I write because I want to contribute to the universe, I want to make an impact on the world. That’s my why. I want to do this because I believe it’s the purpose of life, to contribute to this particle soup of which we exist in and are a part of. A life well lived is to be impactful, to somehow change the world or make the universe better for our species, for all species on Earth, for all life. To make the universe better, cooler, more awesome. We are the manifestation of reality, the manifestation of the universe expressing itself. It’s actually utterly amazing when you consider it, and I am it. So I write to contribute something epic.

Boarding a plane in the Okavango Delta with my Granny in 2010 during my first visit to Africa

What’s value? What can I uniquely provide to the world? I feel I have a unique perspective on humanity and the planet because of my travels and upbringing. Not only have I been fortunate to travel extensively, but my parents have—they raised me in it. So the two people who have sculpted my personality the most have been to and seen many places. What’s more, all four of my grandparents traveled. I spent more time with my Granny and Grandpa, my mom’s parents, seeing them multiple times a month growing up. Their love and affection was grounded within an optimistic, expansive view of the world. I’ve spent less time with my dad’s parents, my Grandma and Grandpa, but they have “lived the world” more than anyone I know: they’ve lived on at least 4 continents (North and South America, Africa, and Asia) and several countries. This was back in a different time, before Instagram and the internet, when traveling and living abroad weren’t cool or popular. I still marvel at their experiences and stories. Their lives have been, for lack of a better word, cool. And all of this genealogical travel has shaped who I am today.

What is so different about my perspective? It may not be radical, but I truly see humans as one species, not a collection of countries or cultures. I genuinely believe, and have evidence through my travels, that we are more similar than we are different. People sometimes take this as an admonishment of cultural diversity, even whitewashing. But I couldn’t mean anything further from this. I’ve lived in China, a country with a completely different language and history. I’ve lived in South Africa, whose history and culture has become a smorgasbord over the centuries. I’ve spent months in East Africa, a place still suffering from the ravages of 19th century colonialism. These places couldn’t be more different than each other or where I grew up in San Jose California, the capital of Silicon Valley… as a tall, blonde-haired blue-eyed white heterosexual male from a middle class family. I recognize these differences in culture because I’ve immersed myself in all of them.

Local scene from Beijing, China, spring of 2013

But I still believe these differences remain superficial, from a certain perspective. Did I eat completely different foods in Africa and Asia? You bet. I still remember my first couple weeks in China, when I roamed the streets of Beijing alone, looking for restaurants. I would find one, hand-sign my way to a table, and open up the menu handed to me, knowing it would be completely indecipherable. I would point at something random, and the waitress would acknowledge my choice and bring it to me (quickly, too: in China most dishes can be prepared in less than 10 minutes, which is pretty crazy considering how varied their food is). I ate things I couldn’t even identify. The food culture couldn’t have been more different than the standard American fare I was used to growing up. But to think about it slightly differently—did I eat food? Yep, along with all the other 1.3 billion Chinese people. As did all the cohabitants of South Africa or Tanzania. In fact, all the humans I’ve ever come across in this vast world eat food. We all sleep too, around 8 hours a day. We all share the same biological processes, i.e. we all circulate blood and breathe air and sweat and poop.

What’s more, we all want the same things. We all seek financial security. We all want purpose, to find some meaning in our lives. We all try to live long healthy lives. We all want to have fun. We all want to support and protect and spend time with our families—or as I like to use the term, our tribe: the small group of people we most associate with, care the most for, and spend the most time with. We all love. From my perspective, when you consider all these similarities between us, the differences in geography and history and culture seem fairly small. Because they’re less important than these most important things, these elements of health, wealth, time and love. If we forced every person on Earth to live under some regime that optimized those four dimensions, would any nation or cultural group of people be disproportionately more unhappy than all the rest? No. The joy would be egalitarian. (For the record, I’m not at all advocating for any authoritarian system of wellbeing for everyone). And this doesn’t mean we can’t highlight and celebrate our differences either.

This is where my head is at with TAV. I want to convince people I’m right—that we are more similar than we are different, globally, across the entire planet. And I want to show people that adopting such a lens of our species and the world is a good thing—it will bring security, prosperity, health, and happiness to us all. Maybe we have to start by proving such “global consciousness” is possible. Because if we can believe in it, we can argue over it, and eventually pursue it. This is what I’m working towards. This is my deepest belief and my boldest possible pursuit of purpose. Writing about it gets it out there on the interwebs. You reading about it plants the seedling of a united humanity. And there’s more coming, more that will inspire change. Will you join me?