The Only Shareholders Who Matter
Too many years ago, I wrote "Santa, CEO."
What began as a humorous short story grew into the proverbial tiger caught by the tail.
"Santa" had been inspired by a whimsical email addressing this question: How could Santa deliver all those toys in one night to children around the world? The email explained things in some rather impossible terms (reindeer flying faster than the speed of light, for example).
I reflected only briefly before thinking, "Santa wouldn't have done that. He'd have just delegated it all."
Thus, "Santa, CEO" was born -- a story of a six-thousand-year-old human-sized half-elf, whose partner of all those centuries had left him, complaining he was consumed by an international toymaking and distribution business comprising some 40,000 stand-in human santas (sic), half a million reindeer ranched worldwide, over a million low-paid department store santas, plus elf unions, mergers and acquisitions, and supply chain networks. In the mayhem's midst, Santa fumed, immersed in a world of corporate intrigue and deals.
When I'd finished, the short story had become a novel, full of characters who’d grown and surprised me. I won't give details away (I may yet re-release the book). Santa's long struggle teaches him things he'd forgotten, about the purpose behind his original passion, before that purpose had been blunted and twisted.
Towards the story's end, he addresses a gathering of CEO's. One of his loyal supply-chain managers recalls the moment:
"…then he said the important thing. He looked them all in the eye, those old men, and he told them that when you really think about it, really think about your important businesses, children are the only shareholders who should matter. They put the cameras on the crowd then, and I saw a lot of uncomfortable faces. It will take time for that to sink in. But if he reached even a few of them, that will make a difference. They'll stop thinking about the next quarter maybe and think about the next decade."
This was the heart of that original grand story that grabbed hold of me and made me tell it.
You see, to really tell a story, that story has to mean something. Sure, there's light-hearted entertainment. There are the funnies of the day. There are the adventures, superheroes, and all the rest. But the big stuff, the really big stuff, is the stuff of connection.
In some ways, the story was all about Santa -- this magical, misled creature who had to rediscover himself. But in other ways, it was about those around him -- characters whose own journeys brought them face-to-face with both the magic of the world and the hard-edged commerce that exploits it all too often. Ultimately, the story was about children -- even though only one young child makes a speaking appearance late in the story.
What we do in the world, and how we live within it and among each other -- these are examples to our children. The effects and outcomes of our decisions shape the world our children will live into.
Our choices may seem complex and overwhelming, but they are actually easier to frame than we think. We can address them as a series of questions, all of which stem from this primary one:
What shall we leave our children?
What world do we bequeath? What environment, what philosophy, what explorations completed, started, or perhaps just contemplated?
I'm sure you can think of more and better questions.
If we remember that children are the only shareholders who matter, how does that inform the decisions we make? The essence of freedom is striving to live well together -- so easy to say, and so seemingly impossible to do. Here are three simple rules I use, not complete by any means, but I think sufficient to guide us through many situations:
Find our center of moments, the spiritual anchor within each of us;
Strive to meet the golden rule -- do unto others that which is good if done unto you, and refrain from doing that which is bad; and
Strive to make decisions that help us all live well together.
These days, with our world dominated by frauds and fakes -- human and digital -- it's all too easy for us to be taken for the proverbial mental ride. Thus hoodwinked, we (willingly or not) hoodwink others. Disinformation and distortion breed disequilibrium -- our world seems to us perpetually out of balance. And so it may be. This does not mean we shouldn't strive to regain that balance, however fleeting it may be.
Like Santa's journey, the journey from the daily cacaphony of commerce to the silence of the soul may be as nearly impossible for us to do as it is absolutely necessary for us to do. To find our way to others, we must first find our way to ourselves. No amount of social media or AI will do this for us. It's up to us.
Perhaps by reminding ourselves of our childlike nature (and having the courage to admit as much), we can reconnect with the notion that children, while tremendously resilient and born with the will to survive, nonetheless need us to frame their world in understandable ways. If we would suffer through calamity -- as our media instructs us we are doing -- we must find the strength to cast aside the noise and find the inner peace.
I am living proof of all the mistakes we will make. I am a bag of shortcomings, the same as anyone else. But to decide that this is sufficient cause to ignore the consequences of our present-day social media savagery is to walk away from that which, storytellers all, we must do: Stop and find the truth. It’s all around us -- in nature, as spring blossoms burst and then fade, anticipating summer's heat; in family, gathered around however humble a table; in our relationships with neighbors, co-workers and strangers. In other words, we find our truths in the ebbs and flows of our inevitably mortal lives.
I make a mess of many things, including what I'm trying to say here. So might you. The point is not to persuade but to converse. This exchange between equals, or mental collaboration if you will, is the trust bond between you and me. If these few paragraphs cause you to pause and think -- even perhaps to reject -- well and good. We much each chart our own courses.
Still, wouldn’t it be better to redraw the map of our common, shared world in such a way that our children will find safe haven within it?
Children are the only shareholders who matter.
Try this Santa statement. See if it informs the decisions you make, whether it's how -- not whether -- you vote, what company you join, which religion you practice, how you consume and discard the things we make for each other -- in short, how you live and participate in this complicated, noisy, risky and rewarding world.
I will try, too; and, failing more often than not, simply try again.
Children are the only shareholders who matter.
