I grew up during a time when the picture-perfect holiday was splashed across every medium.
That was the day of Christmas-card-sending, and when the mailman's load grew heavy, it was from greeting cards, not from Christmas catalogs. (We were often surprised by wonderful hand-written notes from old friends and distant relatives. It was before the one-size-fits-all Christmas update letter.) The Christmas cards themselves often featured cozy fireplace scenes, peaceful snow covered hills, and beautiful starlight nights.
TV ads also showed an idealized version of the holiday. Clydesdales pulled a sleigh smoothly through pristine, powdery snow. Families gathered in the warm glow of a lovely living room furnished with the perfectly decorated tree and stockings hanging from the mantle. Succulent Christmas dinners were served by a beaming mother and carved expertly by the father.
The Christmas movies also reinforced the ideal image with happily-ever-afters, all's-well-that-ends-well's, and bad guys with hearts of gold. Everyone received just the gift they had most desired. Miracles took place. Sick people got well. It was beautiful, and I swallowed it whole.
Of course, I was aware of discrepancies between that ideal and my own experience. It was sad but true that our town was too warm for a snow-covered landscape. I'm dreaming of a white Christmas was my theme song because dreaming was as close as I was going to get.
Our house had no fireplace and therefore no mantle and no stockings. My mom never brought out a whole turkey for my father to carve. (Our approach was much more practical: the bird was always sliced in the kitchen and came to the table ready-to-eat.)
Every Christmas I received an array of nice gifts, but none of them made an impression as being my heart's desire, and I never noticed much happily-ever-after going on. In the back of my mind, I always thought my family's Christmas seemed to fall a bit short of the Christmas we were "supposed" to have. Reality never quite measured up to those ideals, those expectations of perfection. I think I thought it would all be different when I grew up and had my own household.
But it wasn't different. Oh, my home has a fireplace, and my husband carves the turkey -- but no matter how hard I tried over the years, I never felt we achieved the absolute perfection of the holiday ideal. Some relative would be out of sorts. Preparing that extensive holiday meal is tiring, and if I came to the table beaming it was from perspiration. Finally, I don't know about your fireplace, but at our house it always seemed to be too warm close to it and too cold on the other side of the room.
Over the years I've made peace with the fact that the elusive holiday pictured in the media is a marketing fiction. I've learned that no matter how hard I try, I can't ensure that everyone at my house will have a grand time. I've learned to take advantage of short cuts and time-savers in all the holiday preparations; I've learned to give myself a break.
Once I identified and abandoned that mostly subconscious expectation of "the perfect holiday," my holidays have improved dramatically. Wrenching those cozy mental pictures out of my head took years, but I'm finally able to enjoy December without constantly comparing my experience to Christmas cards and commercials and movies. The holiday monkey is off my back.
Maybe I'll write a recovery program for the extreme expectations woven into our psyches by mass media, our culture, our marketers.
Meanwhile, merry (realistic) Christmas!
Friday, December 21, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Wet streets
We've had a lot of wet streets lately. We all know it's important for drivers to be cautious and possibly slow down a bit when the road surfaces are shiny with rain or sleet.
Since we are in the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas, it is much more normal for people to be busily zipping around -- if they can. But I am absolutely certain that there are more cars on the roads during this season each year.
I don't know where all those extra people come from. Do they lurk in their garages all year and come out in December like some sort of nocternal birds? Do they hibernate through the heat of the summer, waiting until rainy winter days to venture out to clog up the roads and parking lots?
This is also the time of year when I drive to work in the morning in the dark, and I drive home after work in the dark. It can get me down if I let it. It makes the work day feel 12-14 hours long somehow.
So, because of the dark, the heavy traffic, the rain that (often) slows the speed of the cars, I seem to be spending a lot of time in my car in the dark inching along on wet streets. As I roll along a half-car-length at a time, I am entertained by the way wet streets reflect light.
The shiny road surfaces multiply the headlights to my left and the tail lights stretching over the hill in front of me. Neon store lights seem to echo across the wet parking lots. Christmas decorations blink on houses and in yards and are reflected on the wet driveways.
This is the darkest part of the year, and this is the most illuminated time of the year. We turn on lights, and the rain ups the ante.
Sitting in my car, the scene puts me in a reflective -- sorry about that! -- mood. Maybe I'm a little bit hypnotized by the visuals or maybe like an overstimulated toddler, I'm lulled toward dreams. I sit in the endless traffic, waiting, looking, thinking.
Over the years, I've learned to capitalize on these unexpected snatches of time. (Long delays in airports when I'm traveling alone. Interminable waits in doctors' waiting rooms. ) These can turn into great stolen moments for meditation.
This year the wet streets are the context for counting the blessings in my life. Remembering all the good things of 2007, reviewing all the kind faces that have brightened my day with smiles, acknowledging that I have been richly blessed. There have been troubles and sadnesses to be sure, but those melt away in light of the good.
The multiplied lights in the wet streets remind me of the blessings that surround me but go unnoticed until I have these unplanned opportunities to realize what I should be grateful for.
Since we are in the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas, it is much more normal for people to be busily zipping around -- if they can. But I am absolutely certain that there are more cars on the roads during this season each year.
I don't know where all those extra people come from. Do they lurk in their garages all year and come out in December like some sort of nocternal birds? Do they hibernate through the heat of the summer, waiting until rainy winter days to venture out to clog up the roads and parking lots?
This is also the time of year when I drive to work in the morning in the dark, and I drive home after work in the dark. It can get me down if I let it. It makes the work day feel 12-14 hours long somehow.
So, because of the dark, the heavy traffic, the rain that (often) slows the speed of the cars, I seem to be spending a lot of time in my car in the dark inching along on wet streets. As I roll along a half-car-length at a time, I am entertained by the way wet streets reflect light.
The shiny road surfaces multiply the headlights to my left and the tail lights stretching over the hill in front of me. Neon store lights seem to echo across the wet parking lots. Christmas decorations blink on houses and in yards and are reflected on the wet driveways.
This is the darkest part of the year, and this is the most illuminated time of the year. We turn on lights, and the rain ups the ante.
Sitting in my car, the scene puts me in a reflective -- sorry about that! -- mood. Maybe I'm a little bit hypnotized by the visuals or maybe like an overstimulated toddler, I'm lulled toward dreams. I sit in the endless traffic, waiting, looking, thinking.
Over the years, I've learned to capitalize on these unexpected snatches of time. (Long delays in airports when I'm traveling alone. Interminable waits in doctors' waiting rooms. ) These can turn into great stolen moments for meditation.
This year the wet streets are the context for counting the blessings in my life. Remembering all the good things of 2007, reviewing all the kind faces that have brightened my day with smiles, acknowledging that I have been richly blessed. There have been troubles and sadnesses to be sure, but those melt away in light of the good.
The multiplied lights in the wet streets remind me of the blessings that surround me but go unnoticed until I have these unplanned opportunities to realize what I should be grateful for.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Touch
When I shop for clothes, I touch the fabrics. I am particularly attracted to clothes that are luxuriously soft or smooth.
I have a jacket that is not a color I would ordinarily buy -- and from a previous post you know how important color is to me! -- but I own the jacket because it is unusually soft to the touch. When I wear it, I often stroke the left sleeve with my right hand, and when anyone compliments the jacket, I thank them and then invite them to feel the sleeve to marvel at how soft it is.
I have always liked stuffed animals, not because I like animals, but because I like the way they feel when I cuddle them. I can even tell you which brands of stuffed animals feel best.
Touching is an important interpersonal element as we all know. I wonder if that is one reason we continue the ancient greeting of shaking hands -- not to show we bear no weapons, but to touch. Similarly, I think this is why we sometimes hug when we greet people.
Touching is an effective way to show sympathy for someone. I often touch another's arm or hand when I am indicating shared emotion.
Of course, affection is shown through touching . . . a father tossles a small boy's hair, a guy cuffs his friend's shoulder, a couple holds hands.
A touch is a simple gesture . . . not hard to learn and certainly not hard to perform. No complicated steps involved. But it can make all the difference . . . in communicating feeling, in bridging interpersonal chasms, in understanding the world around us.
I wonder if that is why anything that gets past our emotional defenses, past our stoic facades is said to be --- touching.
I have a jacket that is not a color I would ordinarily buy -- and from a previous post you know how important color is to me! -- but I own the jacket because it is unusually soft to the touch. When I wear it, I often stroke the left sleeve with my right hand, and when anyone compliments the jacket, I thank them and then invite them to feel the sleeve to marvel at how soft it is.
I have always liked stuffed animals, not because I like animals, but because I like the way they feel when I cuddle them. I can even tell you which brands of stuffed animals feel best.
Touching is an important interpersonal element as we all know. I wonder if that is one reason we continue the ancient greeting of shaking hands -- not to show we bear no weapons, but to touch. Similarly, I think this is why we sometimes hug when we greet people.
Touching is an effective way to show sympathy for someone. I often touch another's arm or hand when I am indicating shared emotion.
Of course, affection is shown through touching . . . a father tossles a small boy's hair, a guy cuffs his friend's shoulder, a couple holds hands.
A touch is a simple gesture . . . not hard to learn and certainly not hard to perform. No complicated steps involved. But it can make all the difference . . . in communicating feeling, in bridging interpersonal chasms, in understanding the world around us.
I wonder if that is why anything that gets past our emotional defenses, past our stoic facades is said to be --- touching.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Random acts
The town where I live has an abundance of juniper trees growing in groups and as singles all over the place. Most of the year they are simply a source of the pollen that makes many people suffer allergic reactions. At this time of year, however, they turn into Christmas trees.
On the route from my office in the north part of town to my home in the west part of town, one stretch of road sports a whole herd of perfectly shaped juniper trees -- some older and taller, some shorter, some fuller, some with sparser folliage. They stand on a slight slope, about 20-25 feet from the roadway.
As soon as the Thanksgiving turkey has been finished, unknown elves -- or others filled with the Christmas spirit -- stealthily approach first one tree and then another.
First, silver garland rings one tree. Then a day or two later another tree shows off gold garland and red ball ornaments. Over the course of a week or two, virtually every tree is adorned for the season.
You never see the tree-decorating in progress. I suppose it must occur in the dead of night when there are no witnesses. Whatever the hour of the decorating, the Christmas spirit as displayed on these roadside trees greets all of us caught in rush hour traffic.
I love these random acts of kindness and good cheer. Someone chooses not only to decorate their own tree, but also to provide decoration to public trees that we all can enjoy.
Don't you just delight in this sort of giving?! Happy holidays!
On the route from my office in the north part of town to my home in the west part of town, one stretch of road sports a whole herd of perfectly shaped juniper trees -- some older and taller, some shorter, some fuller, some with sparser folliage. They stand on a slight slope, about 20-25 feet from the roadway.
As soon as the Thanksgiving turkey has been finished, unknown elves -- or others filled with the Christmas spirit -- stealthily approach first one tree and then another.
First, silver garland rings one tree. Then a day or two later another tree shows off gold garland and red ball ornaments. Over the course of a week or two, virtually every tree is adorned for the season.
You never see the tree-decorating in progress. I suppose it must occur in the dead of night when there are no witnesses. Whatever the hour of the decorating, the Christmas spirit as displayed on these roadside trees greets all of us caught in rush hour traffic.
I love these random acts of kindness and good cheer. Someone chooses not only to decorate their own tree, but also to provide decoration to public trees that we all can enjoy.
Don't you just delight in this sort of giving?! Happy holidays!
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Glitter
Have you ever noticed how persistent glitter is?
If you ever have cause to handle anything with glitter on it, you know what I mean. No matter how careful you are, it sticks to you -- sometimes for days.
You can't rub it off. The shower seems to have no success at washing it away. And you can't really lift it off your skin very well. It sticks to you no matter what.
And not only does it stick to your skin, it shines. Glitter will not be sidelined, cannot be forced to sit quietly, unheralded. No! It advertises its presence at every opportunity, catching the eye of anyone around.
Not long ago I bought a party blouse that sparkles. I wore it to a special event and then hung it in my closet to wait for the next party.
The next day I noticed that I had glitter from the blouse on my collar bones. I brushed myself with a towel. I washed with soap and water. I tried to wipe the bits of glitter away with a tissue and with my hand. No luck. I put on a high-necked shirt.
Next I noticed that my car had been glittered. Apparently, wearing that blouse in my car going to and from the event had left an indelible mark on my car. There were specks of glitter on the leather seats and on the carpet. Now I guess the glitter will transfer to all my other clothes when I drive my car anywhere.
Just last week -- almost a month after that dress-up event I attended -- I saw glitter on the carpet on the stairs at my house. And that same day I saw some of the glitter at my desk at the office. It's everywhere.
Doesn't it make you wonder how we might apply glitter's persistent stickiness to other things that we WANT to keep handy?
If you ever have cause to handle anything with glitter on it, you know what I mean. No matter how careful you are, it sticks to you -- sometimes for days.
You can't rub it off. The shower seems to have no success at washing it away. And you can't really lift it off your skin very well. It sticks to you no matter what.
And not only does it stick to your skin, it shines. Glitter will not be sidelined, cannot be forced to sit quietly, unheralded. No! It advertises its presence at every opportunity, catching the eye of anyone around.
Not long ago I bought a party blouse that sparkles. I wore it to a special event and then hung it in my closet to wait for the next party.
The next day I noticed that I had glitter from the blouse on my collar bones. I brushed myself with a towel. I washed with soap and water. I tried to wipe the bits of glitter away with a tissue and with my hand. No luck. I put on a high-necked shirt.
Next I noticed that my car had been glittered. Apparently, wearing that blouse in my car going to and from the event had left an indelible mark on my car. There were specks of glitter on the leather seats and on the carpet. Now I guess the glitter will transfer to all my other clothes when I drive my car anywhere.
Just last week -- almost a month after that dress-up event I attended -- I saw glitter on the carpet on the stairs at my house. And that same day I saw some of the glitter at my desk at the office. It's everywhere.
Doesn't it make you wonder how we might apply glitter's persistent stickiness to other things that we WANT to keep handy?
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Words
Anybody who has spent any time around me knows that I love words and the use of words. It's also true that I find great amusement in the misuse of words.
Over the years, bosses, preachers, and tv announcers have provided many opportunities for an unexpected grin.
After sitting through a seemingly endless meeting of negotiations, I enjoyed hearing my boss say, "Now that we've got the basic tenements established, we can begin to flush out the skeleton." The best part was that he uttered these malapropisms with a straight face and utter unawarenes. It almost made the hours locked up in that conference room worthwhile.
I once had a girlfriend who described her mistakes as "fox paws". . . of course, she meant faux pas. She was also fond of saying that something had become a mute point. (If only that had been true!)
My family has always enjoyed spoonerisms. We frequently talk about something happening in one swell foop, and we apologize for getting our tangs tungled.
When I was a teenager, my dad went through a long period of enjoying this sort of word play. He liked to observe that his favorite singer was Boney Tennett. Shoes and socks became sues and shocks. Salt and pepper because palt and sepper. He drove us crazy with his mangling of words until he finally came out with some accidentally inappropriate phrases and embarrassed himself out of the spoonerism habit.
What finally stopped him? He mangled the phrase "tool kit" in front of the whole family.
Over the years, bosses, preachers, and tv announcers have provided many opportunities for an unexpected grin.
After sitting through a seemingly endless meeting of negotiations, I enjoyed hearing my boss say, "Now that we've got the basic tenements established, we can begin to flush out the skeleton." The best part was that he uttered these malapropisms with a straight face and utter unawarenes. It almost made the hours locked up in that conference room worthwhile.
I once had a girlfriend who described her mistakes as "fox paws". . . of course, she meant faux pas. She was also fond of saying that something had become a mute point. (If only that had been true!)
My family has always enjoyed spoonerisms. We frequently talk about something happening in one swell foop, and we apologize for getting our tangs tungled.
When I was a teenager, my dad went through a long period of enjoying this sort of word play. He liked to observe that his favorite singer was Boney Tennett. Shoes and socks became sues and shocks. Salt and pepper because palt and sepper. He drove us crazy with his mangling of words until he finally came out with some accidentally inappropriate phrases and embarrassed himself out of the spoonerism habit.
What finally stopped him? He mangled the phrase "tool kit" in front of the whole family.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
More signs
We went to Seattle recently.
The early morning flight caused me to be at the airport before I was fully awake. I decided to make a trip to the restroom before boarding the plane. I was stunned to see a NO EXIT sign just outside the restroom.
I immediately rethought how badly I needed to go.
Once in Seattle, it was inevitable that we would visit Pike Market. I love that place. All the little shops and their wide variety of wares are just plain fun. One sign hanging outside a storefront near Post Alley caught my eye: "Swiss Blades, Bavarian Meats, Espresso." Something for everyone, I guess.
In Pioneer Square, the historic district, we were amused to see an old sign outside a Victorian era building that had served as a hotel: "Rooms 75 cents, Baths 5 cents in Basement."
When we went north to visit the locks on the canal that connects Puget Sound to Union Lake, we drove by a tiny building where only walk-up service was provided. The sign advertised "Ice cream, Salmon, Burgers." Definitely not a sign you would see in Texas.
By the way, that "no exit" sign at the restroom was really meant to indicate that the hallway past the bathroom was closed due to construction. I guess they just placed it over near the restroom so that it wouldn't block the already closed hallway.
The early morning flight caused me to be at the airport before I was fully awake. I decided to make a trip to the restroom before boarding the plane. I was stunned to see a NO EXIT sign just outside the restroom.
I immediately rethought how badly I needed to go.
Once in Seattle, it was inevitable that we would visit Pike Market. I love that place. All the little shops and their wide variety of wares are just plain fun. One sign hanging outside a storefront near Post Alley caught my eye: "Swiss Blades, Bavarian Meats, Espresso." Something for everyone, I guess.
In Pioneer Square, the historic district, we were amused to see an old sign outside a Victorian era building that had served as a hotel: "Rooms 75 cents, Baths 5 cents in Basement."
When we went north to visit the locks on the canal that connects Puget Sound to Union Lake, we drove by a tiny building where only walk-up service was provided. The sign advertised "Ice cream, Salmon, Burgers." Definitely not a sign you would see in Texas.
By the way, that "no exit" sign at the restroom was really meant to indicate that the hallway past the bathroom was closed due to construction. I guess they just placed it over near the restroom so that it wouldn't block the already closed hallway.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Cracking myself up
I think it is tremendously important to be able to laugh at oneself -- for many, many reasons. Healthy perspective. Release of tension. And the scientists say that a deep laugh is physically beneficial for us too.
These are the kinds of things that happen every day that are good for a giggle:
Once I was on a tight deadline at the office, writing a speech for an elected official. The speech was needed now. I composed it, grabbed it from the printer, and started for the door to deliver it. As I glanced down, I saw it was upside down. My frazzled mind thought, "Oh no, I got it on the page wrong, I'll have to do it over!" Ha. Of course, then I just rotated the page around.
Another time on a cold, wet, wintry evening I was walking through a dark outdoor passage way. I was watching my steps carefully since there wasn't much light. I briefly raised my eyes to look ahead and was startled to see something dark just inches from my forehead. After dodging with the quick reflexes of a trained athlete, I realized it was just the brim of my hat. Ha ha.
My dad was probably the best person I've ever known at laughing at himself. In fact, many of our often-repeated, much-loved family stories are funny stories he told on himself.
Perhaps if we all practiced this healthy habit of telling stories on ourselves, we would be laughing a lot more and feeling much better!
These are the kinds of things that happen every day that are good for a giggle:
Once I was on a tight deadline at the office, writing a speech for an elected official. The speech was needed now. I composed it, grabbed it from the printer, and started for the door to deliver it. As I glanced down, I saw it was upside down. My frazzled mind thought, "Oh no, I got it on the page wrong, I'll have to do it over!" Ha. Of course, then I just rotated the page around.
Another time on a cold, wet, wintry evening I was walking through a dark outdoor passage way. I was watching my steps carefully since there wasn't much light. I briefly raised my eyes to look ahead and was startled to see something dark just inches from my forehead. After dodging with the quick reflexes of a trained athlete, I realized it was just the brim of my hat. Ha ha.
My dad was probably the best person I've ever known at laughing at himself. In fact, many of our often-repeated, much-loved family stories are funny stories he told on himself.
Perhaps if we all practiced this healthy habit of telling stories on ourselves, we would be laughing a lot more and feeling much better!
Monday, October 22, 2007
Reminders
Some days it seems that I have so many things to remember: Stop by the dry cleaner today or they are going to give away the clothes that have languished there for weeks! At the grocery store, don't forget the milk (again)! Remember to make that dental appointment.
At my desk at work, there are still more reminders: Report due Friday. Send that form to HR. Schedule next team meeting. Check in with supervisor. Work on agenda for committee.
Another kind of reminder is the representation of a relationship or special event. Photos of family and friends. A gift that now sits on a shelf and reminds me of a special occasion. A souvenir that calls to mind a memorable trip.
These reminders are intentional. I WANT to remember things associated with these reminders.
Lately, however, I've been finding joy in a different kind of memory-jogger. This kind is totally unplanned and without warning steals me away to a different place and time.
Going through a stack of old family photos, I came upon an old envelope. Looking at it, I instantly knew it was my great grandmother's handwriting. Until then, I didn't realize that I knew what my great grandmother's handwriting looked like.
I was instantly transported to the little duplex apartment where she lived when I was a child. I remembered the furniture and what it felt like to be there, visiting her along with my parents. What a delightful memory!
Another example: I rummaged around in the collection of socks and pulled out a pair I hadn't worn in some time. When I pulled on the second sock, I saw a faded blotch on the toe. It was the mostly-washed-out stain from light blue paint.
I could smell the paint in my daughter's first off-campus residence. I had traveled there to help her get settled before her college classes began. We painted until we were exhausted. We had planned to stay in her cute little cottage, but the paint smell, the summer heat, and the fact that the shower wasn't working drove us to a last-minute hotel room.
These sudden trips down memory lane are fascinating to me, intense with details and emotion. They make me wonder at the nature of and the vastness of our mental storehouse of pictures and smells and emotions.
At my desk at work, there are still more reminders: Report due Friday. Send that form to HR. Schedule next team meeting. Check in with supervisor. Work on agenda for committee.
Another kind of reminder is the representation of a relationship or special event. Photos of family and friends. A gift that now sits on a shelf and reminds me of a special occasion. A souvenir that calls to mind a memorable trip.
These reminders are intentional. I WANT to remember things associated with these reminders.
Lately, however, I've been finding joy in a different kind of memory-jogger. This kind is totally unplanned and without warning steals me away to a different place and time.
Going through a stack of old family photos, I came upon an old envelope. Looking at it, I instantly knew it was my great grandmother's handwriting. Until then, I didn't realize that I knew what my great grandmother's handwriting looked like.
I was instantly transported to the little duplex apartment where she lived when I was a child. I remembered the furniture and what it felt like to be there, visiting her along with my parents. What a delightful memory!
Another example: I rummaged around in the collection of socks and pulled out a pair I hadn't worn in some time. When I pulled on the second sock, I saw a faded blotch on the toe. It was the mostly-washed-out stain from light blue paint.
I could smell the paint in my daughter's first off-campus residence. I had traveled there to help her get settled before her college classes began. We painted until we were exhausted. We had planned to stay in her cute little cottage, but the paint smell, the summer heat, and the fact that the shower wasn't working drove us to a last-minute hotel room.
These sudden trips down memory lane are fascinating to me, intense with details and emotion. They make me wonder at the nature of and the vastness of our mental storehouse of pictures and smells and emotions.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Fog
Driving to work in the fog this morning I was fascinated once again by the other-worldliness of those mornings when vision is so limited.
The opaque background of the sky has descended to earth, foreshortening our ability to gain perspective. In some ways it feels safer, closer, more intimate and cozy. In other ways, it feels vaguely frightening or threatening -- maybe because our protective sense of sight is diminished.
The normal sounds of life seem to be muted, almost silenced by the fog. I almost want to tiptoe so that I don't disturb the peacefulness of the landscape.
I feel strangely suspended in time and space, adrift in a world that appears much smaller than my usual surroundings. I feel cut off from the usual hustle and bustle of morning rush hour.
As I drive down the street, normally familiar objects like poles or trees or buildings seem to appear suddenly out of the gray haze. Because they are usually viewed in the context of the larger scene, they don't usually capture my attention.
But on this foggy morning when they seem to jump into sight from nowhere, these mundane objects have much more prominence in the all-gray foggy universe. It's as though I had refocused the lens of a camera from the larger scene to a smaller close-up, the background blurred out of recognition.
I'm forced to look at these nearby objects, rather than looking past them at something else, and I'm mildly surprised by them. I didn't realize there was a tree on that corner. There are more signposts along here than I remembered.
Fog forcing a different drive-time, rush-hour view is an interesting experience. Perhaps we all need a change of perspective from time to time in order to really see what's around us. Odd isn't it that limiting sight can cause us to see some things for the first time.
The opaque background of the sky has descended to earth, foreshortening our ability to gain perspective. In some ways it feels safer, closer, more intimate and cozy. In other ways, it feels vaguely frightening or threatening -- maybe because our protective sense of sight is diminished.
The normal sounds of life seem to be muted, almost silenced by the fog. I almost want to tiptoe so that I don't disturb the peacefulness of the landscape.
I feel strangely suspended in time and space, adrift in a world that appears much smaller than my usual surroundings. I feel cut off from the usual hustle and bustle of morning rush hour.
As I drive down the street, normally familiar objects like poles or trees or buildings seem to appear suddenly out of the gray haze. Because they are usually viewed in the context of the larger scene, they don't usually capture my attention.
But on this foggy morning when they seem to jump into sight from nowhere, these mundane objects have much more prominence in the all-gray foggy universe. It's as though I had refocused the lens of a camera from the larger scene to a smaller close-up, the background blurred out of recognition.
I'm forced to look at these nearby objects, rather than looking past them at something else, and I'm mildly surprised by them. I didn't realize there was a tree on that corner. There are more signposts along here than I remembered.
Fog forcing a different drive-time, rush-hour view is an interesting experience. Perhaps we all need a change of perspective from time to time in order to really see what's around us. Odd isn't it that limiting sight can cause us to see some things for the first time.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Young old people
It seems to me that as people grow older, they can be divided into two groups: people who seem really old (regardless of their age) and people who seem ageless.
The first category of folks get older, but they also get more and more depressing. They complain a lot and rarely act happy about anything. They are dissatisfied with how things have changed in their lifetime; they long for the good old days. Things were better back then.
The second group gets older, but they have a more positive outlook. They are generally pleasant, with wrinkles that come from smiling a lot. They are amazed and dazzled by all the changes that have occurred. They enjoy sharing their memories, but have no desire to go back to those times.
I've watched people in each of these groups over the years. The difference isn't physical health. I've seen healthy people turn into grumpy old people, and I've seen hurting/ailing people maintain their optimistic approach to life.
The difference doesn't seem to be upbringing or family relationships. Some curmudgeons have loving relatives and neighbors. Some delightful elderly people are all alone and extend their kindness to strangers.
In my decidedly unscientific observations, I have noticed one attribute that seems to characterize the smiling group: they maintain the ability and willingness to learn.
As they grow older and the world around them changes, they learn how to use the latest home appliances. These people adopt new trends and keep up with what younger people are discussing.
Rather than rejecting the changes around them, they embrace the changes, marvel at new things, find amusement in how their lives are different.
I wonder if the best antidote for aging is a lively, interested mind.
The first category of folks get older, but they also get more and more depressing. They complain a lot and rarely act happy about anything. They are dissatisfied with how things have changed in their lifetime; they long for the good old days. Things were better back then.
The second group gets older, but they have a more positive outlook. They are generally pleasant, with wrinkles that come from smiling a lot. They are amazed and dazzled by all the changes that have occurred. They enjoy sharing their memories, but have no desire to go back to those times.
I've watched people in each of these groups over the years. The difference isn't physical health. I've seen healthy people turn into grumpy old people, and I've seen hurting/ailing people maintain their optimistic approach to life.
The difference doesn't seem to be upbringing or family relationships. Some curmudgeons have loving relatives and neighbors. Some delightful elderly people are all alone and extend their kindness to strangers.
In my decidedly unscientific observations, I have noticed one attribute that seems to characterize the smiling group: they maintain the ability and willingness to learn.
As they grow older and the world around them changes, they learn how to use the latest home appliances. These people adopt new trends and keep up with what younger people are discussing.
Rather than rejecting the changes around them, they embrace the changes, marvel at new things, find amusement in how their lives are different.
I wonder if the best antidote for aging is a lively, interested mind.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Spaces
I wonder if you realize how much power spaces have.
Have you ever thought about the subliminal cues you pick up from your surroundings? When you walk into a cathedral, do you notice that something in your chest feels drawn upward to the soaring ceiling above you?
There is a reason that classrooms have seats in regimented rows, all facing forward. Spaces affect behavior.
A large part of my work is accomplished through establishing, motivating, and coordinating teams. When I schedule meetings, I am intentional about which meeting rooms I use because different rooms provide different contexts that can either boost what I am trying to achieve or create a barrier.
If the room has windows or glass walls, it can increase feelings of openness and optimism. If the room is an interior room with no windows, it can create feelings of intimacy or safety.
It's also important for the room to be correctly sized. Five people meeting in a conference room with 30 chairs may feel small and powerless. A room too small for the number of people can convey a feeling of vague discomfort that will transfer from the room to the project.
The 'right' room is particulary important for kick-off meetings where projects are initiated or pivotal meetings where key decisions are made.
Spaces are equally important for homes. The open floor plans popular now in single-family residences encourage relationship-building. Classic or formal foor plans support more distant, formal relationships. (Of course, it is possible to live in a classic floorplan and still develop strong personal relationships -- but it takes intentionality to overcome the space.)
I've discovered that there are some spaces where I am more creative. There are some spaces where I am better able to gain perspective and do long-range planning.
If I am paying attention, I can use the power of spaces to my advantage, giving myself an edge in accomplishing whatever my goal at the time may be.
Have you ever thought about the subliminal cues you pick up from your surroundings? When you walk into a cathedral, do you notice that something in your chest feels drawn upward to the soaring ceiling above you?
There is a reason that classrooms have seats in regimented rows, all facing forward. Spaces affect behavior.
A large part of my work is accomplished through establishing, motivating, and coordinating teams. When I schedule meetings, I am intentional about which meeting rooms I use because different rooms provide different contexts that can either boost what I am trying to achieve or create a barrier.
If the room has windows or glass walls, it can increase feelings of openness and optimism. If the room is an interior room with no windows, it can create feelings of intimacy or safety.
It's also important for the room to be correctly sized. Five people meeting in a conference room with 30 chairs may feel small and powerless. A room too small for the number of people can convey a feeling of vague discomfort that will transfer from the room to the project.
The 'right' room is particulary important for kick-off meetings where projects are initiated or pivotal meetings where key decisions are made.
Spaces are equally important for homes. The open floor plans popular now in single-family residences encourage relationship-building. Classic or formal foor plans support more distant, formal relationships. (Of course, it is possible to live in a classic floorplan and still develop strong personal relationships -- but it takes intentionality to overcome the space.)
I've discovered that there are some spaces where I am more creative. There are some spaces where I am better able to gain perspective and do long-range planning.
If I am paying attention, I can use the power of spaces to my advantage, giving myself an edge in accomplishing whatever my goal at the time may be.
Friday, October 5, 2007
True greatness
I saw Branford Marsalis in Carnegie Hall a few years ago. I was amazed by his performance. His music was rich and deep. It was a benefit concert, and it was great fun to watch him on the stage with Bela Fleck and with Stevie Wonder and with James Taylor.
Recently I went to a Wynton Marsalis concert. Again I was amazed and totally entertained, loving the show. He performed with the Lincoln Center Jazz Ensemble, and his performance was uplifting and inspiring.
In both cases, it was a delight to see and hear these musicians. Their sounds are so true and seemingly effortless . . . such a joy for the audience.
In addition to the music, I noted something else about these men. They were completely comfortable with sharing the stage and the audience's attention with others.
They were gracious to fellow musicians and appeared totally content to solo or to perform in the background. Neither of them ever forced their way forward or -- as my grandmother used to say -- hogged the spotlight.
Perhaps that is the true measure of greatness -- not that you have what it takes to be a star, but having that star-power, you share its blessings with those around you.
Recently I went to a Wynton Marsalis concert. Again I was amazed and totally entertained, loving the show. He performed with the Lincoln Center Jazz Ensemble, and his performance was uplifting and inspiring.
In both cases, it was a delight to see and hear these musicians. Their sounds are so true and seemingly effortless . . . such a joy for the audience.
In addition to the music, I noted something else about these men. They were completely comfortable with sharing the stage and the audience's attention with others.
They were gracious to fellow musicians and appeared totally content to solo or to perform in the background. Neither of them ever forced their way forward or -- as my grandmother used to say -- hogged the spotlight.
Perhaps that is the true measure of greatness -- not that you have what it takes to be a star, but having that star-power, you share its blessings with those around you.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Home
Home.
It may be my favorite word, brimming with positive associations.
I know this isn't true for everyone. Many do not have happy memories of the home where they spent their younger years. And many do not have pleasant thoughts of the home of their adult years.
But I do.
Home to me means acceptance and welcome and safety. Home means good food, a clean bed, and warmth on cold winter days. Home means smiling faces and hugs and great storytelling.
In my mind, home conjures up visions of sitting around the table after a meal, talking with people I care about. Home brings to mind holiday celebrations. Home summons shared moments -- both happy and sad. Home means belonging. It's a word with deep meaning.
I think these feelings are why baseball's home plate has that name. I think it's why the main page of a web site is sometimes called the home page. It's why the cross-stitched "Home, sweet home" is iconic. (The folks who coined the names "Home Depot" and "The Home Store" knew all this.)
Home is one of those transcendent ideas -- utopian, ideal, resplendent with comfort.
Home -- the place we all long to be.
It may be my favorite word, brimming with positive associations.
I know this isn't true for everyone. Many do not have happy memories of the home where they spent their younger years. And many do not have pleasant thoughts of the home of their adult years.
But I do.
Home to me means acceptance and welcome and safety. Home means good food, a clean bed, and warmth on cold winter days. Home means smiling faces and hugs and great storytelling.
In my mind, home conjures up visions of sitting around the table after a meal, talking with people I care about. Home brings to mind holiday celebrations. Home summons shared moments -- both happy and sad. Home means belonging. It's a word with deep meaning.
I think these feelings are why baseball's home plate has that name. I think it's why the main page of a web site is sometimes called the home page. It's why the cross-stitched "Home, sweet home" is iconic. (The folks who coined the names "Home Depot" and "The Home Store" knew all this.)
Home is one of those transcendent ideas -- utopian, ideal, resplendent with comfort.
Home -- the place we all long to be.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Seeing/not seeing
Yesterday I was preparing dinner and began searching for the vegetable peeler. I knew what I was looking for: green plastic handle that splits to hold a peeling blade horizontally. I bought it at William Sonoma years ago, and it makes quick work of peeling a potato. I dug around in the kitchen drawer for several minutes and couldn't find it.
Only when I went into another room to get something did I remember that we had lost that peeler long ago and a while back I bought a new vegetable peeler. This one, from Bed, Bath, & Beyond, has a bulbous orange plastic handle and the peeler blade extends vertically from the base. It also is effective, but looks very different.
The interesting thing to me is that once I had the right picture in my head, I located the peeler in the drawer immediately.
My initial wrong expectation (green gadget) kept me from finding what I was seeking (orange gadget). I'm sure my eyes saw the orange handled peeler in the drawer, but the message never made it past my "expectation filter" to my brain.
This has happened to me before.
Arriving at the airport from out of town, I was expecting my husband to pick me up outside baggage claim. I was looking for his large SUV. I was positioned to see vehicles approaching from a great distance. He came into view and drove to the curb beside me before I recognized him -- because he was driving my little four-door car. Even though I am intimately familiar with my own car, it wasn't what I expected to see. My mental filter rejected it, failing to recognize my ride home.
One more example: several years ago I was shopping for groceries, looking for a bag of fritoes. I went up and down the chips aisle several times, unable to find the corn chips I wanted. Finally, after much frustration, I began examining closely each bag of chips. Only then, did I find the fritoes I wanted -- in newly redesigned packaging. It wasn't what I had expected to see. (Which calls for a different post on the importance of consistency in brand identity!)
In each of these examples, my expectations kept me from seeing reality. My physical ability to see was fine, but my mental filters sorted out any information that did not match my expectations. In each case, I thought I KNEW what I was looking for!
Now . . . . not spotting a vegetable peeler is no big deal.
But I wonder if I suffer from this same sort of blindness in other situations -- more important situations.
Wonder how often my expectations cause me to fail to see the reality about the people and circumstances around me? Wonder if it is possible to disable or override those filters?
Only when I went into another room to get something did I remember that we had lost that peeler long ago and a while back I bought a new vegetable peeler. This one, from Bed, Bath, & Beyond, has a bulbous orange plastic handle and the peeler blade extends vertically from the base. It also is effective, but looks very different.
The interesting thing to me is that once I had the right picture in my head, I located the peeler in the drawer immediately.
My initial wrong expectation (green gadget) kept me from finding what I was seeking (orange gadget). I'm sure my eyes saw the orange handled peeler in the drawer, but the message never made it past my "expectation filter" to my brain.
This has happened to me before.
Arriving at the airport from out of town, I was expecting my husband to pick me up outside baggage claim. I was looking for his large SUV. I was positioned to see vehicles approaching from a great distance. He came into view and drove to the curb beside me before I recognized him -- because he was driving my little four-door car. Even though I am intimately familiar with my own car, it wasn't what I expected to see. My mental filter rejected it, failing to recognize my ride home.
One more example: several years ago I was shopping for groceries, looking for a bag of fritoes. I went up and down the chips aisle several times, unable to find the corn chips I wanted. Finally, after much frustration, I began examining closely each bag of chips. Only then, did I find the fritoes I wanted -- in newly redesigned packaging. It wasn't what I had expected to see. (Which calls for a different post on the importance of consistency in brand identity!)
In each of these examples, my expectations kept me from seeing reality. My physical ability to see was fine, but my mental filters sorted out any information that did not match my expectations. In each case, I thought I KNEW what I was looking for!
Now . . . . not spotting a vegetable peeler is no big deal.
But I wonder if I suffer from this same sort of blindness in other situations -- more important situations.
Wonder how often my expectations cause me to fail to see the reality about the people and circumstances around me? Wonder if it is possible to disable or override those filters?
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Handiwork
How often have you said with great glee, "I did it with my own hands!" Such an air of accomplishment floats around those words!
There is just something intrinsically satisfying about working with your hands.
Maybe it's the immediacy of it. Maybe it's the pride of doing something with no help from others.
Small children are delighted to be able to tie their own shoes -- to do it all by themselves. Older people enjoy a similar thrill when mastering a new skill.
But it isn't just new skills that yield this pleasure: yesterday I folded and stapled some booklets I had written, designed, fed through the copier, etc. I felt strangely successful when I completed the stack.
When I fold clothes from the drier and place them in drawers and shelves, I have such a feeling of completion and worth! (Yes, I know -- out of proportion joy. They are towels for goodness sake!)
I wonder if these simple pleasures are a reaction to the kinds of assignments most of us battle every day. Many of my daily tasks are collaborative; my part is a piece of the whole. It's hard to point to something and say that I (and I alone) did that.
I work with project teams and working groups and taskforces and committees. And as a result, I don't control the final product.
Also, in this "information age" so much work results in intangibles..... ideas, plans, messages, advice.
Occasionally, it's nice to do something visible, measurable with my own two hands.
There is just something intrinsically satisfying about working with your hands.
Maybe it's the immediacy of it. Maybe it's the pride of doing something with no help from others.
Small children are delighted to be able to tie their own shoes -- to do it all by themselves. Older people enjoy a similar thrill when mastering a new skill.
But it isn't just new skills that yield this pleasure: yesterday I folded and stapled some booklets I had written, designed, fed through the copier, etc. I felt strangely successful when I completed the stack.
When I fold clothes from the drier and place them in drawers and shelves, I have such a feeling of completion and worth! (Yes, I know -- out of proportion joy. They are towels for goodness sake!)
I wonder if these simple pleasures are a reaction to the kinds of assignments most of us battle every day. Many of my daily tasks are collaborative; my part is a piece of the whole. It's hard to point to something and say that I (and I alone) did that.
I work with project teams and working groups and taskforces and committees. And as a result, I don't control the final product.
Also, in this "information age" so much work results in intangibles..... ideas, plans, messages, advice.
Occasionally, it's nice to do something visible, measurable with my own two hands.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Observations
Morning exercise.
As I drove to work, I looked at the people in my subdivision getting their exercise along the road.
Just a few blocks from my house I see the same man almost every morning. I always wonder why he is has chosen to jog for exercise. He has his head down, trudging along, appearing to hate every step. I wonder: does he hate to jog, or (even worse) is that the way he approaches all of life?
Seemingly designed for contrast, a few streets over there is a man jogging along who has his head thrown back as though to soak up the blessings of the early morning. He has a pleasant look on his face, and although he is sweating, he seems delighted, expecting to see someone or something he likes.
Further along is the young mother, ponytail swinging, pushing one of those three-wheeled jogger strollers with baby all bundled up inside. Mom looks like the picture of good health and positive potential, trying hard to do the right things for herself and her child.
She swerves around and passes a very thin, very tan older woman in tennis clothes who is fast-walking with tremendous determination. Heel-toe-heel-toe, elbows pumping energetically. I imagine that she is mentally going over the list of the day's commitments . . . maybe a bridge game at ten . . . maybe a volunteer committee luncheon.
I enjoy observing people and imagining their lives. I'm fascinated by the endless variety of humans around me.
And I wonder how many of my snap assessments are close and how many are dead wrong.
Then I wonder what people surmise when they see me.
As I drove to work, I looked at the people in my subdivision getting their exercise along the road.
Just a few blocks from my house I see the same man almost every morning. I always wonder why he is has chosen to jog for exercise. He has his head down, trudging along, appearing to hate every step. I wonder: does he hate to jog, or (even worse) is that the way he approaches all of life?
Seemingly designed for contrast, a few streets over there is a man jogging along who has his head thrown back as though to soak up the blessings of the early morning. He has a pleasant look on his face, and although he is sweating, he seems delighted, expecting to see someone or something he likes.
Further along is the young mother, ponytail swinging, pushing one of those three-wheeled jogger strollers with baby all bundled up inside. Mom looks like the picture of good health and positive potential, trying hard to do the right things for herself and her child.
She swerves around and passes a very thin, very tan older woman in tennis clothes who is fast-walking with tremendous determination. Heel-toe-heel-toe, elbows pumping energetically. I imagine that she is mentally going over the list of the day's commitments . . . maybe a bridge game at ten . . . maybe a volunteer committee luncheon.
I enjoy observing people and imagining their lives. I'm fascinated by the endless variety of humans around me.
And I wonder how many of my snap assessments are close and how many are dead wrong.
Then I wonder what people surmise when they see me.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
In the know
Perhaps the most tantalizing thing on earth is a secret.
From our earliest days as children, we love secrets and we know the power they have. I have strong memories of kids chanting the sing-song, "I know something you don't know!" (I bet each of you filled in the tune when you read it!)
But it isn't just children. . . adults are just as susceptible to the lure of a secret.
In ancient days, the Gnostics, whose very name speaks of "knowing," devised an elaborate hierarchy of knowledge for adherents to discover.
Many other groups through the ages have used secret knowledge as the foundation for membership. That, of course, is the whole story behind the DaVinci Code, for example.
Sometimes it is as simple as a secret handshake to be able to get into the treehouse, but sometimes it is much more complex and sinister.
Marketing and advertising have taken advantage of this aspect of our psyche. How many campaigns have you seen that begin with a word or phrase plastered everywhere? Then once everyone begins to wonder what's going on, the product is unveiled. It works everytime.
You have probably noticed in many stores the ubiquitous book, The Secret. It's in bookstores and at Costco and probably will soon be at the gas station too. How we love anything that purports to be a secret!
I wonder about this almost irresistible desire to KNOW. I assume it is part of our DNA and that we are designed in our innermost selves to be seekers.
My mother used to tell me that 'curiosity killed the cat' -- a strange statement at best -- but it is probably our curiosity that determines the path we take in life. Can it be said: we are what we seek?
From our earliest days as children, we love secrets and we know the power they have. I have strong memories of kids chanting the sing-song, "I know something you don't know!" (I bet each of you filled in the tune when you read it!)
But it isn't just children. . . adults are just as susceptible to the lure of a secret.
In ancient days, the Gnostics, whose very name speaks of "knowing," devised an elaborate hierarchy of knowledge for adherents to discover.
Many other groups through the ages have used secret knowledge as the foundation for membership. That, of course, is the whole story behind the DaVinci Code, for example.
Sometimes it is as simple as a secret handshake to be able to get into the treehouse, but sometimes it is much more complex and sinister.
Marketing and advertising have taken advantage of this aspect of our psyche. How many campaigns have you seen that begin with a word or phrase plastered everywhere? Then once everyone begins to wonder what's going on, the product is unveiled. It works everytime.
You have probably noticed in many stores the ubiquitous book, The Secret. It's in bookstores and at Costco and probably will soon be at the gas station too. How we love anything that purports to be a secret!
I wonder about this almost irresistible desire to KNOW. I assume it is part of our DNA and that we are designed in our innermost selves to be seekers.
My mother used to tell me that 'curiosity killed the cat' -- a strange statement at best -- but it is probably our curiosity that determines the path we take in life. Can it be said: we are what we seek?
Monday, September 3, 2007
Greener grass
From childhood I've heard the saying about the grass always being greener on the other side of the fence. And I've always laughed about it, as though I was immune to such a mistake.
At the same time, I've been prey to a similar error. It's not that I want things that other people have. It's not that I envy other people's lives or circumstances.
I've noticed that for me the "greener grass" is more likely to be a different point in my own life, my own situation. For instance, 'things will be great after I finish this project at work' or 'I just can't wait until it's cool again next fall' or whatever.
I think a lot of people do this, and it happens at all ages of life. Some are straining forward to the day they graduate, some to when they retire. Some are anticipating having a family, some are planning what they will do when the kids are out of the house.
It makes me think of the man who walked past the diamonds because he was searching for pearls.
I understand the psychological benefits of hope and the joys of anticipation. Like most things in life, though, I think there should be a balance -- while we enjoy the glow of things to come, I think we would benefit from learning to recognize the delights of today.
I think I'll hang a sign on my mirror reminding me to notice what's good about right here, right now.
At the same time, I've been prey to a similar error. It's not that I want things that other people have. It's not that I envy other people's lives or circumstances.
I've noticed that for me the "greener grass" is more likely to be a different point in my own life, my own situation. For instance, 'things will be great after I finish this project at work' or 'I just can't wait until it's cool again next fall' or whatever.
I think a lot of people do this, and it happens at all ages of life. Some are straining forward to the day they graduate, some to when they retire. Some are anticipating having a family, some are planning what they will do when the kids are out of the house.
It makes me think of the man who walked past the diamonds because he was searching for pearls.
I understand the psychological benefits of hope and the joys of anticipation. Like most things in life, though, I think there should be a balance -- while we enjoy the glow of things to come, I think we would benefit from learning to recognize the delights of today.
I think I'll hang a sign on my mirror reminding me to notice what's good about right here, right now.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
dang it
I wonder if I'm the only one bothered by these things?
When I buy a soft drink at the drive through window, and they hand me a cup with cola dripping off the sides and bottom of the cup so that when I move it across my lap to the cupholder, it drips on my business clothes.
When there is a left-over sock when I finish folding the clean clothes.
When someone leaves a message on my voicemail at the house or the office, and they say their phone number so fast that I can't distinguish the numbers. Even on the third listen.
When the stockers in the grocery store completely block the aisle with their boxes so that shoppers can't buy groceries. (Didn't they use to restock in the middle of the night when shoppers weren't around?)
When the dry cleaner presses the lapels on my business suit unevenly so that one lapel ends three inches higher than the other.
When someone leaves a wall of blinds adjusted at different heights and tilts.
Similarly, when someone leaves cabinet doors and drawers open.
When someone leaves toothpaste spit in the sink.
When clerks in department stores talk loudly to each other about their personal lives or their frustration with their jobs while I'm trying to pay them for purchases.
When mail arrives mangled.
When I pick up the wrong thing in the store and don't notice until I unpack the sack at home.
When a waiter serves my food with his thumb stuck in the edge of the edibles.
When drivers go slow in the left lane.
When I'm driving the speed limit in the left lane and drivers are mad because I'm not driving fast enough.
When no one at our dining table will eat the last piece of something (because it's last!) and it gets thrown away even though several people would have liked to have it.
When I buy a soft drink at the drive through window, and they hand me a cup with cola dripping off the sides and bottom of the cup so that when I move it across my lap to the cupholder, it drips on my business clothes.
When there is a left-over sock when I finish folding the clean clothes.
When someone leaves a message on my voicemail at the house or the office, and they say their phone number so fast that I can't distinguish the numbers. Even on the third listen.
When the stockers in the grocery store completely block the aisle with their boxes so that shoppers can't buy groceries. (Didn't they use to restock in the middle of the night when shoppers weren't around?)
When the dry cleaner presses the lapels on my business suit unevenly so that one lapel ends three inches higher than the other.
When someone leaves a wall of blinds adjusted at different heights and tilts.
Similarly, when someone leaves cabinet doors and drawers open.
When someone leaves toothpaste spit in the sink.
When clerks in department stores talk loudly to each other about their personal lives or their frustration with their jobs while I'm trying to pay them for purchases.
When mail arrives mangled.
When I pick up the wrong thing in the store and don't notice until I unpack the sack at home.
When a waiter serves my food with his thumb stuck in the edge of the edibles.
When drivers go slow in the left lane.
When I'm driving the speed limit in the left lane and drivers are mad because I'm not driving fast enough.
When no one at our dining table will eat the last piece of something (because it's last!) and it gets thrown away even though several people would have liked to have it.
Monday, August 20, 2007
unwritten lore
When I was in the first, second, and third grades, I learned a variety of songs, poems, conventional wisdom, and jokes on the playground at recess.
Many of these strange pieces of oral history involved either a topic that couldn't be discussed with adults or the use of words that we were not generally allowed to pronounce out loud.
I always assumed that these elementary school discussions were particular to my school in my town. Imagine my surprise years later when I discovered that children in cities far from my hometown had learned the identical songs and jokes!
It was one of those late nights in the girls dorm at a university when somehow we began sharing the silly elementary school no-no's that we had repeated so deliciously when we were six or seven or eight years old. It was amazing to discover that regardless of which part of the U.S. the elementary school was located in, the same naughty poems were being recited.
At that time, young children did not have cell phones and internet connections. How did that unwritten lore travel across the nation with such accuracy? We know from the gossip game that a secret passed around rarely ends up as it began.
Certainly, the cadence and rhyming helped cement the consistency of the songs and poems. Perhaps it was the forbidden nature of the jokes that caused them to be repeated with such unerring accuracy.
I wonder if the communication principles of that very effective childish network are duplicated among adults. Maybe "old wives tales" are a similar form of communication outside standard communications channels. Maybe today's urban legends are a similar phenomenon.
Many of these strange pieces of oral history involved either a topic that couldn't be discussed with adults or the use of words that we were not generally allowed to pronounce out loud.
I always assumed that these elementary school discussions were particular to my school in my town. Imagine my surprise years later when I discovered that children in cities far from my hometown had learned the identical songs and jokes!
It was one of those late nights in the girls dorm at a university when somehow we began sharing the silly elementary school no-no's that we had repeated so deliciously when we were six or seven or eight years old. It was amazing to discover that regardless of which part of the U.S. the elementary school was located in, the same naughty poems were being recited.
At that time, young children did not have cell phones and internet connections. How did that unwritten lore travel across the nation with such accuracy? We know from the gossip game that a secret passed around rarely ends up as it began.
Certainly, the cadence and rhyming helped cement the consistency of the songs and poems. Perhaps it was the forbidden nature of the jokes that caused them to be repeated with such unerring accuracy.
I wonder if the communication principles of that very effective childish network are duplicated among adults. Maybe "old wives tales" are a similar form of communication outside standard communications channels. Maybe today's urban legends are a similar phenomenon.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Signs
I love reading signs.
When driving across the U.S., I'm entertained by the small town combination businesses. Bob's auto repair and bait shop. Susie's florist and nail salon. I always wonder what caused them to add on the second part. Was business slow in the first business and the second was added on to fill the available time? Did Bob or Susie suffer a mid-life crisis and need a change?
Hair stylists seem to be unusually creative in naming their establishments. I liked "Metamorphesis" and "Hair and Hairafter." I was a little worried about the "Curl Up and Dye" shop and also "From Hair to Eternity."
The names of funeral homes also offer good possibilities. The one in my hometown was named for the owner, a man whose last name was Pickle.
I think they changed the name of the hospital that was named for Mr. Dedman.
On one of my road trips not long ago I was noticing how many storage facilities have been built in virtually every town along the highway. (Do we really have THAT much stuff!?) That's when I noticed the sign: Self Storage.
Immediately, my mind conjured up a wall of lockers where people could hide themselves away. The ads might be: "Rat race getting to you? We've got just the place for you!"
I guess the locks would have to be on the inside.
I wonder if that's where all the people on the milk cartons have gone?
When driving across the U.S., I'm entertained by the small town combination businesses. Bob's auto repair and bait shop. Susie's florist and nail salon. I always wonder what caused them to add on the second part. Was business slow in the first business and the second was added on to fill the available time? Did Bob or Susie suffer a mid-life crisis and need a change?
Hair stylists seem to be unusually creative in naming their establishments. I liked "Metamorphesis" and "Hair and Hairafter." I was a little worried about the "Curl Up and Dye" shop and also "From Hair to Eternity."
The names of funeral homes also offer good possibilities. The one in my hometown was named for the owner, a man whose last name was Pickle.
I think they changed the name of the hospital that was named for Mr. Dedman.
On one of my road trips not long ago I was noticing how many storage facilities have been built in virtually every town along the highway. (Do we really have THAT much stuff!?) That's when I noticed the sign: Self Storage.
Immediately, my mind conjured up a wall of lockers where people could hide themselves away. The ads might be: "Rat race getting to you? We've got just the place for you!"
I guess the locks would have to be on the inside.
I wonder if that's where all the people on the milk cartons have gone?
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Friend capacity
Some people have one best friend. Some people have several very close friends or confidantes. Other people seem to have fairly strong connections to a large number of friends.
Some people have several close friends and a larger number of friends that are not so close. Other people seem to have an army of friends, but none of them are particularly intimate friends.
I wonder if people have a genetic code built into them that determines how many and what kind of friendships they will develop. Could you build three or five or more categories (type A: one close friend; type B: no close friend; many acquaintences; etc.) for the various models?
Thinking further, will a "Type A: one close friend person" never be able to sustain two close friends? That is, will that person end up changing close friends rather than adding a second close friend?
Or, if a person seeks a CLOSE friendship with a "Type B: no close friend" person, is that effort doomed from the start?
This line of thinking contemplates people as hardware with a certain number of ports available for connections. In this scenario, a person would be unable to change themselves to another category of person.
Or is the structure of relationships around a person more environmentally influenced? This might mean that when a person was in college he had more close relationships than later in life. Or that a married person might have more friends because of the development of couple to couple relationships.
After observing people for many years, I keep gravitating back to the genetic "friend capacity" idea. Some people seem simply unable to sustain many relationships, while others manage an extensive network of friends.
I wonder: is this just a matter of personal choice, or is it influenced by environment, or is it more a matter of the way we are constructed?
Some people have several close friends and a larger number of friends that are not so close. Other people seem to have an army of friends, but none of them are particularly intimate friends.
I wonder if people have a genetic code built into them that determines how many and what kind of friendships they will develop. Could you build three or five or more categories (type A: one close friend; type B: no close friend; many acquaintences; etc.) for the various models?
Thinking further, will a "Type A: one close friend person" never be able to sustain two close friends? That is, will that person end up changing close friends rather than adding a second close friend?
Or, if a person seeks a CLOSE friendship with a "Type B: no close friend" person, is that effort doomed from the start?
This line of thinking contemplates people as hardware with a certain number of ports available for connections. In this scenario, a person would be unable to change themselves to another category of person.
Or is the structure of relationships around a person more environmentally influenced? This might mean that when a person was in college he had more close relationships than later in life. Or that a married person might have more friends because of the development of couple to couple relationships.
After observing people for many years, I keep gravitating back to the genetic "friend capacity" idea. Some people seem simply unable to sustain many relationships, while others manage an extensive network of friends.
I wonder: is this just a matter of personal choice, or is it influenced by environment, or is it more a matter of the way we are constructed?
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Comparisons
I'm wondering about a strange principle: that we have to learn something new and different in order to fully understand something old and familiar.
In high school I studied Spanish; I actually learned more about the English language than I did about the new, foreign language. I learned new English vocabulary and finally understood some of the rules of English grammar.
I think that occurred because I benefited from being able to compare two things. By learning Spanish grammar, I could better understand English grammar -- by comparison.
This principle isn't limited to languages. I noticed the same pattern recently when I went to another country. I expected to learn about THEIR culture. In fact, I learned a lot about my own culture -- by comparison.
I learned that the fundamental American ideas of individualism and fairness are applied to the way we drive, the way we board a bus, and the way we approach meals. I never realized that I held strong (maybe unreasonable -- at least unfounded) preferences until I was around people who did not share those preferences.
In high school I studied Spanish; I actually learned more about the English language than I did about the new, foreign language. I learned new English vocabulary and finally understood some of the rules of English grammar.
I think that occurred because I benefited from being able to compare two things. By learning Spanish grammar, I could better understand English grammar -- by comparison.
This principle isn't limited to languages. I noticed the same pattern recently when I went to another country. I expected to learn about THEIR culture. In fact, I learned a lot about my own culture -- by comparison.
I learned that the fundamental American ideas of individualism and fairness are applied to the way we drive, the way we board a bus, and the way we approach meals. I never realized that I held strong (maybe unreasonable -- at least unfounded) preferences until I was around people who did not share those preferences.
This isn't to say that I am going to change my preferences. What I'm saying is that now I recognize my preferences and I understand them in light of a different way of thinking.
Interesting, isn't it, that we have to leave to understand where we are . . . that we have to give up things in order to value them . . . that we don't see clearly until we get some distance away.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
The language of game-playing
I watched the group shooting baskets. They ranged in age from around 17 to around 28. Earlier they had been struggling to communicate across language barriers.
They had exchanged names and then faltered as they tried to talk about more complicated topics. They wanted to build relationship, but language created more of a barrier than a bridge. Although they continued to smile at each other, frustration showed in body language.
Then someone bounced a basketball in the adjacent courtyard. First one drifted over to see what might be going on, then another moved that direction, hesitant to abandon the effort to talk.
Soon they were organized into teams, shooting baskets, laughing and enjoying each other's company. All signs of frustration melted away. They were connecting through a completely different language -- the universal language of game playing.
Over the week, the sound of a basketball in the courtyard was a frequent and joyous sound. They called each other's names in celebration of good shots, in teasing about bad shots, and in encouragement to fellow team members.
The same sort of camaraderie developed over an Uno game in the open air dining room, where otherwise shy members of the group were drawn into growing relationships within the familiarity of drawing cards, playing cards, and shouting Uno.
Having grown up in a game-playing family, I am aware of the relationship-building that results from playing together, sharing a game. Time spent over cards, dominoes, board games and so on creates opportunities for understanding each other and valuing each other.
Seeing the principle at work, however, in a situation where language connections did not exist made me wonder . . . what would happen at international summit meetings and other diplomatic/political gatherings if the various members played Uno or 42?
They had exchanged names and then faltered as they tried to talk about more complicated topics. They wanted to build relationship, but language created more of a barrier than a bridge. Although they continued to smile at each other, frustration showed in body language.
Then someone bounced a basketball in the adjacent courtyard. First one drifted over to see what might be going on, then another moved that direction, hesitant to abandon the effort to talk.
Soon they were organized into teams, shooting baskets, laughing and enjoying each other's company. All signs of frustration melted away. They were connecting through a completely different language -- the universal language of game playing.
Over the week, the sound of a basketball in the courtyard was a frequent and joyous sound. They called each other's names in celebration of good shots, in teasing about bad shots, and in encouragement to fellow team members.
The same sort of camaraderie developed over an Uno game in the open air dining room, where otherwise shy members of the group were drawn into growing relationships within the familiarity of drawing cards, playing cards, and shouting Uno.
Having grown up in a game-playing family, I am aware of the relationship-building that results from playing together, sharing a game. Time spent over cards, dominoes, board games and so on creates opportunities for understanding each other and valuing each other.
Seeing the principle at work, however, in a situation where language connections did not exist made me wonder . . . what would happen at international summit meetings and other diplomatic/political gatherings if the various members played Uno or 42?
Monday, July 16, 2007
Vacation preparation
I've been trying to prepare for a vacation. Sounds exciting, but in fact it is nerve-wracking and exhausting.
Once I decide to take some time off, it seems that every assignment in the world lands on my desk with an impossible turnaround time. The list grows daily until it seems insurmountable.
I work steadily, crossing off one task and then the next. Gradually, I see that there is no way I'm going to be able to accomplish everything on my list.
Finally, at the last possible moment I realize I will have to delegate -- as though that is the most awful fate in the world! Why do I fail to seek help from those around me? They are usually willing and in some cases glad to pitch in.
What is it about me that causes me to try to go it alone, take care of everything myself without assistance?
Is this a character flaw or poor training or lack of a good role model or what?
I know I benefit greatly from taking time off, getting away from the office. It may also be that I benefit greatly from being forced to hand off my tasks to someone else occasionally.
Maybe being forced to rely on someone else once in while is a valuable learning experience in itself.
Once I decide to take some time off, it seems that every assignment in the world lands on my desk with an impossible turnaround time. The list grows daily until it seems insurmountable.
I work steadily, crossing off one task and then the next. Gradually, I see that there is no way I'm going to be able to accomplish everything on my list.
Finally, at the last possible moment I realize I will have to delegate -- as though that is the most awful fate in the world! Why do I fail to seek help from those around me? They are usually willing and in some cases glad to pitch in.
What is it about me that causes me to try to go it alone, take care of everything myself without assistance?
Is this a character flaw or poor training or lack of a good role model or what?
I know I benefit greatly from taking time off, getting away from the office. It may also be that I benefit greatly from being forced to hand off my tasks to someone else occasionally.
Maybe being forced to rely on someone else once in while is a valuable learning experience in itself.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Self-talk
I assume that everyone has a voice inside themselves.
That voice that does a running commentary on what is happening, on people who come across your path, on things that need to be remembered, on what kind of person you are.
From my own experience, that voice can be a demanding taskmaster and a hypercritical nag. It sometimes gets stuck on you ought to do this and why didn't you do that and why did you say that?!
I find that it is important from time to time to assess the content of that self-talk..... do an audit of just exactly what sort message is playing inside my head.
I've learned that the voice can depress me and make it hard for me to succeed.
I've learned that I can discipline that voice to make it more helpful. I don't have to be a victim of my own self-talk.
I wonder what it would be like if we could hear other people's self-talk; it might go a long way to helping us understand other people. We might be really stunned by their perspectives on the world.
That voice that does a running commentary on what is happening, on people who come across your path, on things that need to be remembered, on what kind of person you are.
From my own experience, that voice can be a demanding taskmaster and a hypercritical nag. It sometimes gets stuck on you ought to do this and why didn't you do that and why did you say that?!
I find that it is important from time to time to assess the content of that self-talk..... do an audit of just exactly what sort message is playing inside my head.
I've learned that the voice can depress me and make it hard for me to succeed.
I've learned that I can discipline that voice to make it more helpful. I don't have to be a victim of my own self-talk.
I wonder what it would be like if we could hear other people's self-talk; it might go a long way to helping us understand other people. We might be really stunned by their perspectives on the world.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Expectations
I heard a swimming coach talk today about various competitive swimmers he had coached over the years. His comment was that his swimmers were in some cases limited by his own expectations of them.
He talked specifically of one young person he coached over an eight year period. This person was not built like (did not have the body of) a championship swimmer. Based on that, he was not surprised that this person started races strong (and fast) but finished with no power (and last!)
Through a series of unexpected circumstances, this swimmer had an opportunity for success, and fellow teammates rallied around to encourage, support, cheer this person on. The coach thought secretly that it was nice, but futile.
The swimmer rose to the occasion and far exceeded previous achievements.
The coach noted that his own expectations had been holding back the swimmer's full effort. I wonder how much (how often) we are limited by others' expectations of us.
Even more seriously, I wonder how much we are limited by our own expectations of ourselves.
He talked specifically of one young person he coached over an eight year period. This person was not built like (did not have the body of) a championship swimmer. Based on that, he was not surprised that this person started races strong (and fast) but finished with no power (and last!)
Through a series of unexpected circumstances, this swimmer had an opportunity for success, and fellow teammates rallied around to encourage, support, cheer this person on. The coach thought secretly that it was nice, but futile.
The swimmer rose to the occasion and far exceeded previous achievements.
The coach noted that his own expectations had been holding back the swimmer's full effort. I wonder how much (how often) we are limited by others' expectations of us.
Even more seriously, I wonder how much we are limited by our own expectations of ourselves.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Views of the world
I've had a theory for some time now about how different individuals see the world around us in different ways.
This theory arose over time because I noticed that I tend to advert to color more than other people do. When I see a group of cars, I notice the colors -- to the exclusion of all other information. I don't notice the make, the condition, or even the drivers inside.
When I shop for clothes, I see color. When I shop for furniture, I see color. In my office I have file folders in various colors to help me sort them. I keep colored paper around so that I can print drafts of documents of a distinctive color, allowing me to know at a glance which is which. For years (when I used to have a paper calendar of appointments) I color coded the entries. You get the idea.
At first, I thought everyone had the same perspective I do. But then I gradually realized that there are people who sort the world around them based on other criteria. Some people sort based on factual datasets. Some people sort based on patterns. Some people are even color blind, for goodness sake!
If indeed our eyes are wired to our minds differently. . . if our visual assessments are communicated in different languages to our brains -- before the effects of our learning or experience or whatever can be applied . . . then I wonder how much of my view of the world is based on how I am hard-wired from the beginning?
And how does that play into our ability to communicate with each other?
This theory arose over time because I noticed that I tend to advert to color more than other people do. When I see a group of cars, I notice the colors -- to the exclusion of all other information. I don't notice the make, the condition, or even the drivers inside.
When I shop for clothes, I see color. When I shop for furniture, I see color. In my office I have file folders in various colors to help me sort them. I keep colored paper around so that I can print drafts of documents of a distinctive color, allowing me to know at a glance which is which. For years (when I used to have a paper calendar of appointments) I color coded the entries. You get the idea.
At first, I thought everyone had the same perspective I do. But then I gradually realized that there are people who sort the world around them based on other criteria. Some people sort based on factual datasets. Some people sort based on patterns. Some people are even color blind, for goodness sake!
If indeed our eyes are wired to our minds differently. . . if our visual assessments are communicated in different languages to our brains -- before the effects of our learning or experience or whatever can be applied . . . then I wonder how much of my view of the world is based on how I am hard-wired from the beginning?
And how does that play into our ability to communicate with each other?
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Boundaries/Markers
Recently I heard a man say that football wouldn't be much of a game if there were no sidelines and goal lines. He said the boundaries create the playing field, inform us what is out of line, and let us know when to cheer.
It reminded me a bit about developing marketing plans. We always build into the plan measurable goals. We plan in advance to track the results of our marketing efforts -- so that we will know when to celebrate success.
I've heard experts say that children have to have boundaries in order to learn what is acceptable in life and what isn't. A child reared with no rules grows up with no context for his/her own behavior. And a child that tests boundaries does not really want the rules removed; quite the opposite: the child most often wants the boundary confirmed, wants to be able to count on stable contextual cues.
Markers are also important to children. Birthdays are the most obvious example. Moving to the next grade in school is another one. Other important ones are getting a driver's license, getting a job, graduation ceremonies.
Considering boundaries and markers made me think about the rhythms of adult life. There is a comfort associated with schedules and responsibilities. I remember after my dad retired that he joked about Wednesdays being a big day because it was trash day so for him there was something to do that day of the week! Apparently, for some retirement is challenging because it stretches into the future like a vast wasteland with no markers or boundaries.
I'm wondering if the issue of 'context' for our lives -- set by boundaries and markers -- is one of those fundamental needs we humans have. After all, we have to have some way of knowing when we are out of bounds and when to celebrate.
It reminded me a bit about developing marketing plans. We always build into the plan measurable goals. We plan in advance to track the results of our marketing efforts -- so that we will know when to celebrate success.
I've heard experts say that children have to have boundaries in order to learn what is acceptable in life and what isn't. A child reared with no rules grows up with no context for his/her own behavior. And a child that tests boundaries does not really want the rules removed; quite the opposite: the child most often wants the boundary confirmed, wants to be able to count on stable contextual cues.
Markers are also important to children. Birthdays are the most obvious example. Moving to the next grade in school is another one. Other important ones are getting a driver's license, getting a job, graduation ceremonies.
Considering boundaries and markers made me think about the rhythms of adult life. There is a comfort associated with schedules and responsibilities. I remember after my dad retired that he joked about Wednesdays being a big day because it was trash day so for him there was something to do that day of the week! Apparently, for some retirement is challenging because it stretches into the future like a vast wasteland with no markers or boundaries.
I'm wondering if the issue of 'context' for our lives -- set by boundaries and markers -- is one of those fundamental needs we humans have. After all, we have to have some way of knowing when we are out of bounds and when to celebrate.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Listening
Why is listening so hard?
In communications theory classes, professors note that the part of the communications model that fails most often is the listening (or receiving) segment.
Articles in the Wall Street Journal report that U.S. corporations lose gazillions of dollars each year because of employees' failure to LISTEN. Because instructions aren't followed and tasks must be redone. Because customer orders are taken down incorrectly. And on and on.
In terms of relationships, we fail because we don't listen to each other.
Why is listening so hard?
Perhaps because of the fundamental human condition: we are more interested in ourselves than we are in anyone else!
I'm wondering what would happen if each of us tried an experiment. What if each of us vowed to listen attentively to just one other person each day. What if each of us quit thinking of our next brilliant comment; what if each of us totally focused on another person once a day.
My dad used to tell me, "You have two ears and one mouth. Use them accordingly."
In communications theory classes, professors note that the part of the communications model that fails most often is the listening (or receiving) segment.
Articles in the Wall Street Journal report that U.S. corporations lose gazillions of dollars each year because of employees' failure to LISTEN. Because instructions aren't followed and tasks must be redone. Because customer orders are taken down incorrectly. And on and on.
In terms of relationships, we fail because we don't listen to each other.
Why is listening so hard?
Perhaps because of the fundamental human condition: we are more interested in ourselves than we are in anyone else!
I'm wondering what would happen if each of us tried an experiment. What if each of us vowed to listen attentively to just one other person each day. What if each of us quit thinking of our next brilliant comment; what if each of us totally focused on another person once a day.
My dad used to tell me, "You have two ears and one mouth. Use them accordingly."
Saturday, June 30, 2007
More on universal competitiveness
I'm a fan of Dr. Deborah Tannen. She is a sociolinguist and has written several insightful, really practical books about conversation and communication. One of her books, The Argument Culture, examines the way we communicate in public -- in the media, in politics, in our courtrooms and classrooms.
She describes "the pervasive warlike atmosphere that makes us approach anything we need to accomplish as a fight between two opposing sides -- urging us to regard the world in an adversarial frame of mind."
She notes the "point-counterpoint" approach on tv.
She notes that typical reporting requires a quote from both sides of the issue -- as though there are two and only two sides to any topic. In some cases, that leads to elevating a much less compelling view to an equal position, and in other cases, over-simplifying very complex issues by ignoring valid points (we just want BOTH sides!) when it would be most helpful to have all aspects brought forward.
Very interesting.
I recommend her books.
This "argument culture" and the implied need to be RIGHT (proving everyone else WRONG) seems to me to be an example of the universal application of competitiveness.
I wonder if you have seen any evidences of what I am calling injudicious competitiveness?
She describes "the pervasive warlike atmosphere that makes us approach anything we need to accomplish as a fight between two opposing sides -- urging us to regard the world in an adversarial frame of mind."
She notes the "point-counterpoint" approach on tv.
She notes that typical reporting requires a quote from both sides of the issue -- as though there are two and only two sides to any topic. In some cases, that leads to elevating a much less compelling view to an equal position, and in other cases, over-simplifying very complex issues by ignoring valid points (we just want BOTH sides!) when it would be most helpful to have all aspects brought forward.
Very interesting.
I recommend her books.
This "argument culture" and the implied need to be RIGHT (proving everyone else WRONG) seems to me to be an example of the universal application of competitiveness.
I wonder if you have seen any evidences of what I am calling injudicious competitiveness?
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Competitiveness vs. Collaboration
We do champion competitiveness.
We chide people to 'get your head in the game.' If something isn't fun, we say 'where's the sport in that?'
And competition does have its place.
It shouldn't, however, be the natural default mode for all circumstances.
One example: the three-lane parkway I drive to and from work is not the place for competitiveness, but on the road I see more and more evidence of challenges, people vying for the best position, winning/losing, and so on.
In my pollyanna head, I wonder how driving might be improved if we all had a collaborative approach to getting from here to there. Isn't the goal for all of us to arrive at our destinations safely? Aren't we 'sharing the road' ? Doesn't my safety depend to some degree on your safety, and isn't my arrival somehow linked with your arrival?
Yeah, yeah. I know. Competition is fun.
I just wonder about the wisdom of our universal application of competitiveness.
More thoughts on this later.
We chide people to 'get your head in the game.' If something isn't fun, we say 'where's the sport in that?'
And competition does have its place.
It shouldn't, however, be the natural default mode for all circumstances.
One example: the three-lane parkway I drive to and from work is not the place for competitiveness, but on the road I see more and more evidence of challenges, people vying for the best position, winning/losing, and so on.
In my pollyanna head, I wonder how driving might be improved if we all had a collaborative approach to getting from here to there. Isn't the goal for all of us to arrive at our destinations safely? Aren't we 'sharing the road' ? Doesn't my safety depend to some degree on your safety, and isn't my arrival somehow linked with your arrival?
Yeah, yeah. I know. Competition is fun.
I just wonder about the wisdom of our universal application of competitiveness.
More thoughts on this later.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Having stuff
Architecture can tell us a lot.
When I visit historic log cabins, I always wonder at the single bare room and its one mantle or shelf for storage. It makes me realize how little in the way of possessions these early Americans had!
Fast forward 150 years to my grandmother's house -- and the storage possibilities are not a whole lot better. She had a distinct paucity of cabinets in the kitchen and if you wanted storage in the bedroom you had to buy a piece of furniture called a wardrobe. Houses just didn't have closets.
In the 50's my mother's house was brand new and included a tiny, shallow closet in each bedroom, a small cabinet for linens in the bathroom, half-again more kitchen cabinets than her mother had, and an attached single car garage that provided a nook for the washing machine.
When my parents bought their new house in the 60's, builders were touting their walk-in pantries in the kitchen, utility rooms inside the house, and double garages with storage areas!
The house I live in now (built in the mid-1980s) has a walk-in closet in each bedroom, built-in shelves and walls of built-in cabinets throughout the house, extensive cabinets in the kitchen, finished attic space, and on and on.
Today, brand new houses in my area feature master bedroom closets the size of rooms and three car garages.
And if that isn't enough, recent years have seen the rise of the storage industry. I can rent an additional off-site storage area in case I have too much stuff for my house -- or have one of those retangular portable storage things placed on my driveway.
One of the most popular stores is the Container Store where you can buy expensive closet "systems" to organize the overflowing stuff in closets.
We've moved from having very little . . . to a fixation on storing and organizing our stuff. I'm wondering if we have a tail-wagging-the-dog situation here. As a society, we seem to have become servants to our possessions.
When I visit historic log cabins, I always wonder at the single bare room and its one mantle or shelf for storage. It makes me realize how little in the way of possessions these early Americans had!
Fast forward 150 years to my grandmother's house -- and the storage possibilities are not a whole lot better. She had a distinct paucity of cabinets in the kitchen and if you wanted storage in the bedroom you had to buy a piece of furniture called a wardrobe. Houses just didn't have closets.
In the 50's my mother's house was brand new and included a tiny, shallow closet in each bedroom, a small cabinet for linens in the bathroom, half-again more kitchen cabinets than her mother had, and an attached single car garage that provided a nook for the washing machine.
When my parents bought their new house in the 60's, builders were touting their walk-in pantries in the kitchen, utility rooms inside the house, and double garages with storage areas!
The house I live in now (built in the mid-1980s) has a walk-in closet in each bedroom, built-in shelves and walls of built-in cabinets throughout the house, extensive cabinets in the kitchen, finished attic space, and on and on.
Today, brand new houses in my area feature master bedroom closets the size of rooms and three car garages.
And if that isn't enough, recent years have seen the rise of the storage industry. I can rent an additional off-site storage area in case I have too much stuff for my house -- or have one of those retangular portable storage things placed on my driveway.
One of the most popular stores is the Container Store where you can buy expensive closet "systems" to organize the overflowing stuff in closets.
We've moved from having very little . . . to a fixation on storing and organizing our stuff. I'm wondering if we have a tail-wagging-the-dog situation here. As a society, we seem to have become servants to our possessions.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Civilities
I'm trying to learn Russian.
It's an uphill battle. First, it uses a different alphabet....36 letters! Second, my teacher-on-CD often says, "Listen closely. This is not a sound used in English" so I find myself twisting my mouth into strange contortions to try to imitate (mostly unsuccessfully) these strange syllables!
But I've noticed something interesting about this gutteral, consonant-filled language. (Honestly, I think more than half the words I've learned begin with consonant combinations like SDR, or ZN, or GD, or SD!) But what I've noticed is not the construction of the words, it's the thought behind the construction of the sentences. Even though the Russian language sounds rough, the actual content of the words is quite courteous.
The teacher explains the prevalent use of 'excuse me' and various introductory phrases such as 'tell me please' and so on. Apparently, the common Russian language involves a courtesy, an almost formal civility.
It causes me to reflect on our get-to-the-point American conversation. By contrast, we sound abrupt. No wonder people from other cultures think we are rude. We might call our approach concise or efficient, but compared with others around the world, Americans probably sound uncaring and brusque.
I'm reminded of articles I've read about cross cultural business dealings: they often mention the fact that in other cultures people take time to get to know each other before they do business together. From what I read, American businessmen have offended many prospective foreign business partners by rushing to the deal without taking time for the relationship building.
The idea of taking time to be courteous and respectful to people around us, I think, is a fundamental transcendent principle.
I'm going to practice talking more courteously. So it takes a few more minutes . . . I'll consider it an investment of some sort. My contribution toward a more civil world.
It's an uphill battle. First, it uses a different alphabet....36 letters! Second, my teacher-on-CD often says, "Listen closely. This is not a sound used in English" so I find myself twisting my mouth into strange contortions to try to imitate (mostly unsuccessfully) these strange syllables!
But I've noticed something interesting about this gutteral, consonant-filled language. (Honestly, I think more than half the words I've learned begin with consonant combinations like SDR, or ZN, or GD, or SD!) But what I've noticed is not the construction of the words, it's the thought behind the construction of the sentences. Even though the Russian language sounds rough, the actual content of the words is quite courteous.
The teacher explains the prevalent use of 'excuse me' and various introductory phrases such as 'tell me please' and so on. Apparently, the common Russian language involves a courtesy, an almost formal civility.
It causes me to reflect on our get-to-the-point American conversation. By contrast, we sound abrupt. No wonder people from other cultures think we are rude. We might call our approach concise or efficient, but compared with others around the world, Americans probably sound uncaring and brusque.
I'm reminded of articles I've read about cross cultural business dealings: they often mention the fact that in other cultures people take time to get to know each other before they do business together. From what I read, American businessmen have offended many prospective foreign business partners by rushing to the deal without taking time for the relationship building.
The idea of taking time to be courteous and respectful to people around us, I think, is a fundamental transcendent principle.
I'm going to practice talking more courteously. So it takes a few more minutes . . . I'll consider it an investment of some sort. My contribution toward a more civil world.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Celebration
When did we forget how to be joyous?
Have you watched a little kid lately? Little kids are filled with delight at the smallest things. They view the world with wonder and awe. It's so refreshing to be around them and see the world through their eyes.
Somewhere along the way we grow sober, passive, not inclined to show our joy -- assuming we still have sparks of joy buried deep inside. It's as though someone told us that in order to look grown up we had to grow glum.
And as we grow older, I think somewhere along the way we just get out of the habit of celebrating. In the rush of things to do and responsibilities, taking time for wonder and awe gets shuffled to the bottom of the list.
I'm coming to believe that joy and celebration are CHOICES in this life. It's up to us to decide to take time to delight in people, in things, in the moment.
I'm thinking that delight is something that we have to exercise, something that can become a part of us again -- if we desire it and are willing to make time for it.
I'm going to work on getting my celebration glands going again.
Have you watched a little kid lately? Little kids are filled with delight at the smallest things. They view the world with wonder and awe. It's so refreshing to be around them and see the world through their eyes.
Somewhere along the way we grow sober, passive, not inclined to show our joy -- assuming we still have sparks of joy buried deep inside. It's as though someone told us that in order to look grown up we had to grow glum.
And as we grow older, I think somewhere along the way we just get out of the habit of celebrating. In the rush of things to do and responsibilities, taking time for wonder and awe gets shuffled to the bottom of the list.
I'm coming to believe that joy and celebration are CHOICES in this life. It's up to us to decide to take time to delight in people, in things, in the moment.
I'm thinking that delight is something that we have to exercise, something that can become a part of us again -- if we desire it and are willing to make time for it.
I'm going to work on getting my celebration glands going again.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
About Belonging
I heard Russell Quaglia speak a few days ago. He has researched the connection between student aspirations and academic success -- and has identified eight conditions in schools that affect student aspirations. His work is interesting, but I've been thinking about one particular thing he mentioned.
The first condition he recommends that schools cultivate has to do with creating the sense of belonging while preserving the individuality of the student. He noted that the scariest thing about school is not the AP Physics or the high stakes testing or college acceptance. He says the scariest thing about school is walking into the lunchroom alone..... the fear of having no one to sit with.
He talked about how to increase the likelihood of 'belonging' in schools, but he went on to say that the need for belonging doesn't go away when we become adults. His comments made me think of the many situations where adults crave that sense of belonging and the many coping mechanisms people devise.
A friend commented after hearing Quaglia that the success of the organization where I work is related to the active way we extend "belonging" to newcomers.
I assume that the deep, fundamental need to belong has played itself out in many ways in our society......in Welcome Wagons for folks who move into a town, maybe in the greeters at WalMart, belonging to country clubs, belonging to churches, maybe being a member of Sam's, and so on.
I'm going to watch for more signs of this need for belonging and how it is manifested in the people and circumstances around me. I think this deserves more attention.
The first condition he recommends that schools cultivate has to do with creating the sense of belonging while preserving the individuality of the student. He noted that the scariest thing about school is not the AP Physics or the high stakes testing or college acceptance. He says the scariest thing about school is walking into the lunchroom alone..... the fear of having no one to sit with.
He talked about how to increase the likelihood of 'belonging' in schools, but he went on to say that the need for belonging doesn't go away when we become adults. His comments made me think of the many situations where adults crave that sense of belonging and the many coping mechanisms people devise.
A friend commented after hearing Quaglia that the success of the organization where I work is related to the active way we extend "belonging" to newcomers.
I assume that the deep, fundamental need to belong has played itself out in many ways in our society......in Welcome Wagons for folks who move into a town, maybe in the greeters at WalMart, belonging to country clubs, belonging to churches, maybe being a member of Sam's, and so on.
I'm going to watch for more signs of this need for belonging and how it is manifested in the people and circumstances around me. I think this deserves more attention.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Wondering about Aloneness
Tonight I'm alone. I'm in another town, away from home, family, friends. I'm disconnected.
Strangely, I'm reading Blue Like Jazz, and this evening I read the chapter titled "Alone." Miller says, "Other people keep our souls alive, just like food and water does with our body." He tells a series of stories about isolation and how it can harm a person's ability to interact with others.
I've always cherished my alone time. I seek out quiet because there has been so little of it in my life. But I think Miller is right: when I choose too much alone time -- in preference to the people (and their needs) around me -- I get out of balance in my world somehow.
The right amount of alone time is refreshing; too much is debilitating. When I avoid people for a while, it's as though the velcro "social hooks" in my personality atrophy. I move farther from people, farther from being able to interact well.
Perhaps "community" is less noun and more verb -- something to be practised, honed, developed -- a skill that should be sought. Perhaps community should be considered a spiritual discipline.
Strangely, I'm reading Blue Like Jazz, and this evening I read the chapter titled "Alone." Miller says, "Other people keep our souls alive, just like food and water does with our body." He tells a series of stories about isolation and how it can harm a person's ability to interact with others.
I've always cherished my alone time. I seek out quiet because there has been so little of it in my life. But I think Miller is right: when I choose too much alone time -- in preference to the people (and their needs) around me -- I get out of balance in my world somehow.
The right amount of alone time is refreshing; too much is debilitating. When I avoid people for a while, it's as though the velcro "social hooks" in my personality atrophy. I move farther from people, farther from being able to interact well.
Perhaps "community" is less noun and more verb -- something to be practised, honed, developed -- a skill that should be sought. Perhaps community should be considered a spiritual discipline.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Wondering about Acceptance
Today I'm wondering why there isn't more acceptance in this ole world. Where did people get the idea that we are in the rejection business? Is it fear that leads to the mindset of rejection...fear of rejection, so we reject first as a defensive measure?
Acceptance does not in any way diminish the acceptor. Freely I receive, freely I give.
Last night I saw a big auditorium filled with people gathered for the purpose of accepting. It was refreshing. The smell of hope was in the air.
Then later I saw an old veteran of many battles taking the time to accept a young female graduate student on the verge of entering her own world of professional challenges. His kindness and affirmation was inspiring.
Today I'm resolved to be more generous with my acceptance.
Acceptance does not in any way diminish the acceptor. Freely I receive, freely I give.
Last night I saw a big auditorium filled with people gathered for the purpose of accepting. It was refreshing. The smell of hope was in the air.
Then later I saw an old veteran of many battles taking the time to accept a young female graduate student on the verge of entering her own world of professional challenges. His kindness and affirmation was inspiring.
Today I'm resolved to be more generous with my acceptance.
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