Diwang Malaya

I’ve always been a bit of a black sheep.

As far back as I can remember, I’ve never been particularly good at following rules simply because everyone else was following them. If someone told me, “This is how it’s done,” there was usually a “But why?” somewhere in my head. 😂

That habit has gotten me into trouble a few times. Sometimes I was wrong. Sometimes I was being stubborn. Sometimes I probably could have saved myself a lot of time by just listening.

But there have also been moments when questioning the direction everyone else was moving in turned out to be important.

I was thinking about this recently because I learned something about salmon that I had somehow never really considered.

We all know the image of a salmon swimming upstream. It’s become such a familiar metaphor for individuality and resistance that the actual fish has almost disappeared behind the symbolism.

Salmon are born in freshwater and eventually make their way downstream to the ocean. They spend much of their adult lives there, and when it is time to reproduce, they begin the journey back upstream.

The part that stayed with me was learning how they actually navigate the river.

They don’t spend the entire journey forcing themselves through the strongest part of the current. They find areas where the water moves more slowly. They travel along the edges. They use the spaces behind rocks and other natural features that give them a little relief from the force of the river.

In other words, they pay attention to the river.

That made me think about how we move through our own lives.

There is always some kind of current around us. Sometimes it is obvious. Sometimes it is so much a part of our environment that we barely notice it.

Right now, there is plenty to pay attention to. Geopolitical tensions, wars and shifting alliances, floods and earthquakes, rapid changes in technology, increasingly engineered food, an extraordinary amount of information arriving every day, and an endless stream of commentary telling us what all of it means.

Then there are the quieter influences. The recommendations an algorithm makes. The things our friends are talking about. The stories that keep appearing in our feeds. The opinions that become familiar because we encounter them often enough. The assumptions that seem so ordinary that we don’t remember when we first accepted them.

Governments shape some of the current. So do corporations, markets, institutions, media organizations, algorithms, social groups, and individuals with particular interests and incentives.

I don’t think that automatically makes any of these forces sinister. Most systems are made up of countless people and decisions interacting with one another, and sometimes a direction emerges without anyone sitting somewhere deliberately deciding where everyone should go.

Still, the current exists.

And I’ve been wondering how often we actually stop to notice it.

There are times when I’ve looked around and realized that I’ve been paying attention to something largely because everyone else was paying attention to it. I’ve adopted a concern because it was everywhere. I’ve accepted an assumption because I encountered it so frequently that it began to feel like common sense.

None of that necessarily means the concern was misplaced or the assumption was wrong. It just made me wonder how much of what I think and believe has been consciously examined, and how much has simply become part of the background.

That question is much harder than it sounds.

We are surrounded by other people’s interpretations of the world. We need them, too. None of us has the time or ability to independently investigate everything we encounter. Trust is part of how societies function. We rely on experts, institutions, people we know, and accumulated knowledge every day.

The interesting part, for me, is figuring out where trust ends and unexamined assumption begins.

And maybe that is why I keep coming back to the salmon.

There is something almost elegant about the way they navigate the river. They don’t need to understand the entire river. They don’t need to control it. They simply need to keep paying attention to where the water is taking them and find a way to continue toward wherever they are going.

I think we could use a little more of that kind of attention.

Especially now, when there is so much information competing for our attention that sometimes the hardest thing to do is simply pause long enough to notice what is happening inside our own heads.

Why am I worried about this?

Where did that idea come from?

Why does this particular story feel convincing to me?

What information am I seeing repeatedly?

What am I not seeing?

Who is shaping the conversation?

What incentives might be involved?

And underneath all of that, there is another question that I find even more interesting:

Where am I actually trying to go?

Because knowing where the current is going doesn’t necessarily tell me whether I should follow it. Going against it doesn’t automatically tell me where I’m headed either.

Sometimes I might discover that the direction I’m already moving in makes sense for me.

Sometimes I might find that I’ve drifted somewhere without really noticing.

Sometimes I might want to change course entirely.

And sometimes I might simply need to move closer to the edge of the river, find a little slower water, and take a moment to look around.

I suppose that’s what being a black sheep has taught me over the years.

Questioning things can be useful. So can listening. So can changing your mind. So can realizing that the person who sees something differently might have noticed something you haven’t.

I’m less interested these days in being the person who swims against the current.

I’m more interested in noticing that there is a current at all.

Where it came from. What is shaping it. Where it seems to be going.

And whether, after taking all of that in, I still want to keep swimming in the same direction.

Maybe that’s enough.

Just pause for a moment.

Look around.

Notice the water.

Then keep swimming.