Thursday, March 28, 2013

Getting a hand to help climb over the dead ends. March 28, 2013

So, with my work schedule, I almost never get to see anything from television the day it airs. As a television junkie, I rely prettily heavily on our DVR. I think a lot of us live that way these days. Some days, it seems like a second job. No judgment--I'm clear on the fact that I could and should be doing something else.

Today, I'm catching up on all the shows my husband doesn't want to watch. A few days late, I'm watching the blind auditions of this season's "The Voice." I originally started watching because I love Maroon 5, especially Adam Levine. But the show hooked me with its premise--the idea that someone can get up on stage, sight, literally, unseen and potentially have their life changed by a major music star choosing to coach them to perfect their craft and become a star themselves.

One of the performers failed to get a coach and was visibly devastated. Not everyone is going to be selected, and I wasn't particularly moved by her performance, but Adam Levine did something that took my breath away. He ran up onto the stage and comforted her in that moment of loss. To me, that hug was worth a million dollars. He promised that they would give her sound advice and that everything was going to be okay. Even as I sit here, "reliving the moment," I feel a tremendous lump in my throat.

Comforting someone in a moment of professional loss is a very human thing to do, but it's something I think seldom happens. After all, it's just business right? Nothing personal. But that's just it. For most of us, what we do professionally is very personal. Because so much of our time is spent in the workplace, what we do often defines who we are so deeply, that when we fail, or even just fail to succeed at the level we strive for, it hurts like hell.

On the rocky path to success. 
And that's where true coaching and development comes into play for the individual. A lot of companies and managers talk about it, but I often think it's just one more task on the to-do-list that's already very long. True coaching and development requires more than lip service.

I'm not where I want to be in my professional life. I own pieces of that. I chose a safe path instead of a rocky one that might have led to my dreams. I'm slowly walking backward, but it's hard.

In spite of where I am now, I recognize that there have been people along the way who have offered advice, support and direction. One of the biggest factors in success and failure is believing in yourself. Sometimes it's hard to get to that place, and you need someone else to believe in you first. That's at least a little bit of what a show like "The Voice" is all about. Whether these singers go on to be chart toppers or not, in a moment, someone really believed in them and wanted to help them along their path.

Early in my career in the veterinary field, there were a couple of people who gave me a hand up--a veterinarian who believed I could do more than be a receptionist, and a hospital director who gave me a look behind the curtain to show me how our business really worked. Those two individuals made a huge impact at a time when I was nothing more than a giant lump of clay, and even today, their hands play a major role in what I believe to be right in my day to day responsibility to patients and my hospital. Nearly fifteen years later, in certain circles, I'm considered to be one of the best technicians in our company's Kansas City market. I may not have achieved everything in the field I wanted to, but I'm far more than that original lump of clay.

Over the years, I have had the opportunity to help other individuals find their way. Thinking of Adam Levine hugging that performer, it makes me proud to think that for someone else, I might have been a hand up as well. In moments of uncertainty, a guiding hand and voice of comfort is more than most of us can count on.

We all want to succeed, but sometimes find ourselves at a dead end. It occurred to me earlier in the week, when I was thinking about what dead end roads look like, there's usually something beyond the road marker. Usually, it's overgrown and hard to know what might be lurking. You can't keep driving, and you are discouraged from continuing on.

A simple thought occurred to me--what if you climb over? It sounds ludicrous, but think about it.

Maybe you can't clearly see what lies between you and your destination, but that doesn't mean that you're going the wrong way. It's just a road block. If you're fortunate enough to have someone in your life--anyone--who is willing to give you a hand up, why not keep going? All you need is that guide, and possibly a machete.

Right now, I have someone pushing me everyday to "walk backward." He's pushing me to go faster than I am always willing, but pushing me and guiding me nevertheless. In this case, he happens to be my husband, but he really could be anyone and the effect would be the same. (Granted, when you live with the person, it's a little harder to avoid their prodding.)

It's hard to live in a safe zone and do fantastic things. It's even harder if you're up there on a stage, all by yourself, and getting your heart broken at every turn. Sometimes you're going to win. Most times you're going to lose. You need someone who will push you when you're afraid to climb over the dead ends in life, but you also need an Adam Levine who will rush to your rescue and embrace you when you realize that you just twisted your ankle in a deep hole that was out of sight.

Without the hand up I am getting right now, I wouldn't be editing my first novel and trying to prepare it for publication. Without that comforting guidance, I wouldn't feel like I could try to climb over my dead end. I'd continue to feel discouraged from trying to find a way back to the main road. You know how annoying going back can be, especially if there aren't any obvious places to turn around.

What does mentoring, coaching and guiding really mean? It's an investment. You have to be willing to put something you have into someone else who doesn't have it, and you have to be willing to really make it count. But just as importantly, you have to be a part owner in the hard moments when the person you're guiding has a set-back.

I don't know Adam Levine from...Adam. I hope that he is as genuine for that performer as he seemed to be in that moment on stage. But if his willingness to offer comfort to someone who isn't even part of his team is any sign, I think he knows what it really means to someone to have that hand up. It's a great example.

Stereo Heart--Gym Class Heroes, featuring Adam Levine

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

March 19, 2013--Ride Your Own Ride

So, in competitive sports, it's not unusual for athletes to sometimes panic and forget to pace themselves. It's why in cycling, you often hear cyclists talking about "riding their own ride."

As part of a team, that can be easier said than done. The pressure to perform as a unit is so intense that team members frequently feel that they are being swallowed whole by the machine, and like they have to lose themselves in the process. That's why athletes like Lance Armstrong and his fellow teammates over the years were compelled to cheat. The prevailing wisdom was that since most cycling is dirty, and only dirty teams win, all winning teams have to be dirty. It's not right, but sadly, it's true.

More often than not, as part of a team, if you try to "ride your own ride," you are viewed as someone who is on the fringe, or someone who doesn't want to contribute to the overall success of the machine.

There are many places in life where this mode of thinking applies, and it's difficult at times to hold onto one's sense of self and integrity when you are part of the machinery.

I started thinking about this after a visit to one of my favorite lunch spots last week. I had finished my meal, and literally found myself spacing out with my smartphone. I hadn't cleared my soup bowl and plate yet. In the midst of my space out, an employee of the restaurant came by and offered to take my items for me. I'm used to busing my own table--with the exception of nicer restaurants, you usually have to, and I'm okay with it. I thanked Lorraine, graciously. I was taken aback by her response.

She told me that she had been in food service for thirty years, and it bothered her that her restaurant's staff had been cut back so much that patrons were expected to bus their own tables. She didn't think it was right, and she wished she could tell the owner of her company that she didn't think it was right. She then joked that she hoped I wasn't the owner's wife. I assured her that I was not.

In recent economic times, companies and service oriented businesses have made this kind of choice. In hopes of maintaining their bottom lines, or in aspiration of growth, they have consciously decided to do the same work or more with less hands. Often, they expect better results than they are getting, not just in terms of revenue, but in customer loyalty.

Everyone wants to project an image of being customer oriented and operating with integrity. As I think about this particular restaurant that I visited, it occurs to me that I frequently have a hard time finding a clean table after a lunch rush. The food's okay, and the company promotes itself as a good citizen of the world by donating left over foods to the community. I perceive that the food I eat there is a little healthier than what I would get at a burger joint. There's a little sign near the exit stating that they hope I've had a great experience, and that I should let them know if I haven't. When I think about what this company tries to project, and what I really see there, it seems like there's a little bit of a disconnect. But I never complain about having to wipe off a table for myself at least fifty percent of the time, because it's what I've come to accept.

Last month, I went on a shopping quest for a piece clothing I'd seen on the internet, which happened to sell out. I hoped that I might be able to find it in a local branch of the store. At one of the locations, a sales attendant approached me and asked what I was looking for. I told her about the item and she immediately went into action, trying to search their back room to see what they had. She brought me everything she thought might work. Sadly, none of the items were available in my size. But, buoyed by her enthusiasm, I decided not to give up, and I found myself driving to each of the locations in my area, assuming that similar service would be immediately available. The first location was the only one in which I wasn't ignored completely.  Needless to say, I never did find the item I wanted. But I did find the location I will prefer to shop from now on.

On an average day, if I went to either one of these establishments and got what I needed, I probably wouldn't think too much about the service. It would have been good enough. It would have been what I expected. But not every service related industry should have the bar set so low.

I serve a lot of different kinds of people in my job. They all have different expectations of the kind of experience they should have. Most of the time, they don't know much about what they're getting from me or the people I work with, so they don't know if the "product" is quality or not. They only know how we treat them. They only know that they waited longer for things than they wanted to, or that someone took extra time and care answering their questions.

It's tough, especially because in a world where doing more with less is the norm, service consistency is hard to maintain. The standard for good enough slides away, and no matter the quality of the "product," perception is reality. Individuals like Lorraine try to "ride their own ride" everyday. They try to look at what they do from the perspective of the people they serve, and they have decided that the people they serve are the ones at the tables, or the ones shopping for a date night outfit. They may be taking extra time to pick up those plates for us, or searching back rooms, instead of clocking out on time for their lunches, or going home on time.

How do we measure the performance or success of people like Lorraine, or the sales assistant? Is it by how many sandwiches get sold, or how many additional store credit card accounts they start? I don't know. Restaurants and retailers are easy examples of service that we can all relate to, because we all eat out, and we all buy things. But if we look at the other kinds of people who "ride their own rides" everyday, we have to include anyone who helps others.

I think of the school teacher who seeks out ways to make the information she's conveying accessible to her students, and the supplies that she purchases out of her own pocket. I think of the nurse that took time to make small talk with us as he worked on the admit paperwork for my husband when he was hospitalized last year. I think of the doctor I work with who buys things that aren't available to us to send home with clients in hopes of providing better care to her patients.

People like this are riding their own rides in environments that not only make doing such a thing difficult, but when it comes to the metrics of success and failure, trying to "ride their own rides" can sometimes be downright discouraged.

The complicated machinery behind the ride. 
In competitive cycling, there's something really amazing to watch. Even if you aren't interested in sports, I would encourage everyone to watch a team time trial during the Tour de France. Watching a team of cyclists work in perfect concert together is one of the most amazing things I have ever seen. It's akin to watching a flock of geese flying in perfect formation. Everyone has to ride exactly the same ride, or it doesn't work.

If we forget that Lance Armstrong doped, and was a part of the most intense organized effort to cheat in the the history of cycling, we have to recognize that he won the Maillot Jaune seven times. That's unprecedented. Though his titles have been stripped, no one has matched him, and likely, no one ever will. While being viewed as the most corrupt cyclist ever, he is also the winningest. What everyone overlooks is that he was always part of a team.

Lance Armstrong suffers from his own self-destructive behavior. But, he's had his success, and he's got a good store of cash that will probably keep him afloat, even if he is unsuccessful in his efforts to be able to compete in sports again. As for the teams that supported him in his relentless and uncompromising pursuit of glory, theirs is a lot that is less certain. These riders rode Lance Armstrong's ride, and the price that they pay is just as high. Sadly, they don't have a wall of jerseys to arrogantly brag about. They don't have the same opportunity to be paid for their compelling stories. All of this is because they didn't choose to ride their own rides.

Houdini--Foster the People

Monday, March 4, 2013

March 4, 2013 Who is anyone? A dreaming search for self.

So, this blog started as as daily journal I posted on Facebook a few years ago. I decided to "go public" with it, in hopes of developing a following that would someday help me garner the support I need to become a published author. I wouldn't say that it's been the wild success I dreamed it could be, but I've come to look at it in the same way many people look at going to the gym, or jumping on a bicycle--it's exercise. It keeps me in the game, even if only in small increments.

Because of the inspiration behind coming to the blogosphere, I entitled my blog "The Sorcha Chronicles." Sorcha is the name of the main character in a book I have written, called "Soul Seeker." In the last week, my artist husband and I have been batting around ideas about what Sorcha looks like. In the parrying back and forth over stock photos and thoughts about a cover for the book, we've both been thinking a lot about who this fictional person is. Jeph even found himself asking the wider universe of Facebook 'Who is Sorcha?'

Artwork on the side of a building in Dublin.
I know that she fair skinned and has a mane of crazy red hair. She's slender and fit, but at the same time, she is somewhat fragile. She likes to dress in flannel shirts and solid boots. She's beautiful in a completely effortless and unpretentious way. She's outwardly intimidating, because she is so inside herself, and knows things other people don't know.

As we have been discussing what she looks like, I started thinking of Jeph's question. "Who is Sorcha?" And as I thought about it, I thought about what we are trying to do. We're trying to create something concrete out of something that's unreal. It got me thinking that that's what we do in our lives all the time, in various ways.

I'm very intrigued by the idea of persona creation. There's something very interesting about the idea of reinvention and reigniting yourself as something new. Most of us don't have many chances to do this as responsible adults who pay bills, but it's often times something we have done at different stages of our young lives in trying to discover who we are or want to be.

I feel like I spent the first fifteen or sixteen years of my life being fairly nondescript. The only thing that defined me as a kid was doing okay in school. I didn't belong to any clique. I was always kind of somewhere in between. Popular kids weren't my friends, but were mostly indifferent to me. I interacted with people from just about every group, but never really found a place until my junior year in high school, when  I fell in with a few very smart and artsy folks. I wore a lot of black and white in those days.

I sort of belonged, but the people I came to care about so much finished school and moved on. I was on my own again, and it was a tough time at home. I drew back into myself a lot, unable to find a place where I could really be my open self--whoever that was.

I did what many young people do. I relied on the people I spent the most time with to mold and shape me--sometimes for the better, other times for the worse. In my freshman year in college, I got contact lenses, because some frat boy I liked told me my glasses "fucked up" my face. It never occurred to me that I shouldn't be with someone who cared that much about my face, when he didn't care about any other part of me.

It's tough to find yourself when you don't believe in who you are, and even tougher when you can't decide who you are.

When Jeph got home this evening, he told me about a lunch date he had with a friend he looks to as a mentor. One of the things that struck me most about the conversation he shared with this friend was their discussion about the difficulties of parenting. They talked about the trap that many parents fall into with pushing and "pigeon-holing" their children into being things that they may not actually be choosing on their own.

I'm mixed about it. I came from a home where I didn't receive a lot of direction about who to be, other than submissive and fearful. I never let myself dream of possibilities, because I knew my stepfather would always find a way to quash any wild hair thing I wanted to do. He did it every time I wanted to try out for anything that wasn't academic. I was offered a part in a play I adored, but turned it down, because I knew he would make my life miserable until I gave it up anyway. Any mixed gender group or activity was an automatic mine field in our abusive home.

When I imagine being a parent myself, I imagine trying to instill a sense of choice and dreaming in my child. I imagine trying to foster the things that bring my child joy--whether playing sports, being artistic, or being a focused academic. I imagine answering the crazy questions with as much unbiased information as I can, and allowing her to develop her own thoughts on ideas and issues.

It's easy for me to imagine all of these things, because, for me, being a parent is still an idea that's in the ether--only something I am fighting very hard to be. I'm not the mom who worries for my child's future and whether they will be successful or not. I'm not the mom who needs to hep my child grow up to be able to support herself and have a strong sense of self worth. I'm not not mom.

I think pushing and pigeon-holding is both the worst and best thing a parent can do to their child.

As someone who grew up with the knowledge that I wasn't allowed to dream or pursue anything that lit my fancy, I know that being crushed or over directed can lead to a life of frustration and confusion about what might have been. I rarely feel certainty about anything I try to do at which I am not immediately successful, and even less certain that chasing dreams is worth trading in stability. As someone who knows how much being a parent means to me right now, and what I am willing to do and give up to make that happen, I can't imagine that, in the moment, I won't be the most hawkishly protective mother on the planet. As hard as it will be for me to become that mother I want to be right now, I won't want anything but a perfect life for my child. Not all parents who push their children are just trying to live through them vicariously. Many do it out of a fearful love.

I don't know what will really happen. In my early forties, I've come to understand that almost everything I thought I knew about life is wrong. That's not so different from my character, Sorcha. In a moment of uncertainty, she chose the easy fix. She chose the stable answer. She chose not to dream, and not to allow the sliver of her heart that was a seeker of faith to live. In the end, she's as torn as I often find myself, though there are very different sets of choices on our respective tables.

When it comes down to it, the person everyone sees in us everyday is a version of who we are. When our dream self is separated from the person we are for everyone else everyday, nothing we do is authentic.We are just as unreal as a character in a book. The only way we become real is to become concrete in who we are. That's what I'm trying to do with Sorcha--I'm trying to make her as real as she is in my heart, because in making her real, I make a part of myself real.

So when it comes to "making a person," in whatever context you're describing, it really is important to ask who they are, and to support and believe in their answer.

Help I'm Alive--Metric