Digging Out

It's day three after the historic snowstorm in the Mid-Atlantic region. The sun is shining and the snowplows finally found my street today. Around the neighborhood, there is a feeling of optimism, at least for now.

I grew up in the Midwest, so I know from snow. And I know how to deal with it, both driving and maintenance around the house. I've lived in the Washington area long enough to know the snow rituals that come with any forecast that predicts more than three inches of snow: a run on hardware stores for shovels and ice melt, and a separate run on the groceries for milk and toilet paper.

(I never understood the repeated sellouts of shovels and toilet paper. Seems like people would have enough on a regular basis, you know?)

However, the storm we just had met all the predictions and then some. There were points when we got two to three inches of snow per hour. I had never seen anything like it, including during the times I lived in Cleveland, Boston and Chicago.

By midday Saturday we had about 20 inches of snow. The flakes were still falling, but my son and I joined our neighbors in beginning to do a preliminary clearing of sidewalk and the stairway and the walk up to the house. My son questioned the utility of such an exercise since there was more snow to come.




His Midwestern-raised mother knew we needed to act in order to expand our options later. The snow was wet and heavy. If we waited, the top layers would help to freeze the bottom layers, making removal more difficult later. And frankly, the more snow we cleared on Saturday meant less work when the flurries finally stopped.

I'm kinda anal about shoveling. I don't believe in creating a shovel-width path. If possible, I want to clear the whole damn walkway, from edge to edge and right down to the pavement. I sprinkle ice melt on every uncovered surface. I want to have room to move and change direction, and make my footing as sure as I can. I want to be prepared for what's coming next, instead of relying on for circumstances like rising temperatures and melting to clear my path.



Of course, a lot of things are beyond my control. A person only has so much energy, and a narrow path may be all one can reasonably clear. Sometimes there's someone to help you; sometimes you have to plow through on your own. You do what you can.

Also beyond my control: the weather. Forecasters are calling for another four to eight inches of snow to hit us tomorrow night.

I think we'll be ok. I know we have more options for how to handle the next storm because of the decisions we made on Saturday.

Worry Beats Denial

“Worry is not preparation.”

I came across this quote a few months ago and it rang so true for me that immediately posted it here.

(I think the source is author C.S. Lewis – if anyone can confirm, let me know.)

Now I have met an executive who illustrates what I think should be the corollary to that quote: “But worry is better than denial.”

Bryant runs internal training and development programs for a major communications company. He also has input in content development. His operation enjoyed a great degree of autonomy, and he reported directly to the CEO.

Until about three months ago.

In short order, the old CEO was gone and a new one came in. The company made a reassessment of its financials and suddenly, layoffs and buyout offers were flying through the organization.

Bryant now reports to the recently-promoted senior vice president of another department within the company, a person who used to be a peer in title and status.

Oh – and Bryant’s office was moved out of the main headquarters to a spacious office in an auxiliary building around the corner.

These changes occurred just as Bryant was launching a major training initiative, one that he and the previous CEO had spent more than a year to design and fine tune for the specific needs of their organization. In senior staff meetings, the new CEO publicly expressed continued support for the effort, but privately had little time to discuss execution and follow through.

Bryant’s new supervisor seemed uncertain about the purpose of the project, and erratic in his offers of attention and support. Bryant’s efforts to provide clarity were met by resistance and sometimes, outright hostility.

Bryant is convinced that once his project is complete, and once his organization recognizes its value, a wave of appreciation will sweep over the new CEO, his supervisor and the rest of the senior management team.

Bryant is not worried. He should be.

The ground has totally shifted beneath Bryant’s feet, yet he is convinced that the path to safety lies in following the same road map he created before the upheaval. He doesn’t realize that as good as his project may be, he is the only one left who is invested in its success. Or that the definition of success may have changed.

If Bryant were worried, he might be thinking more about identifying what the new CEO sees as the biggest problems now facing the company, and how to offer support.

If Bryant were worried, he might be thinking hard about the possible scenarios for his future with the organization, and start developing new options within the company and beyond.

Worry is not preparation. But it can be the place where preparation begins.

Birthday Blog

At this moment 21 years ago, I was sitting in bed with my feet propped up, too hot and too pregnant to have any hope of finding comfort for more than a few minutes at a time.

I’d worked a full day, even though I was three days past my due date. Congress had just concluded its televised hearings on the Iran-Contra guns-for-hostages scandal, and I’d spent the last few months watching and reporting on each session. I sat in bed with a clear view of what I’d just finished, and no idea of when my next act would begin or what that would mean.

Well, I thought I had a clue. I’d read every book I could get my hands on. Peer wisdom had to come from my older sister, the mother of two. I’d been the first to marry among my core group of girl friends, and now I was breaking new ground yet again.

The experience was different for my husband. He had two children from his first marriage, so although this would be our first child together, he did have perspective that I did not. Still, I had prepared myself as well as any woman could. And in a few hours, it would totally be out of my hands.

What an idiot. As if I truly could ever been prepared for what August 19, 1987 would mean to me. As if all my preparation could create a perfect life for my baby, providing protection from all life’s vagaries and challenges, all the triumphs and the hurts, the abundance of love and the losses.

There is no way I could have known what it would be like to raise this child or the sibling that was to follow, or to predict that ultimately I would raise them as a widow, 180 degrees from the life I had planned for them.

Today I celebrate my son’s 21st birthday. I cannot express the depth of my pride in the man he’s become, and the gratitude I feel in my blessing.

And although he would object loudly and vociferously to my saying this, He Is Perfect.

Right Goes Wrong

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.