Alone

The wind had been blowing hard for days.  The actual temperature was 50+ but it was the cold that made your ears hurt.  Not frostbite just that pain that made you wish you had that knit cap after all, no matter what it did to your hair.  I was walking on one of those days, working on my 10,000 steps, when the faint sound of something other than the wind made its way through the cold. It was a somewhat plaintiff sound but with a rhythm that was distinctively the blues.  It was definitely not John Coltrane or Sonny Rollins.  He was standing alone on the cliff facing the imposing water of the bay, the Bay Bridge, and the hills of the Tiburon Peninsula. Playing his saxophone with feeling and, for him, he was equal to the aforementioned greats. The bay was a spectacular blue dotted with sailboats challenging the wind which was fresh but not dominating. In his singleness, he was playing before none and an audience of many.  He was content as he performed before the unseen.  My guess — this is his happiest moment.  I am awe-struck by the singleness of us when juxtaposed to the background of many.  As he played to the beautiful bay and the unseen admirers to the east, a quarter of a mile behind him Highway 101 was rushing people to their destination in single fashion with a destination of the numerous.

I ponder our desire to be together, yet our need to be alone. Is it our preparation for our solitary exit? Perhaps we only have the strength or the energy to deal with the one and not the many.

There is something comforting about being alone but, are we?  Alone with his music yet playing to the world in front of him. Perhaps it’s the responsibility to the crowd that challenges us and requires so much effort. To be in a group, big or small, requires effort and focus.  Alone the work is not as great or varied and the focus can be concentrated, perhaps purer.

Being alone and loneliness are two different things.  Being alone can be contemplative, introspective, a chance to accomplish without interruption.  Loneliness feels sad with no accomplishment, unhappy or uncomfortable with self

For me, the dichotomy is the comfort of being alone but I have great joy in being with others.  I don’t want to be that cranky old guy.  Perhaps it is becoming lazy, unable to muster the strength to deal with multiple human interactions.  What is concerning is how much easier it is to be alone. The internet feeds into that. The unintended consequence is how much harder we have to work to be in the presence of others and that has negative consequences.  Look at Washington DC and how hard it is for these people to work together or just to be with others in a meaningful way.  Cocktail talk dominates the discourse rather than the effort of real conversation.  It is easier to hide behind the keyboard. This gives the illusion of being with the group, but in fact, you are still alone.  The control of how long the conversation lasts is in your hands.  If they ask the wrong question - press delete, mute, or pause.  Think how many buttons on the keyboard allow you to exit, but there is only one that says enter. There is always an exit when you are with the group but not when you are alone.  Striving for that inner peace. Is our true purpose to come together, to be a community? Are there greater forces that pull us to be alone?

I have a party to go to….. 

Popularity Contest

As early as grammar school popularity is a driving force as we conduct a life outside of the home.  If we are lucky enough to have caring parents, we assume that other humans will like us as they do.  How are we to know that being liked is not an immediate part of growing up.  I wanted to be liked in school.  Even in grammar school being liked was important.  However, it is hard to find the right path to popularity.  You can be a great athlete.  Even in grade school the kids that were good at sports were generally liked.  You could be good-looking or pretty.  It is true the pretty girls were always popular.  Puts a lot of pressure on them at an early age but they are popular.  Good-looking guys were also popular --- good at sports was a big plus. If you were not pretty or good looking you had to find other ways to move your liked quotient up the scale.  You could be funny.  Making people laugh is always a good way to be popular.  There were many hurdles to becoming popular and remaining so.  One of the rituals in grammar school was choosing teams.  Being picked number one, of course, was the true testament to your athletic ability and your popularity.  Number two thru 5 was good, not perfect but you were definitely in the hunt.  If it was baseball the popular meter needle really started to get buried after number 5.  In baseball, you had nine chances or actually 18, if you weren’t picked by the first team you had a chance at the second team. If both team captains passed on you it was a double blow to your self-esteem.  Suffice it to say I got picked because you had to get picked.  Waiting for my turn to bat some of the kids thought they would be bullies and played that trick where one kneels behind you and the other pushes you so you stumble and fall.  Stung by the idea that I was no better than number 9 I got into a fight with one of these boys after I was humiliated in front of the others as I fell to the ground.     I think this might have been number one in a two-bout lifetime fight career. It was an early lesson that plays out in any sport --- the person that retaliates gets the punishment. I received detention and sent home. That wasn’t fun either as It was probably like going to the commissioner’s office.    I don’t think Ms. Smith understood the complexities of being in grammar school and struggling to be liked.  What was more crushing was the next day?  The last day of school and my last day in grammar school as I was moving on to Junior High School.  It was recess and I was playing some game with bean bags.  In a not well-thought-out demonstration of end-of-school exuberance, I threw one of the bean bags up on the school roof.  I claimed it was an accident but Ms. Smith was having none of it.  She brought my fellow students into the classroom and said that I had done something disrespectful in throwing the bean bag on the roof.  She gave me an opportunity to be contrite but she had already poisoned the well.  She then told the class that they would determine what kind of citizenship grade I would receive for the year.  The scale was simple enough. “1” was obviously the best, and “5” was citizenship failure.  Much to my soon-to-be psychologically damaged self, my classmates all voted to give me a 5 in citizenship. I felt like the gladiator that could not kill the three-legged lion-- thumbs down. 

If popularity was not important to me then why is this memory so clear when others have faded.  What I remember is the event; what I don’t remember is the people that I thought were so important at the time.  I remember my behavior and how unimportant my popularity was after all this time but what is important is how I could have behaved better and thus had a different result.  After all of these years, I am rethinking the importance of being popular versus the importance of one’s behavior.   Clearly, this event was important to me because I remember it above all of the other days in grammar school. For all of the effort, we put into wanting to be liked by our peers, their importance dwindles and evaporates as time passes. What remains is what we do. What we accomplish, how we treat others, and how we help make the lives of the people better.  It really isn’t a popularity contest and when it is, it is soon forgotten.  I don’t remember the people but I remember the lesson; what you do in life is what matters not the applause.

Popularity is fraught with conflict and a false premise.  We vote for politicians based on some twisted sense of popularity as if they care about the individual.  I think that energy could be better directed at kindness to others who are in need rather than those we wish will reciprocate our kindness by affirming our popularity.  Popularity is ephemeral.  The more people like us the more rewarding our lives will be.  What is more likely is that they will forget and so will you. What makes our life better is the goodness we extend to others regardless of whether or not they pick us to be on their team or vote to give us a better grade. 

Mothers

It’s easier to become a mother than it is to be one.  There is no job that demands so much skill and receives so little training.

I have been blessed by being surrounded by a lot of mothers.  I, of course, have a mother who we will talk about a little further on.  I have two sisters and they are both mothers.  They have seven children between them and two of those women are now mothers.  I had two wives that became mothers.  I helped with that part. They produced three daughters, two are now mothers with seven children between them.  These children are all too young to be mothers but three of them probably will be...  If motherhood could be measured by the success of their children, then the mothers that have surrounded my life are all incredible.  If you measure motherhood by their personal success and accomplishments, they have all excelled.  Finally, if we measure motherhood by their success at producing children that add value to mankind then they have all been outstanding.  I know a lot about all of these mothers.  I have a general and very specific knowledge of how they grew up.  I have a good idea of what they enjoy doing and a clear memory of their achievements.  I even have a pretty good idea of their disappointments and shortcomings.  In short, I know a lot about these wonderful mothers except one… My mother.  My knowledge of my mother is limited by the number of years that I lived under the same roof.  I do not know anything about her growing up.  Oh, I have pictures but I have no first-hand knowledge or memory of her in the formative years. I missed the first 30 years of her life.  I knew the adult.  My adult mother was a strong and exacting person.  She had a very specific way of doing everything.  She believed in the strength of women and her daughters are proof of that.  Although she was a stay-at-home mom, she raised her daughters to be accomplished young women with diverse interests and accomplishments.   Politically conservative she was socially accepting of all people with whom she connected.  What I missed was my mother playing at the beach as a child. Was she athletic; did she have play dates; did she date in high school; did she date at all; a self-starter at school? I experienced the end result of growing up but not the experiencing of growing up.  That is reading the story after the good part has been redacted.  I know a lot of this information about all the other mothers of my life.

I understand that parenting is changing but while I was having children fatherhood was relatively simple to understand.  The vestiges of hierarchy still existed.  ‘Wait until your father comes home,’ was still an expression of potential dread or something big was about to happen.  Motherhood is complicated and extraordinarily demanding.  Nurse, cook, disciplinarian, chauffeur, coach, teacher, spiritual guide, counselor-in-chief, and consoler-in-chief. Oh, and she also has a career.  My mother was all of these, like most moms she was not perfect and had her weaknesses.  I know she liked to play bridge, she like her dogs, she was very particular about how she dressed and where she shopped for everything from food to clothing.  But mostly she ran the show and we all deferred to her. I am in awe of mothers and all they do while still trying to remain attractive, fun, and relevant.  It is a tall order.

On this day after Mother’s Day, I wish them a moment of quiet reflection on the breadth of their accomplishments and the depth of their abilities.

I still wonder what my mother was like in junior high Scholl or better yet don’t you want to know what she did that she never told her mother?   It is that part of her life I will never truly be able to appreciate or know.  I will just have to be content with knowing the adult mother. 

Happy Mother’s Day

Will and Em

This week I was writing about the goal of being liked, but a couple of events happened that made me think about compassion and following your dreams regardless of popularity or how it might affect the desired outcome at the expense of your true self.

Story One:

My daughter Emily has been following her dream of being in the theatre.  She started out thinking she would be an actor but the more she involved herself in this pursuit the more she understood the serendipitous and ephemeral nature of the beast.  Instead of abandoning the goal she pivoted and expanded that goal to include all aspects of theatre – writing, directing, and acting.  In addition, she and her partner developed a consulting business.  Since their training was all about presenting yourself to audiences, they decided they could teach those same skills to people in the workplace.  Women and men are required to present themselves to the public, whether that be before a board or colleagues.  To add complication to this goal, Emily wanted to apply her skills, not in her native United States but in the United Kingdom.  As in the U.S., the challenge to that journey is obtaining permission from the host country to stay and work on your chosen avocation.  This week she obtained a 5-year extension on her two-year visa—a major accomplishment in a country trying to keep expatriates out.  What is even more amazing is that this visa was granted on the merits of her accomplishments and confidence on the part of the British Government that she and her business would add value to their country.  It is important to note that this is accomplished on a merit-based slog through The Home Office, not through the far easier path of marital bliss to a native of the U.K.

Story two

My son’s day job is working with clients to develop complex insurance solutions at a reasonable cost.  Additionally, his other passion is ice hockey, a sport I often refer to as a “cult”.  If you are involved at a high level, as he is, you are connected at all levels for life.  Using this skill, he is the Head Coach of the Denver University Club Hockey team.  This would be analogous to triple-A in baseball.  These players are good.

Being a coach to 18-21-year-olds is a challenge by itself but when you pile on academics and being away from home, “coach” becomes an important mentoring figure for these young men.  Turns out one of his players developed an alarming acceleration of his white blood cell count and went to the emergency room at a local hospital.  This boy’s parents live in New Jersey, a four-hour plane ride if you can get one at 2:00 am.

William, without hesitation, accompanied this boy to the hospital and stayed with him throughout the night while the doctors tried to find out what was wrong.  He communicated with the boy’s parents thru Facetime and text throughout the ordeal.  When the boy’s mother arrived the next morning at the Denver Airport, he drove out to pick her up.  She wrote a letter to the Chancellor of the University and I think she said it best. “…an amazing encounter I recently had with DU's club hockey coach, Will Steck.  Will displayed a level of compassion and generosity for my family that was, quite frankly, shocking.  I am still shaking my head in wonderment, and the thought of it brings tears of gratitude to my eyes”

Parenting is a challenging job, not for the obvious reasons but because you do not see the outcome for many years.  In addition, it has little to do with you the parent, and everything to do with the individual child that you have brought into this world. 

Obviously, I am exploding with pride at the accomplishments of these two individuals.  Amazingly I have three others with equal resumes.

We are just here for a short period and as long as we are here why not pursue your goals with passion rather than convenience.  And while you are at it, develop that sense of compassion and empathy.  It will serve you well and those around you.

With gratitude…

Intrinsic Shopping

 I bought a new jacket recently.  It has taken a number of years for me to identify all of my weaknesses but clothing has always found its way to the top of the list.  A desire for such an inanimate object certainly cannot be my fault.  Not sure how much intrinsic value to assign clothing, but my mother certainly felt there was plenty.  As I have written before we take our cues in life from the earliest days and our parents are the role models.  My mother had a terrific sense of fashion and design.  She took great pride in presenting herself at all times.  When she left the house she was always put together. Think J. Lo, only red hair, Scottish, and without a recording contract.  Shopping was important and where you went shopping was equally important.  Of course, there was no such thing as “online” shopping, brick and mortar stores were the essential components of the experience.  In Los Angeles, Bullocks Wilshire was the pinnacle of elegant shopping.  The department store opened in 1929 and was the first and one of the finest examples of Art Deco architecture in the United States.  It was glamorous shopping for another era’s rich and famous or those that wanted to be or just felt comfortable in those surroundings.  There was intrinsic value in the building and the experience.  Mom was a full retail shopper.  I think she was convinced that if it was on sale there was something wrong.  In a way she was correct.  Either the company ordered wrong; ordered too many; missed the needs and desires of their clientele or had to get out of winter merchandise for summer.  In a sense, even today when something is on sale something went wrong.  But for mom things on sale were just wrong no matter the reason.  Today I struggle with sale items.  Hard to erase the DNA.  Going shopping with mom at Bullocks was a fun day.  If things went well you might get to have something to eat in the Tea Room. Just walking in the store with the symphony of smells from the perfume counter to sales clerks to that just new smell of all the new merchandise.  It was nothing short of intoxicating even if you were only ten. 

One day when mom was in a good mood; the house was in order; no school, we went to Bullocks Wilshire to shop for clothes for school.  I was really not part of the selection process, I was just the recipient.  That was fine with me as I was more interested in the enormity of the store and all the activity.    My mother had great taste and she made great choices but not always.  It was on this particular day that mom chooses a pair of black pants; a sort of Wayne Newton goes to Las Vegas black and white shirt and a hi rolled collared cardigan white sweater.  I hated this outfit. I am pretty sure I looked and felt like a 13-year-old Neil Diamond without the hair.

Ever notice how your subconscious creates the circumstance that allows you to accept the events of the day.  For instance, you are about to leave a loved one, especially after experiencing a particularly wonderful time together.  No one wants to leave the party when it is fun, so you create the circumstance that allows you to leave --- like an argument.  Notice how easy it is to separate when you are in disagreement.  Well, I was about to create a circumstance where I could gracefully depart from this horrible outfit without hurting my mother’s feelings.

My friends and I took the bus to school.  There was a stop right by our house — convenient.  However, that is not where Sandy Manker caught the bus.  Since she was cute and my friends were not it made a lot more sense to climb over the chain-linked fence in my friend Pat’s backyard; jump down in the dirt and walk to her bus stop.  On this particular day, it had rained the night before so it was ripe for the unconscious act to unfold.  Sure enough, as I climbed the fence I slipped and fell conveniently ripping the black pants and landing in the mud with my Neil Diamond Sweater and Wayne Newton shirt. Problem solved ----- I never wore those clothes again.

Many years later I was cleaning out my closet on the way to college and there was that white sweater – I guess it had intrinsic value after all.

My Parent’s Child

I had lunch with a friend a couple of days ago.  We have known each other for many years.  We are worlds apart in our political thinking, yet we have remained friends.  During the lunch he mentioned how concerned he was over the shootings occurring across the country.  This was particularly poignant as this was the day of the FedEx shooting in Indianapolis.  What did I attribute this challenging breakdown in our civil society, he asked…?

 By most standards I think my parents would be considered “strict” as parents.  They were politically conservative but socially inclusive.  They were consistent, loyal and honest, not only to their children, family, business associates, and those that performed services; but to their religious and political beliefs.  Surely there were things about my parents that I did not like growing up and I promised I would conduct myself differently.  True to that, I am a social liberal, have lived in multiple houses, in multiple cities and have had multiple marriages.  However, I am still my parent’s child and at the core I am very much like them.  I am loyal to the people around me and to the people that have helped me.  I am a dedicated father and have made sure my children were well educated (of particular importance to my father).  I believe in staying consistently connected with family, I am a stalwart supporter of my children’s life quests and generous to those around me and to those in need.  All of these characteristics were learned behavior from my parents who were my first leaders.

 As humans we are wired to seek leadership and to emulate those that are in leadership positions.  Those that are not as fortunate as I was to have a core value system installed by parents will seek leadership elsewhere.

Elected officials are the leaders that appear to have the most influence.  These elected officials, like my parents, are in a position of leadership.  Their core value system is consistently on display.  Their constituency watches and emulates their behavior.   We are stuck in our current predicament because those leaders are not leading.  Instead, they are in a continual rinse cycle of name calling, mistruths and most important, the process of making up stories to fit their narrative. What is lacking in the country is appropriate governance.  Representatives and senators are too busy protecting their jobs and developing the story line that supports their falsehoods.  

 Our past and current leaders have given us, as a culture, the green light to disrespect, personally criticize and demean those we did not agree with.  Tragically the current government is attempting to govern and move the ball down the field.  They will fail not because of flawed ideas but because other leaders will seek to discredit rather than enhance governance.

There are voices seeking bipartisan (involving the agreement of two political parties that usually oppose each other’s policies) support, but what we need is collaboration. (the action of working with someone to produce or create something).

To my friend I said, the breakdown in our society is the lack of cooperative leadership seeking to collaborate to find solutions to our societal problems.  We have a component of leadership in this country that is devoid of core values and insists on making up the story to fit the failures of their leadership.  Until we regain and follow a set of shared values the shooting will never stop.

My parents are watching…...

THE PATH

The path is not always clear so be open to what comes your way.  My father was an extraordinary attorney.  His influence created a number of attorneys in my immediate family.  Between my younger sister’s family and mine, there are 6 who are or were practicing attorneys.  I was not one of them.  One could have assumed that my path was clear. However, I was Influenced mostly by the ocean while I was going to college and started my professional career as a lifeguard.  

Having graduated from a major university, I was forging my way into adulthood in a pair of red lifeguard shorts. One afternoon my father invited me to his office for lunch.  This was not one of those fun father/son I-am-so-proud-of-you lunches    No, this was more a “what the fuck” are you doing with your life lunch.  My father would never use that word as we have discussed in previous writings.  He was thinking I should pursue something that he could conceptualize; perhaps an attorney or an accountant or a loan officer.  I was disinterested in such a path, I was having too much fun saving lives.  That fact, of course, was picked up on immediately by my father.  He pointed out that dragging a 200-pound football player out of two feet of water was not exactly a “Baywatch” moment or maybe it was exactly such a moment.  Taking the hint that I should be pursuing other avenues of compensation-oriented work I applied to a bank.  I was put into the loan officer training program which I disliked intensely.  Interacting with the customers was fun, especially since I was in the Palisades office which drew in a certain entertainment clientele.  However, that was not enough to keep me interested and I told my training officer I was going to go back to saving lives on the beach.  There are people who come into your life and like a tug boat move your life’s ship in a different and more positive direction.  Such a person was my supervisor.  He set up an interview with the investment department of a large West Coast bank.  The department was run by a gentleman people referred to as Dr. No.  Somehow this pillar of the banking community thought I was made of the right stuff for investing the bank’s money through the trading of US Government securities.  The other benefit to this job was we had to be in the office by 5:00 am, which meant we were permitted to leave around 3:00 pm. I was back on the beach by 3:30 pm. Either through ignorance or just dumb luck this seemingly innocuous event set me on a path that ultimately led to an arguably successful career in the securities industry as a Partner of the premier investment bank.

The “Ever Given” was stuck in the Suez Canal, there were plenty of people trying to assist and move that ship onto the right path and yet it was providence in the form of high tides and wind that set it onto the correct path.  Accepting help from others is not a weakness.  When you are open to the idea that the universe has a plan and there are people to assist there just might be smooth sailing ahead.  Keep your eyes open and your head accepting of the possibilities.  We do not always know what the universe has in store for us, but it does – so don’t close it out. There is not only one path to be taken in a lifetime. Hopefully, there will be many —— Be ready.

Rituals

Beginnings are fun; endings not so much. I like spring and fall. They are the beginning seasons which lead to the ending seasons of summer and winter. The pungent smells of spring reawakens our senses and announces the coming of life renewed. The musty smell of fall helps prepare us for the harshness of winter and life on pause. Most religions have been built around these dramatic changes in the world around us. Starting as pagan rituals, they became religious rituals. Easter Sunday celebrating the resurrection of Jesus; Passover commemorating the liberation of the Israelites from slavery and a new beginning; Ramadan is a holy month of fasting and introspection. There are others but the common ingredient is that spring represents the earth’s renewal and in their unique way religious rituals embrace this sense of introspection and renewal. The role of Mother Nature is still dominant in our decision making. Rituals are an important part of our lives. They can be as simple as a consistent time of dinner or the fact that we eat dinner as a family. Ritual gives us stability and dependability. What rituals are not or should not be are proof of our allegiance to an organization or a cause. Ritual is comfort, security and familiarity. In spite of the commonality of many religious rituals, religious organizations insist on things being done in “their” way. It is “their “ rituals that are the “true” rituals and their organization is the ‘true” organization. The leadership of these different organizations only see seasonal change through the lens of their rituals. The fence we build around our clubhouse only serves to keep our idea of spring and renewal of the human spirit inside. Founded on religious freedom and the separation of church and state our country seems to have lost the true meaning of those founding rituals. Like our religious beliefs we have allowed ourselves to close our minds. Let us hope that the freshness in the air; the brilliance of color and the new life of this spring will open us to renewal and a fresh start. Let this spring be a beginning of inclusion and growth. Perhaps our rituals will open our eyes for change rather than close them with familiarity.

Baby Making

Making children is the easy part, the challenge is in the raising.  Written and spoken, advice is plentiful, but until you hold one of these babies in your arms, you never fully understand the journey you are about to embark upon.  It is the uniqueness of this ultimate human experience that makes it so difficult.  True there are valuable books, accurate suggestions, and well-meaning advice; but when you spend an entire evening trying to get your newborn to sleep; you realize that the books are really just adventure stories told by someone else.  Your adventure story is a new experience because it is you who are experiencing it.  My first-born daughter at 6 months had developed a high fever that would not weaken, when the doctor suggested I put her in a lukewarm bath to cool her tiny body down it sure sounded like a good idea until I actually did it.  No amount of reading or training would prepare you for the physical and emotional trauma that that small event caused on parent and child.  Every event requires so much thought and it is impossible to understand the ramifications of your mistakes until you start paying for “the shrink”.  It is amazing how well our mistakes are remembered but, hey what about the time I did the right thing?   

What is driving me to this line of thinking is the manner with which pandemic-caused problems for families are reported.  Perhaps it can be said about anything that is reported in the headline-sound-bite-shortest-half-life news story cycle, but it resonates with me that the reporting on mothers and children is so far off the mark.  There is nothing about raising children that can be replicated in the business or the governing world.  Unless the parent chooses to neglect, issues with children cannot be put off until next week, or when you get back from vacation.  A child’s needs are immediate.  Whether it is hunger, injury, illness, emotional, or just a hug.  The demands on parents are extreme.  It is especially hard on mothers.  No matter how we might try to equalize the pressure, it is always pounding in the woman’s ears.  When it is reported that women have left the workforce in record numbers or they are huddled with their children in a refugee camp or they are bullied by their colleagues at home, at work, on the floor of the senate; remember these women are facing the most relentlessly demanding job at home.  Don’t get me wrong fathers play a role and an important role.  However, for most families, they are the relief pitcher who comes in the 8th inning to try to clean things up.

I have five children and no book ever truly prepared me for the visit to the emergency room, the emotional breakdown, or the accurate guidance when faced with one of your children in need.  As a society, we underestimate at every turn the challenge parents face when raising children.  We really cannot do enough to empower parents and especially women.  All schools have sex education but that is the easy part as no one needs a degree to produce a child, but where are the child-raising classes.  Where is the advanced education to help mothers in the workplace after their children have left the protective cover of the home?

So, the next time you have a bad day think of the mother of three who clothed, fed, dressed, settled disagreements, cleaned up after, did laundry, taught three different school grades to three different types of learning abilities, and it is only noon and there are 9 more hours of the same before she might be able to brush her teeth.  Then think about the pompous hyperbole stricken elected representative who says we are doing enough.   Is the baby-making still stuck in our heads????             

Super Hero

Again, we are faced with more tragedy; empathetic statements are flooding the airwaves while power patiently sits waiting for the empathy noise to grow faint.

On Friday evenings, the NPR NewsHour, hosted by Judy Woodruff, reads five stories about people who have died during the pandemic.  None of these people are large public figures, yet their stories are amazing.  In little and big ways they touched their families and communities meaningfully.  Sam Sanders has a radio show called “It’s Been A Minute.”  At the end of his show, he plays recordings of people telling him of the most positive thing that happened to them in the past week.  These people are thankful for a broad array of reasons, but it is the depth of their gratitude that grips the heart.  I think of myself as an empathetic person and hearing these stories touches me deeply.  My frustration is I don’t know what to do with that empathy other than feeling it. One’s ability to be empathetic, to understand, to feel the pain, to understand a differing view is a valuable skill.  It is a necessary skill for selling and for building relationships.  However, as a skill for change and execution of change, it is bludgeoned by the brute force of political power.

Another shooting, this time in Atlanta, and this time its people of Asian descent that are slaughtered.  More telling and disturbing, all but one are women. There is sadness and empathy all around as we try to sort it all out.  Sadly, nothing will be done about this in a meaningful way in spite of all the verbal empathy.  It is the political power that carries the day.  Power does not want anything done.  Power looks for a way to maintain power.  Power is not looking or suggesting a solution.  Consider Rep. Kevin McCarthy (R-CA) at the border, he is neither empathetic nor a problem solver he is a power grabber. He articulates just enough falsehoods and innuendo to poison the conversation.  The misuse of power keeps us in the shadows.  My empathy my understanding of the heartache and pain of individuals is a challenge because it doesn’t lead to a solution. It is just a feeling.  I don’t know what to do with my empathy.   I vote in a way that appears to be solution-driven; I contribute in a way that expresses empathy but it is no match for power. Power is what keeps us from making real progress. The jobs associated with power are so desirable that holding on to them takes all the power of the individual sitting in the seat.

Power has no real empathy; it voices empathy but not it is not transactional.  Power doesn’t care that Asians were shot; power doesn’t care about black lives; power only cares about staying in power.  I love a superhero – they are not only empathetic but they have the power to create change.  Their feelings and empathy become actionable.  A superhero expresses ideals and empathy and then dispatches those that would block the path to an equitable solution. Their simplicity of purpose and belief attracts us and gives us hope —- a willing suspension of disbelief.

 There seems to be a glimmer of hope that those holding the most power at the moment may indeed be transactionally empathetic, but it is an uphill battle and the headwinds against change are formidable.

The Middle Child

I am a middle child sandwiched in-between two brilliant Stanford-educated sisters.  A lot has been written about the “poor” middle child, forgotten about while his/her siblings reap the rewards from the parents.  That was never my experience although I enjoy using the self-effacing moniker of the poor middle child to get a laugh. My middle experience was largely one of humor and causing embarrassment for my older sister and torturing my younger one. I rather enjoyed my position of anonymity and lower expectations.  By contrast the position I felt great sympathy for and was happy to not be was the eldest child.  I was reminded of this difficult positioning when my older sister sent me an essay she had written. It was about growing up before there were others to compete for attention.  There are a lot of things that being first is the desired outcome.  First in the Olympics, first at the French Open, first in line for money are all good firsts.  First to drive; first romance; first to get in trouble at school; first to take your SATs – those are not good firsts and not fun.  I watched my older sister go through firsts on everything and it was never easy.  I was comfortable in my middle-ness because she had done the heavy lifting. After all, she was the first for my parents and thus they had no experience in parenting a child through all of those difficult firsts.

Middle allows you to do things your older sister would have been put in the penalty box for days, but being middle it was just cute and funny.  I am pretty sure it was not funny to the one who was first. 

My sister was the first in our family to have a boyfriend.  He was right out of college boy central casting.  Picture a green MG roadster driven by a 6’2” tennis-playing fraternity guy attending we-are-just-like-the-ivy-league-Claremont College and he smoked a pipe.  Really?? Who smokes a pipe?  This first-ever boyfriend made the first-ever visit to our house for the first time. 

Let me frame the picture.  Our house was a cape cod two-story house with two dormer windows facing the front of the house and a circular driveway.  Now don’t get carried away this is a small circular driveway.  The middle child (that’s me) and the younger sister (who would be the person I talked into being my accomplice because) were running around in giggling anticipation of this first-ever event. The aforementioned boyfriend drives his MG Roadster up the driveway and my oldest, first-to-have-to-do- everything, sister goes out to meet him.  In her mind, this accomplishes two things.  One she doesn’t have to bring him in the house and two, she doesn’t have to deal with the middle and the youngest embarrassing her.  Knowing that I was not allowed to interfere set my mind to thinking…. My little sister’s room just happened to have one of the dormer windows facing the driveway.  This was the perfect vantage point to watch whatever was going on with my sister, the perfect college boy, and the MG roadster.  While we were giggling and watching another brilliant idea popped into my head.  As the dormer window would be the perfect launching pad, wouldn’t it be fun to throw shoes out the window?  You know to see if they might notice and I was clearly not getting enough attention. Of course, the shoes were my younger sister’s because why would I throw my shoes out the window.  Remember in Part II of “The Word” describing the speed with which my father extracted me from the party?  Well, if you think he was fast you should have seen my mother.  In a flash, my mother was in the room, the window was closed; the rain of shoes ceased and I was, well, back in my room. Most first older sisters spend their high school years arguing with their mothers; however, occasionally, the mother comes to the rescue and this was one of those times.

Years later this is a funny story but trust me if you are the oldest there is nothing funny about this story or any other story involving your middle child brother wreaking havoc on your already challenging oldest life.

So, like the Army you never want to be the best or the worst you just want to fit comfortably in the middle ---- life could be a dream sh-boom sh- boom

My First Crush Part III

Gardening was important to my father.  His rose garden was his pride and joy.  He was a brilliant attorney-at-law and dedicated many hours to his chosen profession at his office.   He would come home and work some more from his make-shift office in the sunroom on the east side of the house he and my mother built.  To the chagrin of my mother; but to the delight of the French Hand Laundry in Pasadena, my father would venture into his rose garden directly from the car without changing out of his suit.  Occasionally on a Saturday, I was asked to help with other gardening chores.  The roses were not for novitiates.  It was on such a Saturday that I had a memory relapse. 

As you will remember from last week, I had experienced a verbal malfunction at a luncheon with friends of my parents.  Having spent the balance of that day and evening in my room reflecting on my misuse of language and in particular the word “fuck”; I cleaned up my public language in a manner that my parents deemed appropriate.  However, senior moments are not solely the province of seniors. Sometimes younger people have lapses of memory.  It was just such an occasion I experienced on a warm fall afternoon. 

Our home had two very large maple trees in the front yard and even in warm Southern California, these deciduous trees lost their leaves in the fall.  Since picking up leaves did not require the same technical skill as caring for roses, I was assigned the duty of raking up the leaves from said maple trees.  Perhaps it has not escaped your notice that Maple Trees like Pine trees have a certain secretion of sap, the fluid that circulates in the vascular system of the plant.  Maple syrup on pancakes is great but when it is on your hands and the rake you are holding; it is less than perfect.  Thus, it was, while I was working on raking the maple leaves with my father in the same area, I registered my displeasure with the aforementioned sap --- “Fuck, this fucking sap is all fucking over me!!!”.  A triple “fuck” in the same sentence.  Oops, a senior moment of memory loss, but my father did not forget and after admonishing me for the use of the word “fuck” I was told to go to my room and think about my language

The Good News

No more raking Maple leaves!!!!  All in all, it wasn’t a bad outcome.

My First Crush & The Word Part II

                                        Sunny and 75 degrees with a four-foot swell and an off-shore breeze; a perfect day for surfing.  Tragically, I was cleaning my room in preparation for lunch!!! Really?! I thought it was summer vacation.  The only redeeming part was Charlene would be coming with her parents. My parents were not Victorians but they were in transition between full-on Victorian and the Greatest Generation.  My father worked for Lockheed Aircraft toward the end of World War II. He and my mother definitely raised their children in a “proper” fashion. There were strict rules and those were adhered to at all times.  One of those rules was general respect for the English language.  After all, my father was an attorney and took great pride in his ability to write and his use of language.  In spite of its versatility, the word Fuck was not on my family’s vocabulary list of useful or versatile words. In fact, I cannot recall a time when I ever heard my father or mother use the word regardless of its multiple functions. Here is a partial list demonstrating the true versatility of this one four-letter word.

Interjection: Fuck! I stubbed my toe.

Noun:  I hit the fuck out of the ball.

Complementary: You are so fucking good.

Apathy: Who gives a fuck!

Fraud: They fucked me over.

Enjoyment: I had a fucking good time at the party!

Anger:  Fuck!

Ignorance: Fuck if I know.

Displeasure:  What the fuck is happening?

Resignation: I guess I am fucked now.

Suggestion: Get the fuck out of here.

Trouble: I guess I am fucked now.

Adjective: He is a fucking moron.  That’s fucking stupid. Look at that fucking ______

 It is the adjective form that ruined my day and my lunch with Charlene. They arrived…there was plenty of how are you; you look great; are you ready to return to school; summer’s almost over etc.  The adults were seated at one table and the rest of us at the “kid’s table”.  My younger sister, I have no idea where my older sister was, Charlene and her brother Charles.  We were actually having a fun time chatting about this and that.  I was feeling very accomplished as I was included in the conversation.  I mean we were kind of like adults and the age gap was narrowing. Then I got ahead of myself.  Newport Blvd was a modestly busy street, not horrible, but enough traffic that a blockage would have cause some inconvenience.  As we were eating, I was looking out the window and I saw a truck backing into the middle of the street without regard to the oncoming traffic…. “Look at that Fucking Truck,” I said in an authoritative and incredulous voice to demonstrate my disappointment in the driver’s behavior and mental acuity.  The next event happened at warp speed and Star Wars wasn’t even in theaters.  My father instantly materializes at my side with a crushing grab of my arm and suddenly I was beamed into my room with a…” I never want to hear that word from you again”. Party Over!!!!!

I cannot remember if I had dinner that night but I do know I did not see Charlene again as by the time I had recovered from my embarrassment we had all returned to Arcadia and school.  From my perspective, It all seemed so wrong, I mean what the fuck was that driver doing backing into the street like that?  And, fuck, was grounding and exiled to my room in the middle of lunch with Charlene really fucking necessary.? From my father’s perspective --- Sure the fuck was!!!!

Once was not enough… The F-Word Part III

My First Crush & The Word Part I

                      A few years back I introduced Billy Shore, Founder, and CEO of Share Our Strength and all-around philanthropic guru, to my friend; Shaun Cassidy, singer, writer, producer, and all-around renaissance guy.   Shaun and award-winning winemaker, Steve Clifton have collaborated to produce an excellent flight of wines under the label “My First Crush”.  My two friends, Billy and Shaun, worked together to create an enduring gift of $2.00 from every bottle sold to benefit the “No Kid Hungry” campaign of Share Our Strength.  This marvelous philanthropic effort seeks to eliminate childhood hunger in the United States.  Shockingly there are 15 million children in the US that go hungry, not because of the lack of food, but because we fail to distribute our abundant food resources to those in need.  One afternoon the three of us were discussing the development of this marvelous collaboration; the branding, its success, and of course our memories of Our First Crush.    I think Shaun has touched on one of those memories that remain in full clarity.  I am amazed at the things we remember as if they happened yesterday and the things we just cannot bring back.  Those with clarity are the ones that touch us on many levels.  Not just an event to recall but a memory that touches our heart and soul and thus remains with fullness.  There are many things I have forgotten about my growing up, however, one of the things I have not forgotten is my first crush.  The story of my first crush is also connected to “The Word” ---- my introduction and usage of – Fuck.  Now get your minds out of the gutter, I am not thinking of THAT usage, I am thinking of the first time I used the word in public as a part of my vocabulary.  If you want to get a real laugh look up the UTube video of Baba Rajneesh “It is a magical word. Just by its sound it can describe pain, pleasure, hate, and love.” It is about 5 years old but worth the search… I digress… enough prologue.

My parents rented the same apartment every summer in Newport Beach.  I grew up in a privileged family but not varsity privilege, we were junior varsity privilege.  This apartment was surrounded by homes owned by Los Angeles area families that were varsity privileged.  We were the cheap house on an expensive block.   These families came to the beach for the summer from various cities within the Los Angeles region.  Their children became famous world-class sailors in the Olympics and world championships.

I honestly don’t remember what her family did or where exactly they were from but I remember her.  She was tall, blond, and pretty.  She was older than me, but that did not deter me from having a massive crush on Charlene.   I watched her every move and took every opportunity to be near her as our houses were next to each other. The beach was our playground so there was plenty of opportunities to hang out.  Thinking back, it was probably obvious to everyone except me, since I thought I was being so discreet.   Unrequited love was surely the correct description of this romance.  Every summer was a chance to rekindle the crush.  I have no idea where Charlene is now but for many years, I imagined that our age difference would collapse and we would meet again.  Alas, that never happened. 

My parents were good friends with her parents so there were additional opportunities for sightings. Mom and Dad liked her parents and entertained them often either at the Newport Harbor Yacht Club or having them over for lunch with their family.  My mother was very particular about her lunches and preparation for them was extensive and stress-producing.  It was at one of these lunches that I first introduced the word “fuck” into my public vocabulary.

Next week ---- Part II “What did you say?”

The Vaccine

 I feel like I won the lottery.  With all the confusing information and misinformation, it has been nearly impossible to get an appointment in San Francisco for a Covid vaccine even if you are age-appropriate.

UNTIL……

I walked into my dermatologist’s office Thursday morning.  Since I don’t get out much, going to the demonologist was a big event.  I pulled myself together with a collared shirt, sport jacket, and scarf.  I mean I brought my A-game. I go to the dermo often as I spent a lot of time in the sun growing up at the beach in Southern California and as a lifeguard.  In the day, zinc oxide was all you did for sunscreen and that was only on your nose.  So now I spend a lot in the dermo office freezing the barnacles on my skin. 

The nurse assistant entered the room with a smile and good morning. She complimented me on my outfit -always a nice touch for my fragile ego. Then the doctor burst into the examining room in the best mood.  Smiling and cheerful she also wished me a good morning.  She explained that she had secured a vaccine appointment for her father that morning and was super happy.  Apparently, CVS had announced they would be giving the Covid vaccine commencing Monday the 15th.  She had gone online to secure an appointment for her father.  She then turned to her assistant and asked her to go get her personal laptop.

“let’s see if we can obtain an appointment for Mr. Steck”. Since I am age-appropriate and had been waiting it out as my local county and San Francisco were having trouble obtaining vaccine and sorting out the logistics.  While my dermatologist was busily freezing the barnacles off, her assistant was working the internet and I was chatting them up.  We were all doing our job and the outcome was perfect.  I left the office with fewer barnacles and an appointment this Monday the day after Valentine’s Day and a follow on second shot appointment in a month. 

 What are the lessons? 

Never leave the house unless you are well put together.  You never know who you might meet along the way.  People notice you and they notice how you are dressed.  Clothing does not have to be expensive, but taking the time to put yourself together says a lot about how you feel about yourself and how you want people to regard you.             Dress for success.

 Always have young doctors and young assistants as they will be able to work through the internet.  The internet was designed by a 20-year-old, not a 60-year-old. Having a 20 something deal with the internet is always successful. 

 Being nice to the receptionist, the assistant and the doctor gets everyone on your side.  It is just not that hard to be polite and kind.  What is shocking is how few people behave in that way.  So, when you treat people with warmth and kindness, you stand out and ….

You get the perfect appointment and you don’t have to fight with a website that you did not understand in the first place.

“Looking good Billy Ray. Feeling good Lewis” ---- Trading Places

Innovation and The Prom

In 2007 Exxon Mobil had a market capitalization of 525 Billion USD.  That same year Amazon had a market capitalization of 16 Billion USD.  Today, 2021, Exxon has a market capitalization of 175 Billion and Amazon has a market capitalization of 1.589 Trillion.  Admittedly this is comparing apples and oranges from an industry perspective but it is a good lesson for those companies that fail to innovate.  I was listening to this comparison while I was driving my gas-powered car and it made me think of a marginally related subject – my High School Prom.

 I smiled to myself thinking about that evening and wondered how curious are the things that trigger distant memories. I recount this eventful night so that it will make my grandchildren laugh.  Closely linked to this story and the relevance to Exxon’s value demise is the Ford Galaxie 500 with its 427 V8 engine.  Ford and Chevrolet were in a battle to build the fastest “muscle” car fueled by cheap gas and lots of new freeways in Southern California.  My physical appearance could be described as the antithesis of the muscle car.  As a high school senior, I was over six feet and barley weighed in at 150.  I had some catching up to do in the body weight to muscle balance.  To protect the innocent, my prom date will be called Nancy.  Girls, dating, and growing up socially; was, along with my athletic pursuits, a failure.  In today’s vernacular I was challenged.  Having no steady girlfriend and a crush on the unattainable cheerleader; I, at the last minute, asked my friend Nancy to the prom.  Shockingly, she said yes, as inexplicably she was not otherwise committed. 

The prom was a formal affair to be held at the Santa Anita Race Track Turf Club.  At that age you rented tuxedos.  Having been scared by this experience, as soon as I could afford to, I always purchased tuxedoes like you would a blue suit.  It just seemed like the right thing to have in your wardrobe. A rented tux consisted of pants, jacket, shoes, shirt and a cummerbund (a broad waistband usually worn in place of a vest). The cummerbund will play an important role later in the story.  

I graduated from high school in the middle of the muscle car era.    I remember we mostly had Buicks as family cars.  However, the year of my graduation my father switched to Ford.  He had purchased a Ford Galaxie 500 Fast Back with a 427 V8 engine.  Despite the weight of this car, it was fast.  It was a competitor to the Chevy 409 which the Beach Boys made famous in a song by the same name.  I don’t know----perhaps it was because I was accepted to the University of California; or because I had a date, or because I had not locked the car keys in the trunk (that’s another story for another day) or maybe because he just loved his son; but, when I asked my father if I could use his brand new super-fast car to go to the prom, he said YES!!!! A truly remarkable turn of events. This may have been my father’s dream car but my mother determined its color.  I would never have picked the color but, c’mon man, it was new and fast----Powder blue with white trim --- no judgement please.

Prom night

I was excited as I was leaving high school and heading to Santa Barbara in the fall.  I showered took care of the requisite pimple in the middle of my forehead, went down stairs to say good bye to my parents and patiently listened to the be-safe-no-drinking send off.  I sat in this new car and contemplated the trust that my father had bestowed on me.  I started the car and headed out the drive way.  A block away from the house I hit the accelerator – wow this car was really fast.  For the next hour the world was perfect.  Having picked up my date we headed to the Turf Club.  The Santa Anita race track was an important place in Arcadia as it had an enormous parking lot which on race day was full, but, if the track was closed, this lot was the perfect place to learn to drive and everyone learned to drive there. Entering this massive parking lot, I drove the car to where others had begun to park.  I pulled into a space away from the others so as not to endanger my father’s car.  Parked, put the brake on, and opened the door to an unknown pending disaster.  ---- remember the cummerbund??) I walked around the car and opened Nancy’s door; stepped aside and closed the door.  Excited we hurriedly strode out to the party, within a second I was lying face down in the gravel.  I was so thin that the cummerbund, which was clinging to my nonexistent hips, had fallen straight down around my ankles, essentially tying them together; and now, my hands were bloody and painful.   Nancy stared at me with a look of bemused misunderstanding in the same way a horse looks at you when you have fallen and are laying on the ground.  The face said “what are you doing down there?”  With my bruised hands and ego, I pulled myself together and we headed to the party.  Things did not improve much…The dinner and dance were ok although I managed to spill on my white shirt, forced to dance and fought with the damn cummerbund. 

As was customary, many of us has arranged to attend the late-night show at the Coconut Grove after the prom dinner/dance.  Growing up in Los Angeles you have an odd relationship with distance and time.  The Coconut Grove was not next to the Santa Anita race track. It was 30 miles and 45 minutes away but if you grew up in So Cal that was the equivalent of being next door.  We left the prom and headed to the Grove.  It could have been we were listening to music or talking or just not paying attention but an hour later I had not found the Coconut Grove. I was in Long Beach 40 miles from where I was supposed to be!!!

If you needed to go somewhere in Los Angeles, my mother knew how to get you there.  I had already run out of embarrassment tickets so what did I do? – I called my mother.  Turns out I missed the turn off and was 40 miles off target.  Following my mother’s directions, we arrived at the Grove terribly late and sat behind a pillar for the show.  The rest of the evening was uneventful.  I was able to return my date to her home and I returned my father’s muscle car un- scared unlike my ego.  Lesson learned? Well, there were many.  Unlike Exxon, however, innovation has come to the rescue of future skinny, socially inept young boys who cannot find theri way.  The wonderful innovations of GPS software could have saved my ego and my embarrassment.

Born too soon for the prom, innovation is coming to the rescue…

TWO FOR ONE

This week’s blog is a bit on the lengthy side but it is actually two blogs in one.  As I had mentioned in the beginning I would from time to time discuss sales and my view of how to improve relationships and sales.  I was encouraged to write a book on this subject but somehow could not put it together so I am doing it in pieces in hopes that It might come together with related and unrelated anecdotes.  So, the first part of this week’s blog is a brief discussion of selling and managing relationships in the philanthropic world.  The second part is an exploration of time and the difficulty of managing and dealing with the limitations as --- time marches on…

SALES LESSON No. 2

Raising money is never easy.  The challenges we have faced this winter makes fundraising an even greater hurdle.  I am not talking about investment fundraising.  With interest rates at zero and the Federal Reserve printing money, money for investments are readily available and investors are chomping at the bit to put their money to work.  No, I am talking about philanthropic fundraising.  Let’s make no mistake this is selling.  Remember selling is not a negative word, it is the ability to convince someone that what you have is of value and of value to them.  In the paragraphs below I will talk about some of the attributes which will make you more successful at “selling” or raising money for your philanthropic enterprise.  These also work for more traditional selling but since most development (euphemistic word generally used by universities to mask the fact that they are selling) personal are either volunteer or have not come from a traditional selling background. My hope is that these thoughts can be helpful.

An email just doesn’t cut it.

Admittedly I am an “old school” sales guy and I believe the phone is the most valuable tool you have at your disposal.  Most people raising money are younger than I am and have grown up with the digital method as the most valuable tool of communicating.  However, it is important to remember that the people you are trying to convince to give money are closer to my age; so put on your flexible hat and pick up the phone and “reach out to someone”. Your voice is an important tool.  The sincerity with which you approach your task will be readily felt by the person on the other end of the phone.  Now don’t get me wrong the digital form of communication is super important but important in the way it was designed --- appointment confirmation, follow-up, and confirmation of your agreement.   Granted this is difficult in the pandemic world and the fact that you are probably separated from your client.  Having said that please remember that there is nothing like a personal visit.  An in-person visit screams of sincerity and caring.  You bothered to drive or fly to visit someone says a lot about your sincerity and the seriousness with which you take your job.  When I was at Goldman the firm was American Airlines largest client because we were on the plane constantly.  Today is clearly different.  The Zoom call has replaced a lot of travel but it is better than the email or text because they can see you and sense the personal commitment you are bringing to the “ask”.  Remember you are trying to establish a relationship and like your personal relationships, it just cannot get sincere enough unless you make personal contact.  Allowing your client to hear or see you is that human touch that is critical in establishing a meaningful relationship and closing a transaction.  That transaction is the goal for your organization as that means money has exchanged hands and you have taken the relationship to another important level.

Speaking of the next level—don’t forget last year’s contributor. 

It surprises me the number of times someone has said that they did not call because I gave last year.  Really?! The previous contributor is your easiest call – I mean talk about low hanging fruit.  You already made the sale as they gave last year.  But don’t send a text.  I really do not think that counts.  A text is too easy to delete or just not read.  Make a personal outreach.  Gives you a chance to talk about what your organization has accomplished with the help of their contribution.  Don’t forget to ask about their lives.  I would rather give money to a” friend” than a robot making a robocall.  Always call your last year’s sale (contributor) to ask for this year’s contribution.  Quite often, organizations do not keep good records and they forget to make these easy calls.  I was always impressed with the way Danny Meyer ran his restaurants.  He always knew when you were coming and how often you had dinner at his restaurants.  Do that with your contributors.

Philanthropic fatigue.

Donors suffer from philanthropic fatigue which can be especially acute if they are only being asked for money.  It is important to engage with your donors to find out what things they are interested in and what value they might bring to your organization.  If all you do is ask for money, they will eventually tire of being seen as one dimensional.  I like asking contributors what their goals are as it relates to giving.  Is their goal to be a board member, more hands-on involvement with the organization, or working with the people it serves?  Contributors have more than just money with which to add value.  But like any relationship you have to strive to find out what is behind their wallet.  Don’t forget you are competing for their attention with other interests and organizations.  Your job is to distinguish yourself from the competition.  Sending an email once a year will not achieve your desired result.  Reaching out in a personal way and asking questions will help to achieve the dynamic collaboration necessary.  Send the message that you are sincerely interested in the individual and you will learn something that will be of value.

The idea of developing closer relationships with your doner not only “sells” your organization it opens you up to different thinking.  You obviously continue to believe you are charting the correct course if you are speaking in the echo chamber.  Philanthropy demands change in approach and goal.  Your goals cannot remain the same or you will lose your donor base because of fatigue.  However, if you have listened and developed deeper relationships you can be open to changes that will keep your goals and organization relevant to your donor base.  Like any relationship, they become stale unless you are open to change.  Remember the same attributes which make you successful in developing and maintaining your personal relationships are identical to being a successful “development” officer.

Time                  

I suppose it is to be expected that as we age time becomes more important since there is less of it.  Suddenly waiting for Christmas doesn’t take so long.  Book a trip three months out and it is here tomorrow.  Where did the time go? It seems to me that everyone, regardless of age, is talking about the speed at which time passes.   Barrack Obama was just elected the first African American President, but it was actually 12 years ago and counting.  I have been thinking about time, not that it is going fast or that there is less of it, but the use of time.   Considering the waste of time, you might say.  It is time management that becomes important and how we deal with the management of an inexact resource and clearly a limited one.  Yet recently, I have not been treating it as a precious commodity.  Acknowledging and feeling the passage of time, I am trying to understand why I am not treating it as carefully as it deserves.  I am getting enough needed rest but I am taking more rest than I need.  Perhaps it is the pandemic and staying at home that is allowing us to not be as cognizant of the passage of time.  The pandemic took away one of the pillars of time management – a place to go to work.  I am a fan of “going to the work” or put another way I am a fan of compartmentalization.  Acknowledging the importance of being able to leave your place of rest and go to a place of work be it at an office, a construction site, a school, a sports facility, or… Going to that job is one way of respecting the value of time and helps to make sure that you use additional time wisely.  Consider work as a used block of time and when you leave work you are forced to take your remaining time seriously and thoughtfully. Allocating time for exercise, children's sports, doctor’s appointments will require thoughtfulness and discipline.   Whatever those blocks of time are, if a major portion of that block is taken up by going to work you are forced to plan better and more efficiently.  I understand the convenience of working at home and the additional time you are spending with family. However, I suspect you are also wasting more time.  I certainly am.  And it is bothering me that I have not been using my time in an efficient matter.   I do not have time to waste. The pandemic has thrown many of us into an uncomfortable predicament --- how to manage our time.  Going to the office gave us structure and reminded us of the importance of using our time wisely as we knew that much of our time was spoken for.  When I write “going to the office” I am using that in its broadest sense.  Referring to the act of leaving one’s place of rest to a place of work wherever that work might be. Having a place to go to work immediately structures your day and underscores the need to manage the time remaining.  Without an absolute requirement that I will be anywhere, I squander time.  Distracted by the outside world that comes to my door.  The delivery that needs a signature, the trash that needs taking out, the household chores that are present but unscheduled, meals, and the endless snacking because the food is always there.  I am beginning to get better about exercise but the rest of the day is a never-ending assortment of distractions and time-wasting thoughtlessness.  I used to make fun of my friend Dan who had a schedule which he was disciplined in keeping.  The joke was he would be easy to kidnap because he was always working out Monday Wednesday Friday at 3:00.  Now that I have no structure, I am jealous and amazed at his discipline in recognizing the limitations of time and his ability to make use of every minute.

Until recently I never truly valued the luxury of having a place to go to work; the importance of having to think about what to wear; the pleasure of having an assigned time to have lunch; the excitement of leaving work and the welcoming of the ability to accomplish something different during the next block of time.

I hope I can wear a suit again….. …….maybe even a tie!!!!!!!

DRY JANUARY

Love an entrance---Taking longer to get ready than most.  When you don’t have much hair, it takes a while to glue it in all the right places.  The correct shirt, jacket, pants, shoes, and the correct winter coat.  Not the one that you could actually survive in the cold but good enough to get across the street for the proper winter entrance.  Arriving you are greeted by the maître d’, the sommelier, and the waiters you know at the because you are a regular.  This is why we all want to own a restaurant.  The magic of the arrival; being acknowledged by the people that work there; maybe even the owner.  You may not be important but for that moment, at the entrance, you are.    The food is critical but the greeting is the killer. The truly good restauranteurs know how to greet and it keeps you coming back.  The “just a little too loud hello” so that others will know that you are known.  It is the right juxtaposition of need and giving.  The first drink is the best.  You still have all of your faculties and the evening is just beginning.  Its cocktail number three that is the problem.  You can have cocktail number three, just don’t drink it.  It is important to know that you never have to finish a drink.  It isn’t one of those parental instructions – “Finish your food or no dessert!”  Sometimes the drink left is the best drink consumed.  A waiter showed me the “towel” under the chair trick.  Just in case you are being watched to see if you are drinking you can always deposit a little at a time on the towel below.  Third drink aside, going out to drink and eat is super fun…

But after 30 rough mornings in December, I decided to forgo alcohol for January.  Dry January is not an original thought but a crucial one.  Prove that you can, give the body a break; maybe lose a pound or two; wake up with a clear head and the ability to immediately walk across the room. The first two mornings were a blur, like a San Francisco morning waiting for the fog to retreat.  The third morning, up at 630; made the bed, put the dirty clothes in the washing machine, made breakfast, washed the dishes, cleaned up the house, folded the clothes, finished the memo for my zoom team, showered, got dressed…. Upon completion the real problem of a dry January revealed itself --- it was only 7:45!!!!!! What the hell am I going to do with all of this extra time!!!!!

We all love a meal out and it is clearly one of the things we miss most for this past year of lockdown.   Since I could not go out, a dry January was an idea that could be accomplished.   But like all good things, there are unintended consequences.    I had not factored in all the time it takes to eat and drink.  There is the recovery from the night before.  Depending on the severity of the evening it might take two to four hours of morning time just to get to the front door.  An unusually fun evening might take a day.  Then there was the prep time, travel time, greeting, ordering, consuming, departing – eating and drinking takes time, and when you are not, well, what is going to fill all that available time???  My early December was an amazing exit from real life. All of the aforementioned time usage for preparation and execution managed to take up most of my day.  After squandering money and my health, Dry January was the clear solution. The unintended consequence is I have too much time on my hands.  I was told to be brief in my writing but with all of this extra time, my posts are getting longer.  Don’t worry February is almost here, the fog will return and the posts will get shorter.   I’m going to go clean out my closet now --------  it’s only 10 am!!!!

GLASS HALF FULL

I have been on a negative trajectory recently. I wrote about the lie, hypocrisy, and other negative happenings.  When my sister said she found my writing a bit sad, I started to think about that as it pertained to the world around me.  Why is the negative so easy to hold on to. Of course, there is plenty of negativity to grab and embrace.  Climate change, Covid, irresponsible leadership, and our disassociation from the truth.    The longer we focus on the negative the longer it will persist.    The negative side of the argument is always the easiest side to be on.  You don’t really need to offer any proof and you can just say no and the argument cascades into a never-ending chasm of inaction and hopelessness. The more we focus on the negative the more the negative controls the narrative and thus the outcome.  Our fascination with the negative is amazing, perhaps because it is so understandable.  Winning the lottery is just a fantasy (positive) but not winning (negative) is expected and easier to achieve.  Not doing anything in the face of massive problems is far easier than finding a solution.   Covid keeps you inside; you cannot work; you cannot go to the restaurant you cannot!!….is the operable phrase.  What if you changed that narrative and looked for the things you can do?  I was listening to a Podcast presented by Billy Shore of Share Our Strength.  For those who read this blog and do not know; Share Our Strength is responsible for the “No Kid Hungry” project which is in the process of eliminating childhood hunger in the United States.  Billy is the positive voice of a solution to this problem. When you listen to him speak you hear possible rather than impossible.  This goal is achievable.  When he restates the issue, it is the shortest sentence in his talk.  The longer sentences are always about the progress they have made and what they are about to achieve.  What if we were to do that with our lives?  Can you achieve a more positive outlook by thinking about what you can accomplish rather than what you have not?  The division in this country is a real opportunity to accomplish.  Think of it this way, if all the problems were solved what would be left for us to do.  Now that the problems have been defined and we have been driven to our respective corners what have we accomplished other than to define the argument.  Now that we know the negative, the opportunity is available to speak to the positive, possible compromise, and solutions.  I found this true with my clients. Problems were opportunities to reach out, discuss, and to solve. The horrific things that unfolded in recent weeks and the last year have created a void that could be filled.  Other than the fringe dissidents, who would not agree that we should not be ransacking the Capital?  If your neighbors can agree on that maybe they could agree to help people in your community who need the help.  Maybe you could write a story about an act of kindness that you witnessed.  Maybe you could write your senator.  Maybe you could clean out your closet of old clothing and give them to someone in need.  There are innumerable positive things you can do in order to move the needle away from the negative.  We are in such a negative place the only place to go is up.  So, if up is the trajectory that is easiest, why not find a way to get on board.  If it is only about me that is a very small audience.  What about broadening your audience?  Find a positive that could contribute to the betterment of your life or the life of someone else.  We can all hold on to the disappointments in politics, the world, and our lives which will be familiar and comfortable. On the contrary, we could seek a new path and find that generosity that might direct us to a more positive outcome. The positive outcome will have to come from within us.

Take a tip from advertisers -- they never sell you on a negative outcome.  Find a way in your life to advertise a positive outcome and see where that takes you.  It might just take you out of that tailspin of negativity.

HYPOCRISY

 Hypocrisy

“A feigning to be what one is not or to believe what one does not: behavior that contradicts what one claims to believe or feel.”

 There is no surprise in the sad spectacle of January 6th.  The seeds of doubt and anger have existed since the inauguration of the current President of the United States.  He and his minions have been fomenting political instability since taking office.  Their particular brand of hate and unrest have been perpetrated in all departments.  Department of State, as an example, has purposely taken the side of challenging issues as to cause the most unrest.  Immigration, regulation, education, and cooperation have all been caught in a firestorm of controversy.  Allowing the most radical belief systems to be given a stage from which those voices find a place of influence in our national discourse.  As I discussed last week this group of leaders has allowed the lie to take center stage.  What is now perhaps even more disturbing is the hypocrisy of those very leaders that supported the fomenting of doubt in our country.  Do we now turn the other cheek and accept that the newly voiced clarion call for protecting our democracy from the voices of McConnell, Barr, Christy, Rubio, Cruz, Elaine Chao, DeVos is their true belief?  How are we to accept these reborn voices of surprise and shock at what their leader has brought upon our Democracy. 

 Integrity

“The quality of being honest and having strong moral principles; moral uprightness”

 Like “The Donald” these so-called leaders have no integrity.  There is no true belief system or moral foundation from which these men and women can find solutions to the great problems facing our society.  With no true belief systems, these people are morally bankrupt.   

 It is the aphrodisiac of power that drives them.  Without a true belief system, they govern through convenience so as to solidify their power.

The happenings of January 6th were so egregious that they are now coming to the fore to decry the assault on our democracy.  Sadly, their comments are expedient in the same way officials bemoaned and sympathize after school shootings.  After the whining and whinging are over, they will return to the behavior that is most expeditious to their needs. 

The challenge of the day is not to build a stronger fence to protect the capital; it is to find individuals that have integrity and live a life of principle and not hypocrisy. 

Sadly, our nation has a history of hypocritical behavior.  Certainly, a reflection on the people we elect to represent us. 

 “… a moment of great dishonor and shame on our nation.  But we’d be kidding ourselves if we treated it as a total surprise.

…right now, and in the days, weeks, and months ahead as President-Elect Biden works to restore a common purpose to our politics.  It’s up to all of us as Americans, regardless of party, to support him in that goal.”    --- President Barack Obama