Humility

There are a few times when my past life wrestles with my present life, and one of those times is attending SXSW, the tech/music/art festival that happens this time every spring in Austin. With each year I attend, it looks and feels very different from my past attendance. And to be honest, what it used to look like was pretty heady stuff. My company would pay me to attend SXSW, with eye-watering hotel rates ranging from $500.00 to $800.00 a night. I stayed at places like the Four Seasons, the JW Marriott, and the W Hotel, to name a few.

I’d hold “court” in places like the Four Seasons lobby or patio, empowered by an assistant who managed my calendar and scheduled clients, vendors, and meetings with people I thought were worth my time. I want you to read that again… “worth my time.”

Yes, that was my headspace.

I should be fair to my younger self—I was not arrogant, in fact. I always made it a point not to treat SXSW like a boondoggle, and I always made it a priority to keep clients and company responsibilities my main focus. But I’m not going to lie… I loved the perks. I got invited to many lovely parties and interesting, exclusive dinners, and for five years, I was a co-organizer of one of the hottest SXSW parties, circa 2008-2012, called “Allhat”:

The venue could only hold so many people, and folks begged to be added to the waitlist. Over the years, people would tell me how much that party had helped make their careers, and how they had networked with people there who had opened doors for them. The company I worked for during this time saw all this and even started their own party, of which I also co-hosted informally. So there were not only one, but two parties to be seen at!

People would approach me, and some of them were “star-struck”. I’m not romanticising here—this was a thing back then… a precursor to what is now the age of the “creator,” which is an established industry where online influencers make very real money (and deal with very real mental health problems). I was never comfortable with my “micro fame,” but in my later years, I learned to be gracious rather than self-conflicted.

Someone looking up to you is not a burden—it is a privilege. Albeit one that requires some wisdom to manage responsibly.

With each passing year, I return to SXSW, and it serves as a reminder of what used to be, what is, and what should be—at least for me. My experience could not feel any more different these days… I’m now able to go because it’s convenient—a relatively short drive away. I pay my own way and stay in modest, economical hotels far from downtown, where things rarely go right. Each time I deal with low water pressure, a broken safe, or excessive noise, I am reminded that my life is not in Kansas anymore, Toto. In my past life, I vividly remember my party co-founder calling me on a Sunday morning to wake me up because we were hosting a Sunday brunch party. I needed that wake-up call, because I had been up all night partying, and I overslept. I headed out to my own party, needing more than just some hair of the dog—I needed the dog itself.

By contrast, this year I attended a church service on Sunday morning with some friends, and it was incredibly inspirational, but more importantly, joyful. After the service (or celebration), I strolled with a friend my age, and we both reflected on the fragile nature of relevance—how we value it more than we like to admit. I shared with him that the night before, I had no fancy dinner invitation to the swanky restaurants I’d become so accustomed to. These dinners are a stimulating mix of highbrow conversation, expensive food and drink, and quality service. The experience itself is intoxicating.

What I shared was that my dinner on a Saturday night was spent alone—with a twenty-dollar cheeseburger, fries, and a Diet Pepsi at the local “burger bar”. I shared with him that I sat there listening to Chris Stapleton, watching people walk by, and I, oddly, felt a combination of loss, gratitude, and peace. Loss for what was, but gratitude and peace for what is. I was still invited to speak at a smaller event—and this was and is a gift. As I write this, people are sending me messages of appreciation for the talk. I shared this with my friend—that the greatest gift of humility is gratitude, if we let it find its way into our hearts.

It’s no accident that the word humility has “human” built right into the word. All of us will be humbled at some point, but it is the best of the human condition to radiate humility, not in spite of but because we have been humbled. My past self would never have considered waiting in line at SXSW, but this year I waited for an hour in the 90-degree Texas sun. During that time, I met a couple of twenty-something brothers from San Antonio, and we had a blast chatting it up. Again, I am reminded of the strange gifts that come with certain decisions. This decision was made to support a couple of former colleagues who were hosting a panel. I was going to be there for them, and it was yet another gift that they wanted me to be there. These days, I try to go where I’m invited… if possible.

On my last night in Austin, I was invited to one of those very nice and fancy parties. The invitation came from a former colleague. Becuase I wanted to drive the 1.5 hours home and get in bed at a decent time, I arrived on time and didn’t stay very long. Just enough to connect with a few familiar faces, meet a few new ones, and then be on my way. I didn’t even make time to eat the delicious food they were serving because I just wanted to focus on the conversations and relationships, so I grabbed something simple on my trip back home. During that trip, I checked in on another friend who had fallen in Austin and was being treated at the hospital. This is the stuff that matters to me these days. Are my friends, family, and loved ones OK?

The photo montage above is mostly populated with faces over things and stages. I don’t apologize for the group selfies—they are simply a manifestation of what I value. People over things, experiences, and ego.

Being humbled is hard, and it’s unpleasant. But humility is contagious, and gratitude is the best gift we can ever give to ourselves (and others).

Visually yours,

David Armano is a futurist, strategist, and Enterprise AI transformation leader who helps his colleagues, clients, and community solve intricate business challenges and see a clear path forward.

He’s known for his unique approach to visual thinking and for insightful yet grounded takes on intelligent experiences, culture, and leadership. In addition to his day job, he writes David by Design to translate complex shifts into actionable ideas.