For the New Year: Be Yourself, Upset the Experts

We Crave Connectedness But We Settle for Transactions

I've got a new thought for the New Year: tell the experts they're nuts.  Well, on just one subject: explaining yourself.  For the New Year, commit to "be yourself" and to hell with the experts and all their fancy "service platform explanatoins."  (Does that make any sense?  I didn't think so either.)

In the process, you just might find that you like yourslef, and others, just a wee bit better.  And, that you're not always measuring yoruself against an untenable yardstick of "professionalism" and "propriety."  If someone is explaining his/her business service to you, hang in for a minute: you can do it.  Don't assume s/he will get it all out quickly and efficiently; sometimes, the smart ones need time, you know.

If you're in the professional servcie business, you've been told -- how many times? -- how important your "elveator speech" is to promotig your business.  (I've got news for you: you could be the Bill Gates of Consultatns right now: you ain't gonna sell anything bevause no one's buying nothing.  Just the way it is.  [Excuse all of my colloquial double negatives, please.])

What spurred this?  I got to hear an "award-winnng" journalist and consultatn speak recently on the subject of award-winning jounralist and consultant would have me believe that it's all about the "message."  Some call it the "elevator speech" or "escalator speech."

After much deliberation, I decided that my niche is "people who like me."  They could be in middle level posts in non-profits.  Or in industrial or high-tech concerns.  They could be a CEO or ED; a VP of Marketing.  They're people who think I can help them better organize themselves and their institutions for higher performance.  They trust me.

So, if the experts suggest you have ten seconds, tell 'em off and use 30 instead.  I'll listen and if I don't, I'm not being respectful.  How's that for a New Year's resolution: I will behave more respectfully in 2010.  Towards others, the planet, my clients/customers, my colleagues. 

So, when I'm told that I have to explain my work in the "right format," (What do you offer?...To Whom?...How do they hear about it?...) I'm being told to state my rank and serial number.  I'm being told I'm a "thing."

I'm being encouraged, no coerced, to commoditize myself so that you can understand, in an instant, whether or not I have anything to offer you.  How have we arrived here?  Slick commercialism?  Greed?  Fear?  Whatever it is, I don't want to buy it.  I'll wait to hear what you've got to say: I've got plenty of time. 

And, here, I'm going to extrapolate: part of the reason we're in this financial mess is because many people bought "things" that were not prudent: CDO's, CDS's,   They didn't look beyond the transaction: it was a superficial decision, without depth or probing.  It would seem that all the buyers were into this farcical respnose to disasters -- "it's all gooood" --- that is now used to explain insane behaviors and consequences.  (Ask the expert pictured above; he knows.)

So, if I'm a "thing" to you, a tool of some sort that seems to fit your current conundrum, don't buy me.  If you want to know who I am, great.  I'll tell you.  But, it will take more than ten seconds.  Sorry, just the way it goes. 

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Consultants working to help themselves and non-profits: Pictures: http://ping.fm/bnxFm

My 20 year old son is skydiving today. Hasn't called yet; should I worry?

Volunteerism hits primetime: This is a good thing.
http://ping.fm/jVo7A

Aren't we really missing some conversations in the U.S.?http://ping.fm/RmMhS

A new blog post inspired by an experiment in the healthcare field: apologizing for mistakes!
http://ping.fm/tP4m2

Wish I were working on this garage instead of writing about it.
http://ping.fm/82EvI

School and Grades: Making the Conversation Real

We have a dear friend visiting.  She professes frustration with her 17 year old son's choices about school performance.  Bright, inquisitive, personable, Nathan almost failed all his classes this past year.  I worry that much of her identity is tied up in Nathan's academic success even though I know it's not: she's worried about his future. 

What does the conversation with a teeange student who's chosen not to perform look like?  How can anything be said that would meaningfully change the status quo. 

Making an answer to this question more difficult is the developing reality: I think that teenagers today occasionally and unfortunately understand the irrelevance of normal life as we have defined it.  My son knows about the hypocrisy of leading a modern life where we talk about "green," but we still participate in an economy fueled by petrodollars.  At the age of 19, where can he go with this wisdom?

Harold Kushner, Rabbi and bestselling writer offers us a piece of wisdom: “If logic tells you that life has no meaning, give up on logic, don’t give up on life.”  Is this part of the argument we need to make to these wiser children?  So that they can fit their decisions into the larger framework of life?

I think teenagers  are aware that grades and performance in school has some vague connection to one’s perceived “success” as an adult.  To take this idea to its illogical extreme, though, often creates meglamaniacal behavior which requires shutting down some ethical switches in the brain; it is, of course, a generalization but many people with this kind of approach or thought process were the ones packaging subprime loans and mortgage derivatives for sale to investors and didn't ask any questions.  Rugged indivualist kind of thinking. 

The delicate balance we all strive for as parents is to help foster a sense of discovery in our children coupled with responsibility and compassion.  Before answering "How?" we should accomplish this task, we need to spend more time with the "Why?"

The Lost Wallet, License Conversation

Teased and Shamed, Anger & Sadness Result

He arrives home in tears; I should have given him a hug.  But, I didn't.

My little one, Edward, went to Six Flags with one of his best friends, Lewis, on Saturday.  Two other boys were along -- nasty young men who can be serpent-tongued with their language.  Venomous. 

All day Edward took their abuse, their needling and criticisms of his statements.  His friend is too shy to say anything; plus, he doesn't want to estrange anyone.  So, I'm guessing, he witnessed the beating with some degree of ambivalence, sadness and confusion.

When he lost his wallet -- and the $80 and newly minted license inside -- Edward's remorse was fertile territory for the sadists to plant their seeds of disgrace.  I can only imagine the lack of "fun" he was having on the rides at the park and what a struggle it was to stay somewhat sane and centered. 

By the time he returned home around 8pm, his red eyes and sniffling told me that something was up.  From the comfort of my brown leather recliner, I paused the mystery I was watching: "I'm sorry."  That was my first stab; in hindsight, I should have gotten up and given him a hug and let him cry.  I could tell, pretty quickly, that it wasn't just about the money and the license; there was more.  I sensed the depth of self-reproach and blaming: "I wanted to punch them!" 

At this heightened level of emotion, I knew enough to avoid attempting any traditional problem solving -- that so many men are so predisposed to do.  The hurt has to be validated, felt, not distanced.  Otherwise, I've learned, there's little chance for healing and plenty of opportunity for "stuffing."  Suppressed emotions, I've discovered, always emerge in new twisted, ugly forms later on.

All I could do is validate: "it makes sense to me that you'd be upset."  More tears followed; driving is so important to him -- the lost license was going to be another $20 nuisance.  "That must have been terrible -- you had to tolerate those idiots all day long?  I'm sorry." 

If you're reading this and think that I'm a whimp for talking to my young man like this, there's not much I can say to you to convince you that this is the better way for men.  For thousands of years, men have struggled with naming, feeling emotions; being vulnerable with each other and their partners: tough guys!  Compassion for my fellow humans -- compassion for the planet -- has to begin with compassion for myself; validation and empathy for others is just one step in the process. 

I have to remind myself, often, that my boy is just that: he's taller than I, smart and capable.  And, he's fragile, too: insecurities just below the surface drive behavior. 

Edward wanted to go driving.  My sense that his mood might lend itself to using the car as an outlet or an instrument of damage, even self-damage.  I also told him that my intuition of danger was strong; I articulated a vision of him being stopped by a policeman; he accepted my advice.  So, it was with some reluctance, that, at 1:30am, he chose to drive him and his older brother home.  A goofy set of decisions about a backpack led to a stop by a local and, of course, the ticket. 

My intuition capital right now?  Well, it's risen better than the Dow Jones average.

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The "I Bumped It" Conversation

The Pain of Telling Worse Than The Accident

The little one arrived home from his night-long, Saturday night, escapade at Harmony Fest.  On my way home from one of my jobs, I checked in at the house: he answers. 

"I've got some bad news and I don't know if I want to tell you on the phone...."  Well, he was talking so it couldn't have been that bad an accident -- I was in the right vicinty of the "bad news."  I was guessing it was some sort of vehicular miscommunication.

"I'll pull over so I can hear you...what happened?"  A story, an honest one I'm sure, about two drivers backing out of parking spaces, butts in gear, thinking the other one was waiting.  A dent to the bumper of the 82 VW camper; the thing already has some blemishes and dimples: kisses from some other implement. 

"Well, thanks for telling me but it doesn't sound that bad.  Not a big deal." 

I always like letting him off the hook; it really messes with his mind. 

Harmony Festival: An Overnight With Mike

82 Volkswagen Camper: Will It Be the "Pad"

Oh, I know I'm dating myself with that "pad" reference.  So be it.  This is my inaugural post for this blog and I'm trying not to be too concerned, too serious. 

My little guy, 16, has taken himself to Harmony Fest, a weekend long fest of music and food sure to satisfy the burgeoning hippy heart.  He has the perfect vehicle to accompany him.  Do I worry?  Of course I do.  But some of it goes away when he calls me at about 8pm and asks how to light the stove.  (The propane has to be turned on underneath the vehicle.)

Are these outings the new "rites of passage" in this emerging culture?  A night at the Fest, with friends, music and the prospect of a pee test on Sunday.  Yup, he knows we'll test him to make sure he wasn't using the weed that is so plentiful around here. 

The unknowns in this situation have to do with my imagination: at 16, I never could have gotten permission for such an outing.  At least, I don't think so; I wouldn't have had the courage to ask.  Or, the sense of freedom to go.  I do remember going on an overnight with the Sea Scouts which was, of course, a terrible experience -- a fight on the helm at midnight and my lovely quarters: a little strung across the top of a massive diesel engine.  Oy.

So, here's my little boy: what trouble might he have gotten himself into?  Probably none but that doesn't stop me from worrying.  I've got that part of the job down.