Essay 3: The Character of Strong Communities

I've been thinking a lot about what our response to someone else's success says about us. Not as individuals, but as a community.

Every announcement invites a reaction. Some reveal our priorities. Most reveal our character.

Every July, Calgary gives us a glimpse of the difference. The hats come out. The boots return. Pancake breakfasts appear in parking lots, parks, and office towers. Streets fill with neighbours who may not have seen one another in months. For ten days, the city feels just a little more open, a little more welcoming, and a little more willing to gather.

It's tempting to attribute that feeling to the rodeo, the concerts, or the midway. They are certainly part of the celebration. But I don't think they're what people carry home with them.

What makes the Stampede remarkable isn't the spectacle. It's the spirit.

For a brief moment, Calgary remembers something it already knows: we belong to one another. Businesses that spend the rest of the year competing for customers host pancake breakfasts side by side. Community organizations show up for one another's events. Politicians, artists, entrepreneurs, volunteers, and neighbours gather around the same folding tables without worrying much about titles or status. The instinct isn't to ask who deserves the spotlight. It's to make sure there's room at the table.

I've often wondered what Calgary would look like if we carried a little more of that spirit into the rest of the year.

Competition has an important place in every healthy community. It sharpens ideas, raises standards, and pushes us to do better work. We should care deeply about the organizations we serve and advocate passionately for the causes we believe in. But competition alone cannot sustain a community.

Competition may sharpen a community. Character is what holds it together.

Communities are shaped less by what they accomplish than by how they choose to accomplish it—and by how they respond when someone else does.

Over the years, I've been fortunate to work alongside people who embody that kind of character. They pursue bold ideas with conviction, advocate tirelessly for their organizations, and celebrate another institution's success without hesitation. They understand that every meaningful investment in a community—whether in the arts, education, health care, business, or public spaces—strengthens the ecosystem they are all working to build.

I've also encountered people who struggle to do that. Every success is filtered through comparison. Before they can celebrate what's been accomplished, they instinctively wonder what it means for them. What they might lose. Whether someone else received more attention, more recognition, or a greater share of the opportunity.

I don't say that with judgment. If I'm honest, I've caught myself there too.

Over time, though, I've learned that comparison rarely changes the outcome. It only changes the atmosphere.

Celebration does something different. It creates trust. It builds goodwill. It reminds people that your ambition extends beyond your own institution—that what you're ultimately working toward is a stronger community, not simply a stronger position within it. Perhaps that's one of the clearest expressions of character.

Character isn't the absence of ambition. It's the ability to hold ambition and generosity at the same time. It's having enough confidence in your own purpose to celebrate the progress of others, recognizing that another organization's success doesn't diminish your own. More often than not, it strengthens the case for the future we all hope to build.

I've come to believe that this is what strong communities do. They don't ask people to think less of themselves. They ask them to think more of one another. They understand that progress is rarely built by keeping score. It's built by people who can applaud today's success while continuing to work toward tomorrow's possibilities.

Maybe that's why the Stampede feels different.

For ten days, Calgary reminds us that we're stronger when we root for one another. When we welcome strangers. When we celebrate each other's successes. When we gather without asking what we might gain in return. When we remember, if only briefly, that the success of one part of our city contributes to the vitality of the whole.

Then the hats are put away. The breakfasts come to an end. Life returns to its usual pace.

But the invitation remains. To carry a little more of that Stampede spirit into the months that follow. To choose celebration over comparison. To believe that another person's success is not a threat to our own, but another reason to believe in the future of the place we share.

Because character isn't something a community declares. It's something it reveals—in the way it welcomes people, in the way it navigates disagreement, and in the way it responds when someone else succeeds.

Strong communities are defined not only by what they build. They're defined by the character they reveal while building it.