important things?” I stopped to consider the question. What I wrote was directly from my experience, the hard-won insights gained from what I went through and witnessed, along with changes I’ve made to myself. It seemed obvious that I was the only one who was able to write those words. “Shut up, stupid voice,” I said to myself and typed on. That was a personal victory.
I have no idea how the judges will react to my essay and it doesn’t really matter. By pushing my limits I was able to write my truth and write it well. I’ve already won.
