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Over the course of human history, many selves have been noted for achievements both famous and infamous. The breathless stories we tell each other about these people are instrumental in perpetuating the importance of self in our culture. But to what extent does the power we ascribe to these names belong to them versus us?

Take, for example, two of our main fixations of the 20th century: Albert Einstein and Adolph Hitler. The respective brilliance and fury of these men would mean nothing in a vacuum, without complex ecosystems around them and substantial legacies before them. If left alone in the world, each man would light a fire and wait to die. No doubt this is a reductive framing, but in order to challenge our inborn drift towards an emphasis on self, we have to grapple with the fact that there’s no power in a single person.

For a more timely example, consider Jeff Bezos. Bezos is a visionary businessperson, and the effort, intellect and instinct that has streamed out of this one human being is quite a thing to behold. What’s also true is Bezos was born at the exact right time to align himself with the early emergence of the commercial internet, a phenomenon itself set in motion not just decades earlier by the US Department of Defense’s ARPANET, but centuries earlier by the work of Benjamin Franklin and Michael Faraday in advancing our understanding of electricity.

And it was hardly just a matter of timing for Bezos. The spark of his ingenuity needed ample tinder, which it found in a throbbing impatience and desire for comfort that define the human psyche. Scale that across billions of consumers, and yeah, you’ll get a historic business empire.

We’re drawn to mythologizing these people because it indulges fantasies of our own individual significance. Over time, this stifles our ability to imagine what’s possible. We fixate on our personal stories rather than our collective story; above all, we’re taught to believe that each of us is great because we’re born unique. What about believing we’re great because we’re a part of something great?

As I reflect on the notion of self, I’m reminded of one of America’s defining archetypes of the last few decades, encapsulated in a certain kind of car commercial. You know the one: a lone, handsome wolf goes ripping through a big natural vista in his brand new luxury automobile. Climate-controlled leather interiors and a channel-quilted merino vest frame his satisfied gaze, the sort of gaze you only get when you combine upper-class wealth with upper-class bone structure.

There he goes! The ultimate thrust of self, questioned only by the winding road, which, upon each curve, asks him to briefly divert his attention from his many tidy successes to feel the precise grip of his tires as he banks another turn and affirms his sweet freedom.

Call me unpatriotic, but is there anything less interesting than watching one guy win? These commercials are (highly effective) low common denominators in the unceasing campaign to fetishize American individualism. And as such, they are completely full of shit.

In every scene, if you look for it, you will find extraordinary texture and depth. Ultimately, it’s a matter of perspective, and it’s up to you to decide what’s more meaningful, instructive, and charged with potential: the icon of a big man on the open road, or a boundless four-dimensional play that counts systems as its characters, not people.

That automobile propelling our man represents a legacy of ingenuity and sacrifice extending back thousands of years, across countless lives, incorporating everything from the emergence of crankshafts during the Han dynasty of China (circa 200 BC) to formative auto worker labor disputes of the 1930s. The landscape he coasts through is made possible not just by decades of work by conservationists and public servants, but literal epochs of time over which wind shaped rock. And his channel-quilted merino vest owes its existence to a small farm in Australia, where right this moment a shepherd tells his dog to tell his sheep to move through a small opening in a fence to access a big grazing hill where they can soften their backs in the early morning sun. As the shepherd watches his flock move across the land with rounded fluidity, like oil in a pan, he reflects on the curious dynamic of an animal commanding an animal to command animals. In this, he’s swept up in awe of nature’s design. He feels proud and safe. A moment later, he decides he’ll give some money to a neighbor who’s hurting, a man he recognizes as a troubled but essential part of his own human flock.

It all begins with an idea. Maybe you want to launch a business. Maybe you want to turn a hobby into something more. Or maybe you have a creative project to share with the world. Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.

It all begins with an idea. Maybe you want to launch a business. Maybe you want to turn a hobby into something more. Or maybe you have a creative project to share with the world. Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.