...and I'm really getting old.

Unless you’re walking around a pre-school or elementary school campus, there’s something about being the oldest person in the room that just doesn’t feel good. Sure, there are those that lie to themselves about some added levels of peace and perspective that come with the additional years, but as  I wandered aimlessly around last night during a reception of approximately 800 people almost all at least 10 years my junior, it was hard not to feel as though the game has passed me by. I was also reminded why I find myself slowing down to browse in the aisle at Safeway where they stock the adult diapers, and why I now take special notice of the Sunrise Assisted Living facility each time I drive by it on Connecticut Ave. I like the white rocker on the north side of the porch patio…someday…that one is mine. There is just something about realizing there is a lot less road ahead of you than there is in the rearview mirror. Often, if you add up the actually miles…it’s downright scary.

Despite these feelings of getting old, there was also something very cool about walking around during the party. As you listened to the chatter, saw the smiles, felt the enthusiasm, and took stock of all the young talent, you couldn’t help but think that things just might be OK. When you look at all the obstacles facing progressives, the one thing you have to feel good about is the deep bench of talent literally yearning to grab the reins. That sense seemed particularly apropos to me while attending this conference, as I handed some of my most cherished conference duties off to a far-younger team, and the work they’ve done clearly surpasses any of my earlier efforts.

So, I had mixed emotions when I hiked off to bed during the reception last night about the same time many of the young bucks were just beginning their evenings. Though I felt a little blue when I popped my Geritol, turned on Lawrence Welk and climbed into bed at 9:47, I also had this incredibly positive sense that there are some awfully good young leaders waiting in the wings.

I still felt a little melancholy when I rolled out of bed this morning and stumbled down to the hotel gym at 4:45 am. When I swiped my keycard and walked into the room, not one of those young twenty-something whippersnappers was up and working out. Suddenly, I felt a little better…and when I hopped on the treadmill…this song started to play. When it did…I smiled.

Have a wonderful weekend and if you get an opportunity, hand off some responsibility to a younger worker just dying to get a chance.

BTW...didn't get a chance to proof this...so sorry about all the errors.

Waiting...

…and if you see me today, ask me what time it is.

In his 1936 book “How to Win Friends and Influence People,” author Dale Carnegie contended that the greatest human hunger is to be appreciated.  I think he may have also implied that anyone that sincerely learns to satisfy that universal craving will probably have a fairly successful go of it in life.

Sadly, though that nugget was passed onto to me early in life by a man who never finished high-school, I’ve never been able to duplicate, nor even come close to, his ability to make folks feel like they matter. I know my failure to match my father’s skill at doing this has frustrated me, but it’s also made me acutely aware of the people that learned the lesson well…especially those that pull it off with grace and absent any fanfare. This past week, I was on the receiving end of a gesture by someone that has truly mastered making folks feel appreciated.

This week, the IBEW held its convention in Vancouver. It’s the first one I haven’t attended in some time, and though it was tough not to be there, I was up-to-my-eyeballs in work so I didn’t have much time to dwell on it.  Thankfully, a couple of my good friends were able to go, and when one of them returned to the office this past Wednesday, she handed me a box that looked like it probably contained one of those typical little convention mementos.  Then, she told me who it was from.

I opened the box to find a beautiful gold watch, which contained the Vancouver convention insignia on the face. I looked at the back of the watch to see what number it was (they only make so many), and on the back were the engraved words “My Friend.” When I saw those words, I instantly knew my friend had once again satisfied that greatest human hunger.

Over the course of my Walter Mitty life, I have been blessed to meet and get to know a few people that truly mastered the ability to make people feel appreciated…especially when there was absolutely zero motive behind doing so. The person that sent me that watch is the best I’ve even scene at making folks feel appreciated…and it’s easy to see why his life has gone so very well. No matter how hard I try, I know for sure I will never be that good...however, even if it kills me…I swear I’m going to get at least a little better at it.

Today’s song has nothing to do with this story, but I heard it while watching some cerebral show like CNBC’s Squawk Box  (if you think you heard it on Glee earlier this week…trust me…it’s just coincidence) yesterday and it instantly made me smile. It wasn’t so much the music as it was the image I think about instantly every time I hear it. If you start your Friday by listening, you might find yourself smiling…even if you don’t like the song (I don’t particularly like it). If you watch the Youtube video, I have to think you’ll enjoy at least a chuckle.

Have a wonderful Friday and an even better weekend. Whatever you do, I hope you there's more that a moment or two the next few days where someone makes you feel truly appreciated.  

The Song

The Video

...and I should have stayed in bed

Normally I wake up a few minutes before the alarm so the fact that it went off this morning at 3:55 should have been my first clue it would be a good day to stay in bed. I stumbled down the stairs as always, let the cat out, and then when I looked into the mirror, I knew sleeping in would have been a much better option. After brushing my teeth I went into the basement to knock out a couple of sets of bench-press, but my back was sore from having to change a tire on my wife’s car last night. Actually, it was my car, which she’s using because her car is not running. That means I have to schlep to work by foot (I cheat and take the metro part of the way), but that’s probably another reason my back hurts.

I sat down at the computer between sets to hammer out the song of the day story, but there just wasn’t anything there (there’s stuff in the gym…there just wasn’t anything in my mind). I laid back down to do another set, but I didn’t push up the bar because that hurt too. I started thinking about my sore back and what a pain it was to be without wheels. That got me to thinking about some of my old cars.

For most of my life, especially all the years I wore a tool-belt in the trade, I drove a good, old-fashioned standard pickup truck.  I had a couple of them, but my favorite was a blue 1974 full-sized Ford with a standard transmission that I purchased from my cousin’s Ford store in Fergus Falls, Minnesota. When I think back about all the therapeutic drives I had in that rig on gravel roads around North Dakota, I can’t help but think about how nice it would be to do that now. Somehow, crammed into the Red Line with my face slammed against the glass next to some cat that is having the same problem with his indoor plumbling that I am with my cars,  just doesn’t provide the same level of therapy.

Anyway, this is starting to shape up as a great example of the contrast between having something to say and feeling the need to say something. As I noted earlier, there just isn’t much there today…must be my sore back.

Hope you have a terrific weekend. It’s shaping up to be a Fall beauty here in the east, so hopefully you’ve planned something fun. If you feel the tug to work too much…fight it. It may not feel like it now, but whatever you think is so important that it should keep you from what really matters in life, will seem much less significant when the final curtain falls.

If you start today with some music, you'll have a better day.

Take a drive...

Know when to fold 'em

Several years ago when the whole Friday morning email/song thing started, the weekly practice was little more than an informal attempt to do something nice at the end of the week...and partly in hopes of encouraging hardworking coworkers to go out and truly enjoy a well-deserved weekend. After a long and fairly popular ride in its largely unchanged original format, the weekly practice morphed into something more formal, where at least the attempt was made to make the stories more than the impromptu blathering contained in the less structured initial design. I suspect that happened for several reasons, including both the urging of well-intended colleagues that thought the weekly missives deserved a wider audience, and my own gargantuan ego that somehow believed there would indeed be broader interest.

I’m trying not to beat myself up too much about that expectation…I suspect most of us want to believe what we think matters to others, and that people will be interested in what we have to say or write...but that’s probably only true you if you have interesting thoughts, tell good stories, or if you particularly write well. I wanted to believe folks would eat up musings about quirky people on airplanes, seeds-of-faith infomercials, personal college football failures, the human hunger for appreciation, altar boy experiences (that just sounds bad), the death of style, my father’s wisdom, self-reflection, the value of a smile, growing older, listening, two-lane roads covered with Buffalo, the greatest generation, road trips, motorcycle rides, chivalry, noteworthy retirements, enduring romance, South Dakota, holidays in mid America, the fragility of life, balconies in Tuscany, North Dakota, formica kitchen tables…and the people, pets and things that should matter most in our lives.

I guess I thought the popularity of the narratives would grow, and that fascinated readers would share the missives with their friends and relatives, who would then pass them along to their various contacts…and so it would go. Soon, I reasoned readership would go global, and folks in other countries would start following, followed not long after by my inevitable appearance on Oprah. Actually, the stats function of the formal blog shows there are readers in France, Germany, Austria and Switzerland. That sounds encouraging, but deep down inside I know I’m the one that accessed the site from those locales…so aside from some Canadian and UK followers (who I’m guessing stumbled on the site thinking it was connected to the god-awful internet song “It’s Friday)…the thing just hasn’t caught on oversees…or anywhere else for that matter.  

Unfortunately, the blog stats feature also shows actual page views, and since the switch to the online format the trend line is heading down at a steeper angle than my 3-year GPA at Alexander Hamilton High School. On top of all of this, I have received a ton (maybe four people) of feedback from folks that don’t like having to hunt for the stories online or the antiseptic environment of the blog. Perhaps more importantly, they note they also miss the more folksy appearance of the “It’s Friday” message in their personal inboxes. I guess it was kind of a modern-day version of the flag up on the mailbox.

So, given the unlikelihood that I’m going to become a better writer (think comas and the whole desert vs. dessert thing…still not clear on that one), and knowing that my life and related stories are probably not going to get any more interesting, it seems quite clear that it’s about time to look in the mirror and scrap the formal blog approach. 

Not sure how I’m going to remedy all this. I’m tempted to revert to emails but I don’t want to presume anyone really wants the weekly messages. Actually…judging by the blog stats, there isn’t really much to wonder about. Maybe I should just enroll in a writing class at UDC or at least figure out how to disable the stats feature on the blog account.

What’s the point of all this? Well the six of you still reading know there is no point. I suspect there could be some connection to lessons about not tinkering with something that isn’t broken, but I’m not really sure. In the meantime, let’s get back to having a great weekend, spending time with the people we love, relaxing, and starting the day off with some good music.

I actually heard this song while watching Imus earlier this week and I had to get up off the couch at 6 a.m. and dance. Now, if I could just get that video on the blog…that would go viral.

Have a wonderful, relaxing, family-filled weekend. Do something fun…you certainly deserve it.

http://grooveshark.com/#/s/I+m+Goin+Down/2rRunH?src=5

Stand Aside

Not sure why, but all this talk of the recent earthquake got me to thinking about the big shakers I experienced during the 43 years I lived in Los Angeles. These quakes were different than the recent one we had here in DC...these were the kind where the ground actually shook violently and stuff fell down…including some actual buildings (to be honest, I wasn’t even here during the recent DC tremor, but I thought a little California quake-snobbishness might be a good engaging hook at the outset of this story). The last really big one I remember was the Northridge quake in 1994, and ironically, I was running a big new electrical construction project on the campus of Cal-State Northridge. 

The events of that day the quake hit and the devastation that occurred are another story for a different time, but what is interesting to me is that as dramatic as that episode was; navigating on that morning around crumbled overpasses, sunken streets, downed power lines, demolished buildings, and finally arriving at the collapsed parking structure where I’d parked every day for over a year, all that was not the most memorable part of working on that campus.  While the images of that destruction are vivid, the thing I think most about that project is the influence is had on my own professional career.  

Back when I was a young crackerjack electrical foreman, I was the gold-standard for micro managers. I would lay-out all the associated tasks with color-coated instructions (literally) that were almost idiot proof. I was the test, and the rule was if I could figure out my instructions, anyone should be able to do it. Boxes were color coated for conduit systems (power was blue, fire-life safety red, lighting was orange etc…) and the so were the diagrams carefully spray-painted on the floor for the journeymen to follow. I was real proud of the system, until one day when someone actually had the the nerve to challenge the perfect model.

He really wasn’t that much older than me, but he’d been around the trade for awhile and he was a seasoned journeyman electrician named Tom. One day while I was instructing him on his next project, I noticed he was smiling. When I sternly asked him why, he hesitatingly pointed out to me that I might want to try standing back and letting the talented folks around me do what they were trained to do. To me, that sounded like idiocy… and I remember asking him if he really thought he could read the blueprints and actually put in the installation without my guidance. He asked me to let him try, and even implied I might like the outcome if I gave it a shot. It was laughable really, and I remember looking forward to the “I told you so” moment when I returned to see he’d screwed it up royally without my guidance.

I watched him from a distance for a while, and wallowed with satisfaction as he studied the prints and removed his hardhat to scratch his head. I figured I’d give it a couple of hours, and when I returned at the end of the day, my instincts were immediately validated. Predictably, Tom had installed the conduit runs completely different than my well-thought-out layout. Then, as Tom feebly tried to explain his rationale for his bonehead approach, I started to realize that his ideas and ultimately his entire installation, was superior to what I initially wanted done.  

It wasn’t easy letting out the reins at first, but once the talented well-trained crew on that IBEW job was really unbridled, even better things started to happen. It wasn’t long before that became the model on every job, and soon I was benefiting from the skills and expertise of those around me. Eventually, I learned my best strategy was often to just get out of the way (too often the crew would reminded me of that), and over time, I benefitted more and more for the good work done by others.

Though I still stick my nose into things way too much, the hands-off approach has for the most part been a good model. To put it simply, I have had a blessed life…often getting credit, or at least far too much recognition for the work done by people theoretically working for me (at least on the org chart). Usually, they are accomplishing it by their own initiative with little or no direction. Then, by virtue of their efforts, I often end up with a preponderance of the credit they deserve. To the degree I’ve amounted to anyting, being pushed up by others, and ton of luck (and having a great boss) has been the quintessential blueprint. At no time in my life has that been as true as it is right now.

I miss the days I worked in the field and the lessons I learned while doing so, but I can’t complain  too much.  Now days I have a pretty cool office and to be completely candid, sometimes I look out the window at the stunning view and wonder how it all happened (people that know me well are even more perplexed…actually perplexed doesn’t cover it). In the corner of my office is a hard hat from my home local union. It’s the one I wore when Tom told me to stand aside and let the talented folks around me do what they knew how to do. I won’t lie and try to tell you I think about it every day, but when I do, it reminds me of one ultimate truth. Every good thing I’ve ever enjoyed professionally (and much of the happiness I’m blessed with personally), is due to the work of others.

Have a terrific Labor Day weekend and try to spend a minute or two thinking about the good work people do and how it has affected your life.

When I think about the look on Tom's face when he gave me that sage advice...I wouldn't be too surprised if he was thinking about this song.

Happy Labor Day