I love getting to know people — the variety that exists in the people around us every day is astounding to me. It’s interesting to chat with a person that you’ve seen many times before, or maybe someone you just met, and ask them how they got to where they are. What led them to this place, to this job, to this field, to these beliefs?

And one subject that is failingly intriguing is what led them to think the way they do. What were their foundational books, music, lessons or experiences? So many books can be impactful that you wouldn’t expect, all because they hit the person at exactly the right time in exactly the right way.

For example, one foundational book for me is “Amusing Ourselves to Death” by Neil Postman — a book that I read in … I want to say middle school, but it might have been Freshman year of high school … because our history teacher challenged the class to read it for extra credit in a fit of exasperation.

But what I want to write about now is something I read while I was serving an LDS mission in Brasil. I found an article in the church magazine that had three parables from a leader of the church (James E. Talmage) that was published in 1914. The one that stuck out was “The Parable of Two Lamps.”

He tells the story of being a student with an oil lamp he used to study at night that he was particularly proud of. One day a lamp salesman came by and sat with him in front of his dorm until night fell, at which point the two went inside so Elder Talmage could show the salesman his lamp, and the salesman could then demonstrate his own.

After seeing both lamps side by side Elder Talmage quickly bought the new one, and that night took it to the lab where he discovered that it was putting out 48 candlepower, three times as much as his own lamp.

(SIDENOTE: 1 lumen is 12.57 candlepower, so the new lamp was 3.8 Lumens and the old lamp was 1.3 lumens. A single 60-watt lightbulb puts out 800 lumens)

He outlines the lesson:

“The man who would sell me a lamp did not disparage mine. He placed his greater light alongside my feebler flame, and I hasted to obtain the better.

The missionary servants of the Church of Jesus Christ today are sent forth, not to assail or ridicule the beliefs of men, but to set before the world a superior light, by which the smoky dimness of the flickering flames of man-made creeds shall be apparent. The work of the Church is constructive, not destructive.”

As a missionary this parable really struck home. On my mission I saw lots of different methodologies for “sharing the gospel” — some much more, well, destructive, than others. But after reading that I decided that I would focus on being constructive — on sharing my message without disparaging anyone else, and seeing what happened. Not only did I feel better about sharing the message that way, but it allowed me to connect to people better, to see them, no matter their beliefs, as worthy of my respect.

The message grew within me — the simple idea that I shouldn’t tear others down to create something myself. I’ve found myself applying it in different ways in all facets of my life.

At work it motivates me to do the best possible work that I can so that the merits of my work are self evident — I don’t need to tear someone else down, or play political games to succeed. I need to do excellent work. For the most part it’s worked out for me. A quick example.

For a brief period I was on a helpdesk for a small company taking customer calls. I’d been on helpdesks before and had my own rhythms down and was pretty effective — my main difference was I didn’t keep people on the phone. I’d get their details, tell them I’d get back to them, solve the problem and then report back when it was done. Most of my coworkers kept the person on the line the entire time.

One day the helpdesk manager called me into his office because some of my coworkers had complained about me — they felt that I wasn’t doing my fair share, that I spent less time on the phones than them. I asked if he’d look at the ticket closure numbers to see if that was true. He hadn’t. So right there with me he ran a report which showed that I closed, on average, twice as many tickets as the entire rest of the helpdesk combined. He mumbled something that might have been an apology and sent me back to my desk.

That doesn’t mean I’m not critical. If you’ve read some of my book reviews you’ll know that I can be critical, but I hope what comes across is that, even in books I’m highly critical of I still find something to praise. I still find value, and I still try to respect the effort that the author put into writing their thoughts down so others could benefit from them (I assume that’s their goal, even if some books aren’t really a benefit).

And I still complain. I still scoff at people’s choices sometimes (no one ever buys a car that I recommend and I don’t know why!?). I still roll my eyes. I still marvel at the stupidity of strangers who probably aren’t all that dumb. All these years and I still don’t have it down.

But it resonated with me so strongly that I still aspire to it, and when I occasionally do live up to that ideal I feel satisfied with my efforts, which is something rare for me.

I’m curious what your foundational things (man I’ve got a way with words) are. What did you see or read or experience years ago that still influences you on a daily basis? That changed the person you are forever?