Author: Ricardo

It would be easy to chalk it up to the differences between men and women.  And you’d be right if you did.

Partially.

It would also be easy to chalk it up to cultural differences between the two parties.  We filter what we hear through our cultures of origin.  And you’d be right if you did.

Partially.

It would be a little harder to admit that sometimes people use the same words but mean different things.  You could chalk it up to the many ways most of us have used the same word for different purposes throughout our lives.  And you’d be right if you did.

Partially.

It would require us to take a long, hard look at ourselves and admit that we often hear what we want to hear, say things that aren’t always entirely true, and just plain suck at telling other people exactly what it is we want and when we want it…how we want it…why we want it. 

I think this last one is the most complete and genuine response.  Sure, it could be for all those other reasons, but I’m pretty sure I run across that last one the most, in my professional life as much as in my personal life. 

I think my youngest child is about the best listener I know.  When he wants to be.

Did you know that there is no such thing as a Tricerasaurus Rex?  I have never read about such a beast, and I am a paleo-nerd.  There are bigger paleo-nerds out there, but I revel in my paleo-geekness.

So, when a friend’s child told me how great a Tricerasaurus Rex was, I very kindly (and gently and condescendingly) informed him that there was never such a beast.

“Yes, there is.  He has the head of a Triceratops and the body of a T-Rex.  He’s the most powerful dinosaur in the world.”

Poor child…  Some day, his dream will be crushed.  Poor child…

“He’s the most powerful one I’ve ever made!”

Online.

You’re an idiot, Ric.

You see, a Tricerasaurus Rex lives not just in the imagination of this child but, apparently, in some online game that lets you mash dinosaurs together.

So, you see, we never know as much as we think we do.  The very young don’t get caught up in this kind of restrictive thinking, so, in their world, the only impossible things are those which an adult kindly points out as being impossible.

At the sub-atomic level, there is no inherent, intrinsic quality to anything.  The only impossible things are those which the observer brings with themselves to the act of observation.

But…

There is also this commitment to myself that I have to honor.  That commitment is to take a moment or two for myself each day to simply be.  To be and to allow myself to open up to…possibilities.  So, I honor that commitment right now…

Done.  That was easy.  Easy and essential.  I am useless to everyone who depends on me if I am unable to function to my fullest potential.  I don’t always get there, mind you, but without a little focus on myself…then…I lose myself.  I have been lost before.  It’s not fun.

There is no dishonor, no shame, no guilt, in nurturing yourself.  The minutes of each day are limited, so there is no doubt that taking time for yourself means that you have taken time away from others.  Selfish?  Of course not.  If we don’t keep building ourselves up, repairing what breaks, then we run the risk of being rendered utterly useless to those who need us most.

My wife and my boys need me to be present, to be refreshed.  My direct reports at work need me to be a leader and a coach for them.  My peers need me to be someone with whom they can work and on whom they can depend.  My boss needs me to keep my corner of the organization up and running.  The people driving next to me on the highway need for me to be awake.  The babysitter needs me to remember to pay her.  My friends need me to be there for them, if and when they need me.  

I think taking a moment to honor a commitment to myself is a pretty selfless act.  In my humble opinion.

What about you?

When I graduated from high school, like many people, I mourned the end of my life as I knew it as much as I welcomed the college years to come.  For me, the transition was particularly hard.  Not only was I leaving my school and the town I lived in, I was leaving the country in which I had spent the last 10 + years of my life.  For good.  This wasn’t an easy thing to accept, and I mourned.  Unfortunately, I did not embrace the mourning period, so, as a result, the pain of that transition lingered for years.  It subsided as my new life unfolded, but a dull ache stayed with me for years.  Eventually, I came to realize that everyone mourns to one degree or another.  The key is to embrace it, acknowledge it, face it, and work through it.

This seems like a simple idea, but I meet so many people who still grapple with changes that were hard on them, changes from which they have not fully recovered.  To mourn, we must first acknowledge what it is about the old status quo that we liked.  Once we know that, we can think about what we want the new status quo to look like.  It’s seldom that simple, but the process really isn’t complicated.  At times, we may need the help and support of others, but there will be times when we will be able to navigate this part of the process on our own.  The key, again, is acknowledgment, not suppression, of emotion.  Emotions buried never die.  

Our emotions are powerful.  They can drain us of our energy or they can propel us to new heights.  Regardless of whether we view them as positive or negative, they are useful to us.  There are very few people who couldn’t benefit from learning how to become more attuned with their emotions in an effort to leverage everything they have to offer. 

Don’t be afraid to feel.

And “knowingly” falls short.

When I was visiting the shores of Lake Superior, I took to skipping rocks.  I’ve always loved skipping rocks, and I’ve gotten fairly good over the years.  At work, they call those “hidden talents.”  The rocks on the beach where we were staying were particularly flat and particularly good for skipping.  One day, I was collecting rocks.  They kept getting bigger and bigger, until I finally pried a large triangular rock from between two huge slabs of stone.  It was ridiculously huge, but I was in a rock-collecting frenzy.  As I lifted the rock, I saw something pale fall into the water.  I bent over to look at the pale thing floating on the ground.  I couldn’t quite make it out, so I put the rock down next to the other stones.  I scooped the pale thing out of the water.  

It was a crayfish.  Two of its legs were torn off.  It body was twisted.  Its innards were coming out of a crack in its shell.  It was clearly dying.

It is amazing how careless we, as human beings, can be.  We are particularly careless when it comes to nature and our collective effect on the environment, the world around us.  We can be careless with one another, too, but it is clearly far more effortless for us to destroy our world without much consideration.  While this may seem like an overreaction to the accidental death of a single crayfish, the whole thing highlighted to me how important it is for me to be deliberate in my actions.  

My wife is always asking me what my intentions are when I behave a certain way or do a certain thing.  The question ranges from thought-provoking to annoying depending on how guilty and defensive I feel, but there is wisdom in the thought behind the inquiry.  Without deliberate thought and without clear intention, actions can become thoughtless, careless, destructive.  We cannot control everything of course, so unexpected outcomes are to be expected.  But let accidents be true accidents and not the result of negligence.

I felt remorse for the death of that crayfish.  I didn’t stop to think how my actions might impact the world around me.  I didn’t think at all.  I was plain careless.

My mother told me a story about something mysterious that was sighted off the coast of Long Island several decades ago.  It was like something moving through the water, just under the surface.  It was enormous, creating a wake behind it without breaching the surface.  Just at the surface.  Many people saw it, but nobody saw anything, if you know what I mean.

My mother said that one time, she and my father were out in his boat, Sea Fever.  It was during the time of these sightings, and my mother was a bit nervous.  Their ride in the boat went as it normally did.  Then, Sea Fever’s motor sputtered and died.  This, too, was not entirely out of the ordinary for the boat.  My father got to tinkering with the motor.  My mother looked out into the vast, black ocean.  Suddenly and almost instantly, the wake appeared in the water.  My mother…I imagine her wide-eyed and incredulous…watched as the wake slid by the boat, silently.  She saw it, but she saw nothing, if you know what I mean.  My father was too busy working on the motor.  He missed the whole thing.  The wake disappeared.  The motor started.  My parents went back to the boat slip. 

Now, I don’t know how much of this story is real and how much of it is a reconstruction from the memories of a child with an over-active imagination.  The wake I imagine was vast…wide and deep.  At the bottom there is a hint of something, yet there is…nothing.  Nothing that can be seen.  I imagine my father’s boat teetering near the edge, my father oblivious to the gargantuan sea creature that threatens to consume them whole, boat and all.  It does not notice them.  The motor mysteriously restarts, and the giant from the depths slips back into it night-black domain.

The image is one that I have never forgotten.  Even now, as an adult, as I recount this story, the imagine is vivid in my mind…crisp and clear.  It is more real than some of my own memories.  As I ponder the great vastness that is just outside of our reach, this imagine comes to mind.  There is something so huge out there, so enormous, that it can and will swallow us whole.  The only sane reaction is fear.

Fear is a basic reaction to the unknown.  It is instinctual.  I imagine early humans, children of Adam and Eve or early hominid ancestors…it’s irrelevant for our purposes today…sitting by the edge of a cave, perhaps by firelight.  Within the five to ten foot bubble of light from the fire, they are safe.  At the mouth of the cave with their clan behind them, they are safe.  But beyond that delusional envelope of safety, there is the vastness of the world ready to overcome and wash them away.  It was at the edge of the firelight, at the mouth of the cage, where fear went from being just an instinct to an active, cognitive process.  It was there that stories of what might be beyond were first told.  

To this day, when confronted with this vastness, I believe the first reaction is fear.  Fear will hold us back.  It will keep us from connecting to the great heartbeat of Existence itself.  The very essence of who we are in relation to Everything lies in our connection to this vastness, this great power that words fail to capture.  If you have felt it, then you know what I mean.  If you have not, then I cannot articulate what it is like.  It pulses.  It glides.  It skirts the surface, below the surface, just out of view.  We are pulled towards its event horizon.  We are drawn to its light.  But always, always, it is just out of sight, just beyond our meager five senses. 

I do not know what it takes to push beyond the limits of my human, Earthly self and touch that which lies just beyond the firelight, but I will spend the rest of my life reaching out to it.

My neighbors feel like they are living right on top of me, breathing down my neck and peering in my windows.  The little lake behind my house looks like a puddle.  The trees are anemic.  I have to laugh because, once again, I am reminded of the relativity of everything.  Every single thing.  

I watched “Wanted.”  It was violent beyond measure and felt totally alien to the rest of the experience.  I reacted appropriately “guyish” all the same.

I watched most of “The Simpsons Movie.”  Also felt alien.  Also laughed and reacted appropriately.

I watched my family explore and experience everything the U. P. had to offer.  My children surprised me with their boundless energy.  My wife tried things I wouldn’t have thought she would have.  I let myself sublime into the vastness of it, and I felt the heartbeat of Existence itself.

All in all, not a bad way to spend a week.

That’s what I tell myself.

My wife says it’s because I don’t exercise.  I haven’t lifted weights in earnest in almost 3 months.  Is there something to her theory?  She is one of those “practical” people who seems to be all “rationale” and stuff.  She uses “logic” to get through the day.  I don’t understand people like her.  

My sister-in-law says that people like us (she and I, that is) are more aligned to our air element.  We’re airy.  We don’t want to be contained.  No containment…no siree.  Just me getting up every day at the same time, following the same morning routine, eating the same breakfast, making the same 49-mile commute to work with my mug full of coffee, all free and airy and not contained.

There is a woman at work to whom I politely say “good morning” and “hello” when I pass by her.  She looks at me like I have horns on my head or something.  Perhaps she can tell I am airy.

I don’t know about airy.  I feel gassy at times, but I can usually predict when that is going to happen.

Life has a way of continuously happening to you if you let it.  Three months slipped by without my taking the time to work out.  That is nothing more than me allowing my life to happen without making it happen.

Contrary to my airy nature, I allow myself to live a life fully contained by the most artificial of constructs imposed upon me by…others?  No…by me.  I contain myself by allowing my life to happen without making it happen.

I could stop saying “hello” to that woman at work, but that would be against my nature.  I won’t let that happen.  Say “hello” to someone as you pass them by.  I once heard someone say that in Tibet to make eye contact yet not acknowledge someones presence is to deny their humanity and deny the very existence of their soul.  Even if that’s not true, it’s true.  It should be true…somewhere…everywhere.  I won’t let myself do that to someone else.  I won’t allow it to happen.

As for the gas, I accept total responsibility for everything I eat.  Hence, the “no animal flesh” rule.  My pectoral muscles have nothing to do with that.

Time to start working out again.

Honestly, I can’t totally remember how the book “Tribes” came to my attention. What I do remember is running to Barnes and Noble to find the book.  Once I knew what it was all about…well, I had to get my hands on it.  I tore through it in a few days. I paused.  I pondered.  The enormity of what I had just read sank in.  I read it again. Paused some more.  Pondered some more.  And I felt the Universe shift around me.  Another piece to a vast, timeless puzzle fell into place.  And it felt good!

I talked about the book with whoever would listen.  I recognized heretics in the wild, and I turned them on to the book.  I work with a heretic and tribal leader, so I slipped him my copy of the book.  I told him he should read it. He hemmed.  He hawed.  He procrastinated.  I kept bugging him.  He finally gave in…and has been transformed!  Like me, he sees the value in tribal leadership and the POWER inherent in building tribes to move the world. Tthe book struck the right nerve with me not because it was a totally new way of thinking but because it spoke to the way I already thought.  The single greatest thing I took from “Tribes” was the idea that I was not alone.  I was not alone because somebody wrote a book that was partially about the way I lead people.  I was not alone because the book contained stories about people that were not that dramatically different from me.  I was not alone because it helped me see others just like me in the world around me.  It both inspired and validated. Both reading and sharing the book has been a profound experience for me.  I recognize that I am one of many, and the many are out there, changing the world.

One day, the author of Tribes, Seth Godin, posted an offer on his blog. It was an offer to join a closed social network of fellow “Tribes” fans.  A rather uncomplicated application process was required, but that was it.  It is the type of offer I read a dozen times a week and ignore.  Why not? In my line of work, with my experience, I would never qualify.  But…but I WANTED to be a part of this one.  At the time, I was just beginning to get serious about finding my place in the grand scheme of on-line social networking.  I was motivated. More than anything, though, I loved that book.  I loved Seth’s blog.  I wanted to be a part of this social networking he was talking about because I could FEEL in my bones that this was something extraordinary.  Boy, was I right.

When I received the official invitation to join the network, called “Triiibes” (the three “i’s” are for “Inspire,” “Illuminate,” and “Innovate” which, incidentally, are eerily similar to my own personal motto “Inspiration.  Influence. Innovation.”), I was thrilled. I sort of geeked out a bit.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  I was eager to join this little group of people and share my take on the world with them.  Boy, was I shocked. What I found was a vast network of THOUSANDS of people (today there are over 6000), most of whom had already been a part of this network for some time. Many already had relationships. Most of them were familiar with the rules of the road, so to speak.  Most of them already had established blogs…a lot of them have more than one!  These were people who were already consulting, already coaching, running their own business, running other people’s businesses…on and on and on!  It was a pool of talent and knowledge and heart and soul that came pouring out of my computer screen and ran all over my keyboard.  It ruined my desk. I think I had to throw a pair of pants away.  I was inundated and overwhelmed by the deluge of tribal goodness.  It freakin’ rocked.

Today, “Triiibes” celebrates its first birthday. I haven’t been a part of it since day one, but the time I have spend mostly reading, sometimes participating, in this incredible social experiment has been as transformational for me as reading the book that started it all, “Tribes.” I have been exposed to so many wonderful people, all of which have been kind, thoughtful, and gentle with me in all of our interactions.  There is a spirit of caring here that is quite unique.  We are all a part of this thing because we want to be.  There is no reward other than sharing life, digitally, with other people from around the world.  The cast of characters spans the globe, and that, in and of itself, is remarkable.  What is more remarkable is how quickly and eagerly people in Triiibes join together to work on things, to move projects forward, to discuss just about any topic under the sun, and to simply share.  They share their lives, their talents, their spirits, with one another.  With me. I am a part of the whole.  While I am no where near as prolific a contributor as some, the times I have reached out, I have been met with warm, friendly hands.  As I have said several times, I am humbled by the genius that I encounter amongst my digital friends. The genius and the compassion. It is startling.

For me, Triiibes has been about experiencing others, about studying what goes on in the network.  I haven’t launched any world-changing ventures yet, but I have gained more confidence in how I lead others.  I have asked questions, given feedback, and “listened” to discussions that have helped me move forward with my own ideas on how to change the world.  I maintain my blog religiously. I began writing a book. I participate in tribes at work.  The bottom line is that Triiibes has been one of the greatest sources of inspiration for me during the time I have been a member.  It has changed my life. THEY have changed my life.

Happy Birthday, Triiibes. Happy Birthday, Seth. Happy Birthday, EVERYONE.

Like I said, I’m not alone: http://davidism.blogspot.com/ and http://melvinhall.com/node/143.