Pride, Perspective, and the Seven Deadly Sins

“When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.”

– Viktor Frankl

This past week, I had one of those milestone moments as a parent, watching my 17-year-old daughter graduate from high school. The word proud rolled off my tongue without hesitation.

Of course, I’m proud. She’s my daughter, and she’s accomplished something meaningful.

But then, that familiar inner voice asked a curious question: Isn’t pride one of the seven deadly sins?

It made me pause. Should I feel proud? Or is there a more grounded emotion to embrace—like fulfillment, or maybe deep satisfaction?

That reflection sent me down a rabbit hole, revisiting the concept of the “seven deadly sins.” Not from a place of religious dogma, but as a cultural compass—a way to think about the ways we might lose our way if we let certain desires or behaviors become our goals rather than our obstacles.

I don’t consider myself religious or conservative, but I do see value in the warning these archetypes offer. When these seven become the pursuit—not the cautionary tale—they reveal our collective unraveling.

Look around.

Lust — Pornography is more accessible than ever, and many are quietly consumed by it. The same goes for our endless lust for wealth: we bet on anything and everything now, from fantasy sports to crypto memes.

Gluttony — The stats are staggering. In Canada, 35% of the population is overweight and nearly 30% is obese. In the U.S., that number climbs to 45%—more than 150 million people. Consumption, unchecked.

Pride — Social media has turned influence into currency. We chase likes, not love. Our self-worth is too often tethered to attention and applause.

Sloth — Everyone wants the shortcut, the overnight success, the viral moment. We reward the outcome, not the integrity behind it. Hustle is confused with value.

Wrath — Open your phone. Wrath is everywhere—on the news, in the comments, across your feed. Outrage is the new engagement metric.

Greed — It used to be about becoming a millionaire. Then a billionaire. Now we await the first trillionaire, while entire countries spiral into debt. There’s no ceiling to “more.”

Envy — And if we don’t have what they have, we judge. We compare. We resent. We weaponize our lack against those who seem to “have it all.”

We are drifting. Our compass has become external—calibrated by what others have, what they think, how they appear. The rudder is gone, and we’re tossed around by every new wave of wants.

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

We reclaim our direction by turning inward. By recognizing that our value doesn’t lie in what we achieve or accumulate, but in who we become—through growth, humility, and conscious creation.

The search for meaning isn’t out there.

It’s in here.

Look within. Find fulfillment in your path, not just your outcomes. And enjoy the beautiful, chaotic, imperfect spectacle of being human.

Community and Contribution Over Competition

“You must be the change you with to see in the world.“

– Mahatma Gandhi

If you’ve ever been to the Basque region of Spain, you might have heard of Mondragon. It’s not just a corporation—it’s an idea. Founded in 1956 by a Catholic priest named José María Arizmendiarrieta, Mondragon began as a small cooperative with a simple but radical premise: the workers would own the business. Not just figuratively—literally. The employees would make decisions collectively, share the profits equitably, and reinvest in their community.

Today, Mondragon is a network of over 260 companies with more than 80,000 worker-owners. It spans manufacturing, retail, finance, and education, generating billions in revenue each year. What’s remarkable isn’t just its scale—it’s the fact that Mondragon operates on principles that defy typical corporate logic. During economic downturns, instead of laying off workers, they reassign them to different roles or reduce hours collectively, sharing the burden rather than cutting people loose. Success is measured not just in profits, but in community stability and collective well-being.

Mondragon is proof that there is another way. A way where business serves people, not the other way around.

For so long, we have been fed the myth that competition is the ultimate driver of progress. That the sharpest elbows, the deepest pockets, and the most ruthless strategies are what win. But Mondragon turns that idea on its head. It shows that shared ownership and mutual responsibility can not only work, but thrive.

When you look at community-driven initiatives around the world, you begin to see a common thread: when people are aligned in purpose and collective contribution, something transformative happens. There’s less burnout, more innovation, and a deeper sense of fulfillment. People aren’t just cogs in a machine; they are stakeholders in a shared mission.

Even in the world of sports, this philosophy finds its place. The Green Bay Packers are the only publicly owned, non-profit professional sports team in the United States. Owned by its fans, the team doesn’t belong to a billionaire or a corporate conglomerate—it belongs to the people of Green Bay. And despite being located in one of the smallest markets in professional sports, the Packers have thrived, competing at the highest level, decade after decade. Their success is not just about football; it’s about community.

This is the shift that is beginning to take hold. A shift away from dominance and individual accumulation toward collective impact and shared success. It’s the recognition that true legacy isn’t built on what you extract from the world, but on what you contribute to it.

Imagine if the energy we spent competing to climb the ladder was redirected toward building the ladder stronger for everyone. Imagine if we weren’t just chasing our advancement, but actively supporting those alongside us.

It’s not just idealism—it’s pragmatic. Studies show that companies with higher levels of employee engagement and ownership outperform their competitors in almost every metric. Why? Because when people feel like they belong to something bigger than themselves, they show up differently. They care more. They innovate more. They give more.

Perhaps the next era of success is not about being the biggest fish in the pond, but about ensuring the pond thrives.

This is the power of community over competition. This is the beginning of contribution over accumulation. 

This is the new definition of winning.

A Shift in Perspective

“Some men see things as they are and say, Why? I dream things that never were and say, Why not?“

– George Bernard Shaw (adopted by Bobby Kennedy)

I recently stopped watching the news. 

Cold turkey.

Okay, I still glance now and then—just to make sure the world hasn’t completely spun off its axis—but I’ve made a deliberate choice to avoid the constant barrage of disaster narratives pushed by both traditional and non-traditional media.

Why?

Because while there are certainly important social shifts underway, real crises unfolding, and plenty of people doing nasty things, it’s always been like this. It just feels worse now because we’re perpetually plugged in. Our devices have become a portal to an endless stream of chaos, convincing us that everything is on the verge of collapse.

But when I go outside, breathe the air, and look around, life seems… pretty much the same.

Of course, I’m fortunate. I don’t live in a war zone. I’m not surrounded by revolution or famine. My perspective is inevitably shaped by the relative safety of my environment. But still, even when I zoom out, this moment in time feels less like an anomaly and more like a familiar rhythm in the song of human history.

I was reminded of this recently while watching a powerful docuseries on Netflix about the turning point of the Vietnam War. As a bit of a history geek, I find these retrospectives grounding. They offer perspective—often the very thing we lose when we’re caught in the whirlwind of the present.

This particular series took me back to 1968. I was only five years old at the time, completely unaware of the social and political turbulence unfolding around me. My parents were busy building a life for our family, and I was growing up, relatively untouched by the chaos. But in hindsight, 1968 was one of the most volatile years in modern American history.

That year began with a dramatic escalation in the Vietnam War. The Tet Offensive—a surprise attack by the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese forces—shook the American public to its core. The U.S. Embassy and the city of Saigon were breached during what was supposed to be a holiday ceasefire. Until then, many Americans believed they were winning the war. Tet shattered that illusion.

At the same time, President Lyndon Johnson was struggling to maintain control. He had inherited the presidency after the assassination of John F. Kennedy, along with the growing entanglement in Vietnam. Though he had championed landmark domestic reforms—most notably in civil rights—he couldn’t escape the shadow of the war. When Bobby Kennedy announced his candidacy to challenge him for the Democratic nomination, it was seen as an unprecedented act. A younger brother running against the man who had taken the reins after his sibling’s murder? It was almost unthinkable.

But Johnson saw the writing on the wall. He knew he couldn’t win. His popularity had cratered. And so, in a historic moment, he announced he would not seek re-election.

Bobby Kennedy, meanwhile, became a beacon of hope. To many Americans, he represented a rekindling of the ideals that had died with his brother—a sense of moral leadership, idealism, and integrity (though the full truth of the Kennedy legacy would grow more complicated in time). He was viewed as royalty, and his rising momentum gave people something to believe in.

And then, in April, Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated.

One of the most powerful voices for justice and nonviolent resistance was taken in an instant. The grief and rage that followed exploded across the country. Cities burned. Tensions boiled over. Hope, for many, felt like it was slipping away.

Just two months later, Bobby Kennedy, having just won the California Primary and positioning himself as the likely next president, was also assassinated. Another dream, extinguished. Another crack in the foundations of belief in American institutions. People were losing faith—not just in politicians, but in the system itself.

Amid all this upheaval, somehow, the United States still found a way to send astronauts into space. The Apollo 8 mission orbited the moon, giving the world one of the most iconic images in human history—Earth, fragile and blue, floating alone in the void. But even this incredible achievement was met with skepticism. With civil unrest at home and a costly war abroad, many questioned whether space exploration was worth the expense. Government debt was rising, and the moon became another symbol of national tension.

The presidential election that followed was bitter and chaotic. The Democratic Convention in Chicago was marred by riots and violent clashes. Richard Nixon, a Republican, won the presidency on a promise to end the war—only to deepen American involvement. And as we know, that administration would soon take the country into an even deeper spiral of institutional mistrust.

All of this happened in a single year. 1968.

And yet… life continued. People worked. Families grew. Kids played. Amid all the uncertainty and grief, people still found ways to love, to live, to hope.

That’s what history teaches us. It doesn’t minimize the pain or complexity of the moment we’re in—but it reminds us that we’ve lived through turmoil before. What feels apocalyptic in real time often becomes just another chapter in the ongoing story of being human.

Sometimes, all we need is a shift in perspective.

So if the world feels overwhelming, and the headlines start to sound like the end of everything—step back. Breathe. Remember where we’ve been.

We’ve been here before.

And we’re still here.

Try that on for size. You might just find it calming.