I was getting ready for an event while attending an out of town conference. A good friend who also had come to the conference was kind enough to wait for me in my hotel room as I finished dressing.
I pulled out a relatively new purchase and slipped it over my head. You can imagine my disappointment as I realized the garment had shrunk in the wash.
“Damn,” I said. “I just bought this thing and I carefully followed all the laundry instructions – cold wash, no bleach, tumble dry low. And it STILL shrunk!”
My friend just shrugged. “Sometimes you can do everything right and it still goes wrong.”
‘Nuff said.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
The Zen of Driving
I’m just back from a mini vacation with my family – a little time at the beach house of a friend. To get there, I had the startling yet satisfying experience of being chauffeured by my almost-age-of-majority son. He offered to take on the driving because the route includes a very long, very high suspension bridge and I must sheepishly admit that driving over that span makes me nervous. So it was a pleasure to sit back and leave the driving to him.
To tell the truth, I’m glad that my days as driver’s ed instructor are behind me. I eagerly awaited the chance to get my license when I turned 16, but the contrasts between my first driving experiences in the Midwest and those of my children as they learned to navigate the roads in a big East Coast city are too numerous to list.
I realized there was so much more I needed to show the kids beyond the mechanics of operating a car. The demands of safe, defensive driving require an awareness of self and others that goes unnoticed by veterans road warriors. I came up with a label for my personal brand of instruction. I called it The Zen of Driving.
The Zen of Driving begins with an awareness of where you (and the car) are, moment to moment, whenever you are in the vehicle. Even when the vehicle is not in motion. If the car is parked, how much room do you have to move it onto the road? Are there cars parked around you? How close are they? Are you on an incline? How much acceleration will you need to move forward? What barriers are in your way? Will you need to move backwards before you can move forward?
Once the car is in motion, you have to practice a second level of awareness, simultaneous with the first: Who and what is around you? What are they doing? Have they clearly signaled their intention to change direction? What if they don’t signal? Are there other signs or indicators that indicate a change may be coming? Maybe the car ahead on the right is slowly drifting to the left. Maybe you should prepare to get out of its way, whether its directional signals are blinking, or not.
And what about these pedestrians? Especially the ones with the cellphones are their ears (You KNOW what I’m talking about). They’re standing on the curb in the middle of the block, oblivious to the flow of traffic, ready to jaywalk and secure in the assumption that YOU will manage to stop for them.
And while you keep your awareness of where you are in the road (and the lane), you have to be thinking about where you want to be. Not simply where you want to go, but WHERE YOU WANT THE CAR TO BE. Example: when executing a left turn, you must know what you want to be in at the end of the process. Simply turning the steering wheel to the left may not be enough.
And we won’t even talk about the other variables beyond our control: road condition, weather, darkness, detours.
So by now, I’ve beaten my metaphorical point into the ground, right? The multiple calculations and corrections we make while driving mirror the many choices we are faced with in life. Experienced drivers make their choices on a subconscious level, but maintain the required awareness to get them where they need or want to go. In life, some choices require more intention in order to arrive safely at our destination.
Even with GPS.
Buckle up and be careful out there.
To tell the truth, I’m glad that my days as driver’s ed instructor are behind me. I eagerly awaited the chance to get my license when I turned 16, but the contrasts between my first driving experiences in the Midwest and those of my children as they learned to navigate the roads in a big East Coast city are too numerous to list.
I realized there was so much more I needed to show the kids beyond the mechanics of operating a car. The demands of safe, defensive driving require an awareness of self and others that goes unnoticed by veterans road warriors. I came up with a label for my personal brand of instruction. I called it The Zen of Driving.
The Zen of Driving begins with an awareness of where you (and the car) are, moment to moment, whenever you are in the vehicle. Even when the vehicle is not in motion. If the car is parked, how much room do you have to move it onto the road? Are there cars parked around you? How close are they? Are you on an incline? How much acceleration will you need to move forward? What barriers are in your way? Will you need to move backwards before you can move forward?
Once the car is in motion, you have to practice a second level of awareness, simultaneous with the first: Who and what is around you? What are they doing? Have they clearly signaled their intention to change direction? What if they don’t signal? Are there other signs or indicators that indicate a change may be coming? Maybe the car ahead on the right is slowly drifting to the left. Maybe you should prepare to get out of its way, whether its directional signals are blinking, or not.
And what about these pedestrians? Especially the ones with the cellphones are their ears (You KNOW what I’m talking about). They’re standing on the curb in the middle of the block, oblivious to the flow of traffic, ready to jaywalk and secure in the assumption that YOU will manage to stop for them.
And while you keep your awareness of where you are in the road (and the lane), you have to be thinking about where you want to be. Not simply where you want to go, but WHERE YOU WANT THE CAR TO BE. Example: when executing a left turn, you must know what you want to be in at the end of the process. Simply turning the steering wheel to the left may not be enough.
And we won’t even talk about the other variables beyond our control: road condition, weather, darkness, detours.
So by now, I’ve beaten my metaphorical point into the ground, right? The multiple calculations and corrections we make while driving mirror the many choices we are faced with in life. Experienced drivers make their choices on a subconscious level, but maintain the required awareness to get them where they need or want to go. In life, some choices require more intention in order to arrive safely at our destination.
Even with GPS.
Buckle up and be careful out there.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Strength vs Power; Strength and Power; Strength or Power
A group of senior managers was discussing an opening for a new supervisory position. The managers went around the table, assessing employees and their suitability for promotion.
After the accolades, the managers moved on to other candidates, without any serious discussion about promoting their “linchpin.”
That omission seemed to be a disconnect to me, so I raised the question: Why not Sandra?
The managers were surprised, and a little sheepish. They described Sandra as the foundation of their efforts; someone who never refused additional tasks or late hours. She cheerfully mentored less-experienced coworkers, often without being asked.
I asked again: Why not Sandra?
The managers kinda shrugged. They just never saw her as management material. "She's always so pleasant and unassuming," one said. "Never high-maintenance; never asks anything for herself."
"She's a real worker bee," another person concluded.I have to acknowledge a degree of hypersensitivity about the concept of “strong women.” I’ve been hearing about “strong black women” all of my life. I consider myself to be a strong black woman. However, my adult observations of strong women left me somewhat ambivalent. Strong women take care of business and everyone around them. People celebrate their strength and turn to them for help.
But all too often, strong women neglect themselves. They live on the feeling of being needed without ever showing enough self-love to demand the appreciation they deserve.
Strength is the ability to withstand. A strong person can take on more and more weight and still keep going. But there is a limit. Eventually, even the strongest person will break if they are pushed too far beyond their limit.
And the “strong” label can produce an unsettling side effect: Admirers of strong people may see that strength as permission to keep piling on, never questioning if their continued requests for help turn into exploitation. They reinforce the unequal relationship with their gratitude for each assist, and another declaration of admiration for strength.
People talk a lot about “strong” leaders. What I think they really want is a "powerful" leader.
By “powerful,” I don’t mean someone who moves through the world with an unspoken threat of force and the willingness to use it against enemies. I define power as the ability to influence other people, to collaborate and gain knowledge from the perspectives of others, and then lead people to a common purpose or goal.
Strength, in its ability to withstand, is static. Power is dynamic. Strength develops from within. Power radiates out. And you can’t have power without first developing strength.
Some people fear power because of all the historic examples of its abuse. Yet, you rarely hear someone disparage the quality of strength.
By my assessment, the senior managers were overlooking a powerful leader in Sandra. I don’t discount their instincts: there was something about Sandra’s personal presentation that caused them to "hold her small;" that made them see her more as a subordinate than a leader. Perhaps one of them could mentor her about the culture of management in their organization so that she could better “look” like a manager.
By all accounts, Sandra has the goods. Maybe senior management will be willing to use its power to help her become the supervisor it wants.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Trust
A while ago I was listening to a talk radio program on my local NPR station as I drove my teen-aged daughter to an appointment. The topic interested both of us: how parents can monitor internet access by their young children and teens. The guest was an IT executive who had written a book about protecting children from online threats. He detailed a list of precautions parents and schools could take to disable, limit and monitor internet use through computers, cell phones and video games. He also mentioned various software that could allow parents to control access to websites, or track and record the websites kids visit, right down to each individual keystroke. He clearly saw his efforts as part of a war to keep his children safe.
As my daughter and I listened, the author described how he sometimes would catch his teen looking over his shoulder as he worked on his computer, trying to capture the passwords he used. He saw it as a game between them, with his daughter trying to circumvent his controls and his working to stay a step ahead of her efforts.
The first caller into the show was another father who had installed tracking software on his home computer. His question was whether he ever should tell his children about the monitoring systems. The author’s answer was an immediate, unequivocal “NO.”
My daughter turned to me, horrified. I was pretty shocked myself. “’Why wouldn’t he tell them?” she asked. “Why would it be so bad for his kids to know?”
I dropped my daughter off, her question unanswered. So I took it upon myself to call into the show. I pulled over to the side of the road as I waited my turn. The author said that if kids knew about the tracking software, they would try to defeat it. I asked wouldn’t his efforts be more effective if he told his children why he felt the need to monitor their surfing, and how many bad actors there were on the ‘net. It seemed to me that as an IT executive, he could make a pretty strong case.
The author’s reply suddenly turned dramatic, with stories of children who had been abused or even killed by perps they met online. I wanted to return the conversation back to the issue of transparency and trust, but my five minutes of broadcast fame were over and they were on to the next call.
The discussion left me dissatisfied (as most incomplete discussions do). I felt that the author totally missed my point. I had no problem with the tools and options he offered parents to help keep their kids safe. What I did regret was the lost opportunity to provide guidance and learning to the children so that they could develop their own radar and safe practices for the internet. He never explained what he would do if his software did catch a visit to a dangerous website. How would he address his discovery? And how would his warnings and admonitions be received? Wouldn’t the first reaction from his children be “They’ve been spying on me. They don’t trust me. And I can’t trust them.”
This is a story about parenting, but its applications can move directly into a business environment. How many executives work to micro manage and control every contingency, without empowering their employees with the sense of confidence they need to handle the unexpected? In his effort to create a controlled, safe world for his kids, the author offered them no instruction on what to do when they encountered the Internet without his supervision -- at a friend’s home, or at the public library. The only learning his daughter seemed to gain was how to gather information through spying – just like her father.
In most relationships. growth requires some element of trust. The great thing is that whether trust is earned or abused, it still offers the opportunity for growth, for the truster and the trustee.
It’s not safe. But neither is life.
As my daughter and I listened, the author described how he sometimes would catch his teen looking over his shoulder as he worked on his computer, trying to capture the passwords he used. He saw it as a game between them, with his daughter trying to circumvent his controls and his working to stay a step ahead of her efforts.
The first caller into the show was another father who had installed tracking software on his home computer. His question was whether he ever should tell his children about the monitoring systems. The author’s answer was an immediate, unequivocal “NO.”
My daughter turned to me, horrified. I was pretty shocked myself. “’Why wouldn’t he tell them?” she asked. “Why would it be so bad for his kids to know?”
I dropped my daughter off, her question unanswered. So I took it upon myself to call into the show. I pulled over to the side of the road as I waited my turn. The author said that if kids knew about the tracking software, they would try to defeat it. I asked wouldn’t his efforts be more effective if he told his children why he felt the need to monitor their surfing, and how many bad actors there were on the ‘net. It seemed to me that as an IT executive, he could make a pretty strong case.
The author’s reply suddenly turned dramatic, with stories of children who had been abused or even killed by perps they met online. I wanted to return the conversation back to the issue of transparency and trust, but my five minutes of broadcast fame were over and they were on to the next call.
The discussion left me dissatisfied (as most incomplete discussions do). I felt that the author totally missed my point. I had no problem with the tools and options he offered parents to help keep their kids safe. What I did regret was the lost opportunity to provide guidance and learning to the children so that they could develop their own radar and safe practices for the internet. He never explained what he would do if his software did catch a visit to a dangerous website. How would he address his discovery? And how would his warnings and admonitions be received? Wouldn’t the first reaction from his children be “They’ve been spying on me. They don’t trust me. And I can’t trust them.”
This is a story about parenting, but its applications can move directly into a business environment. How many executives work to micro manage and control every contingency, without empowering their employees with the sense of confidence they need to handle the unexpected? In his effort to create a controlled, safe world for his kids, the author offered them no instruction on what to do when they encountered the Internet without his supervision -- at a friend’s home, or at the public library. The only learning his daughter seemed to gain was how to gather information through spying – just like her father.
In most relationships. growth requires some element of trust. The great thing is that whether trust is earned or abused, it still offers the opportunity for growth, for the truster and the trustee.
It’s not safe. But neither is life.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Pack Up Your Troubles In Your Old Kit Bag…
…they’re easier to find that way.
A client received a prestigious, long-sought promotion. The position was one of those jobs where preparation only goes so far. It was an environment of multiple deadlines and variable tasks; a place where the learning is done by the doing. Skill comes from the day to day experience.
“Adam’s” appointment was recognition of his native intelligence and his ability to be a quick study. He is a keen observer and picks up new skills quickly. He clearly met the specs for the job.
As you might imagine, in such an environment, mistakes will be made. And Adam made them. Within his first week, he made an obvious error. His supervisor took him aside, corrected him, reassured him and moved on.
Adam could not let go of his mistake. He kept replaying it in his head, reviewing not only his error, but the nuanced reaction of every colleague. The flub absorbed so much of his attention that (you saw this coming) a deadline slipped past him and Boom! Another mistake.
Now Adam was convinced there was a pattern. A pattern of his screwing up. And why not? He’d been a screw up all his life; a misfit, a geek. He was irresponsible, careless, and just not too bright.
Huh? Didn’t I just describe Adam as bright and capable? And hadn’t his employer assessed his talent to be the perfect fit for his new job?
All that was true. But that reality did not mesh with the story of his childhood, where parents and grade school teachers gave him enough negative labels to fill a backpack. And although Adam had achieved great academic and professional success, the bullied child he had been never was far away. Any time his performance was less than perfect, Adam reached back into the “knapsack o’ negativity” he always kept nearby to find the perfect label for his screw up.
It’s true that our mistakes and our failures often can provide us with more learning than our successes. At the very least, a failure offers the opportunity to examine it and say “well, I’ll never do THAT again!” But exaggerated focus on the negative makes it grow bigger, limiting our ability to move forward or change course. And even if we manage to keep moving, the effort takes more energy, making the journey just that much more difficult.
Adam’s “knapsack” stalled his momentum in two ways: it weighed him down and caused him to stop periodically as he gathered up more proof of his defects and added them to the collection.
What would it be like to lay down that “knapsack o’ negativity?”
Sunday, July 6, 2008
It's My Story
One of my grad students came by the main classroom of our summer program to update us on the first week of her internship. She was concerned because she had turned down the opportunity to do some field work with people outside her assigned department. Afterwards, her onsite supervisor pulled her aside to let her know that she should have taken the chance to experience different types of work.
Now the student feared she had set a negative impression for the rest of the summer. She explained in great detail why she had been reluctant to step outside her assignment; how she was surprised at how intimidated she was by her talented and experienced co-workers, and the dialogue she had in her head each time she had to interact with them.
In turn, my colleagues and I tried to reassure the student that one false step did not have to sour the rest of the internship. We offered her support; assured her that her professors and her employer had confidence in her abilities. We suggested scripts to use when talking with her colleagues, and to use her sincere admiration as a starting point in conversation. After all, everyone appreciates appreciation.
The student nodded and agreed with all we had to offer. Yet, she continued to rotate between the three faculty members, revisiting the hows and whys of her failure. After the second rotation, I came to realize how wedded she had become to her story. It had become her pet.
People make up stories all the time. And by “story,” I don’t mean lies or deliberate misrepresentations. We all use stories to make sense of the circumstances and situations we encounter every day. It helps to be able to compare an encounter to previous experience. Imagine living each day while having to assess anew each person and each action. It would be exhausting and paralyzing at the same time.
Unfortunately, we can get stuck with stories which no longer are true or no longer work for us. As with my student. Whatever benefit she gained from the self-analysis of her workplace error diminished as she revisited it again and again. In each retelling, the story became a more familiar pet that she could stroke and show off and share with others. It didn’t matter that the story showed her in a negative light. It brought her a certain comfort. It was her story, dammit, and she was sticking to it.
The practice of self awareness also requires balance. We need to assess which stories we use and why; when they work for us and when they outlive their usefulness.
Now the student feared she had set a negative impression for the rest of the summer. She explained in great detail why she had been reluctant to step outside her assignment; how she was surprised at how intimidated she was by her talented and experienced co-workers, and the dialogue she had in her head each time she had to interact with them.
In turn, my colleagues and I tried to reassure the student that one false step did not have to sour the rest of the internship. We offered her support; assured her that her professors and her employer had confidence in her abilities. We suggested scripts to use when talking with her colleagues, and to use her sincere admiration as a starting point in conversation. After all, everyone appreciates appreciation.
The student nodded and agreed with all we had to offer. Yet, she continued to rotate between the three faculty members, revisiting the hows and whys of her failure. After the second rotation, I came to realize how wedded she had become to her story. It had become her pet.
People make up stories all the time. And by “story,” I don’t mean lies or deliberate misrepresentations. We all use stories to make sense of the circumstances and situations we encounter every day. It helps to be able to compare an encounter to previous experience. Imagine living each day while having to assess anew each person and each action. It would be exhausting and paralyzing at the same time.
Unfortunately, we can get stuck with stories which no longer are true or no longer work for us. As with my student. Whatever benefit she gained from the self-analysis of her workplace error diminished as she revisited it again and again. In each retelling, the story became a more familiar pet that she could stroke and show off and share with others. It didn’t matter that the story showed her in a negative light. It brought her a certain comfort. It was her story, dammit, and she was sticking to it.
The practice of self awareness also requires balance. We need to assess which stories we use and why; when they work for us and when they outlive their usefulness.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
A Perfect Life
This is a long post, and it may meander a bit. I ask for your patience and your indulgence.
One of my grade school classmates was laid to rest yesterday. I use the euphemistic cliché “laid to rest” as an exercise of irony: my classmate clearly found no peace in his last days on this earth. He took his own life in a rather graphic way.
I will tread as lightly as possible on the details of my classmate's life, for the sake of his family and loved ones. And in another bit of irony, it is my awareness of the affection so many people had for the departed that has consumed my thoughts since learning of his death.
“Ray” (I must use a pseudonym here: too hard to write about such a vibrant personality without giving the respect of a proper noun), was the class cut up, the guy everyone had a story about; a memory that made us smile. I first met him in a seventh grade music class on a hot September afternoon. It was during our first days in junior high school and as seventh graders, we were the lowest of the low in the pecking order. In this environment, Ray coordinated a brilliant prank with the music books at the end of class and carried it off flawlessly. As the teacher sputtered, I sat in awe of my peer who had the confidence to pull off a prank of this magnitude so early in the school year.
Ray exuded confidence and fun. People were drawn to him. In a suburban school environment where the majority of students were white and middle to upper middle class, this young black man from a less traditional family structure was a star.
In hindsight, I realize how Ray must have studied the contrast between his home life and that of his classmates. Our suburb was nationally known for its affluence back in the 1960’s, and even among the black children, many of the parents had at least one college degree and the lifestyles that level of achievement could provide. For all his confidence, it was clear that Ray hungered for that perfect life.
Ray was mischievous, glib and a bit of a con artist. Well, sometimes, a lot of a con artist. He always looked at all of the angles, and probed for shortcuts. But there was something so expansive about his personality and his quick intelligence that it was impossible not to like him. Even my mom, a no-nonsense woman who was on the faculty at our school, had to smile when she talked about Ray. Even if she were talking about his latest reprimand or detention.
Ray’s reliance on his quick mind and silver tongue lead him to make some bad decisions early in his adult life, and he paid dearly for those mistakes. Yet, through those same qualities, he was afforded second chances of gargantuan proportions and managed to earn advanced degrees and create what appeared to be a successful professional and personal life, back in the community where he had grown up.
But appearance can be so deceiving.
Another classmate emailed me a copy of Ray’s obituary from my hometown newspaper. Of course, it did not mention the cause of death. Through that link, I read the pages of condolence messages sent in from people from all over the country. I recognized the names of many former classmates, all heartbroken. Their messages made clear that they knew how Ray had left us, even as we asked why.
In her 1999 song "Still," Alanis Morisette writes from the perspective of a supreme being, listing the basic duality of human nature with lyrics like:
“I am your joy and your regret.
I am your fury and your elation.
I am your yearning and your sweat.
I am your faithless and your religion.”
As the song progresses, Morisette shows the worst human tendencies, yet reminds the listener of the eternal availability of hope:
“I see you averting your glances.
I see you cheering on the war.
I see you ignoring your children,
And I love you still.
And I love you still.”
You can link to the complete lyrics here:
http://www.sweetslyrics.com/95267.ALANIS%20MORISSETTE%20-%20Still.html
I don’t think Ray believed that we all saw his frailties, and knew of his failures. But we saw him completely, and he was perfect. We loved him still. I wish that he loved himself.
One of my grade school classmates was laid to rest yesterday. I use the euphemistic cliché “laid to rest” as an exercise of irony: my classmate clearly found no peace in his last days on this earth. He took his own life in a rather graphic way.
I will tread as lightly as possible on the details of my classmate's life, for the sake of his family and loved ones. And in another bit of irony, it is my awareness of the affection so many people had for the departed that has consumed my thoughts since learning of his death.
“Ray” (I must use a pseudonym here: too hard to write about such a vibrant personality without giving the respect of a proper noun), was the class cut up, the guy everyone had a story about; a memory that made us smile. I first met him in a seventh grade music class on a hot September afternoon. It was during our first days in junior high school and as seventh graders, we were the lowest of the low in the pecking order. In this environment, Ray coordinated a brilliant prank with the music books at the end of class and carried it off flawlessly. As the teacher sputtered, I sat in awe of my peer who had the confidence to pull off a prank of this magnitude so early in the school year.
Ray exuded confidence and fun. People were drawn to him. In a suburban school environment where the majority of students were white and middle to upper middle class, this young black man from a less traditional family structure was a star.
In hindsight, I realize how Ray must have studied the contrast between his home life and that of his classmates. Our suburb was nationally known for its affluence back in the 1960’s, and even among the black children, many of the parents had at least one college degree and the lifestyles that level of achievement could provide. For all his confidence, it was clear that Ray hungered for that perfect life.
Ray was mischievous, glib and a bit of a con artist. Well, sometimes, a lot of a con artist. He always looked at all of the angles, and probed for shortcuts. But there was something so expansive about his personality and his quick intelligence that it was impossible not to like him. Even my mom, a no-nonsense woman who was on the faculty at our school, had to smile when she talked about Ray. Even if she were talking about his latest reprimand or detention.
Ray’s reliance on his quick mind and silver tongue lead him to make some bad decisions early in his adult life, and he paid dearly for those mistakes. Yet, through those same qualities, he was afforded second chances of gargantuan proportions and managed to earn advanced degrees and create what appeared to be a successful professional and personal life, back in the community where he had grown up.
But appearance can be so deceiving.
Another classmate emailed me a copy of Ray’s obituary from my hometown newspaper. Of course, it did not mention the cause of death. Through that link, I read the pages of condolence messages sent in from people from all over the country. I recognized the names of many former classmates, all heartbroken. Their messages made clear that they knew how Ray had left us, even as we asked why.
In her 1999 song "Still," Alanis Morisette writes from the perspective of a supreme being, listing the basic duality of human nature with lyrics like:
“I am your joy and your regret.
I am your fury and your elation.
I am your yearning and your sweat.
I am your faithless and your religion.”
As the song progresses, Morisette shows the worst human tendencies, yet reminds the listener of the eternal availability of hope:
“I see you averting your glances.
I see you cheering on the war.
I see you ignoring your children,
And I love you still.
And I love you still.”
You can link to the complete lyrics here:
http://www.sweetslyrics.com/95267.ALANIS%20MORISSETTE%20-%20Still.html
I don’t think Ray believed that we all saw his frailties, and knew of his failures. But we saw him completely, and he was perfect. We loved him still. I wish that he loved himself.
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