A Poem

This is a poem. 

You are reading a poem. 

Don’t you feel cultured?

Don’t you feel educated?

You’re cool now; you read poetry. 

But why?

So you can fit in with the hip crowd?

To satisfy an inner need?

To boost your own creativity?

Why am I writing this poem?

What’s in it for me?

Why do I feel like I need to get

These words out into the world,

In this particular order?

What makes me think

Anyone will ever read this?

This poem is just like any other poem,

Full of hidden metaphors and meanings. 

Maybe it’s about love.

Maybe it’s about heartbreak.

Maybe it’s dark and sad.

But you are reading it. 

My moody, broody poem.

This is where I build toward the climax.

You gasp as the unexpected occurs.

The words take a crazy twist.

You never saw it coming. 

You are shocked by the word I used to rhyme with Mexico.

This is where we explore our human existence.

What makes a poem?

Why are we here?

What word did I use to rhyme with Mexico?

You begin to notice my measures are a bit off.

Something isn’t sitting well.

Isn’t it fascinating

That it took you 

To this line,

The very end of this poem,

To realize,

This isn’t a real poem.

These are just words.

They don’t mean anything. 

Unless you want them to.

5/21/18

Morality & Star Wars

I love how Star Wars deals with morality. How smoothly the writers and directors can show both sides of an issue, especially in the more recent projects.

Clone Wars comes to mind right away–when Padme takes Ahsoka with her to visit Mira Bonterri, and Ahsoka realizes that not all the Separatists are evil, that some are simply people who are unhappy with the way things are and are doing something to change it.

I think about the conscripted soldier who goes to Onderon with Crosshair in Season One of Bad Batch–the comment he makes about the Empire giving him meals and a roof over his head being more than the Republic ever did for him. Then he realizes how immoral, corrupt, and evil the Empire is, and pays for it with his life–a senseless, meaningless sacrifice.

Even in the books, the duality is evident. Lost Stars by Claudia Gray has a character who firmly believes she is in the right, that the Empire is the body who exacts true justice and will bring peace to the galaxy. Meanwhile, her friend, after witnessing the destruction of Alderaan, leaves his position as a pilot for the Empire and joins the Rebel Alliance instead. Both thought they were doing right–neither had all the facts.

Isn’t that complementary to reality? We can stand firm in our beliefs, listen to our favorite celebrities, and form our opinions on our feelings, but does that make us right? Some would argue yes–in the realm of moral relativism, my truth can be totally different from your truth and still be called “truth”. So back to Star Wars–everyone knows that Sith, Dooku’s sect of Separatists, and the Empire are all evil and corrupt. Why? Take Grand Moff Tarkin. If we go chronologically, we first meet him in the Clone Wars, when Anakin, Obi-wan, and the 501st are storming the Citadel. He is presented as a younger, ambitious admiral in the Grand Army of the Republic. The choices he makes, the things he says, his logic, everything points to him being a power-hungry tyrant, who is unafraid of hurting people to get what he wants. Not the nicest guy, am I right?

But does this make the Republic good? Not necessarily. Chancellor Palpatine had been pulling the strings the whole time, and he was secretly a Sith lord! But within the organization that was the Republic, there were a few truly good people who wanted to make things better for the masses–Bail Organa, Padme Amidala, and Mon Mothma to name a few. Sometimes we are powerless, even when we are the ones in power. Power doesn’t guarantee moral clarity.

I find myself asking; “how do people justify systems they live inside, even when those systems harm others?” Is it even possible to build a system that equally benefits everyone and doesn’t harm anyone, while also being able to function properly?

Obi Wan Kenobi’s iconic line “only Sith deal in absolutes” has always stuck with me. The statement in itself is an absolute! But doesn’t society need some absolutes to survive and prosper properly? Star Wars suggests that even in morally absolute narratives, truth is always fragmented by perspective and power. Systems become dangerous when they confuse efficiency or control with moral truth

In order for an organized society to exist, there must be absolute truth. Murder is bad–most of us can agree on that, right? Offering the elderly woman your seat on the bus is good–most of us can agree on that, too.  Humans learn the difference between good and evil at an early age, for the most part. Everyone has a moral compass. But again, my moral compass may tell me that something is wrong that your compass tells you is fine. So who is “right”? The compass, without proper grounding, is incomplete.

Can morality be absolute if human systems are always imperfect? In my belief, yes. The standard is absolute, but human ability to fulfill it is not. So instead of contradiction being a problem, it becomes: expected tension between divine standard and human limitation. Within Christianity, we can rely on the Word of God to be our standard, but we can expect our moral failures as a natural part of the fallen state of humanity.

Humanity tries to legislate morality, but our absolutes are simple, political, and fragile. There is almost always an exception to the rule, a loophole to escape it, a situation that, should the rule be applied, would be so inhumane and cruel. So we remain divided.

One of our biggest downfalls as humans is the fact that we cannot embody divine absolutes. What right do I, a sinful, selfish human, have to tell you, another sinful, selfish human, what is good and what is not? It’s hard–we do not fully understand the mind of God. What He calls just and right sometimes sounds cruel and horrific to our finite minds. How many times have I heard the phrase “how could a loving God…”? 

Societies require shared baseline values in order to function. When those foundations begin to fracture, cohesion becomes increasingly difficult. What we are left with is not just disagreement over policy or perspective, but a deeper divide in what we believe truth itself is grounded in. In a world where morality is often experienced through identity rather than shared understanding, even basic ethical agreements begin to feel unstable. We are no longer just asking what is right or wrong—we are asking who gets to define it.

I don’t think this can be resolved through compromise alone. Human beings, by nature, are limited, biased, and inconsistent. We struggle to consistently embody the standards we claim to believe in, and even our best attempts at justice tend to carry blind spots we cannot always see. From my own Christian belief, this is not surprising. If humanity is fallen and finite, then moral inconsistency is not an exception—it is expected. We are not capable of being the final authority on what is good in every circumstance, even when we sincerely try.

So the question becomes not only how we build systems that function, but what we build them on. Without a shared grounding beyond ourselves, we are left negotiating morality between imperfect perspectives—each one certain, each one incomplete. And perhaps that is where the real tension lies: not in whether we care about truth, but in whether we are willing to submit our understanding of it to something higher than ourselves.

Because even in galaxies far, far away, power without a shared truth never stays balanced for long.

The Power of Storytelling: Building a Brand People Actually Care About

Pop Quiz: Can you name the last data point you read about in your most recent report? Probably not. To be honest, neither do I. And I create multiple reports on the daily, so it’s not for lack of content! But I’d wager you and I both remember the Kroger Holiday 2023 commercial about the families who hosted foreign exchange students. The first time I watched that ad I was in tears–and now I associate that warm, nostalgic, loving feeling with the Kroger brand forever. That’s the best kept not-so-secret secret of marketing–every strong brand, from global corporations to small businesses, succeeds because of how they make us feel.

Take a long-standing brand like Bob Evan’s for example. The farm aesthetic, the family atmosphere, the comfort food on the menu, and even the longevity of the brand itself all add to the brand’s success. Not only do we, the consumers, have the Evan's family history to relate to, but we also have our own family histories tied to the brand. Growing up in the American Midwest meant that Bob’s became a favorite for my family. I have countless stories of countless locations, from vacations to birthdays, to my baby brother screaming his head off and making my parents decide to never visit that location again, to me having a part-time job waitressing before the pandemic. It feels like Bob’s has been a staple of my entire life. The brand will always feel familiar and comforting. Even the products they sell in grocery stores evoke these feelings for me–this is a name I know and trust as well as my own.

Another powerful story-telling brand that has my attention lately is AirBNB. Ever since they rolled out their Experiences packages, I have been obsessed. I have always loved hearing the traveler’s stories, as well as some of the unique host sites’ stories as well, but with the experiences, it takes on a whole new level. I have never wanted to travel more in my life! The ads themselves are adorable as well; the fun animation, the bright colors, the quirky situations. AirBNB really knows what makes them attractive; they are selling memories and experiences, not just a place to stay. They realize the trust the hosts are putting in the site–listing a room in your home, or an extra property you own is daunting! The brand manages to juggle all of this while maintaining a user-friendly site simultaneously. That is successful storytelling. The AirBNB story paints a picture of mutual trust and fun-filled memories.

Too many brands nowadays are getting away from the emotional evocative storytelling and leaning too hard into the informative, analytical side. No one wants to hear the data points that supposedly tell us why your brand is the best–unless that data is part of the story, it really means nothing. A concerned new mother cares about data when choosing the right laundry detergent for her newborn. A pet parent does research before seeking a special diet for their beloved fur baby. So yes, data matters, but it’s all in how you frame it. Stories stick.