...and you're in control of you

After spending a week in Fort Lauderdale doing some teaching that included in large part a focus on self-analysis, I was flying home a couple of days ago via U.S. Airways. While boarding the plane, I was thinking about the week’s training, and the benefits of working with a co-presenter that is a genuine pro. Much of my team trainer’s instruction during the course of the past few days included an understanding of the fact that with respect to control, there is a hierarchy that essentially goes in this order:

1.       Self

2.       Situation

3.       Others

In essence, his point is that while folks often worry themselves with stuff that is outside their actual influence, one actually can significantly effect a great deal by focusing on the things they truly can manage. You are in charge of what you do, what you say, how you act (or react) and even to a large degree how you think. In many situations, you can influence an outcome dramatically by focusing on how you behave. While you cannot control what others are doing, you can certainly maintain command of your actions and thus the potential outcome of any given situation. My co-trainer made a remark years ago while we were teaching on this subject that went something like “always remember…it’s usually the second angry remark that causes an argument or a fight…and you are in control of how you respond in any situation.”

In any event, his point is usually that an individual will be much more fulfilled if they focus on the things with which they actually have influence, as opposed to lamenting the multitude of things over which they have zero control. As often happens, I got a glimpse into this reality on the flight home from Florida just yesterday.

Thanks to a first class upgrade (I got skunked on the trip down and suffered in steerage with the masses), I was thankfully seated in row 1D far-removed from the flip-flop/cargo shorts/tank top wearing depravity of the lower-life forms that make up the economy classless cabin behind me.

Shortly after being seated I was enjoying a clear plastic cup of the carrier’s best boxed red wine (along with some Snyder’s of Hanover pretzels) while watching the proletariat file back to the lower decks sporting a combination of Florida’s best men’s beachwear and poorly coordinated women’s print sun dresses and moo moos. Many of the passengers literally had bright pink skin, that seemed to also indicate they’d somehow missed the 3-dacade memo regarding the perils of overexposure of white fat to unregulated sunlight. Thankfully, the parade of Hillbilly Hand-fishing extras was over…and we prepared for takeoff.

Shortly after preparing the cabin doors for “cross-check” and having the aircraft back away from the jet way, the First Class flight attendant Abraham* got up and did something I’ve never witnessed before. He stood in front of the cabin and gave a short little speech that went something like this:

“Hello…can I please have your attention in the first class cabin? Thank you…now this might sound corny, but my name is Abraham* and I am a proud flight attendant for the world’s greatest airline. If you’ve followed the news of late you know we’re also about to become the world’s second largest airline, so I just want to thank you all for your continued business…and for providing me with the privilege of serving you all. Our new company is going to be great…and I’m looking forward to serving you as part of this new airline. I have the greatest job in the world…it’s awesome actually…and I just want to invite you to make sure I do all I can to serve you on our two-and-a-half-hour flight. If you need anything…just let me know.”

Now…first off, Abraham was dead on…it did sound pretty lame. However,  when he completed his little speech he received some pretty enthusiastic applause (I shook my head in disgust)…and it was clear to me that despite the corn…it was indeed appreciated. He then went on to call every first class passenger by their last name (best I could tell after referring to his passage list only once…and there were 16 of us), and he appeared to me to be the quintessential pro. Abraham struck me as having as having a superb attitude…committed to making the best of his job and staying firmly in command of things he could control. He was so upbeat, and while I typically can’t stand people like that, his infectious positive attitude was tough to ignore.

Because I was seated in row 1, I could also hear the conversation he was having with fellow flight attendants. He mentioned that he was the “running for union office” and was quizzing his co-workers about how to better-serve their needs and asked for ways to ensure they had the information they needed regarding the upcoming behemoth merger. In many ways Abraham epitomized professionalism and was the perfect ambassador for his airline, his union and his profession.  

I took a minute to chat with him as we prepared to land and asked him about the state of the industry. He responded by saying “it’s chaos” and completely out of his control…but that he comes to work every day focusing on making the things the best he can and that every day is a great day. “I have the world’s best job he repeated.” “But you just said the environment is insane” I responded… “how can it be a great job?” “I make it a great job” he said. “I make it that way…every day.”

It’s not often I get to see a week’s worth of teaching principles play out in front of my eyes…but it’s nice when it does. It’s also helpful because while I like to think I’m at least adequate at training around such values, I’m consitently pathetic at actually demonstrating their worth by example. Abraham’s decision to focus on the things he can influence was a vivid reminder that we are actually in control of ourselves…and that usually impacts a host of things including our overall happiness...and sometimes even those around us.

It’s Friday, so if you’re lucky enough to have a couple of days off thanks to the historical work of the labor movement, make the most of the next two days by doing something you enjoy with the people you love. This time on earth is a temporary gig, and as you get older you recognize the run is much shorter than you initially thought. Make the time matter with the people you love…it’s all in your control. Matter-of-fact…you are in command of starting your weekend with some quality music by clicking right here.

 

*Name changed

...and waiter...we'll have another bottle of Silver Oak please

On Saturday I flew from the nation’s capital to attend a weekend 30^th birthday party for my first cousin (once-removed) in Scottsdale, Arizona. The US Airways flight departed Reagan National at 7:00am EST and landed at Sky Harbor in Phoenix at approximately 10:20am MST. By about 10:45am the birthday girl’s husband picked me up in their shinny-new 2013 Buick Enclave (the one you can start remotely with your smartphone) and whisked me away to my first cousin’s (the birthday girl’s mom) vacation compound just north of Camelback Mountain in the ritzy Paradise Valley region of Scottsdale.

The gorgeous desert property is a true testament to the consequence of American business success and the byproduct of old-fashioned hard work. It is one of two vacation homes (the other is a Minnesota lake place) owned by my cousin and her husband who normally reside in Texas where they own several GM car dealerships. It is also a reminder, at least to me, of another reason to appreciate the bailout of General Motors. Had it not been for that bold rescue plan which saved that company from certain doom, my cousin would likely no longer have their dealerships (employing over 100 hardworking people)…and they’d probably hold far fewer parties at the Arizona playground.

On this trip I stayed in the guest casitas nestled at the base of a mountain just behind the main residence building. Though it’s only a one-bedroom cottage, the furnishings alone make it seem markedly nicer than the home (one of one) that we live year-round in DC. My cousin’s Arizona place has a six car garage, a pool, sauna, built-in outdoor fireplace, BBQ/outdoor kitchen and a very nice gym. At least four of the six garage stalls are home to vehicles markedly nicer than my 2002 Chrysler 300. 

Needless to say I love going to visit my cousin in Arizona (or anywhere else for that matter) and reaping (essentially sponging) the benefits of her family’s hard fought prosperity…and this trip was no exception. It was about 17 degrees when the taxi arrived at my home at 5am in Washington, and as I rested poolside after my 3-mile jog in Paradise Valley about 12-hours later that same early February afternoon…it was just shy of 80

Aside from the perfect weather, my cousin’s family has also mastered the art of genuine hospitality, and they generously share the various amenities made possible by their hard-earned wealth without hesitation or expectation of any reciprocity. It is their unparalleled graciousness that makes these trips so nice…and I’d be flat out lying if I didn’t confess to enjoying these periodic glimpses into the good life…or at least an existence far more comfortable than my life and the lives of so many others. Their selflessness has also served as a guidepost for me, and though I’ve failed miserably, I’ve tried to emulate their hospitality and generosity in some small way. But while it’s nice to enjoy the all these finer things even if only by extension, there is something that tugs at me whenever I’m surrounded by such luxury.

First and foremost…it’s  jealousy. At the very core, there is this undeniable and a basic sense of personal inadequacy.  My cousin’s family had no more seed money or any other kind of benefit than did I…but they’ve clearly done better. The fact of the matter is they’re just smarter, or harder working, or have a greater risk tolerance and have thus achieved exponentially more. The second thing that I can’t help but feeling is less tangible…but there’s no question that it’s there.

After sitting by the pool a spell and cooling after my run, the birthday girl’s husband (my airport pickup guy…I also consider my cousin by marriage) asked if I’d like to hike to the top of the mountain behind the house. I should have known better, as this thirty-something, zero-body-fat rabid cyclist is the physical antithesis of my assisted living, commitment to flubber and trash TV/couch potato aging body. He mentioned the views were spectacular up there, so not wanting to seem intimidated by the young buck, I said “sure.”

Well, after about a 30-minute climb that included heavy breathing, irregular heartbeats and to me seemed like ascending Everest absent any basecamp assimilation…we were on top of the mountain. He was right…the views up there looking over Scottsdale were inspiring…and on this February afternoon of perfect Arizona winter weather…the experience was epic. Standing up there…one couldn’t help but notice the sheer enormity and scale of all the desert estates. They were everywhere…and immediately behind us was a near complete 40,000 square-foot complex that reportedly belongs to some Berkshire-Hathaway executive. There were 8,000 - 10,000 square-foot homes almost as far as the eye could see…many with huge surrounding properties that included pools, stables and even a couple of grass tennis courts.

Now, while I’m green with envy, I don’t begrudge anybody for doing well. Some of these palaces were probably the consequence of inherited privilege, but I’m guessing many of these beautiful properties probably belong to folks like my cousin, that worked without charity from humble origins. So, at least in my book, they should unashamedly reap the rewards of all that genuine effort. However every single day of the winter, I drive home through downtown DC passed hundreds of folks that are sleeping outside in the cold. They don’t have multiple vacation homes…and if they’re lucky, they have some dry cardboard and a couple of warm furniture blankets. I guess to me the issue isn’t why some folks have so much, it’s more how they can have it while so many more have almost nothing. How can one person have a 40,000 square foot second home, while millions don’t have any home or live in abject poverty?

I don’t pretend to have the answer to this conundrum, but while vilifying the rich that have worked hard for their wealth doesn’t seem to be the answer, the acidic and condescending Romney-style “47%” comments made by people born on third base while sipping Silver Oak and eating caviar don’t make much sense either. To me it’s about equity…and as I looked out from the top of that mountain over all that excessive extravagance, I couldn’t help but wonder how much better the world would be if all those 10,000 square foot second homes were say 9,700 square feet…so that at least a few more folks wouldn’t have to sleep outside.

The truth is I am fortunate to live pretty well too, so I guess a more honest question would be what am I willing to do or give up to make things better? Like most things I don’t have the answer…but as I go about the weekend in complete comfort, I’m going to try to think a bit about the people that struggle with so little…while I enjoy so very much.

Think about it over some music...

  

 

 

...and it's a good day to just listen

A dear friend and mentor sent me short poem over the holidays that I’d never heard of before…or at least don’t remember ever hearing. I’m guessing like a lot of people that watch NASCAR, Gold Rush and New Jersey Housewives…I don’t read a lot (any) or know of many (any) poems…so the fact that it wasn’t familiar doesn’t seem too unusual. In all the years I worked in construction, or for that matter in almost any other job (newspaper boy, ski technician (bum), high school football coach and union administrator), I don’t recall anyone ever even referencing a poem, or sonnet or rhyme (OK…there’s the classic Nantucket limerick every construction apprentice should know).  As a matter-of-fact, until that cat I’d also never heard of (Richard Blanco) read that "One Today" sonnet at the recent inauguration of President Obama’s second term…I’m not sure the last time I even heard someone reference a poem.

If you fashion yourself as a learned academic or culturally enlightened type, it’s vogue to gush about the magical beauty of  the Blanco offering. But I just read it again and well…I dozed off before reaching stanza forty seven. To me it was like too many of these blog posts…it was just too long. The great thing about the poem sent by a friend in December is that it was nice and short…and more importantly to someone like me…very easy to understand.

There are multiple versions of this brief and simple old nursery rhyme, including one popularized in WWII which tweaked the last verse in an attempt to tie silence to security. However as best as I tell from a rudimentary internet search (using what I’m told is now the antiquated, assisted-living browser internet explorer), the most recognized version, which plays on the perception of owls as the traditional symbol of wisdom, goes something like this…

“A wise old owl lived in an oak
The more he saw the less he spoke
The less he spoke the more he heard.
Why can't we all be like that wise old bird”

Now, I so want to think this was sent to me because my silence means I remind the sender of the owl…but it’s also possible it was a message to stop talking so much or that I should stop presuming anyone wants to read this nonsense every week. But I’m hoping they sent it because I am quiet a lot.  As an example I routinely sit in silence and don’t say much in groups, but it’s not because I’m like a wise old bird…it’s because I can’t follow much of the conversation. I’ve always had this complex about not measuring up intellectually. It’s not fun to feel dumb, but I routinely sit quietly listening to others while failing to understand much, or at least even some, of what is said.

Sure, much of it is my own fault. If tuning out others was an Olympic sport, my trophy case would reduce Michael Phelps’s gold medal achievements to a mere footnote. But the more alarming problem is that even when I try to listen…I actually feel as if much of what is said is just gibberish. Many times, you could hold a gun up to my forehead and ask me to summarize a recent speaker’s comments…and I’d have nothing. What’s worse…is that while I’m legitimately and completely lost, I often glance around at others that are hearing  the same thing and notice they seem to be actually following the conversation, even nodding occasionally (god…I have trouble spelling that word) as though they understand and are in agreement. Though I want to believe some are faking it…I do think there are those that actually understand. Even more disheartening, there are even a few people that will refer to what an earlier speaker said…as if there was some nugget of wisdom in something I couldn’t even follow.

What’s the point of all this…heck if I know. I guess part of it is that I wish I’d paid more attention in school. I should have exercised my brain better, stayed at UCLA, read more,  learned a couple foreign languages (even gibberish) and focused more on developing my listening and cognitive reasoning skills (you’re right…I really don't know what that means either). But while I’m willing to accept most of the blame here…I don’t want to put this all on me. I still have this visceral sense that many increasingly overvalue talk and undervalue action. We used to have a saying on the jobsite when folks stood around and talked too much. It went something like… “Let’s hear a little less signing and a little more picking.”

I picked up a book (big font and lots of pictures) recently ahead of a flight to Los Angeles entitled “It’s Not What You Say, It’s How You Say It.” Just a few pages in, there’s a quote from English novelist George Eliot that reads “Blessed is the man who, having nothing to say, abstains from giving us worthy evidence of that fact.” I don’t heed that advice near enough…but I’m going to try to apply it more going forward. I’m going to try to be more like that bird.

Have a great weekend. Try to take some time to enjoy the people and pets that matter most to you. Turn off the TV, tune into people and do the things you enjoy.  One phone call, a challenging diagnosis, some unexpected news or one x-ray, can flip your priority list on its head in a heartbeat and instantaneously trivialize the stuff you thought was so worthy of time, attention and stress.

Start the weekend with some music...