Well, Actually
Among the many facets of my personality are two that would seem to belong to two pretty different kinds of people. There's the contrarian, who revels in taking the minority and counter-cultural point of view on issues. And there's the stat geek, who would blush at such bravado and who loves nothing more than to crunch numbers and look at objective facts. Put these two sides together and I'm realizing I love playing the "well, actually" role.
What do I mean by "well, actually"? I'll give you three examples from my life. First, the trivial: I love baseball. So the little leagues have been on the decline for two decades, and so the major league version of the sport is tarnished by steroids and free agency. I don't care, I still love the sport. And I especially love the Oakland A's "Moneyball" approach of the past decade or so. Faced with a payroll a fraction of their major competitors, they turned the sport into a mathematical puzzle that could yield them insights on how to best spend their limited resources. When the rest of the league overvalued certain athletic traits and performance stats, the A's figured out which traits and stats actually had the highest payoff. They exploited these market inefficiencies to the tune of 612 regular-season victories so far this decade, the most of any team in the majors (I believe). It just so happens I grew up in the Bay Area and rooted for the A's as a kid, so my allegiance runs deep; but it feels particularly good to root them along, because I can often say "well, actually" when I argue baseball with friends: "well, actually, power stats in college are a poor predictor of power stats in the big leagues," or "well, actually, defensive prowess is now undervalued in the market, so stocking up on good glovemen is a good way to build a team."
Second, the political: I defy the stereotypes of my affiliations. I'm much more to the right than most in my church and neighborhood, much more to the left than most in my extended family and political party. The thing about stereotypes is that there's a veneer of truth, but the reality is usually much deeper on the inside. So I often find myself saying "well, actually" when political conversations come up: "well, actually, Social Security reform is not as simple as that," or "well, actually, that sort of program has been statistically proven to be ineffective, no matter how popular or well-meaning it might seem."
Finally, the vocational: we tackle some of the most politically contentious issues in as apolitical of a way as possible. That's really our bread and butter as a company, that in the midst of people arguing on both sides of an issue, we scrutinize the numbers as objectively as possible and let them dictate to us what the best course of action is. Not that we are oblivious to the political issues or are ourselves politically uninvolved in our personal lives; far from it. But like the good guys on CSI, we look for the right evidence and the right context and we let it, and not the yelling around it, tell us whodunit. It's a role I'm enjoying so far, six weeks into my new job, and it's slowly occurring to me why: because, like baseball stats and political views, it speaks to these two facets of my personality that you wouldn't think could come together but quite often do.
What do I mean by "well, actually"? I'll give you three examples from my life. First, the trivial: I love baseball. So the little leagues have been on the decline for two decades, and so the major league version of the sport is tarnished by steroids and free agency. I don't care, I still love the sport. And I especially love the Oakland A's "Moneyball" approach of the past decade or so. Faced with a payroll a fraction of their major competitors, they turned the sport into a mathematical puzzle that could yield them insights on how to best spend their limited resources. When the rest of the league overvalued certain athletic traits and performance stats, the A's figured out which traits and stats actually had the highest payoff. They exploited these market inefficiencies to the tune of 612 regular-season victories so far this decade, the most of any team in the majors (I believe). It just so happens I grew up in the Bay Area and rooted for the A's as a kid, so my allegiance runs deep; but it feels particularly good to root them along, because I can often say "well, actually" when I argue baseball with friends: "well, actually, power stats in college are a poor predictor of power stats in the big leagues," or "well, actually, defensive prowess is now undervalued in the market, so stocking up on good glovemen is a good way to build a team."
Second, the political: I defy the stereotypes of my affiliations. I'm much more to the right than most in my church and neighborhood, much more to the left than most in my extended family and political party. The thing about stereotypes is that there's a veneer of truth, but the reality is usually much deeper on the inside. So I often find myself saying "well, actually" when political conversations come up: "well, actually, Social Security reform is not as simple as that," or "well, actually, that sort of program has been statistically proven to be ineffective, no matter how popular or well-meaning it might seem."
Finally, the vocational: we tackle some of the most politically contentious issues in as apolitical of a way as possible. That's really our bread and butter as a company, that in the midst of people arguing on both sides of an issue, we scrutinize the numbers as objectively as possible and let them dictate to us what the best course of action is. Not that we are oblivious to the political issues or are ourselves politically uninvolved in our personal lives; far from it. But like the good guys on CSI, we look for the right evidence and the right context and we let it, and not the yelling around it, tell us whodunit. It's a role I'm enjoying so far, six weeks into my new job, and it's slowly occurring to me why: because, like baseball stats and political views, it speaks to these two facets of my personality that you wouldn't think could come together but quite often do.
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