...and you can't plow a field by turning it over in your mind

The age old debate regarding the right blend of talk vs. action has always fascinated me. I suspect much of that interest comes from my father, who as a quiet veteran of WWII, abhorred people that talked a good game but genuinely admired those that just put their heads down and got things done. I suspect too that part of my fascination comes from being immersed for years in an over confident culture where we’d probably have saved the world had we’d actually accomplished even 5% of all we boastfully talk about. It reminds me of a line at the end of a David Brooks article I read awhile back that went something like…

“It’s funny how the nation’s mood was at its most humble when its actual achievements were at their most extraordinary”.

I was reminded of this talk vs. doing phenomenon in a rather simple way this past Saturday when I got up early, made a pot of coffee and flipped on the television to chill a bit before my weekly Saturday run (I wish talking or writing about the run had as much benefit as doing it). On one of the cable channels, they were running reruns of the old black and white show “The Rifleman.” The classic American western starring Chuck Connors as widower rancher Lucas McCain and Jonny Crawford as his young son Mark was a staple when I was a kid, and though it’s rare anymore these days, it’s nostalgic to catch an old episode or two once-in-awhile to remind me of the simple but still relevant values I too often abandon today. The 30-minute episodes of the ABC program which aired from somewhere around 1958 to 1963 were set in the 1880s in the New Mexico Territory town of North Fork.

 

The dramatic climax of this particular episode took place in an abandon mine shaft, were the younger McCain (Mark) and a neighboring ranch boy Billy had uncharacteristically decided to skip class rather than face the continuing condescending taunts of a new high-browed teacher (Mr. Griswald…played by Arnold Moss) who had just arrived from the east to teach in the modest one-room country schoolhouse. The new schoolmaster is unimpressed with the plainspoken culture of the ranching territory, and routinely admonishes his students for their lack of academic and cultural polish. Griswald harshly criticizes the younger McCain after his father Lucas inadvertently drops his Winchester firearm near the school house while picking Mark up one day after school. The disgusted teacher also attributes Mark’s inability to get his homework completed to his father Lucas’s “preference for evening conversation over academic work.”  Rather than face continued punishment (Griswald had taken a switch to an innocent Mark…wrongly punishing the boy for allegedly defacing a textbook) and scorn from the dictatorial Griswald, the boys decide to play hooky and hide in nearby mine.

As often happens in Hollywood, the truant boys no sooner enter the otherwise stable abandon shaft when the timbers start to creak and ultimately give way. A part of the mine’s ceiling caves in,  seemingly covering Mark in a cloud of dust and rubble. The other boy Billy panics and runs out of the shaft, only to run into the elder McCain and the frightened teacher, who after being shammed by McCain earlier in the day, had joined forces with Lucas to go looking for the missing boys.

Upon entering the hazardous mine, the senior McCain and the terrified teacher don’t get far before realizing they are separated from the partially buried boy by a wall of fallen debris. Griswald stalls and starts to theorize about possible options, when McCain abruptly cuts him off and sternly shouts “we don’t have time for that now…just start digging.” As the supporting timbers above Mark continue to ominously weaken, McCain and the obviously out-of-place Griswald quickly begin clearing a path in a frantic attempt to reach Mark.

When seeing his rescuing father, the relived and bloodied Mark assures him he is OK… but notes that his leg appears pinned beneath an old mining car. As the supporting beams above bow and splinter signaling imminent doom, the teacher remains motionless and again beings to talk about possible moves while McCain jumps into action and tries to manually lift the small mining car. It doesn’t budge, so McCain frantically searches for and finds a piece of wood to help pry up the car. However after trying valiantly, his son remains hopelessly pinned. Then McCain screams “we need a rock for more leverage,” to which learned Griswald replies “ah yes…a fulcrum.”

Griswald quickly grabs a rock and frantically hands it to Lucas to place under the wooden lever, the teacher explains theory of fulcrums and opines on the appropriate placement of the rock to achieve the optimum leverage. As the supporting ceiling timbers begin to spilt and give way, McCain who is already desperately leaning on the wood turns to the pontificating Griswald and violently shouts something like, “Griswald…enough with the talk…just shut up and pull him out when I lift the car!”

Lucas puts all is weight onto the makeshift fulcrum, and Griswald tugs on McCain’s boy who is finally freed. They make a beeline from the collapsing area, just as the mine’s roof gives way in Hollywood avalanche of rock and timber that would have surely killed them all had they procrastinated and spent any more time talking.

 

 

The great thing about many of the old TV shows of my youth is that they always had a lesson. This particular episode had a few, but clearly the most vivid point was there is a time for deliberation, and a time for action. It reminds me of the old Andrew Jackson quote “Take time to deliberate; but when the time for action arrives, stop thinking and go in.”

Another cool thing about this show is that it was pretty balanced…and it didn’t attempt to make the case for action only. As the episode winds down, Lucas, Mark, Billy and Griswald are nestled at the mouth of the cave reviewing the day’s harrowing events when Lucas notes they’d better head back to the ranch. Mark laments the late hour, and stresses it will be “awfully dark to ride back now.” “No” contradicts Griswald, “tonight is the first night of a full moon…and we will have more than ample light to get us home safely.” “See Mark” says a smiling Lucas…”I told you all that learnin’ would come in handy.” As Andrew Jackson wisely noted, the marriage of deliberation and action can be a good thing.

Have a wonderful weekend and if you can, don’t just talk about it…actually do some things with the people and pets that matter the most to you.

Man I gotta get out of this town...

 

If I'd had paid better attention in school, I'd be a better writer. Sorry for all the pour grammar, misspellings and lousy writing.

and you are in control...

While doing some teaching yesterday, I was running through the different job, lifestyle and personality related characteristics that can lead to burnout. They range from a chaotic work environment in the job category to not getting enough sleep in the lifestyle section.  In the personality group there are a host of traits that include Type-A driven perfectionists that like to be in control. Now, I don’t really know much about being a perfectionist nor about being particularly driven (I love sleep, trash TV and copious amounts of red wine), but I do like being in control.  Now that would probably be OK normally, except it increasingly seems to me that there is very little over which I’m actually in charge. All this reminded me of a good life lesson that occurred several years ago…but that sadly I almost never apply.

A colleague and mentor of mine and I were sitting in the lounge of the Capital Hilton catching up over a couple of drinks, and I was lamenting all the mounting frustrations that seem to be propelling me toward spending ever increasing amounts of time in hotel bars. It just seems like it’s impossible to move even the smallest change. While my friend patiently listened,  I waxed  anything but poetic on the myriad of problems that were thrusting me toward a pickled liver. As he took it all in, he picked up a cocktail napkin and began sketching a diagram on the back of it. As he slid it across the table, he confidently smiled and said, “here’s your problem.”  

As best as I could tell the diagram was a rather large circle, with a much small circle drawn inside it. He went on to explain that the bigger circle represented my sphere of interest, and the much smaller circle (it wasn’t small enough by the way) was my actual sphere of influence. He explained that knowing me the way he did, he knew I spent way too much time fretting about the big circle… the areas of interest over which I have little control. Conversely he reasoned, I spend far too little time concentrating on the things I can actually influence. He explained that I was far too consumed with the stuff that I was passionate about, but over which I have little impact, but was largely ignoring the stuff that I could actually accomplish with little or no headwind.

Though I listened, I was largely unmoved by his observations. At the end-of-the-day, (ironically…it was the end of the work day), I wanted to bitch and really wasn’t all that interested in his academic remedies…especially any that somehow involved looking in the mirror to find the problem.  He then pointedly asked me, if you went back to the office right now, what is it that you can control and get done right away? What is within your sphere of influence?

I thought a bit about his question, and as I did he asked again, “what is it that you can influence?” “We’ll,” I said, “We could probably have some influence migrating to a modern-day email platform.” “Good,” he responded…“what else can you accomplish that is within your sphere of influence?” I began to think about that question, and really tried to focus on the things I could affect. My friend was right…it’s usually not the stuff most folks care much about, but there are things I can actually move without much headwind. Build a new fitness facility…that is something we can actually get done. Install a state-of-the-art video conferencing system…we can do that too. Spend a little time letting folks know they’re appreciated…we can do that.  It’s not sexy, nor is it even particularly all that interesting, but it is within the sphere of influence. The days I concentrate on that much smaller circle are few and far between, but the few I do, those are the better and far more rewarding work days.

That same mentor once told me that there was one important key to good writing…and that was  “seven drafts.” Well, I actually suspect being able to write well matters too, and couple the fact that I can’t with this single draft and, well, you can pretty much connect the dots. So, given the pour writing, bad grammar and lousy spelling, thanks for hanging in there. Have a wonderful weekend and if you can, spend a little time with the people and pets around you that matter. The time you choose to spend with them is one of the things you completely control.   

The Big Easy Express is a film by Emmett Malloy that chronicles three bands as they ride rails from California to New Orleans on a magical vintage train. One of the bands is Mumford & Sons...and this is one of their songs.

Lover's Eyes...

...and you look simply fabulous!

“You look fantastic.  You must be really well-rested. Have you been working out?”

If I had $10,000 for every time someone has said that (or said something close to that) to me, I’d be more or less broke. I actually remember the few times someone has said anything like that to me…because it’s been so darn rare. But if I had $1,000 for every time somebody said something to the effect of “you look tired,” I’d have that dream home on the Inner Coastal, the desert oasis in Scottsdale and the summer lake cottage in Minnesota. [By the way, just as a side note, the next time you think someone looks tired and you’re tempted to share your unsolicited assessment, just tell them they look like a turd. That’s what they’re going to hear when you say they look like sh*t…so just skip a step and tell them what you both know you really mean.]

This scarcity of such a compliment seems somewhat odd to me, because even an unpolished slug like me usually at least tries to tell folks when they look good. Sometimes, I’d guess at least 72% of the time, I actually mean it…and pass along the sincere praise with no agenda and absent any motivation to suck up. Unless I’m drunk or still suffering the lasting neural effects of laying down the bike in some state with no helmet law, I usually keep it my little secret if I think someone looks like crap. Sure, there are times when the endless hours of viewing Beavis and Butthead override the one time I accidently skimmed an Emily Post book and I say something like “man…you look tired.” However for the most part, it’s like there’s some sort of golden rule insult-governor on my brain that kicks in when I’m about to say something particularly unflattering.

“You look like you’ve had a day” can be on the tip of my tongue, but then the auto-regulator deploys and it dawns on me that there’s no real upside in passing on what can only be interpreted as a slam. More importantly, I also seem to naturally conclude that there’s no amount of added disclaimer language that can mitigate how it really sounds. “Holy crap…what happened to you? You look like you just got hit by a bus. Have you slept…I’m only asking because I care.” It’s probably that I’m oversensitive, but even if you think you telling me I look like hell is some kind of favor you’re doing on my behalf, it’s simply unnecessary. I’m horrified by that reality before you are each morning when I get out of bed and glance in the mirror…and I don’t need to be reminded later in the day by anybody that things are clearly (and rapidly) trending the wrong way.

At the end of the day (and I’m just saying this because I care…but you look like you’ve had a long one my friend), this all might boil down to more of that unsexy, uncomplicated, un-academic, golden rule nonsense. If you like to be told that you look like total sh*t, then fire away with your honest assessments of people’s crappy appearance so the recipient of your review can also share in your glee. But if you’re the rare breed that would rather hear something complimentary (oh my gosh…you look terrific…what have you been doing?), then slam the breaks on that tongue and think for at least one second about how much you’d like to hear what you’re about to say to someone else. I may even start doing that myself…but not quite yet.

It’s Friday, so go out and have a really wonderful weekend. Take a couple of days to kick back do the things you enjoy (not that you need to…you look fabulous) and if you can, take some well-deserved time just for you. If you can spare about 2:28, you can start the two-day break with a little ditty by a  once rock-n-roller that turned into one of his era’s best swinging crooners. He just might be singing about you.

The world is full of...

*Sorry for all the poor grammar, lousy spelling and just plain cruddy writing.

    

...and these are indeed end times

My office was closed for a snow day again this week…and so was the Federal Government and just about every school district I’m aware of in the region. Like most things, we do snow days differently inside the beltway than they do in the rest of the country because we know better. To the best of my knowledge, most other metropolitan areas have some minimal criteria for shutting down a city because of snow, not the least of which is the existence of well…actual snow. But this is the nation’s capital, where we shut down things down because of excessively heavy mist.

It was about 4:30am Wednesday when while sitting in my basement gym between bench-press sets, I received an email saying that the operating status for the Government was “CLOSED” (they put in the full-caps for added drama). I don't work for the federal goverment, but we wisely follow their good example. At first glance you might be wondering how closing the government was unlike any other day, but this is actually a bit different.  Sure, like most days nothing would again be accomplished, but on a snow day folks have the added benefit of staying home in their jammies while no progress is made.

I glanced out the basement window to view the conditions that led to the ominous closure and noticed what appeared to be about a half inch of slushy snow on my car. The precipitation had not stuck to the ground, and aside from the drifts caused by the working folks that spread salt down in anticipation of the rain to wash it away later, the streets looked…well…they looked wet (there were some menacing looking puddles though). Just as a side note, isn’t it odd that it’s OK for working people to be out treating roads, but it’s unsafe for others to be in an office? If that wasn’t threatening enough…the deteriorating conditions seemed to be all the more dangerous because of the heavy non-frozen mist that was now falling at a rate that appeared to be about an inch a week. Even more haunting, the temperature outside the house was only about 4 degrees above freezing…and every forecast I saw leading up to the storm predicted that the temperature might actually plummet to as much as 3 degrees above freezing.

After I finished my workout, I put on the local news (they started a half-hour early at 4am for Special Storm Center Coverage) and the local Fox station had folks all over outlying areas standing under umbrellas while large “fist sized” flakes flew by the camera and melted on the non-frozen pavement. The reporters, many of whom appeared to be dressed for an ascent up Everest as opposed to the 38 degree rainy sea-level conditions they were actually dealing with, implored folks not to travel “unless absolutely necessary.”

Being the quintessential dumbass that loves Russian Roulette and secretly longs to die well-before my time, I ignored the warnings and put on my Sorel boots (good to 30 below) and duck brown Carhartt jacket and headed out into the elements to cheat death. The non-frozen mist had transitioned now to a heavier mist, and before even driving down the deserted street, I had to use my bare hand to wipe the ½ inch of slush of my front and side windows. That should have been a sign, as I lost a full 30 seconds I hadn’t counted on.

Perhaps as a testament to my North Dakota roots, I managed to navigate the rain-wetted streets and arrived in downtown DC unscathed. At headquarters, the pavement was also wet, but because it had done nothing but rain, the standing puddles were about 1/32” of an inch deep.

The rain continued all day, and I spent much of the day answering phone calls from folks located in the District that unlike the government, didn’t stop everything for the rain. As I looked out my office window across the wet pavement and damp green grass at the park across the street, I couldn’t help but think of my cold-country ancestors.

 

They weren’t trying to deal with things like the avoiding the fiscal cliff, sequestration, threats of a nuclear hit from a crazed foreign whack job or improving conditions for America’s working people, they were just trying to put food on the table and make a basic go of it. I’d give anything to be transported back to that early North Dakota farm, where rolling out of bed and doing chores was key to your basic survival. It would be fun to see my mom and uncle huddled by the radio in their PJs happily listening to some program instead of doing the needed chores. It would be fun to see the reaction when my grandpa asked them why they weren’t working, only to have them respond…  “we know it’s lightly raining now, but the guy on the radio said it might snow later.”

There is only one thing to take away from this…and it isn’t good. Actually, that’s not true…there is probably one good thing. My wife, who teaches at a nearby school that also closed for the rain, stayed home and had a leisurely day. She texted me that Scotty, Laura, Luke, Ana, Scorpio, Felicia, Mac, Duke and just about every other classic character are all back on General Hospital. So next time it’s forecast to snow, we’ll all have something worthwhile to do while we sit home during the rain.

 

Enjoy a little post storm music...

Sorry for all the mispellings, typos and poor grammar.

...and you have a couple of days to just chill

It may have been during the second manhattan, or maybe even the third, but though it occurred more than several years ago, I remember the exchange as though it was yesterday. A work buddy and perhaps unknowing mentor and I were sitting having a rare Friday after-work drink at a high-end watering hole not far from my former office. Normally there were at least four of us in this Friday group, but for some reason on this day it was just us two…and as was always the case with this good conversationalist, the flow was going well. We were covering the usual glory-day topics with the typical degree of exaggeration, sarcasm and cynicism, but on this day he seemed unusually reflective.  

At one point I looked over at my friend and his expression appeared especially whimsical. I asked him what was up and in what seemed to me at the time as an extremely rare glimpse inside this otherwise private man, he responded by saying the something pretty close to the following…

“You know…I was just thinking. When you’re young, you’re a kid and you’re stupid. You spend all your time running around not making most of your youth and without the perspective to really make it count. Then…you get married and have a family but you’re so busy climbing the ladder at work and you really don’t have time to enjoy things as much as you should. After that you get to a point where you can hopefully sack away a good amount of money so that you really can enjoy things later in life…so you spend your focus on accumulating some wealth. Then in the blink of an eye, you wake up one day realizing you’re much closer to the end than you ever thought was even possible…and you wonder what happened. Where did all the time go…how did it all pass by so quickly?”

At the time, the exchange was memorable less for the profundity of the words than the fact that it seemed an almost miraculously introspective for a cat that seemed almost incapable of sharing an intensely private thought. I recall taking another hit of my bourbon and sweet vermouth, not thinking much about it at the time. However as I grew older, the actual content of his words became more memorable, and as I crossed the 50-year mark in my own life, they became almost hauntingly prophetic and resonated even more.

My friend passed away unexpectedly last year…and his untimely passing left most of those that knew him completely blown away. True to his intensely private form, it appeared he had managed to keep his knowingly terminal illness away from most of his family and friends…probably in an attempt to keep any of them and us from focusing on him…or for feeling at all sorry for him.

I saw him just two weeks before he passed away…on a warm magical afternoon at a mutual buddy’s gorgeous riverside home during a small get together for a couple of industry-related friends. It was clear he wasn’t quite himself, and when I asked how he was doing he casually brushed it aside by saying his back was hurting a little, and that he was struggling with some minor pain.

I remember glancing over at him toward the end of the evening that day. After hours of great conversation, good food, live music and epic weather, I caught him in a rare smile. I looked over and asked him what he was thinking…and over the music he simply said… “If I had an opportunity to do it all over, I’d have spent more time doing things like this.”

Not sure what you’re planning this weekend, but whatever it entails, here’s to hoping it includes more riverside-like time than any kind of unpleasant work. Sure…you’ll probably have to devote some time to things other than play and loved ones and that’s actually OK (maybe even good)…but see if you can’t keep it all in balance. If you’re well-rested, you might even have the stamina to do a better job when you get back in the saddle on Monday. Have a wonderful couple of days, and if you want to give it a jump start…you can begin with a little good music.

Upon learning that I fiddle a bit with the ukulele, a work colleague of mine asked yesterday if I’d ever heard of the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain. I had not…but I have now and you can too by clicking this cool little hyperlink.

*Please excuse the pour grammar, bad spelling,  atrocious apostrophe work and the misuse of words like pour and poor (and maybe even profundity). There just wasn’t time to proof this today…and even when I do, I still manage to get it wrong.