“I’m sick of following my dreams. I’m just going to ask them where they’re going and hook up with them later.” — Mitch Hedberg
Hey, I’m Caleb. Welcome—or welcome back—to my monthly column, Breaking Trail, where we kick things off with a dad joke. Just like this, just because.
In 2017 I had the opportunity to chat with the prolific (and now famous) climber Alex Honnold. In the world of outdoor sports, he was already well known but this was the year he catapulted into the greater zeitgeist due to the premiere of the film Free Solo. I remember being starstruck, questioning both myself and my outdoor pursuits. After sharing that I’d read his book while thru-hiking the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), he responded with “Wait, you did the whole thing?”
I nodded.
“Wow, I could never do that” he said.
My world stopped for what felt like an eternity. After processing what he’d just said to me, smiling sheepishly and shrugging it off, we chatted a bit more and both went our separate ways.
Here I was, placing this individual on a pedestal due to his accomplishments while devaluing my own. I hadn’t written a book nor did I have any corporate sponsorships, but I’d still done something that this prolific outdoorsman considered a true challenge for him. I’d forgotten this lesson as I resumed my day-to-day life, chalking it up to the well-known fact (at least among the climbing community) that most climbers despise hiking. Hiking is what you have to do in order to reach the crag, which is where you can start to do what you want to do. I rationalized away Alex’s praise as a version of his relationship with this. In reality, it was a far more poignant lesson, one that I was already aware of but needed reminding:
Hike your own hike.
Your Friends and Neighbors, starring Jon Hamm, was the number one show on apple TV when its second season premiered. We won’t get into whether or not this ranking is substantiated on what is actually most popular with viewers, or just a result of what the platform is trying to push. Either way, the entire premise of this show is “stop trying to keep up with the Joneses” which feels like the mass population’s version of the outdoor industry platitude, “hike your own hike.”
While these statements are used so often that most of us merely roll our eyes with condescension and let out a “I f***ing know” collective sigh, I think they ought to be re-assessed through a lens of what this means today; particularly with social media in the mix. The Joneses aren’t just a fictitious family up the street anymore, who happen to have everything you want. They’re every person you’ve met (and many you haven’t) who post their lives online. This is especially insidious as these platforms are designed solely for engagement. They want us to keep scrolling, not feel like we’re actually caught up with everyone.
When the Joneses were just someone in our social circle with whom we shared physical proximity, we saw them “IRL” more than we do now. We had an anchored frame of reference — the good and the bad — whereas, on social today, we only get to see what people have oh-so-carefully curated. It’s never a real look into their day-to-day; it’s the insta-perfect moment. Go to your feed, scroll for 5 minutes, come up with what you think the average household income is for the friends, family, and influencers you saw. Odds are, the number you landed on is quite high, yet only 18% of Americans make over $100K a year. The profiles we see don’t look like it because everyone wants to look like they’re winning.
This framing is tantamount in reconciling what we all see as normal for “the Joneses” compared with the rest of our lived-reality. Hike your own hike means living your life the way you want to and, most importantly, understanding that time, wealth, and happiness are all subjective. Every person is hiking their own hike, and that looks different for each of us.
Don’t yuck my yum.
I wish I could remember who introduced me to this phrase.* It’s been something like 5 years since learning of it and it’s become a very consistent zinger for me to use. I love it. It’s a far more interesting and conversation-stopping way to call someone out on “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything.” I am thoroughly convinced that our collective society of armchair-experts has completely abandoned this premise due, in part, to online anonymity. However, I think it’s such a key factor in how we can move through life.
At its core, this whole thing comes down to cultivating a capacity for empathy. If you were talking about something that excites you, how would you feel if someone else just spewed vitriol all over it? Bad, right? Then don’t do it to other people.
There are currently 8.3 billion people on planet earth and roughly 349 million in the U.S. alone. There are countless preferences, opinions, and beliefs held among them. Some are singular, others are shared across communities, faiths, and divides. That said, each and every one of them should be respected.
Don’t yuck my yum.
It applies so beautifully because it immediately subjects us all to an undeniable fact: taste is personal. While your group of friends or broader community may have shared beliefs and interests, your tastes will differ. Try to order a meal for everyone… These disparate preferences will become apparent quickly.
We need new ways of cutting through existing platitudes. “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all” feels too time-worn. Should we simply shut up and bite our tongues? Meh. Don’t yuck my yum means “this is personal.” This is a matter of taste and preference. Everyone’s palette is their own and is as unique as their fingerprint. To deny that would be like claiming that an entire category of food or beverage is disgusting. When, if that really were the case, it would’ve stopped being consumed during the course of human evolution.
My deepest desire is that we could all internalize and further practice the application of “don’t yuck my yum” across our lives. From our political preferences and our religious beliefs, to our hobbies and interests — all are a matter of taste and preference. Something that’s a yum for me may be a yuck for you. That’s fine.
We each have our own palette.
Follow your arrow.
One observation I picked up from moving consistently throughout my childhood is that we, as people, crave “associated originality.” That’s since been reinforced for me both in work and in life. We seem to be attracted to what is cool, even though true “coolness” requires a certain level of IDGAF that most of us can only aspire to. We want to be like the cool kids who manage to keep up with the Joneses. We even want to yuck other peoples’ yums if it means we can become cool, too. Because all of that feels safer than going out on a limb and owning our uniqueness. We don’t want to be original, we want to be close to it.
There is a ton of research across psychology, sociology, and behavioral economics that touches on this subject, but there are two key principles from the work of Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky that I’ll bring up here:
Loss Aversion: Psychologically, the pain of a loss is twice as powerful as the pleasure of a gain. A novel idea represents a massive potential loss (loss of time, money, or social status if it fails). The human brain heavily overweights the risk of failure over the reward of success.
Status Quo Bias: This is an emotional preference for the current state of affairs. The existing baseline is taken as a reference point, and any change from that baseline is viewed as a loss or a threat. Truly original ideas demand that people change their habits, which causes genuine cognitive friction.
Taking these theories into account also invites a unique sort of juxtaposition, from my perspective. These are verified and well researched truths — we all (to varying degrees) experience loss aversion and status quo bias. Yet, we all also hold ourselves to a standard where we feel we should be able to be original, unique, and self-expressive, while simultaneously maintaining the status quo. This is friction. And this is what feels maddening to me. If we all experience these things, why can we not then give more grace and space to everyone following their own path?
Gen Z, every marketer’s favorite demographic to talk about, might actually be the biggest exception in this regard. Perhaps it’s due to how online they were through adolescence. Regardless, while trends of keeping up with the Joneses still objectively exist, they appear to welcome a more open discourse about personal uniqueness and originality. This is contrary to how many of us Millennials grew up, where being in the spotlight may have been the most terrifying thing imaginable. It takes a significant amount of maturity and self-determination to decide, “I’m going to do this, because I want to, and I believe in it.” I laud every person who is pursuing their yum, following their arrow, and daring to be original.
We’ll never be able to keep up with the Joneses, but we can hike our own hike.
Just don’t yuck my yum, mmmkay?
Cheers,
Caleb
* Editor’s Note: It was Derek who introduced Caleb to “don’t yuck my yum.” You’re welcome :)
P.S. In addition to opening this column each month with a dad joke, I’ll be closing them with a musical coda—songs and lyrics I feel touch on the theme of the essay.
Musical CODA:
Follow Your Arrow (Live at the Grand Ole Opry) by Kacey Musgraves
Key, relevant lyrics:
“When the straight and narrow gets a little too straight. Roll up a joint, or don’t. Just follow your arrow wherever it points, yeah, follow your arrow wherever it points.”
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