Weatherwaxisms

On Father's Day eve this year I'm thinking a lot about my Dad.  I miss his unique and eccentric humor, his irreverence, his generosity. On his March 29 birthday in 1986, around the time when Dad retired from RCA, his good friend and co-worker Sandy Lynch compiled this list that always helps me remember him better; some were uttered by him with enthusiasm, others with irony or thinly-veiled sarcasm.

It's like poetry I think.  Those who knew him (or me) or worked with him (or me) or have been lucky enough to join us long ago for one of Mom's Sugar Acres dinners one evening may remember some of these phrases.  There are many parts of life where this vernacular suits, and why not?

Weatherwaxisms*

 Marvelous!

Hell of a plan (deal)

Absolutely ecstatic

You got it, little sister

I'd do it for a dog

You're a hell of a nice lady

You ain't all bad

May I help you?

Appling

Alleying

Sitting up late with sick friends

What is it that you want to have happen?

He/she is a bonafide flibbertygibbet

Poor damned thing

Floundering around aimlessly

I hope so--fervently

Depend on it!

The bean cannery

Right before your horrified eyes

Where will it ever end?

Basically bad

Ya done good!

Oh dear!

Kinda makes your sphincter tighten

Not too shabby

Feigned ardor

Why not?

Fair enough!

A live one

Try not to panic

Suits!

Pitiful

Hybrid vigor

Someone has to serve as a horrible example

*(So you don't forget the vernacular)

Curiouser and Curiouser

Fern Canyon, Boulder CO

"Life is meant to be lived, and curiosity must be kept alive.  One must never, for whatever reason, turn his back on life." - Eleanor Roosevelt

For those of us still curious about life, the Internet is one fine invention because its hyperlink structure allows you to wander from one related (or not so related) idea to the next so very easily.  It's like taking a hike in a vast forest and being presented with many twisty passages, all different. Exciting to explore, easy to get lost and follow a path that seems to dwindle to nothing.  But even at that point of nothingness, new rabbit holes pop up along with new ideas if you have enough curiosity to take the plunge.  To me, curiosity is essential to joy in my life; however, I also want to be someone who can provide some guideposts along the path.

Recently, a group of people I worked closely with for many years before my retirement in February were laid off, after two decades or more of faithful service to the company throughout its various transformations, iterations and new-old strategies.  This latest development was described by the company's leaders in Orwellian newspeak as "simplification."

I've only been laid off once several years ago, but the experience is still vivid in my memory:  the initial feeling of being jettisoned out of the spacecraft with limited oxygen in the tank, the processing of the various stages of grief, the questioning of self worth, the terror at the unknown.  So my heart has been with these friends as they each travel their new paths--some elated, some scared, some elated and scared, some just thinking they'll take the summer off and then decide what to do, some kicking into courageous high gear to finally fulfill that beautiful writing project or Caribbean dream they've been envisioning these many years.

After talking to some of them, I'm not heartbroken any longer.  I'm thrilled for them.  Yes, yes, yes, as always there are practical considerations.  If they asked me, I would tell them there are many paths in the forest, and curiosity is the best gift.  Don't deny those urges to explore the less traveled side paths. As has just been revealed once again, you never know what you'll encounter on the next steps in the journey and that's what keeps it interesting.

Turning Point

New Year's Eve

Pearl Street Starbucks

A time comes when there are so many reasons to go that you know it's time; the center cannot hold, the balancing act can't continue.  You realize you're needed and wanted much more in a different universe.  I woke up this morning inventorying in my mind the removal and disposal of all the stuff in my office at work--perhaps the tide has turned?  What does one do with heavy glass recognition plaques marking one's 5, 15, 20 years at a company one must ultimately leave?  And what of all the books on leadership, Agile development, and more--would anyone else even want them?

I'll keep the six tiny carved laughing Buddhas; not so sure about the fountain with the stalk of bamboo growing in it.  How about the beautiful flowering cactus?  Yes.  I can surely keep it alive.

Many will envy me if I make this move and never guess how terrifying it is.  Shall I tell myself a different story?  It's not terrifying, but thrilling to imagine moving beyond this phase in my life to something new and potentially far more fulfilling.  

The sun obligingly shines through the Starbucks window and reflects a prism rainbow right across my journal page--purple-blue, then brilliant green fading to yellow, then orange and red.  A beautiful sign that taking care of myself and my family first is surely the right path, not selfish but wise beyond analysis, something that in the end I will not regret because of the new experiences I'll encounter on the next leg of the journey.  It is indeed a journey--not a final destination to save even more money so I'll finally, finally feel secure.  Nothing's secure anyway.  I have only to count already fallen friends and family to know that all is ephemeral, including the prism rainbow already fading from my page but marked by me while it was there in the moment as a sign, noticed before it was quickly gone, giving me a moment's joy.

To notice more--this is part of the journey; to be here now.  The unhappiness comes with fear of the future and regret about the past, but not from now.  Now contains joy and contentment and wonder.  Just remembering to breathe and be grateful for the oxygen can be such a relief.  Releaf?  And my current work becomes less important in a relative sense as my priorities change from more security and money to more time. 

Time to move on.

Martha Beck says:  "The way we do anything is the way we do everything."

The way I do things is to think, think, think.  This has left me with less ability right now to listen to myself (or others) and learn the heart's deepest desires.  But I'm hearing more and more clearly now.

Magically, the prism rainbow returns to illuminate my page!  A sign to be sure, if I‘m willing to tell myself that story. The colors are even more glorious than before and the joy returns.  Surely I'm on the right path.  I don't want to stop writing because I'm enjoying the rainbow so much.  I move the page so my hand doesn't block the light.

The message:  Do not allow yourself to block the beauty and happiness, for it is surely you alone who block them when they're right there!

The way you do anything is the way you do everything.  My way tends to include much cautious analysis.  I seek full assurance that everything will be okay and all my decisions will be the right ones.  In the last third of any life there is only one guarantee:  it will end.  All the rest is a crapshoot.  How do I want to spend the last third of my life?  What things no longer give me pleasure but are instead breaking my heart, and why do I still cling to them?

Martha Beck again:  "Everything I've ever taught boils down to this--I cannot believe people keep paying me to say this--if something feels really good for you, you might want to do it, and if something feels really horrible, you might want to consider not doing it.  Thank you, give me my $150."

Carpe Diem.  

In Praise of Not Knowing

As I continue to figure things out in my new job, I've been interested to observe how horrified I am at the many things I don't understand. I keep beating myself up for not knowing the solutions right away, and have forgotten to feel the joy of learning new things and experiencing the unexpected surprises, insights and connections that come with not knowing.

Acknowledging my not knowing, I changed my password for awhile to a number and symbol ridden form of "humility." Because of some mysterious security configurations at work that require me to enter my password repeatedly throughout the day when I switch environments, I ended up typing the word again and again like a mantra: humility humility humility.

Humility: the quality or condition of being humble; modest opinion or estimate of one's importance, rank, etc. dictionary.com

Humility: the absence of any feelings of being better than others. merriam-webster.com

I have a horror of being considered a know-it-all (although I know sometimes I come across that way nonetheless). So perhaps I lean too far in the opposite direction, acknowledging my not knowing too quickly; not a stellar way to gain the confidence of colleagues with strong intellects who take great pride in, by God, knowing.

Buddhists speak of "not knowing" as the greater wisdom. Acknowledging not knowing makes space for new knowledge; see the famous fable about the university professor, the wise monk, and the overflowing teacup. Remembering to let go of the need to know everything is liberating and opens up the possibility for new and surprising insights.

I have the acknowledgement of not knowing down pretty well. And now I have to stop apologizing for it. Knowing when I don’t know may be one of my most valuable qualities.

How I Stay Sane, Part V: Monkey Mind

I just finished Daniel Smith’s short book “Monkey Mind:  A Memoir of Anxiety.”   It’s a vivid and often hilarious account of how one man has dealt with the challenges of severe anxiety for most of his life.  Since I have loved ones who struggle with anxiety and I myself have had a few alarming bouts with it, the book was illuminating in that it explored the actual thought progressions fanning the flames of anxiety as well as the particular approach, cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), that the author found most helpful after many adventures in the land of counseling and psychotherapy.

I’ve also found that CBT is the best bet for squelching that series of unfortunate thoughts that gets irrational anxiety going.  When you’re in the grips of it, though, it is a huge effort to swim toward the surface, struggling against the riptide, and break through to the air, and BREATHE. And then offer logical counter-arguments to the thoughts attacking you, finding at least momentarily that holy grail of equilibrium that every anxious person seeks.

On the Friday morning before my February vacation as I drove down the last big hill to work, I went beyond my usual smile therapy (“fake it ‘til you make it” – simply smiling makes you feel better).  I went further and applied a little laughter yoga as I coasted down the hill:  “Hee hee hee, ho ho ho and a couple of ah hah hahs; that’s how we pass the day away in the merry old Land of Oz…”  Surprisingly, it felt really good.  Laughing at that moment was what my sister calls “the next right thing.”

Taking care of yourself in small ways, taking a break when you have to go to the bathroom (everybody who delays that to get “one more thing done” at work raise their hands), making yourself a cup of tea, breathing, having a piece of dark chocolate or a glass of wine, sitting by the ocean all day long in the cool breeze and eating green grapes and writing in your journal and reading junk fiction:  all next right things.

The voice in your head shrieks, “No time!  That’s selfish.  You don’t really need to do that.  What will people think?  What have you done with your life, you miserable, boring person?”  Oh my, that voice should be argued with and laughed at and ridiculed into submission because it is truly quite absurd.  Pushing back when you hear that voice is the next right thing.

Since I have been suffering from severe writer’s block for months and I also find that often my worst anxiety is about failing at work, I was interested to read Daniel Smith’s take on writing, work, and anxiety: 

Writers like to believe their job is tougher on the nerves than other jobs.  They like to pass around cool, pithy statements to this effect, like this one, from the screenwriter Gene Fowler:  ‘Writing is easy.  All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.’    Or this suspiciously similar one, from the sportswriter Red Smith:  ‘There’s nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.’  Or this one, from the poet Graycie Harmon:  ‘Being an author is like being in charge of your own personal insane asylum.’  I don’t subscribe to the exceptionalist school of writing, however.  It’s true that writing has psychological pitfalls—oppressive deadlines, poor pay, baring one’s soul to an indifferent world—but so do all jobs.  Even the imperative to make choice after choice without clear guidance—allegedly the most nerve-wracking part of the profession—isn’t exclusive to writing.  What is probably true is that, for reasons having to do with solitude and a high allowance for self-obsession, writing attracts a greater percentage of anxious people than other professions.  What is definitely true is that writers are better than other people at articulating their neuroses, and more dedicated to the task.

If you want to understand anxiety better, in yourself or somebody else, read “Monkey Mind,” but think carefully about recommending it to that anxious friend.    You may find that a chronically anxious person can’t bear to read it—because it just stirs up way too much (you guessed it) anxiety.  

Gamify This!

Last weekend I succumbed to temptation, and with the kids watching on in amusement I downloaded a game onto my iPad that I had been curious about for a long time—a game called “Angry Birds".

The premise of the game is that the green pigs have stolen the birds’ eggs and the birds are now attacking the pigs, who lurk in various precarious and increasingly elaborate structures made of stone, wood, boulders and other materials. The gamer’s challenge is to launch each angry bird from a sling shot and hit the pigs and their structures at just the right angles to destroy them. It is very much a strategic problem of physics to determine angles and accurately predict cause and effect—since at each of the many levels you are given only a certain number of angry birds with various capabilities.

The game boasts many sound effects—bird chirps and pig mutterings along with a high-pitched cry of “Wheeee!” from each bird as it is launched by the slingshot, sad little “oofs” and “ouches” when they fall to the side after missing a pig, and of course the smug chorus of pug grunts that occurs each time you fail in a try to get all the pigs, along with the triumphant “Woo hooooo!” from the birds when you succeed.

There are many levels and tasks to achieve, all clearly laid out and tracked so you can see your progress or lack thereof as you cycle through various strategies for getting the most pigs with the fewest birds. Clear and straightforward—unlike the messy ambiguities of life you are escaping when you play the game.

“Be sure to turn off the sound when you’re out in public like on a bus—or everybody will jump you,” advised my son as I sank further into addiction with my new toy. I found myself driven to achieve the next level and to think about the problem at each level and come back to it later to try new strategies. I stayed up past my bedtime working to get just one more level. I did research on the Internet to learn about best practices. I strove to beat my personal best. I did many of the things with Angry Birds that companies want their employees to do.

After a recent acquisition I’m now part of a very large company that, among other things, develops software applications used by companies to run their businesses. And in this company, one of whose goals is to produce “beautiful software,” the concept of gamification” comes up fairly frequently. The idea is that if the same compelling qualities that games possess could be injected into business processes and applications used by employees, those employees would become more engaged, involved, and driven to achieve the desired results, especially if they could understand exactly what they had to do and could always see their standing and progress from both a personal perspective and in comparison to others.

This is an idea I can buy—I saw it in action recently when I signed up for an exercise program at work. Each employee who signed up pledged to do 2100 minutes of exercise in 7 weeks, and record their minutes on an ongoing basis on-line. And each employee could see their personal progress, the cumulative progress for their site, and how they ranked overall in number of exercise minutes—updated every quarter hour.

Many quiet little competitions sprang up over the 7 weeks between people and sites, and I have no doubt more than a few people pushed harder and got more exercise because of this very public feedback, myself included. It was gamification in action, not only at an individual level but at a group level with the site rankings. If we could figure out how to do this for software development it would be very interesting. The agile approach, dividing the group into small scrums and measuring the productivity of each scrum over short periods of time with very publicly demoed results, can be tricky, since the challenges each scrum faces may be very different, and comparisons may negatively impact cross-scrum cooperation. Complex and creative work is not easily measured. And how do you inspire greater individual achievement without discouraging collaboration and teamwork?

Is all of life a game after all? And how do you avoid ending up with a flock of angry birds slinging themselves at throngs of obnoxiously snorting pigs? Gamify that.