The Motives We Ride

The Motives We Ride

John Paul Derryberry

Let's start with a cliche: for as long as I can remember, I wanted to help other people be successful. As a basketball player, I cared way more about assists than scoring points. I often remember coaches imploring me to look at the hoop, only to be confused at their suggestion. It didn't fit my wanted narrative of being a helper, the guy who made other people better. Or, how my whole goal when I started working with at-risk youth was ensuring I created a safe place for them to grow. Yet, I used a seclusion room to establish safety and left the room visibly shaking and undeniably confused at my actions. Locking someone in a room didn't land well on my soul!

I had to examine my motives, the reasons why I did what I did. For example, why I wanted to tell stories. Why have I always wanted to be seen as the helper? And, was I willing to sacrifice a part of who I was to maintain safety? I thought about that again this week as I read a story about a couple using their adoption to raise awareness about several needed topics. They had been extended a book deal, and they stated their main goal was to be on TV. It felt slimy to me, that a couple would use their child to gain notoriety. They won't be the last, and they certainly weren't the first. But I doubt they started with that as a goal. It's so easy for our motives to become lost along the journey as the dollar signs add up.

Maybe we should start promoting people and causes who figure out a way to stay true to their motives while evolving if their audience size increases; people who turn down the tasty big apple to remain within their moral code. We should reward people who figure out how to raise awareness without turning to a get-rich scheme; people who don't always take the shortcut when offered a way to make it easier. When I examined my goal for safety in contrast with the seclusion room; yes, I achieved my goal of safety but at what cost-- damage to the relationship with a client I told I would help. A second cost was betraying the type of person I said I was. I had to re-examine my motives for safety and how I would achieve it, because locking kids in rooms wasn't going to be a part of the equation. I didn't want to be like folks who quickly change their tune once they have power; whose morals they touted no longer seem to apply.

Why we do what we do matters. It's a view into how we view others and ourselves. Losing sight of our morals allows us to fall off course, make choices we usually never would have made. It's how people wake up one day and utter, how I did I end up here. We lose sight of those core beliefs and get distracted by the shiny object, prizes, and dollar signs. Not that we shouldn't grow, shouldn't challenge ourselves, and from time to time, change our core beliefs. We can do all of that and still have our motives ring true. Because when they don't, our success leaves a list of victims in our wake.

The motives we ride to our destination should lift others up, to make as many people in our orbit as possible, better. Or, at least provide the opportunity for them to have a better life. Even if that means passing up a chance, a sweet assist in basketball, and taking the shot yourself, so your team has a better chance of winning. And especially if that means changing your definition of safety, so you stop locking other people in rooms. The wrong motives eventually lead to bad outcomes. Always do and always will. The right motives take us places we never dreamed we'd be, and we get the added bonus of bringing so many others along for the ride.