There are many things to despair about in our current political landscape. But one thing I keep returning to is just how much of our global system, our communities, our livelihoods, our institutions, is held together by the honor system.

It honestly has felt surreal watching the norms I took for granted evaporate and the institutions that just a few years ago felt impenetrable fall like straw houses.

In a recent spiral down the rabbit hole, I found myself looking up the actual definition of an honor system:

Honor is the grease that has allowed human societies to function. Every culture since antiquity has built rituals around gaining, bestowing, and even retracting it.

Being knighted. Coming-of-age ceremonies. Battles and contests. Valedictorian. The Medal of Freedom. The Nobel Peace Prize.

You can learn a lot about a society by what it chooses to honor. Strength. Loyalty. Sacrifice. Service. Wisdom. Martyrdom. Intelligence. Integrity.

While each of us can espouse and even live out these values, honor often feels inherently tied to external validation, to the gaze of others. Which raises a question, I've been sitting with:

What does it mean to create an honor system for yourself — one that is self-referential, not dependent on who's watching?

The truth is, most of us are walking around with an honor system we inherited. One we never consciously chose.

Recently, I had a conversation with Megumi Calver — sommelier, founder of Merobebe, and one of our podcast guests — where she introduced me to the Japanese concept of Gaman.

In Japanese, Gaman means to endure. More specifically, to endure the seemingly unbearable with patience and dignity.

For Megumi, this early lesson in honor played a role in keeping her far longer than she should have in a toxic startup environment — where she was the only woman, was underpaid, and was routinely left to do the dishes in the office kitchen.

I recognized myself in her story immediately.

I've done the same. Stayed in a job well past its expiration date — past the point where it had begun to cost me my health and my dignity — because I didn't want to seem like a quitter. I kept telling myself I could turn things around. That I couldn't leave my team without cover.

I cast myself as the buffer: the one with enough strength to weather the storm and change its direction.

I'm sure you're smiling a little reading this. It sounds naive to me even as I write it. Big-hearted, but misguided.

Gaman takes many forms depending on where you're from.

Don't be a quitter. We shall overcome. Turn the other cheek. Leave on a high note. Don’t let them see you sweat.

Resilience through struggle is an almost universally celebrated value — especially within cultures that have been marginalized, targeted, or oppressed. And rightly so. These values have given people the psychological strength to endure seemingly unbearable circumstances, and to make sometimes-tragic sacrifices for the greater good.

But these same social pressures cause harm when applied indiscriminately.

Resilience in the face of oppression — to protect your community, to advocate for a cause — is valorous.

Suffering low pay and daily disrespect to generate shareholder value for a 25-year-old startup founder? That's a different story.

I think most of us reach a point where the pursuit of valor starts to feel like self-betrayal. Where the craving to be seen as strong and good begins to chafe against the need to actually be well.

When I finally left that draining job, something unexpected happened. I came to see that leaving had done more to protect the teammates I cared about than enduring ever would have. It showed them they were worthy of being treated better. It showed them that honoring your own truth is still honorable.

Maybe that's one of the quiet throughlines of every conversation on Unpopular Decisions: that we honor those who honor themselves.

So I want to ask you: What is your honor system? And did you choose it — or did it choose you?

“Where stories are shared and scripts are rewritten.”

In this regular newsletter segment, we will highlight voices from throughout this community. Your vulnerability in email replies, comments, survey responses, and more are seen, witnessed, and appreciated.

Thank you Richard!

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This first season of Unpopular Decisions podcast has been truly beyond my expectations! The last episode of season 1 will launch on March 31st. In our spring break, I’ll be bringing you short, quick-hit episodes focused on my own journey, responses from you our listeners, and replays. Until next time, I’m glad you’re here.