As summarized in Astrid Groenewegen's article on Kahneman's theory related to the human brain: we have a fast and a slow button in our decision making process. Fast (level 1) is our default mode. Our brains do not want to expend the effort to slow down, focus, or pay attention (level 2).
Want to see it at work? *Of course you don't.* Your brain's default mode has already begun to encourage you to not finish this essay! It (you) scanned ahead and suggested (thought) 'this is waay too long' or 'those speed-bump words are tripping me up'. Here's another trip wire for it . . .
If your brain has previously, repetitively, relied on confirmation bias as one of its preferred modes of level 1 shortcut decision-making—and it's inside a body with lower-levels of melanin—it may have noticed the image of a person with high-levels of melanin in her skin and is now bringing forward ...don't prefer to associate with those people... thoughts.
For the 14 people who've successfully skipped over the trip wires, Amanda Gorman read her poem The Hill We Climb at the US Presidential Inauguration of President Joseph Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris. Maybe your level 1 decision maker has begun to fabricate an escape hatch for you? Did it say 'already watched it' - or - 'click-away and find the video clip'?
For the nine people who made it to this point: you should be proud your level 2 is not locked behind a unused rusty-dusty barrier. Congrats.
When reading Ms Gorman's poem, focus-concentrate on her intentional word choices, her rhymes, the verbal imagery. Keep in mind: she was sixteen-years-old when the Black Lives Matter organization was formed; nineteen when Trump was elected; and even though this poem may contain clichΓ©s (belly of the beast), utilize jargon (shade), and strikes a few too-optimistic chimes (for my taste) it was fantastically written, includes references to the insurrection of January 6th, and was beautifully delivered from the steps of the US Capitol—where hundreds of domestic terrorists attempted murder just two weeks before. Her poem was the most memorable words spoken, or sung, by anyone that day. Now, allow your level 2 thinking to understand the value of her words.
When day comes, we ask ourselves
Where can we find light in this never-ending shade?
The loss we carry. A sea we must wade.
We’ve braved the belly of the beast. We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace,
And the norms and notions of what “just” is,
Isn’t always justice.
And yet, the dawn is ours before we knew it. Somehow we do it.
Somehow we’ve weathered and witnessed a nation that isn’t broken,
But simply unfinished.
We,
the successors of a country and a time,
Where a skinny Black girl
descended from slaves
And raised by a single mother can dream of
becoming president,
Only to find herself reciting for one.
And yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine,
But that doesn’t mean:
We are striving to form a union that is perfect.
We are striving to forge our union with purpose.
To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters, and conditions of man.
And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us, but what stands before us.
We close the divide because we know, to put our future first, we must first put our differences aside.
We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another.
We seek harm to none and harmony for all.
Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true:
That even as we grieved, we grew.
That even as we hurt, we hoped.
That even as we tired, we tried.
That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious.
Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division.
Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree,
And no one shall make them afraid.
If we’re to live up to our own time, then victory won’t lie in the blade,
But in all the bridges we’ve made.
That is the promise to glade, the hill we climb, if only we dare.
It’s because being American is more than a pride we inherit.
It’s the past we step into and how we repair it.
We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation rather than share it.
Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy.
This effort very nearly succeeded.
But while democracy can be periodically delayed,
it can never be permanently defeated.
In this truth, in this faith, we trust,
for while we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us.
This is the era of just redemption.
We feared it at its inception.
We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour,
But within it, we found the power to author a new chapter,
To offer hope and laughter to ourselves.
So
while once we asked, ‘How could we possibly prevail over catastrophe?’
Now we assert, ‘How could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?’
We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be:
A country that is bruised but whole,
Benevolent but bold,
Fierce and free.
We
will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation,
Because we
know our inaction and inertia,
Will be the inheritance of the next
generation.
Our blunders become their burdens.
But one thing is certain:
If we merge mercy with might,
And might with right,
Then love becomes our legacy,
And change, our children’s birthright.
So let us leave behind a country better than the one we were left.
With every breath from my bronze-pounded chest,
We will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one.
We will rise from the golden hills of the west.
We will rise from the wind-swept north-east where our forefathers first realized revolution.
We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the mid-western states.
We will rise from the sun-baked south.
We will rebuild, reconcile, and recover.
In every known nook of our nation, in every corner called our country,
our people, diverse and beautiful, will emerge, battered and beautiful.
When day comes, we step out of the shade, aflame and unafraid.
The new dawn blooms as we free it.
For there is always light,
if only we’re brave enough to see it.
If only we’re brave enough to be it.
more s l o w thinking:
and how
de-construct a poem
