Category: Uncategorized

 So, there was this other time that one of my star direct reports (we’ll call him George) handed me a letter.

I looked down at it.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“It’s my letter of resignation,” he said.

I read it.

“I guess it is,” I replied.  “Why are you giving it to me?”

He blinked.  Long pause.  “Because…I’m resigning.”

“Two weeks?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.  “That’s the fair thing to do to you.”

“Thanks.  You don’t have to do that, though.  You can go now.”

More blinking.  More silence.

Awkward silence.

“Why?”  I asked him.

“I got a better offer.”

“Better offer or more money?”

Pause.  “More money,” he responded.

“Come here,” I said, and led him into a room.

“Sit down, “I said.  

He sat.

“If you leave here now looking for money, you’ll be chasing money for the rest of your life.  That’s not a way to find fulfillment in your work.”

He said nothing.

“George, if they offered you a real chance to do something more with your career than I could offer you here, I wouldn’t even try to get you to stay.  As much as I love having you on our team, I wouldn’t stop you from doing what’s best for you or for your family.”  I paused.  “Is money really what’s best?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.  He sat in silence, something heavy weighing down his brow.  It was cut with deep furrows.

“You have a good thing here.  You have tons of friends.  Everyone around here knows you.  I see how happy you are going about your work every day.  You do more for the folks around here than most people in your position would do.  Others learn from you.”

He sat in silence, watching me.

“I don’t have to think twice about what goes on with this team day-to-day because you are such a good leader.  I know you’ve got a handle on things, and that allows me to do more than I would have otherwise been able to do.  I’ll miss you if you leave, but I think you’ll miss all of us more.”

“Yeah…I hear you.”

“I’ll shake your hand and wish you well if you decide to lead.  I just want you to make sure it’s what you really want,” I added.

“Yeah, yeah…  Listen, can…can you give me a few minutes here?  I’m not sure…”

“Look, I’ll take this letter, and I’ll put it in a folder in my desk.  Take a week.  Think about it.  If you decide that you want to do this, then let me know.  We’ll shake hands, no hard feelings, and you can go start the next phase of your career.  OK?”

“Yeah, yeah…OK.  Thanks…thanks, Ric.”

“Sure.”

We shook hands.

The next day, he stopped by my desk.

“Can you tear that letter up?” he asked.

“Of course I can.”  And I did.  Right in front of him.

He smiled and walked away.

Now, I don’t know if there are times in his life when George thinks about that moment and wished he’d made a different decision.  I can’t tell you.  I live 900 miles away now.  I see his name from time to time, so I know he’s still around.  I hope that he’s doing well, and I hope that he hasn’t regretted his decision.  For years after, I know he didn’t.  He told me as much.  We didn’t really talk about that exchange.  He just mentioned it to me one day.  He told me he was glad he stayed on, remained a part of our team.  I was glad he did, too.  He was…better after that.  He worked a little harder, led with a little more confidence.  He’s doing more technically challenging things now.

I like to think that, together, we made good choices for his career.  At minimum, I hope that I asked the right question at the right time.  And I hope he gave the right, most honest answer.  

My faith in him was a small part of the equation; his faith in himself was the most important part.

My youngest needed some incentive when we were potting train him.  He had perfect control over his…habits, but he just refused to go poo-poo in the potty.  I’m sorry; it was what it was.  The boy just needed to poop in a pull-up.  Pee-pee?  Fine.  Not a problem.  Poo-poo?  No way.  Pull-up, please.

So, my wife being the brilliant parent out of the two of us, set up a savings plan with him: for every poop he did in the potty, we’d drop 50 cents in an envelope so we could go to the zoo.  All he had to do was cover the parking.  The Lincoln Park Zoo, you see, is essentially free.  Parking is the only thing you need to pay for.

Of course, my little guy loved the plan, and, as a result, started pooping in the potty immediately.  Fast-forward a few months, and it’s off to the zoo we go, the $20 required for parking in that same little envelope.  When we got to the zoo, my wife noted that the parking rates were pretty steep and that $20 was only going to get us 4 hours.  “We have to make sure we’re back in 4 hours,” she said.  “Why?” asked the little one.  “We didn’t bring enough money to pay for 5 hours, sweetheart,” she announced.  Part of our education plan for our kids is to teach them the value of spending what you have.  In this case, we made a big deal about him saving $20, so we had to stick to that.  “I guess we’ll just have to stick with what we have,” my wife added.

“Don’t worry, Mama,” came that little voice.  “If we need more money we can just go back home, so I can poop some more.”

Ahh…if only life were that easy…

You read a lot about people who suffer.  It’s an odd thing to read about when you, yourself, aren’t suffering, at least not in the way many unfortunate souls in the world suffer.  It is easy for me to sit back in my middle-class neighborhood, with my all-American nuclear family, working my white-collar job from home…it’s easy to sit back and spin fanciful yarns about how life is all about choices and our attitudes and learning to live with the consequences of our actions.  It is easy because I don’t have to explain misery and true human suffering to those who experience it first hand.

I haven’t really been tried, in that “life’s trials” sort of way.  I have had my share of issues to work through, but there is a whole wide world to help me put my trivial problems into perspective.  I am fortunate beyond measure, and for that I am so very grateful.  My children are asleep upstairs, cozy and comfy in their beds, carefree.  They have issues, too, you know; problems that consume them and are extremely important to their young lives.  But, overall, their lives are good…very, very good.

My children…all children really…have that uncanny way of slipping in life’s important lessons.  They mainly do so covertly and unintentionally.  Today, my children taught me that losing a bracelet you made yourself is an event that can bring a person to tears, to nearly inconsolable tears.  When found, the same bracelet can generate such joy and enthusiasm.  They taught me that not getting to cuddle with their mama at night is as horrible an ending to a day as one could not possibly dread more.  They taught me that mama coming home early because of the rain is reason to smile like an idiot from ear to ear and giggle with excitement.  Such are the lives of children.  Such are the lives of my children.

For me, there is a lesson in there about reacting to emotions.  There is a lesson about perspective.  There is a lesson about turning on and off this notion of suffering.  This last one intrigues me the most.  What is the threshold for suffering no longer being a choice?  When does suffering transcend the realm of childhood and enter the darker world of adulthood?  At what point do we become bona fide victims of the indignities and misfortunes that the world heaps upon us?  

I don’t know the answer.  All I know is that at some point, like most adults, I lost the ability to clearly see that line.  Maybe children see it more closely for a time but then lose it.  Again, I don’t know.  What I do know is that it would be magical to get that back.  It would be even more magical to help others see it, too.

I’d love to live in a world where misery and suffering are optional.

 You have to take with a grain of salt these people who want to be the first to “break” a story.  The grain has to be rather substantial when it comes to the death of Michael Jackson.  That said, word is starting to spread that police are treating Michael’s death as a homicide.  For whatever reason, that got to me.

It’s one thing for Michael to have died as a result of his own actions.  We take our lives into our hands every day; we make decisions, often in a split second, that can mean the difference between life and death.  Some times, the decisions aren’t that dramatic.  And some times those mundane decisions can result in death.  It happens every day, all over the world.  Life is weird that way.  No guarantees…the Grim Reaper can come knocking at any time.

It’s another thing altogether to put your faith in another person and wind up dead because of that person’s negligence or…well…stupidity.  I know; that’s a decision just like any other.  To me, though, in this instance, it seems like Michael Jackson’s death is that much more…avoidable?  Pointless?  Presumptuous of me to judge the Master Plan, but hearing that Michael’s death might be a homicide…I don’t know.  I didn’t really feel real sadness until now.  

Like I said, take it with a grain of salt.  We’ll probably never know what really happened that day, and it’s honestly none of our business.  The whole situation just made me appreciative of the fact that the circumstances in my life let me sleep at night.  I don’t need any help falling asleep.  Just ask my wife.  

Maybe my life isn’t that glamorous, but I have people with whom to share it.  And I am alive.  For that, I am most grateful.

Some days, there are too many different ideas bouncing around my head for my own good.  Eckhart Tolle talks about quieting the voice inside your head as a way of attuning yourself to the present moment.  I have a hard time quieting that voice.  

I’ve been thinking about a conversation and E-mail exchange with my colleague and good friend, the former Buddhist monk.  My experience as an artist this past Sunday pretty much stands as the polar opposite of the kind of Sunday he had.  He made a comment about how we are, indeed, opposites…yet we are such close friends.  His comment left me wondering: why are we such good friends?  Do opposites attract?  Or are we the same on some deeper level that allows us to connect in a genuine, life-giving way?  Perhaps we just experience life differently because of cultural differences.  I am not sure I know.  I am just sure that I am profoundly grateful to the Universe for the gift of this human being in my life.

I’ve also been thinking about my job.  I moved to a temporary work space in a basement of another building, and it has left me feeling really isolated.  Ironically, my team is right near me.  One of the things it has made me realize is that I depend on being near a lot of other people to give my day structure and purpose.  Down in the basement, there is just a small group of people apart from my team sharing the workspace.  None of them are people with whom I would normally interact.  I find myself with a bit more free time on my hands.  I’m struggling to feel productive.  What to do?  Seems like a golden opportunity when I really think about it…

Finally, I’ve been thinking about what I have to offer other people as a writer.  I am a part of an on-line social network that is chock-full-o-people who do amazing, incredible things with their days.  Some of these people are moving mountains and changing lives.  It is humbling to be able to partake of so much awesomeness.  What the heck am I doing?  Not enough…that’s for sure.

OK, so this is the part where we stop and thread together a few pieces of information.

The use of antibiotics has lead to the development of more and more drug-resistant strains of our favorite microorganisms.  So, in modern human society, it would stand to reason that we should be rethinking our current application of antibiotics in the general population.  I think this is more or less happening as awareness of the misuse of antibiotics is really quite high.  I don’t think the medical establishment pretty much agrees on this.

It’s unfair to demonize antibiotics, though.  I think it’s more accurate to say that we, as a society, were largely ignorant of what we were doing.  Being more educated now, we can make different decisions, and, as a result, rectify past mistakes.  Besides, antibiotics save lives.  They decimate the microorganisms that result in disease when applied properly.  They make survival possible for people who might otherwise die from infection or disease.  In the very worst of situations, they allow humans to survive disgusting conditions that would otherwise kill them.  That’s what antibiotics do.

So, do you ever wonder why the meat that is served and sold to you “needs” to be grown with antibiotics?  Why are antibiotic-free meats an anomaly?  And why would dairy cattle need antibiotics?  How about egg-laying chickens?  How would farm animals become susceptible to wild, airborne diseases, anyway?  

The answer is simple.  Factory farmed animals are forced to live in such deplorable, disgusting conditions that the use of antibiotics is required to keep them alive.  Think about that.  And think about the fact that, although it turned out to be a false alarm, nobody in the scientific community found it hard to believe that the H1N1 flu virus might have originated on a pig farm in Mexico, a factory farm.  

Rampant antibiotic use.  Disease-friendly living conditions.  Plenty of animals to act as incubators for the next strain of drug-resistant microorganism.  I never liked meat THAT much.

 “Art is never finished, only abandoned.”
  — Leonardo Da Vinci

I like the word “released” better than “abandoned.”  It aligns more fully with my personal, positive outlook on life.  However, at the heart of it, the meaning is the same: works of art are never completed by the artist, they are eventually allowed to exist in the world as they are.  There is always more to do; there is always another refinement to make.  

Today, I walked into a small, unassuming building in Naperville, IL.  I held in my hands a roll of paper towels, a box of old paintbrushes, a thermo-bag with my lunch…and a travel mug half-filled with coffee.  When I walked out, 6 1/2 hours later, I carried one extra item: an oil painting, freshly-painted and newly-released by the artist.  

My wife and my sons loved it.  They all said it was wonderful.  My oldest was in awe of it; he couldn’t believe what I brought home.  My youngest said it was beautiful.  My wife said, “It’s incredible.”  I had to smile, of course.  How could I not?  As if my family’s biased-yet-rave reviews weren’t enough, I had the knowledge that I finally, after almost 20 years, produced a completed work of art with my own hands.  Well, if not completed, then certainly released…

And that was the point all along, at least for me.  I cannot count the number of conversations I have had with friends, loved ones, coaches, and mentors in the past few weeks that have pointed me in the same directions.  All paths led to this today, to this exercise in release.

Greater than the fear of completing a thing is the fear of beginning.  If you never begin, then you can never be judged.  Without a commitment to start a project, one can never have the disappointment in knowing the commitment did not bare the fruit one anticipated.  Ultimately, it is judgment that I fear, and it is this fear of judgment that has kept this artist’s hands motionless.  I have been crippled for nearly 20 years.  And now, miraculously, I can paint.

My forearms ache, for no good reason.  My hands feel warm, tingly, like a current is running through them.  I look at the ends of my arms, and I see hands that I barely recognize.  They are my hands.  Yes. They are my hands.

But it was never about the work itself.  The subject could have been anything.  What did I paint?  It doesn’t matter…it’s irrelevant.  It didn’t come from my head.  I didn’t prime the canvas.  I didn’t mix the colors.  Someone else walked me through the process.  But none of that matters.  What matters is that I committed, I began, I worked through it, I came to a logical stopping point.  Most importantly, though, I released.

I released.

I released without someone else’s seal of approval.

I released without judgment.

I released, completely and utterly satisfied with the day’s efforts.  

Could I have done more?  Sure.  Could I still do more?  Sure.  Could it have been better?  Yes.  Could I have asked for more help?  Certainly.  But, none of that matters.  What happened…happened.  Nothing more, nothing less.  All was as it was meant to be.

And I released.

Today, there could not have been a greater victory.

I ws hammering away furiously at the keyboard, writing some crazy stuff about why I don’t eat eggs.  Then I hit the wrong stinkin’ combo of keys and lost it all.  I tried to get it back, but the moment was gone.  I lost my mojo.  I’ll write about the horrors of factory-farmed eggs another day.

I’m pissed.  It was sweet…