sense of responsibility

Since leaving the nest, I’ve taken more walks with my dad. Every few months or so, we’ll have a conversation that’s far more intimate than our usual (but beloved) exchanges dominated by roasts, sarcasm, and typical dad topics.

For Thanksgiving, we had dinner with a family whose daughter is the first in “my generation” to have a kid. I watched my parents play with the newborn with amusement and tenderness I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. At the end of the night, my dad asked for my reaction to seeing the baby. “What do you feel? Fascination? Or pressure?” He then added, “That could have been you and Alice.”

I feel responsible for my breakup, because I realized my doubts first and ultimately made the call. That sense of responsibility has many roots. It comes from a duty to do what’s best for us in the long run — for myself, at least. And an obligation to act on judgment once it becomes obvious. But there’s strings attached to any decision. Feelings of guilt, pressure to make the most of this decision (my dad said to me, “learn something from it”), and uncertainty. Responsibility is hard.

Earlier in the night, I learned that the new grandpa, who I’ve known since I was a kid, found his first tech job almost 30 years ago because of my dad. My dad didn’t know him, but his wife went to elementary school with my mom, and moved to the states to study and work in the metals industry. Knowing his career path didn’t look promising, his wife asked my dad, who had just broken into the growing IT market after moving to Silicon Valley from Singapore, for help. My dad liked him enough, and decided to help. He made a case to his manager to hire the friend on his own team, despite him having no previous experience in software.

I was shocked. I asked my dad afterwards why he not only went out of his way, but risk his own neck on the line to hire him. Was it to help for the sake of it? Because he empathized with his situation? Because they happened to go to the same school in China? He shrugged, merely confirming that the story was true.

In many ways, I look up to my dad. What I respect most about him is that he can be exceedingly generous, especially in relationships. When I question why he goes beyond what typically “makes sense” to accommodate a friend in town or do right by a direct report or former colleague at work, he always explains it as a sense of responsibility. His firmness evokes principles of long-term loyalty and goodwill that candidly, feels foreign. Perhaps it’s cynical, but I believe his way of thinking is a striking contrast from the self-motivated and individualistic culture of our generation.

I like to think that I take my responsibilities seriously. What else gives meaning to our existence in this big scary universe other than our tangible impact on the people around us? But it’s that same seriousness that makes the weight of responsibility feel heavier.

Sometimes, I let responsibility get to my head. I can be too strict and tied down to specific ideas about what responsibility should look like in my relationships. How I hold myself and others accountable to that standard becomes a burden.

Does this make sense is a heuristic for how to think about responsibility. You could survey your friends and try to get a consistent answer. It makes sense to help a close friend find a new job, even if it requires going out of your way. For a stranger, it usually doesn’t seem to…

My dad’s story made me think of my own responsibilities. Like him, I’ve sought out ones that don’t always seem to make sense in the moment. Looking back, it’s often because I want to be responsible for more, whether to satisfy my own ego or create something meaningful. Even in new relationships, taking on a sense of responsibility before there’s even a commitment - whether to offer a favor or invitation - can unlock new possibilities or strengthen a bond.

Responsibilities don’t come without consequence. I think of the impact I’ve had on my friends. A job I helped a friend get. A relationship or friendship I helped set up new job. Sometimes, it’s a responsibility I consciously embraced, knowing the long-term implications. Other times, I look back and don’t understand why I went out of my way. It creates a cognitive dissonance, knowing that I felt compelled to do something for someone then, but wouldn’t take on that same responsibility now.

This made sense in my head lol

Something I want to learn from my dad is his ability to go through life seemingly without regret. He is responsible, but without burden. Even when people seem ungrateful or nonreciprocal, he stays true to his why without resentment or entitlement. Some part of that, I believe, comes with experience and agency choosing the right responsibilities to take on. The rest, I hope, comes through conviction in your own philosophy.

I discovered that my dad’s friend ended up being a “competent but lazy” employee. But perhaps it still worked out — 30 years later, we’re celebrating Thanksgiving in Las Vegas with him and his beautiful new granddaughter.

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A relatable (and paywalled) post on responsibility…

I care a lot about feeling responsible. It’s the reason why I enjoyed school so much: I’ve always loved doing well on an assignment. I like the sense that I’ve prepared adequately, that I’ve approached things the right way, that I’m a diligent student. No matter how much I change, I seem to retain this quality: I’m always looking around to see if I did a good job.

I think the thing that I really value about having a dog is that it’s pretty easy to be a good dog owner. The guidelines are clear: you feed your dog, you take your dog on lots of walks, you play with your dog, you don’t leave your dog alone very much. I know that I take good care of Akko. With people, however, it’s a different story. Because people are so impossibly complex. I’m always wondering if I’m a responsible partner, a responsible friend. There are guidelines for these roles, and I think I follow them decently well, but obviously there’s a lot of murkiness.

getting love right