"Are you afraid?"

A journalist from the travel industry asked me that simple question recently. She was exploring the impact and aftermath of terrorism on business and culture.

She spewed off a litany of scary sources of anxiety. Three and a half years after 9/11, the Department of Homeland Security issues periodic warnings to inform us that we are at a heightened risk of terrorist attack. We are embroiled in a war in Iraq that still has no end in sight. On the economic front, the U.S. budget deficit soars out of control, the value of the dollar is dropping, and we're told that the Social Security system is about to implode. In sum, a person does not have to be paranoid to feel a bit frightened these days.

I went a step further and told the journalist that we are living in a culture of fear. Fear has become as pervasive a cultural motivator as greed, frankly. It goes beyond politics. It goes beyond marketing and advertising. All of the foregoing accept and even manipulate fear, of course. But at root fear is embedded in the way that we communicate with each other. We talk with each other assuming that we know how the other person is feeling, and react out of our own fears as much as their actual disposition.

The impact of fear shows up clearly in the financial markets, where the capacity for risk goes way down in insecure situations. In the 1990s, the world felt like a safe place. We were at peace; there were no major wars raging in the European and American universe. There certainly was no fear of terrorist attacks. As a result, you saw an incredibly high-risk culture. You saw that in the way people made investments. That cultural environment is radically different today.

What 9/11 did was raise our sense of vulnerability. It was such an out-of-the-blue, shocking experience that the individual said to herself, "Oh my god, what can you count on?" It's not just 9/11, of course, but a coincidence of stability-shaking events occurring on the tail of each other.

The undercurrent of fear that affects the financial markets has a powerful impact inside the company, too. Company managers feel less secure about their ability to plan for the future. That reinforces a focus on short-term goals and decisions that respond to immediate profit. At least it's something to count on; who knows anymore what the future may bring?

The sole focus on short-term goals is self-defeating, however. Company leaders cannot afford to overlook meaningful intangibles, like asking, "Is this business model sustainable," or "How are we going to build a customer base four or five years out?"

On the other side of the coin, in times of great fear, people also experience intense love and a desire for meaning. Relationships and family suddenly find their proper place, ahead of work and money. We develop a keener sense of our mortality, and want to make the most of our time on planet Earth.

While at times I am discouraged by the narrow, bottom-line mentality that drives many business ventures, I'm seeing a rising tide of business workers who cry out for significance. They want to do something that matters. That's not always curing cancer, but it is an activity that makes an individual feel like he is doing something that makes a mark or creates a legacy. That may be as small a goal as solving a customer problem. But it's definitely about solving something.

Perhaps some of you know that I have a long-time association with Bono (background check: look at the credits on the CD covers of both Joshua Tree and Rattle and Hum). When I was at the U2 concert in California last week, I was inspired once again by how a vision of hope can overcome fear. Bono and his Irish lads asked the concert crowd to imagine how to go out and change the world, not to be afraid of it.

Yes, the anecdote for fear is hopeful action. Join a One campaign, be that the campaign for Africa that Bono has launched under that banner, or the one that starts with you. After all, it takes only one person to start a movement of liberation.