There is a saying in the education field that suggests it is not the size of your checking account or the type of car you drive- it is the fact you have made a difference in the life of a child. In the business world, there is the never-ending drive to make the next deal or get the bigger house or score front row seats- a world where who you know trumps who you are.

But occassionally, these two worlds collide. 

Recently, I was invited to experience a professional football game from the comforts of a Suite inside the Cleveland Browns Stadium.  This isn’t a big deal for most people, unless you live in Cleveland with sub-zero windchill and freezing rain that falls sideways. 

As I absorbed all the luxuries of a stadium suite, complete with the largest jumbo shrimp you have ever seen, barbecued baby back ribs, and the never-ending supply of beer, I did take a moment to reflect on those less fortunate.  I thought about all of those people sitting out in the freezing rain cheering for a losing team….. I thought about all of those times I, myself, have weathered the hazardous conditions of the Dawg Pound and socialized with some of the most die-hard tailgaters out there.  In between jumbo shrimp and  Cashews I realized that I probably didn’t belong here.  My friends were seated at the fifty yard line, and when I left them, they were bundled up as if they were on a plane to the Antarctica.  I was sporting a lovely turtleneck and seasonal scarf. They donned rain pants and I wore Banana Republic.  (Ok, so maybe I kind of sort of belonged here.)

I am not going to lie, I enjoyed the warmth of manufactured heat and endless shrimp cocktail.  If there was something you needed, you just picked up the phone.  Most importantly, I had access to a private bathroom with NO lines!  This was, by far, the best.  I did begin to notice, however, that it was a quiet atmosphere.  It took me a quarter of knock down-drag out football to realize that while all of the screaming and drunken obscenities were going on out in the stadium, the suite was quiet in an eerie sort of way.  Nobody was cheering.  Nobody swore at the receiver for dropping the potential game-winning pass.  Nobody stood up and told someone off for wearing the opponent’s jersey. 

But at half time, when my ‘general admission’ friends did join us up in the suite, the atmosphere changed.  People were up out of their seats talking and laughing.  They undoubtedly worked the room and took pleasure in the view.  They even had a piece of shrimp.  But when the game resumed, they felt compelled to return to their seats in the pouring down freezing rain.  As they were attempting to hurry off, someone from the suite asked if they were crazy.  It was a pretty simple question of, “Why would you want to sit out there when you can sit up in here where it’s warm?”

And without exactly saying it, I could tell by the look on their faces that they felt they had the better view.

I’m not so sure that I would want to sit out in the freezing rain- in fact, no I would not like that at all- but there is something envious about just having a good time enjoying football the old fashion way- in the midst of inclement weather, loud cheering, drunken obscenitites, and spilled beer.  I do believe there are opposing views to this- while perusing the dessert cart I vaguely recall hearing a request to toast ‘money.’ 

It’s misleading in that while we are on this mission to upgrade our lives by essentially finding the better seat and meeting the right people, we become disconnected from the lifelines of our own existence.  We think we have the best view because it costs more.  We feel sorry for those who are weathering the storm.  We believe we are moving up.  But it’s an interesting lesson to learn- that views are subjective in nature and all relative to those experiencing them.  I mean, shrimp is good, but perhaps a slippery high five is better.