Uncategorized – Page 20 – Illuminate Possibilities

Might as Well Give Up

Posted on April 8, 2011 by Ricardo in Uncategorized

Trying so hard gets tiring. At times, I feel as though I might as well give up.

Relax. This isn’t a suicide note.

Rather, it’s an admission that I sometimes get so frustrated and discouraged trying to accomplish something that just doesn’t seem to want to happen that I want to give it up and walk away. I want to quit. Throw in the towel. Cry “Uncle!” Head for the hills. All the cliches and colloquialisms. I’d rather do anything other than attempting to conquer the same hill from a different angle. After all, after so many assaults on the summit from different angles, you sort of make your way all the way around the mountain to the place you started. That’s sort of a sign that you’ve done everything you can.

Actually, it’s an indicator that you probably have all the information that you need. After all, you’ve looked at things from all sides now.

That’s the time to hunker down, recognize the dip, and take the proverbial deep breath. And it’s a good time that if you haven’t figured out what to do on your own, it’s probably a good time to enlist someone else. Or take a break to let it all settle in. Or try a second round but with the benefit of a complete picture of the problem. There are an number of ways to go about the second attempt. Just make sure there is a second attempt.

If you’ve made it this far, why give up? Don’t back down now.

Of course, you could always admit defeat and move on to the next challenge. Just don’t get addicted to surrender and don’t move on unless you’re really moving on to something else and not just…anything else. There’s a huge difference between recognizing that your time and energy are better spent on another goal or obstacle or challenge…whatever…and simply crawling into a hole to wither away into nothing.

Death comes to all of us. It finds us at some point. We have to go eventually. At least make it hard for Death to find you, for Pete’s sake.

So, the next time you’re thinking that you might as well give up, don’t. Call the first round reconnaisance, then get up and give it another go.

B O U L D E R S in the Path

Posted on April 6, 2011 by Ricardo in Uncategorized

Boulder refers to the immovable nature of some priorities.

Ever notice that sometimes the path is smooth, even, and flat, and at other times it’s bumpy, uneven, and on a hellacious incline? Always, there are boulders.

I recall Stephen Covey using the image of our time and energy as a finite vessel and our various priorities as sand, small rocks, and large rocks. Sand represents the many small items that cross our desks that are quick and easy to resolve. Small rocks represent items that are come complex in nature and harder to address. The large rocks represent our highest priorities, but these tend to be more complex, even daunting, in nature.

To illustrate, imagine we start with an empty vessel.

The natural tendency is to focus on the easier items represented by sand. These are quick wins, and they allow for instant gratification. They make us feel good about ourselves, so we do them first. Our vessel is partially filled, but there’s so much room left!

The natural tendency is to then focus on the small rocks. They are, after all, less stressful and easier to complete than those pesky boulders, so we go after them in earnest. If we’re lucky, we get them done before more sand arrives. If more sand arrives, we drop the small rocks, attend to the sand (feels better quicker!), then meander back to the rocks. Eventually, if we are really lucky, we get the rocks taken care of, and our vessel is filled partially with sand, then with small rocks. There’s still plenty of room!

Finally, we get to the large rocks, the boulders. If we’re lucky, one of those fits in the vessel, but the rest don’t stand a chance. That doesn’t make sense! We have plenty of space between the rocks, so why can’t we fit more in? We measured it all, so it shouldn’t be a problem? What gives?

The answer is simple: by filling the vessel with smaller stuff first, then focusing on larger items, we waste the spaces in between the rocks of increasing size. Our time works the same way. If we are constantly working on the little things, we run out of hours in the day to get to the big things. Life has a near-constant supply of little things, of sand. As a matter of fact, the grinding of large stones creates sand!

Covey and others advocate a different approach. Perhaps, by focusing on the larger things first, we give ourselves more time to easily fit all the pieces of the puzzle into the vessel.

Did you notice that there’s actually room left over? There’s a lesson there somewhere.

Focus on the boulders. The rest will fall into place.

Around Those Unknown Turns

Posted on April 4, 2011 by Ricardo in Uncategorized

You never now what’s around the corner.

At times, not knowing can be scary. At times, not knowing can be invigorating. Most of the time, it’s all just better when you don’t have to find out alone.

Then again, other people can be so annoying.

They don’t always think fast enough. They don’t always get what you’re trying to say right away. They don’t always shut up when you want them to shut up. They don’t always sit quietly when you want them to sit quietly. They don’t always stop bothering you when you ask them to stop bothering you. They don’t always leave you alone when you just need to be left the heck alone. At times, the aggravation of having that other person in your life hardly seems worth it.

But people also call you sometimes at precisely the moment you need them. They also offer to feed and house you when you’re looking for a place to spend a few nights. They also buy you lunch when you just need to get out of the office. They also take care of something you’ve been avoiding like a plague-infected zombie. They also know that you think zombies are sort of funny at the same time that they are sort of scary. They also buy you a great book because it helped them and they think it can help you, too. At times, the pure joy of having that other person in your life hardly seems real.

When it all comes down to it, life is simply richer and more beautiful when you have a hand to hold as you go around those unknown turns.

Regarding the Next Thirty Days

Posted on April 1, 2011 by Ricardo in Uncategorized

I’ve recently read that the only way to truly change is to make your commitment to change public. Well, at least it’s one of the steps. So, I’ll put this out there and see what comes back to me in thirty days…

In the next thirty days, I have to begin to learn how to manage my new team like a business. I have to learn their business model. I have to learn the financial levers. I have to learn how to use the tools and leverage the processes to get me the information I need to run this team.

That might be an ambitious goal, but it’s what I’m setting out to do.

In the next thirty days, I also have to begin leading my team like my business. My business is not the business of insurance or project management. My business is the business of people and their goals for their lives.

That might be an ambitious goal, too, but it’s what I’m setting out to do.

Meeting both goals will make a difference.

The Story

Posted on March 30, 2011 by Ricardo in Uncategorized

It’s hard to get anyone to truly hear your story until it’s personal. We have to make the story personal.

For the story to have impact, it has to be personal. Personal stories are the best stories for transferring ideas from one person to another.

Listening to someone else’s personal story only gets me so far. The rest of the distance is covered by me. I have to make the story MY story. That is what it means to make the story personal.

If you write on the first few pages of the notebook and hand me a largely empty notebook, I will read what you wrote. If it is honest and true, I will “get” your story. Then, I will write my story next to yours.

I will fill up the notebook.

I will fill up two more.

Then I will pass the notebook along to somebody else. If I have been honest and true, they will “get” our story. Then, they will write their story. Right next to ours.

This is the process of transferring ideas from one person to another.

This is the process of making each person a part of the story.

However, in order for me to pass the notebook along to the next person, you had to pass it along to me. You had to relinquish control of the notebook and maybe even the pen. You had to entrust it into my hands. You had to hope that what you set down as the start of the story gave me enough to write my part of the story in a way that aligned with your original vision.

Most importantly, you had to give your vision over to me.

It’s not yours any more. That has to be OK.

You have to trust your writing.

You have to trust my writing.

You have to trust the next person’s writing.

That is how you make the story personal.

If you aren’t ready to do that, then don’t pretend you are. And don’t expect anyone else to be.

Like a Mouse

Posted on March 28, 2011 by Ricardo in Uncategorized

Nothing kills a moment of creative inspiration like a mouse.

Let me rephrase that: nothing kills a moment of creative inspiration like a woman screaming because she’s seen a mouse.

Naturally, you go and tend to the mouse problem. It takes a while. You don’t see the mouse, of course, because he’s off somewhere else by now. Hiding. Scheming. Something like that. Or maybe he’s outside somewhere, on to bigger and better things. Regardless of what he’s doing, you’re looking for him.

When that part of the evening’s agenda is over, you move on to consoling the woman. Understandably, she’s a little upset. It doesn’t help that the house also has a lot of spiders. There was one so huge that you could hear it’s little feet brushing against the porcelain of the sink as he slipped and tried, in vain, to climb out. That was a lucky break for me. I just put a glass over it, slide a piece of heavy paper under it, and walked it to the curb. I let it out. It ran back towards the house. I didn’t tell that last bit to anyone. I’m confident he didn’t want back in, but…you know…it was a little weird.

Then there was the monstrous bee. I missed that one.

So, you see how someone might be on their last nerve with all the nature going on around here now that the weather is getting a little better.

Anyway, she’s upstairs now. My hope of getting to bed early is shot. Here’s to hoping that my peanut butter trap nabs me a little mouse tonight, the humane way. For his sake, I hope he falls for it. He’ll wind up in a jar. I’ll walk him to a park and let him go. Tomorrow, I’m buying some old-school, back-snapping mouse traps. Vegetarian or not, I’ve got a mouse to take care of.

Nothing kills a good night’s sleep like a mouse.

A Pint at Ned’s

Posted on March 25, 2011 by Ricardo in Uncategorized

Paul bought me a pint of Guinness at Ned’s tonight. It was brilliant. Not my first pint of Guinness since arriving here, but certainly the best. Apparently, it’s not just about how it’s poured but about how it’s left to settle, then topped off properly and allowed to settle one final time. I think the man behind the bar would have slapped my hand silly if I would have reached for my glass prematurely. Nothing to worry about, though, because Paul had my back.

I strolled down to Ned’s with my beautiful lady on my arm. It was dark outside, and the night air was cold. A hint of the sea was on the gentle breeze. The wind smelled crips and clean and just a bit salty as we got closer to town. Light twinkled on the other side of the inlet. At one point on the way back home, a ferry slid across the black water. It was a surreal vision.

At Ned’s people were laughing and talking and having a good bit of fun. A rugby game was on the TV, in the corner. Nobody really paid attention thought. Why would you with so much good conversation around you. Somebody dropped a glass, and beer splattered all around. A young man rolled his eyes from behind the bar but came out and cleaned the mess all the same. Nobody chided, nobody cat-called. Shit happens, even at Ned’s. Paul ordered the culprit another pint before the young man from behind the bar got to the mess.

My lady drank a glass of wine while I enjoyed my Guinness. She talked to some people. I talked to some people. Paul ducked out before we could thank him. We left early because…you know…there’s stuff to do during the weekend. I cajoled my lady into walking back up the hill. She wanted to take a cab, but I so love the walk up that hill. Besides, I just wanted to spend some more time with her, enjoying the view from the hill, the cold night air, and those ephemeral traces of the sea on the wind.

To think I didn’t want to walk into Ned’s because I felt like I didn’t belong. Maybe I didn’t; maybe I don’t. And maybe nobody cares. Maybe all that matters is that you walk into a place like Ned’s and just enjoy the simple pleasure of spending time with other people. Maybe keeping it simple makes all the difference in the world.

Happiness comes from simplicity. Few things are as simple as enjoying a pint at Ned’s.

The Scary Moments

Posted on March 23, 2011 by Ricardo in Uncategorized

I had a bit of a panic attack today. I felt like I had no business even trying to do what she was doing. She knows her stuff. She knows these people. She knows what she’s doing. I am not she, ergo I do not belong here trying to do any of this!

The moment passed. But I didn’t feel any better about things. I was unsettled for much of the day.

On the train ride home, I was reading a book that my buddy gave me called “What Got You Here Won’t Get You There”. The section I was reading had absolutely nothing to do with me. I got to this one part and…holy crap…the section I was reading had everything to do with me. I hate when that happens. Actually, I love it.

Here’s what I learned today: I am not me anymore. I mean, in a lot of ways I am, but the “me” that I am doesn’t matter quite as much as my human ego would lead me to believe. Some Tolle came with that, along with a healthy portion of Dalai Lama and a side order of Godin. A bit of Buckingham rounded the moment out.

What I mean is that everything that I thought made me “me” at work is 3000 miles away. I felt the absence of all…THAT…today, and I think I lost my nerve for a spell.

The scary moments are always about “me,” but, more often than not, they should really be about…not me. I feel threatened when I focus on me and what I have to lose. Most of the time, I don’t have anything real to lose; it just feels like I do. The truth of the matter is that the loss I fear is imaginary and simply the anticipation of a loss that has not come to pass and probably will not come to pass. Even if it does…so what? Failure is seldom as bad as we fear it will be.

Today I was reminded that letting go of me means that I have the opportunity to be…to simply be. And “being” in that sense will allow me to serve others better. And that’s the whole point.

I have to remember why I am here. There is still so much to learn!

The One Thing I Learned About Paella

Posted on March 21, 2011 by Ricardo in Uncategorized

I can’t tell you when I first fell in love with paella, but I can tell you where.

I fell in love with paella in the basement of a little Spanish cafe. Well, it wasn’t really in the basement, but I always sort of fancied myself sitting in the basement of some family-run cafe, lost in the twists and turns of the small streets and alleyways of Madrid. And it really wasn’t a cafe in Madrid. It was more like a restaurant in Mexico City, but that shouldn’t matter all that much. The fact of the matter is that I loved that little sizzling clay platter that the waiter would sit in front of me, all steaming and aromatic, piled high with chicken and sausage and clams and shrimp. That plate of Paella Valenciana was like heaven to me, and every time I went back, I fell that much deeper in love… If you happen to find yourself in Mexico City’s famous Zona Rosa, or “Pink Zone” (so named after the pink color of the pavers in the streets), look for the Antiguo Meson del Perro Andaluz. Order the Valenciana. I don’t think you’ll regret it. Tell them Ricardo sent you. They probably won’t have a clue what you’re talking about, but you might get lucky; some dude named Ricardo might have connections there. If it sucks, blame him.

Of course, I don’t eat meat anymore, so that which I craved can never be mine again. Instead, I have moved on to other things…namely making my own paella, vegetarian style. Great paella, in my experience, is all about the quality of the rice and the presence of the signature color and distinctive flavor of saffron. When I talk about the “quality” of the rice I really mean the characteristics of the rice after it has been cooked. Good paella should never be sticky. It should have a slightly oiled textured without being greasy. It should be wet, not too dry. And it should never, and I mean NEVER, be overcooked. Never.

The secret is in the pan. Saffron is vital, too, but the pan is what allows the cook to influence and tease the rice into a perfect performance. I used to feel like banging my head against a wall out of frustration when my paella wouldn’t come out right. It wasn’t until my parents bought me a paella pan, or “paellera,” that I discovered the unadulterated joy that comes from mastering the art of making paella. OK, “mastering” is a bit of hubris, but I can make a pretty good paella.

In order to make good paella, I had to be willing to screw up and make lots of bad paella. Lots of bad paella. Sticky paella; bland paella; watery paella; undercooked paella; overcooked paella; and just plain nasty paella. Apparently, making good paella is as much art as science, and success and the freedom that comes from success was mine once I let go of the result and learned to embrace the journey. When I paid attention to the path, I avoided all the stumbling and the falling off the road that kills so many travelers each year. Or causes them to make bad paella. The analogy works both ways.

I had an image in my head, a fantasy really, that defined paella for me for years. Nothing I could find in any restaurant could compare to the Valenciana at the Perro Andaluz. I searched, too; for years. I was terrified to try for myself, and I avoided my wife’s pleas for years, too. Then, one day, I gave up, gave in, and made a very mediocre paella. That’s when the journey started; that’s when the fun began.

The one thing that I learned about paella is that, just like anything else in life, you suck as long as you don’t try…then you try and suck a little less. Try again, suck a little less. Again, and even less. Repeat until you no longer suck or just have so much fun trying that the sucking doesn’t even matter any more. Then, you’ll be making great paella and serving it up in the basement of some little cafe, somewhere in the heart of Madrid.

Love the View

Posted on March 18, 2011 by Ricardo in Uncategorized

I love the view _______.

I can fill in the blank with one of any number of places in my life right now.

How about the view down my street? Or the view from my bedroom window? Or the view from my kids’ bedroom? Or the view from the train platform I use every day? Or the view out the window behind my desk?

These views all kick the metaphorical ass of the previous views in my life. Three months ago, the views in my life were crap. Empty fields, brown and covered in snow. Dead yards, yellow and covered in snow. Asphalt and concrete, 8-lane highways and back-road blacktop, cars and trucks and mini-vans and SUVs…all covered in ice and snow. What crappy, miserable, ugly views…

Or were they?

Maybe any issues we have with the views in our lives have more to do with the viewer than with the view. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, right? OK, so maybe I-55 to I-294 in the Chicago area will always be short on the natural beauty, and maybe the view from my hotel room in New York City last year was wretched in a way that defies conventional description. The thing to consider, I think, is that there is something beautiful everywhere you look. On clear days, I could see the Chicago skylines from I-55. When I turned on to 294 and drove up the merge with 88, Chicago could be seen again in the distance. With a little patience, the city could be clearly seen, even close, on 294, just south of the O’Hare oasis. That was always my favorite of the three glimpses I got of the city. Chicago is beautiful…in a way that defies conventional description. Whether it be from a distance, while closing in on her further up 55, or from a boat on Lake Michigan, Chicago is very simply beautiful. I moved there for a reason. Some day, I’ll move back.

What makes Belfast and what I have seen of Northern Ireland so beautiful to me is that I am awake while I am here. There’s plenty of ugly stuff here to look at; no doubt about that. However, like those 3 views of Chicago during my old commute, I’m looking for the moments that will give me pause and take my breath away. At times, I catch myself lamenting that the views here are temporary. My current lease will expire. I could move to another town. Heck, on a gloomy day, there’s not much to see out the window behind my desk. That acknowledgement just serves to underscore something about which we should all be aware: all of our views are temporary. They change each day, hour by hour. They come and they go. So many times, they are beyond our control. Our paths take us away from them. None of the views are permanent. None of them are guaranteed. The only guarantee is that each and every one of them will be taken away from us at some point in the future. So don’t sweat the future and focus on what you’ve got right in front of you.

Anticipating loss in the future is one of the big sins of our lives and a sure sign that we are living far from the present moment. Being in the present moment is the only way at all to appreciate the view.