Be a Kevin
The Valentine’s Day Bandit has a lesson for all of us about the way we should show up and how that relates to building a meaningful legacy.
Kevin Fahrman’s infamous red heart, seen around Portland, Maine for the last few decades.
You probably aren’t building a legacy, professionally or otherwise, that will register at all with anyone other than those with whom you have direct and regular contact. On the off chance that you are building something that will extend beyond your own circle, there’s a decent chance you won’t be alive to fully appreciate your impact.
That might sound like the most dour possible message, but this Valentine’s Day, I’m thinking of it in the exact opposite light.
Last April, Kevin Fahrman died. He was 67. His name didn’t mean much to me before then. But it took on great meaning starting last April because that’s when Kevin was revealed as the infamous Valentine’s Day Bandit here in Portland, Maine. Suddenly, us locals had a name to go with the red hearts that materialized across the city in stores and shop windows and everywhere else in between on the morning of Valentine’s Day for decades running.
Kevin Fahrman left a considerable legacy behind, and his tradition is set to carry on this year, the first without him. There’s a stark contrast between the reach and emotional resonance of his gesture and the complexity and ambition behind it. Put another way, Kevin’s particular brand of banditry had a narrow, simple, good-hearted focus and execution, which is probably why it was so wildly successful.
Take it from Kevin’s family, who is carrying on his tradition by encouraging us all to “Be A Kevin”:
“Every year for decades, all over the little town of Portland, Maine, he secretly put up bright red hearts just in time for Valentine’s Day, delighting everyone. His gesture of pure love was stealthy and mysterious. Totally anonymous. Tireless. Genuine. Heartfelt.”
If you’re wondering why I brought up the legacy word at the beginning of this post, there’s your explanation. For almost all of us here on Planet Earth, all we can really control is how we show up.
People might remember something we make or do - they might map a symbol like a red heart to us in their memory. But that symbol is just a shorthand for all of the emotion tied up in it. If we’re tireless and genuine and heartfelt, and we’re that way year after year, we’ll leave a lasting impact. The tangible things we build - the triumphs and failures - fade from memory quickly. The way you show up isn’t so temporal.
Life lessons from Giannis and Klopp
Wins and losses can convey great wisdom.
At the risk of sounding like an ex-jock*, I have to admit that I get a lot of inspiration and perspective for my day-to-day life from a handful of coaches and athletes.
* Having worked as a sportswriter for half a decade, I can counterbalance this by telling you that the vast majority of professional athletes, or at least baseball players, are absolutely and totally uninteresting in this regard. Really, you wouldn’t want to have a conversation about the weather with most of them.
So, yes, of course I love this now-viral clip from Giannis Antetokounpmo on whether his now-concluded season was a failure because he didn’t reach the NBA Finals again.
“Every year, you work toward something, towards a goal … it’s not a failure.” he says. “It’s steps to success - there’s always steps to it.”
This is such uncommon wisdom - not just for a basketball player in his 20s, but for anyone of any age working in any profession. It’s tempting to think that a white-collar corporate job is different. It is not the same zero-sum game as the NBA playoffs after all. But just because there isn’t a final score on ESPN after you close your laptop every night doesn’t mean we shouldn’t all be trying to embrace Giannis’ mentality.
I’d go perhaps a step farther. Success in the context of wins and losses are not any sort of valuable end goal at all. Getting better - taking those steps every day - is the only goal that really matters.
It reminded me of Liverpool coach Jurgen Klopp’s perspective on success and what he hopes to remember when he’s 90. It’s not lifting the cup in triumph. It’s all the details and small moments along the way.
The ultimate sports philosopher, of course, is John Wooden, whose book Wooden: A Lifetime of Observations and Reflections On and Off the Court is one I turn to on an almost weekly basis.
Wooden tells us: “Success is peace of mind which is a direct result of self-satisfaction in knowing you did your best to become the best you are capable of becoming.”
In other words, only you can really know if you’re successful because true success is derived from knowing you gave everything you had. No one else has the answers on this matter.
“There is no substitute for empathy”
You can teach a lot, but not everything.
Pete Souza, who was the Chief White House Photographer during Barack Obama’s presidency, utters this simple, powerful phrase during a new documentary about his work, titled The Way I See It.
I covered the film side of this over at my other Internet home, but I had to pluck this pearl of wisdom out and bring it over here. I am sure Souza isn’t the first person to utter this sentiment. How could he possibly be? Even so, I think it’s worth hearing.
Souza is speaking of Obama, and, of course, contrasting him to President Trump, but he could also be talking about himself. Or you. Or me.
You can have all the skills, and money, and power in the world, and it will always go to waste if you don’t see and seek out humanity. It’s all that connects us, after all.