Babak's Blog

On Decision Making...

There’s an expression that is often used to describe MBA’s – analysis paralysis. It describe a situation where someone is so caught up in analyzing that he can’t make a decision. He is paralyzed in the state of analysis. Whether it is the results of the analysis that paralyze someone or more often, it is the need to continue analyzing, the result is a lack of decision-making. The latter arises because, in business and in life, there is a seemingly endless amount of information to be analyzed.

At some point, though, you have to say that while you will never have perfection information (because it simply doesn’t exist and the world continues to change every second), a decision has to be made. The question then becomes, at what point do you have enough information to make an adequate decision. Those who suffer from analysis paralysis are often heard describing new items they need to analyze. Their “enough information” never seems to be enough.

For some decisions, we don’t need much information. Do we need to fill our car with gas? A decision like that is simply a matter of weighing a few different factors – how much gas do you currently have in the tank, where is the closest gas station, where is a gas station with a lower price, what are my time constraints? Sometimes we are low on gas and we drive by a cheap gas station and decide to fill up. Other times we push the limit and cause ourselves stress hoping we don’t run out of gas.

Many decisions in life are generally this simple – there aren’t too many factors and even if you push off a decision, the repercussions aren’t too severe. And there is a relatively quick window that forces a decision (in the prior case, an emptying gas tank).

The issue arise with larger bigger or more complex decisions – how do you know that you have enough information, have analyzed the appropriate factors and to a sufficient extent. At the same time, some situations require quick decision-making (where it’s not so much about making the perfect or right decision but rather about making a decision and going with it without worrying about how a different situation might have turned out) whereas some situations are better suited towards longer analysis where the consequences of making a poor decision are big. Even then, however, getting caught in analysis paralysis could lead to a non-decision, which, generally speaking, is worse than a bad decision.

Decision-making relates in some ways to judgment, which is a topic for another time, but it often characterizes successful people from unsuccessful people. It might not be so binary – it might simply distinguish great success with good success. In the business world, decision-making is an important responsibility for senior management. Recognizing the key issues that need to be grappled with, identifying the relevant information, and making a decision in a timely manner. In life, we all face big decisions – who to marry, which profession to enter and which job to take, etc.

In my experience those whom I consider successful share several characteristics.

Make decisions definitively and with purpose.

Don’t look back.

Don’t try to make a perfect decision.

Have seen a lot – even if the situation is new, can analyze quickly and/or compare to other situations.

What’s more interesting to me, and it relates to the characteristics of successful people, is how do people develop those skills, how do they become people who can make great decisions in a timely manner.

This is just the beginning of the conversation…

Life's Seasons

My sister Mitra talks about this idea of there being a season for different things. She talks about in the context of periods of time in our lives – sometimes we focus on school for many years, other times we can be hanging out and having fun, then building a career or family is where our efforts are. It doesn’t have to be a super-long time – maybe it’s just a period of a few months where we train for a marathon, or perhaps it takes a few months to initiate a job change.

And just because it’s the season for something, that doesn’t mean nothing else happens. It’s more about where our focus and emphasis is, where the majority of one’s mindshare is.

Having completed a couple Ironman triathlons, I know that, like many of my friends who have done the same, when I’m training for an Ironman, it dominates my thoughts. That’s not surprising given that I would typically train 2-3 hours a day, longer on the weekends, comprising 10 or so workouts in a week. Add to that the need to eat right and sleep well, not to mention that despite the food and sleep, I always seem to be exhausted in the middle of my training months. And because I’m so busy with training and everything around it, I don’t get out as much as I might have, am not as up on what’s going on in the world, and don’t get to see my friends as much as either one of us would like. But I do this consciously, intentionally, and without regret, because the finish line (no pun intended) is something I deem worthwhile, something I deem worth the price I have to pay.

Many of my friends tell me that we are living such different lives, because most of them are married and have at least 1 child. As such, with a spouse, full-time job, and child, they don’t have the time that I do – as busy as I am, I know that in general, I have much more discretionary time than do most of my friends. When you think of responsibilities such as a child, mortgage and spouse, I know that mine pale in comparison. And so when we speak on the phone, they often tell me how different our lives are, how they would love to be able to train as much as I do. I tell them that while they may be jealous of what I do, I am jealous of what they do and have – a happily married life. Don’t get me wrong, I love my life right now, but, in a good way, there are components of my friends’ lives that I want for myself. Perhaps living vicariously through one another helps us stay connected.

Bringing this back to the concept of seasons – perhaps the past few years, the season has been for me to have the single life – to be able to make decisions that, while they affect my parents and sisters in a certain way, I could make for myself. I have been able to start a magazine, dabble in a variety of ventures, and have the flexibility in time and commitments to train for an Ironman and some ultra-distance cycling events.

As Mitra describes things, the season for all this stuff for me might be longer than she would normally think of, and perhaps longer than she would prefer, but there is no definition of a season that constrains how long or short it is. It is important to be aware of how we are spending our time, of being able to step back and evaluate what season we are in and what season we want to be in. When those two converge, that’s a great thing.

I think Mitra tends to think of seasons as more natural cycles, that while you can affect them, there is a flow to them. Not that life is pre-destined, but in general, our twenties are more about exploring and defining ourselves, our thirties are about building our families and careers, our forties (not that I’m there yet) are about taking those things that are important to us to another level. And so on. Of course, the key word is that these are generalizations – not everyone does nor should follow this “schedule.” 

In retrospect, it is often easier to see what the seasons were in our past – as we think about certain periods of our lives. And so what of the present and the future? We can certainly anticipate things that are possible. And of course we are never in full control of everything around us, but we do have choices in how we act and react.

Life certainly seems to have its seasons. And some seasons seem to last longer (or shorter) than we would prefer.  Enjoying those seasons and taking advantage of them is what I try to focus on. Changes happen, so you can either lament the fact that the tree is barren or enjoy the change in the colors and recognize that the leaves will reappear in the spring.

Furnace Creek 508

Most of you know that from October 7th thru 9th, I completed the Furnace Creek 508 – a 508-mile bike ride starting on the outskirts of LA, heading north through Mojave and traveling down thru Death Valley, Baker and 29 Palms.  It's billed as the toughest 48-hours in sports, and with 35,000 feet of climbing and a usual 40%+ dropout rate, I'll just say that it's a tough 48-hours of sports.

No surprise that I'm writing a long race report…I apologize in advance for that and for the choppiness of the writing. I've had trouble putting this experience down in words. As I think I've mentioned before, sometimes, you want to keep certain parts to yourself. And so, I've forced myself to write about certain things that I thought would be interesting.

Some of you may recall an email I sent in March after I completed my 200-mile ride in Death Valley. Seems like ages ago, and I was at the time very new to these ultra rides. After another double century in March and a triple in June, I started getting more experience. While my bike volume stayed relatively high, given that I had Ironman Canada in late August, I was always balancing that training with that for the 508. When you factor in 2 weeks of tapering pre-Ironman and a couple weeks afterwards, I wouldn't say that the training program was ideal, but I had enough volume from the early season that would benefit me. It turns out that my less-than-ideal Ironman came back to help me in a couple ways, one of which I wouldn't have expected.

To set the scene for the 508, there are ~75 solo riders and about 30-40 2- and 4-person teams. Each solo rider and team had 1 support vehicle. This is your main, if not only, source of support, food, water, rest, etc. I think having all these support vehicles out there makes the event something very different than anything I've ever seen. You have all these "units" getting through the course together. Very cool. I should've taken some pics of the vehicle (my mom's minivan), because it was full with a couple coolers, shelves and containers of food and clothing, an extra bike, extra wheels, and anything else I thought I might want/need during this ride. I'll talk a bit more about my crew later, but my crew ended up being my sister Mitra and my dad.

The pre-race meeting on Friday was my first interaction with the other participants. Someone near my sister made the comment that the participants were a wholly-diverse group (I'm definitely on the younger end of riders). We happened to grab seats near a couple legends – the first is Ken Souza, a former duathlete I used to follow in the 80s and the prior year's winner; total stud. He's unbelievable humble and mellow. Next to him was seated 73-year old Gerd Rosenblatt. If you recall my March email, this was the dude who beat me. He is also the age-group record holder at the 508. The fact that the meeting started at 6:15pm and ended around 8pm made me aware of how different ultra riding is vs. triathlon. No way in heck do triathletes tolerate a meeting until 8pm the nite before – "I need to eat my meal and be back in my room and rest." Both groups are type-A, no doubt, but the ultra riders are type-A in a more reserved way, if that makes any sense.

Race morning began for me at 2am, as I hadn't been sleeping well in the prior week and an Ambien me much. After some final preparations at the start location in Santa Clarita, I said a short good-bye to my crew who had to get to the 25-mile mark to wait for me. With the first few miles run under caution as we get out of town, it's the only opportunity I had to draft off others but more importantly to chat with other cyclists. I met a UCLA ph.d. student who needed to get done in 36 hours so that he and his crew could get back to work – I checked later and he dropped out before the halfway point. Not sure what happened. I also got to chat with Ken Souza for a couple minutes. Turns out he DNF'ed as well. Then a left turn at mile 4.7 and we started the first climb.

Rather than doing a complete play-by-play, I'll try to capture some of what stands out for me:

-for the first day, until 6pm, the support vehicles had to run leapfrog support for their riders, which means that I would bike by my crew, pick up what I needed, and then they would drive by me a few miles and we would repeat. In doing so, I'd leapfrog other support vehicles, who would almost always cheer me on. All the crews did this for the other riders, and this definitely added to why I liked this event.

-As for the riding, let's just say that 35,000 feet of climbing is probably not an exaggeration. While there were definitely times when I was on the flats, of the 10 major mountain stages, at least 4 stand out as some of the toughest climbing I've ever done. One climb was 21.4 miles at a 2-4% grade. 21 miles!! That was day 2, and I just remember thinking, "why is this road here?" The steepest climb is Townes Pass, which is a 10 mile, 3800 foot climb. For those of you familiar with LA riding, Latigo is ~10 miles and 2,000 feet. So, basically twice as steep. My compact crankset with a 34 in the front and a 27 cog in the rear wasn't enough to spin by any sort of measure. Mitra and my dad tell me that I hammered up the climb. Sure doesn't seem that I did. But after almost a couple hours, the top was there. It's just hard to describe what going up these roads was like. Never-ending is one thought. But mostly you just have to settle in and spin away.

-If I wasn't clear earlier, you ride as much or as little as you want, whenever. Which basically means that I rode at nite, through the nite. From 6pm to 7am each day, the support vehicle had to be behind the rider. And each vehicle had to be outfitted with blinking amber lights. When we approached Townes Pass, it was ~11pm on Saturday nite and it provided what for me was one of the coolest images of the race. From a couple miles away, I could see a trail of cars following their cyclist up the mountain. But all I could really see was the car's tail-lights and the blinking lights on top of the car. Then as I turned around, I saw a stream of cars behind me, just the headlights this time, all moving at 10-20 mph. I find it hard to describe, but it was one moment during the race where there were so many riders near one another, and while they weren't visible to me at all, their cars' lights were. It's a set of images I'll always remember.

-so yes, I did ride through the nite. And I must say, I love riding at nite. The support vehicle provides most of the light. Except. Except for when we were descending places like Townes Pass and the road curves and the road dips. So I'm basically descending at 35-45 mph with the minivan as close behind me as possible, and then all of a sudden there's a large drop in the road as it curves down and so it's dark for a split second. Must say it's a scary yet exhilarating thing to experience. And also why I had a helmet light and bike light on the front. But at some level, you are riding on faith for a split second.

-One of the main reasons people drop out of the race relates to stomach problems. As much as I've trained all season and learned how to eat and drink, it's darn near impossible to simulate race conditions – what the air feels like, what it tastes like, how you'll feel on the hills, etc. Nutrition is just really hard. My goal had been to target ~300 calories per hour, which would mean ~12,000+ calories for the ride. As with most things, plans and reality end up slightly different. My nutrition came from a variety of places – SlimFast, fruit, Gatorade, chewy granola bars, fig newtons, chocolate bars, trail mix, gels, etc. I'll have to review my total count (I had a notebook in the vehicle where Mitra and my dad tracked everything I took in), but I figure the caloric intake was around the 12K, ~12 gallons of water, 2 2-liter containers of mountain dew, and somewhere on the order of 120-150 salt tablets. My savior, however, was Tums. With all of the different things I was putting in my body, my stomach was starting to burn from all of the acid. Luckily, we were able to get some Tums from the other crews, as it wasn't something I had planned on taking.

-This is where the less-than-ideal Ironman experience came into play. On the descent from Townes Pass, ~1am, I wasn't feel well, bad enough that I knew I needed to do something. At Ironman, I spent 25 minutes in the medical tent between the bike and the run, mostly b/c my feet were swollen, but it also helped to let my system catch up. And so that's what I did. I pulled over at Stovepipe Wells, and let my system catch up. After ~30-40 minutes of resting, downing a SlimFast and dry cup o' noodles, plus a few salt tablets and Tums, I was feeling much better. I'm not sure what I would've done if I didn't have the Ironman experience, but I will say that the learnings from my less-than-ideal Ironman helped to contribute to my finishing the 508. Amazing how things work.

-sleep. This part will be short. I slept 17 minutes the entire ride. From 6:12am to 6:29am on the morning of the second day. And interestingly, I was never that sleepy. Tired, yes. But not really sleepy. Plus, I didn't want to sleep at nite, b/c 1) it was cooler than during the day, and 2) we had a tail wind thru Death Valley and I wanted to use it as much as I could. It also turns out that it was the right amount of sleep – I wasn't groggy when I woke up and I felt pretty darn refreshed. Plus, I busted out this gem while sitting in the van before getting going on, "you know, this is not easy."

-Speaking of riding at nite, riding thru Death Valley at nite was one of the cooler things I've done. And to be able to wake up after my short nap to sunrise in Death Valley was epic. At the same time, as someone else said, as you're riding along, some random cars pass you and you wonder who the heck are these people and why are they driving thru DV at nite. Then again, they must be wondering why I'm riding my bike at 3am…

-As for passing the time, this one is hard to explain. I told my crew somewhere on Day 2 that I no longer had any cognitive ability. I just turn the pedals. And in some ways, you want that. You don't need to think that much. Just be safe and aware and keep moving forwards. But to pass the time, I threw on my MP3 player, primarily at nite. While some folks had amplified sound from their cars, I liked being in my own world, spinning away to my cheesy 80s music. I would temporarily take out the earphones when my crew would give me food and fluids, but then would revert back to the tunes.

-So how hard was this? There were many when I thought it was just brutally tough. Even before the race, I wasn't sure I was going to finish, particularly since I had been fighting a minor sickness the week prior to the race. But come race morning, I felt pretty good. One of the keys to keeping going for me was bike gearing. Mitra and my dad said that I seemed to be a machine, keeping the same cadence for the entire ride. Watching the video, it seems I did. But the key there was not knowing nor really caring how fast I was going. I had a sense that I would make the 48 hour time limit. But the bottom line is that I just love riding my bike. I think you could do this race without that, but it would be so much more difficult. I have always been at ease and at peace on my bike and so in many ways, I am well-suited for an event like this.

-While the climbs and the distance were all a challenge, the most difficult section for me was the last 25 miles, which probably took 3.5-4 hours to get through. One final climb to Sheephole Summit was never-ending. In fact, every climb seemed to be never ending. The descent down was so cold that despite wearing a jacket and leggings, I was frozen with teeth chattering, and had to stop to get in the car where the heater was blasting. Then despite being 15 miles away ~1am, I just couldn't generate much power anymore. The road was a slight uphill and the wind was blowing in my face. Man, that part sucked. You see the lights in the distance but they don't get any closer. Then you finally get to the lights, only to realize you have another 5 miles to go. And then a couple final uphills just for good measure. As if the course was at 34,950 feet of climbing and they wanted to get to 35,000 feet.

-Rolling into the driveway of the Best Western 29 Palms, there were a couple folks from the race staff holding a streamer finish line for me to bike thru.  When I stopped, I turned to my sister and dad and told them that we did it. We, being the operative word. While I may have been the one on the bicycle, there is no way you finish the 508 without a good crew. Luckily, I had a great crew. They were just as spent as I was. Driving 10 mph behind me, or driving 40 mph behind at nite, getting food, fluids, salt, etc. ready for me and handing it off to me as I rode – all this took a ton of physical and mental effort. Add to it that most crews are usually 3 people – it lets one person have a mini-break – with 2 crew members, they were both always on, whether driving, handing off food, videotaping, etc. I'm very fortunate.  So, at the Best Western, we got our picture taken with the race director, then just us. I got my finisher's medal, which is by far the heaviest one I've ever received, but is also probably the one I'm most proud of.

-Official time was 43 hours and 39 minutes, which translates to a net 11.8 mph. I don't know what my on-the-bike average speed was.

-We all use the word "amazing" to describe certain experiences, sometimes we use it too often. But there is no doubt that this was an amazing experience. I think it is only now that it is starting to settle in to what actually happened. Much of the ride was just a surreal experience.

-As for post-race, the main soreness I've felt has been not in my legs, but in my neck, shoulders and triceps, as I was holding on to the bars on some of the worst roads out there, on the descents, and helping to pull my way up on the climbs. I've still got a bit of lingering numbness in my extremities but it is slowly getting better.  My hunger has been odd – I think because I was so used to eating every 20 minutes or so during the race, I get hungry often but can't put down big meals. The first full nite afterwards, I woke up ~ 5am and needed to put down 500 calories. And while my sleep is just getting back to normal, overall, I'm doing pretty well.

-as for now, it's been a long season.  2 double centuries, a triple.  1/2 marathon and a 10k.  3 triathlons, including a 1/2 and Ironman Canada. Interestingly, with the exception of the marathon at Canada, every event of every race i did this season was a PR.  now, it's time to enjoy a bit of off season.  Well, until it's time for the Holiday Speedo Run on  12/16...

Thanks for reading.

-Babak

O.B.O.-ing

OBO is something you see when someone is selling something, for example, “$900 obo.” It means “or best offer” – which in this case means the person  will sell the item for $900 but will consider the best offer if it’s less than $900.

From there, I’ve come to think of O.B.O. in a different context, specifically when people don’t commit to plans. Say you ask someone to join you for an event or to come to a party you’re throwing. If their response is flimsy and they hem and haw but don’t give a real answer, instead preferring to hedge whether they will actually show up – well, this is what I refer to as obo-ing. Regardless of their reasons for not committing, often times, what they are really thinking is, “Thanks for the offer and I may actually come but I want to leave all my options open in case I get invited to something better.”

This is O.B.O.-ing. And for the recipient, it’s really annoying. It’s actually a form of an insult, whether or not a person being non-committal admits it. Because in hedging their answer, they are implicitly saying that there might be someone else out there who they might be invited to join and who they would rather hang out with than you.

O.BO.-ing was highly prevalent in business school. You see, in business school, people want to be in the in-crowd. And as a result, they operate in a constant state of fear. Fear of not being included or invited. Fear of missing a legendary evening, that supposed once-in-a-lifetime nite that people talk about for ages. Well, the reality is that those nites rarely exist. Sometimes, it’s simply wanting to be feel wanted, to be on the “A”-list. In the “to” line of the email. And to be earlier in the list of names in the “to” line.

So, as a result, MBA’s are renown for being non-committal. Yes, I may join you for dinner, but if a group I deem as more socially superior, influential, etc. invites me, then I reserve the right to not officially be flaking on your dinner because I’ve never actually committed 100% to your dinner.

Sounds high school-esque? Yes, it is. And it’s definitely not solely in business school that you see this behavior (and of course, as with everything, it’s not universal among all MBAs, just more common than the general public). I remember this came up with everything from who was in your ski house in tahoe, and who your roommates were 2^nd year. And of course, which dinner party you went to on Friday nite. 

In my experience it is present in environments where there are multiple “cool” groups, where type-A personalities are the norm and as a result, most members in the group are used to be in the in-crowd. Folks who OBO may have some close friends but often times, they have a bunch of friends in different circles. That’s what creates the tension to OBO. And part of the reason they have friends in different circles is so that they not miss out on something cool. I’d even say it’s more the fear of missing something than the “upside” of having participated in it – though there is certainly some social equity that is gained by being able to say that you were a part of that something – but usually only if some people you know and whose opinions you care about were not able to do so. This creates bragging rights and makes you different/special.

The only minor solution I developed to deal with O.B.O.-ing was, in times when some sort of cash outlay was necessary, to tell people that they needed to provide an answer by a certain time. That usually got them committed one way or another. And if they did find an alternative event, they were committed and on the hook for whatever payment was agreed upon.

O.B.O.-ing. Hmm….

Sounds at an Amusement Park

I went to Six Flags Magic Mountain on Saturday. I love amusement parks and am crazy for roller coasters. One of my best friends from college, Tony, and I have long talked about heading to Ohio to go to Cedar Point, the country’s best amusement park. Sometimes it’s just the thrill of going 80 miles per hour down an unreal steep track, other times it’s simply the fun of getting scared. Sounds kind of weird, I know, but that’s partly why people go to horror flicks, right?

Most of the lines for the rides these days are quite near, and sometimes under, the ride you’re waiting to get on. No matter how long you’re in line, and often you don’t have to be in line, you can hear the roar of the roller coaster and the sound of screaming of its passengers. Its passengers who are choosing to get on this ride. Its passengers who paid big money to get in ($60 for a full day!). Its passengers who are having fun, regardless of what you hear coming out of their mouths on the ride.

It struck me that amusement parks have an interesting set of sounds and noises that emanate from the park. First off, you have simply the roller coasters, some of which have gotten so big, fast and powerful, that you can hear them from far away. Superman, a ride in which passengers get into a car that accelerates to 100 mph and then drives up a ramp to 40 stories up, sounds like a plane is taking off. It is that loud and intense. The sounds of other rides aren’t simply “whoosh,” they are a roar.

At the same time, you have the screams of the riders. A long time ago, I remember being told that the reason the Indians would yell as they descended to attack a group was that by screaming, they would not be able to think of their fears. Screaming would allow them to be in the moment, often times on instinct. Fear may cause them to be more timid in battle and might simply distract them. Screaming and yelling would not allow that fear to enter, at least not the conscious mind. I think something similar happens on roller coasters. While screaming makes it more intense, it also does something to put people in a place where they are enjoying the ride rather than fearing it.

But while these folks may then be enjoying themselves, those not on the ride – whether in line or walking by – get to hear these screams. In more “normal” circumstances, we would be concerned for the welfare of those yelling so loudly they lose their voices. But not so at an amusement park. In fact, the more and louder we hear riders scream, the more excited we get, as that means it’s that good of a ride. And it causes our anticipation to increase to another level.

It’s fairly common for our experience of an event to be affected, positively or negatively, by what we perceive as the experience of others who have just experienced it. We see this everywhere – at the doctor’s office, in church, or in a movie theater. The difference here is that the reaction not typically associated with fun and pleasure (yelling and screaming as if in fear) actually increases others’ enjoyment of the experience.

And so as I walked around Magic Mountain, I couldn’t helping noticing the roar of the rides and the cries of their riders.

And then I looked for that line as I knew that it must be a great ride if people were yelling that loud. 

The Problem with Sarcasm...

I should state at the very beginning that I am and always have been a very sarcastic individual. My family is known for giving each other a hard time so I grew up with it. And then living in

New York

for a couple years, well, yea, that makes you a bit more sarcastic. Plus, I like sarcasm. I think it’s a fun way to show your sense of humor.

But there’s a problem with sarcasm. And it’s really pretty simple. Sarcasm is a form of humor that requires someone to know you for them to get that you’re being sarcastic. Since sarcasm typically is used to poke fun at someone or something, the seriousness of the intent of a person’s comment can come off as being mean, when in fact it was intended to be a play on what’s said.

And herein lies the problem. Oftentimes, people mistake someone who is being sarcastic to be someone who is serious and rude or mean. For a stranger to the sarcastic individual, it could be a very natural reaction. At the very least, it can cause confusion on whether someone is being serious or not. What I’ve also found is that people who are highly sarcastic are also those who get comfortable with strangers quite quickly, and in so doing, feel that it’s okay to be sarcastic. But again, oftentimes, the strangers may take a while to feel comfortable with someone else. And so, sarcastic folks can alienate others quite quickly.

Sarcasm also doesn’t transfer well when written. It’s really hard to gauge tone and intent in an email. Sarcasm is best delivered with a change in tone and often a change in body language.

I’ve thought about this often because I’ve gotten myself into trouble a bunch of times when I’ve just recently meant someone and then made a sarcastic comment which my new “friend” didn’t get because they thought I was serious, not kidding. And so, I’ve tried to be less sarcastic over time.

This came up today because Faith Hill has been criticized for her reaction at the Country Music Awards last night; she didn’t win best singer and so since she was backstage, she raised her arms, looked at the camera and said “What?” and then ran off camera. Now, many people think she was just joking, claiming that it’s not her personality and that she has done this before.

When I saw the video myself, I really didn’t know – mostly because she had a pretty dark look in her when she looked in the camera. But I’m a Faith Hill fan and so I just chalk that up to being able to look intense. And so, there’s the problem. Even for someone who is a fan but doesn’t necessarily know her that well, it’s hard to tell.

And so sarcasm is causing a bit of annoying press for her.

Then there’s John Kerry who recently made the brilliant comment that if you don’t get a good education that you’ll be sent off to Iraq.  He meant it as a joke, but the press had a field day with him.

I’m a big believer that to every joke there is a bit of seriousness. The question is just how much seriousness. And that’s something that is often unclear with sarcastic humor. 

The best piece of advice...

The best piece of advice I ever received came from my father.

“Follow your heart

Trust your instincts

Do what is right.”

It’s written on a piece of paper that I have carried in my wallet since he mailed it to me (in the pre-mainstream email days) after I went away to college. For a while, I thought it was a cool thing to do – carrying that piece of paper in my wallet. I could show off to friends and to random folks that I had something in my wallet from so long ago. And it got longer each day. My dad would tell me that I should put it in a safe place in the event that I lost my wallet. But my point was that I’ve always carried the piece of paper in my wallet. It isn’t nearly as noble, nor as cool, if you simply saved the note. Carrying it on me every day was the point.

And then one day, I pulled out those tattered pieces of paper – years of being in my wallet slowly eroded the paper’s strength and quality – and I sat back to really read that note.

There was more to the note than this quote. The note started,

“Dear Babak,

On your departure day, this is what I meant to tell you. You may have thought the same.”

The piece of advice came next, followed by “Love, Dad.”

In some ways, the note is typical of my father. Love and caring clouded slightly by a hint of formality. Well, it’s a bit typical of him when it comes to the written word – whether on paper or email. In person, he is one of the warmest people I’ve ever met.

More on this later.

Back to that piece of advice.

That day that I really read the quote, I realized several things that I had never really thought of, at least not consciously. For starters, as cerebral an individual as I am and no doubt was when I left for college (to MIT), his advice was particularly apt – he didn’t tell me to follow my head, but rather my heart. It is the heart that guides as much as the brain is important and as much as the brain likes to tell us what should be the way. I know it is true of many cultures, but no doubt Persians are a particularly passion people.  In particular, Persian men are known for their passion. Not that I necessarily tended to think about what I should do, but it was an important reminder to keep in mind as I ventured off to college to begin life as an adult.

The second line sounds similar to the first, but it adds something new. The heart may lead, but trusting my instincts makes me think of moments of decision.  Being passionate is one thing, making decisions on what your gut tells you is another.

Finally, doing what is right. While being passionate and trusting your gut is one thing, it is important to keep yourself in check. Your heart may want to do one thing but your brain can help you determine what is right.

So what is right? My ethics are different than yours whose may be different than someone else’s.  But inherent in my dad’s advice was the knowledge that he had raised an individual with strong ethics.

And herein lies what I’ve always found so interesting about this piece of advice. While many people tell stories that begin, “My dad is used to always tell me…” or “growing up, what I used to always hear at home was…”, I can’t really think of any stories like these. I honestly don’t recall my dad giving me advice when I was growing up. Somewhere, somehow, I learned and developed a sense of ethics, a sense of the better way to do things, but my dad was more of a reserved individual when it came to giving up advice. In general, both my parents allowed my sisters and me to make decisions for ourselves, particularly the bigger and more important decisions – where to go to college, what area of work to pursue, who to date.  I know they had their opinions (Persians are also known for having strong opinions and for sharing those opinions), but they tended to keep those in check most of the time.