I had some fun yesterday and it happened so unexpectedly.
Taking a phone call with a notepad balanced in my lap, I notice the vintage Honda sputter into the lot. The teen-age driver anxiously examines the open parking spaces. I'm parked in a run-down strip mall parking lot that's got three times more spaces than customers. I can't believe how many times this kid has backed into a space only to pull out, circle around and pull into a different spot. I notice he has a young female passenger.
I watch him glide into a spot where the nose of his low-riding beater is nearly touching the rear bumper of red Ford wagon. The young man gets out of the old car and I'm surprised to see him wearing shorts so long I mistake them for ladies capri pants. He proceeds to pop the hood and balance it upon the support rod.
What happens next is bizarre. He kneels down between his jalopy and the station wagon. I hear the passenger door creak open and his lady friend emerges. She stands beside his kneeling form between the two cars. I grab my phone and begin to snap pictures of the young driver attempting to unscrew the license plates on the Ford.
He sees me, realization washing over his face and he abandons his task. He mutters something to the girl and they re-enter the car. In seconds they're slipping out of the spot and further into the parking lot. I call the local police and report the plates of both vehicles. They take my name and number. I hang up and then start cruising the rest of the lot.
I find them again near the grocery store. Same setup as before. His hood is up and he's kneeling between the cars. I call the police back and update their coordinates. I inform them that I'm driving away from that location. I don't want to be the cause for them to leave. I drive to the other side of the lot, park and go to work for a bit. When dispatch doesn't call back or ask for more details I get curious. I hope back in the car and cruise down by the grocery store and see the wrecker, slowly dragging the offender's car onto a flatbed. I see the outline of the young man's head in the back of the police cruiser. The three police offers shared some laughs and then each walked to their own vehicle.
Apparently Mr. Short Pants had some unpaid parking tickets or something of that sort that made him a welcome guest at the station house. Ah, the tale of the amateur. He should have done his homework before attempting to commit a crime. He wanted to steal license plates so he could commit a different crime using that piece of junk car. If the vehicle was spotted they'd never find him.
I felt pretty good about my little intervention for two reasons. 1. A crime (though I can't define it) never happened because I'm observant and I followed through. 2. The guy who almost lost his license plate is a customer of my company. He'll never know what almost happened but that's OK. I read that the best leaders toil away in obscurity before ever gaining any notoriety. A truer statement there's never been! I've been working in the trenches for a long time and while it's rewarding down here, it's pretty quiet, too. Fine by me. As long as those I serve find value in my effort, that's all that matters.
Running out of time this morning. Lunch pail, check. Shovel, check. Uniform, check. See you in the trenches!
Hit the road, one chapter at a time
Friday, February 18, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Tread
Road straight and dry,
soft clap of soles on asphalt.
Bag on my shoulder, traveling.
Wandering, hmm, no.
Following the twin yellow guidelines.
Dusty nostrils.
Wind and sun put on a slow burn
along my face and arms.
Tired jeans. Salty shirt.
Scratched sunglasses carve a deep
imprint into the bridge of my nose.
When did I last take 'em off?
Cracked lips and powder-white tongue.
Walk on.
Sand to both sides,
juice bearing cacti sprinkled amongst the rocks.
Scent of desert flower lost
in a blast of diesel exhaust.
Silence returns but for the patient slither of snakes,
the scuttling scorpion and
the slap of shoes on the road.
soft clap of soles on asphalt.
Bag on my shoulder, traveling.
Wandering, hmm, no.
Following the twin yellow guidelines.
Dusty nostrils.
Wind and sun put on a slow burn
along my face and arms.
Tired jeans. Salty shirt.
Scratched sunglasses carve a deep
imprint into the bridge of my nose.
When did I last take 'em off?
Cracked lips and powder-white tongue.
Walk on.
Sand to both sides,
juice bearing cacti sprinkled amongst the rocks.
Scent of desert flower lost
in a blast of diesel exhaust.
Silence returns but for the patient slither of snakes,
the scuttling scorpion and
the slap of shoes on the road.
Earth
I am a limb.
Outcropping of earth.
Sipping and absorbing.
Patient flutter of leaf,
Simple slosh of stream,
Diligent patter of rain,
Proud beacon of sun,
Immutable power of mountain,
Enfolding bed of dirt,
Vibrant blanket of grass,
Timeless journeys of stars,
Carving breath of wind.
Seeds fall,
Nestling in the dirt,
Dreams of sprouting under the beckoning sun.
Roots stretching through nourishing black,
Nursing til time allows the head
To burst forth,
Enter a world of light and heat.
Grasping moist air,
Unfurling in soothing sun,
Emboldened by spring rain.
Body new to the land,
Vital and sweet,
Thriving with strength,
Yearning to grow.
Dreams of decay appear,
Quiet and quick at first,
Deep and miserable over time.
Hints of withering and the waning age,
Brown not green,
Curled not straight,
Brittle not supple.
A final act,
After a life of consuming,
Atonement now, for slating the thirst.
The loosing of seeds,
A promise of life,
At the hands of death.
Under the bed of grass,
Pressed into the mold,
Joining, transforming.
Outcropping of earth.
Sipping and absorbing.
Patient flutter of leaf,
Simple slosh of stream,
Diligent patter of rain,
Proud beacon of sun,
Immutable power of mountain,
Enfolding bed of dirt,
Vibrant blanket of grass,
Timeless journeys of stars,
Carving breath of wind.
Seeds fall,
Nestling in the dirt,
Dreams of sprouting under the beckoning sun.
Roots stretching through nourishing black,
Nursing til time allows the head
To burst forth,
Enter a world of light and heat.
Grasping moist air,
Unfurling in soothing sun,
Emboldened by spring rain.
Body new to the land,
Vital and sweet,
Thriving with strength,
Yearning to grow.
Dreams of decay appear,
Quiet and quick at first,
Deep and miserable over time.
Hints of withering and the waning age,
Brown not green,
Curled not straight,
Brittle not supple.
A final act,
After a life of consuming,
Atonement now, for slating the thirst.
The loosing of seeds,
A promise of life,
At the hands of death.
Under the bed of grass,
Pressed into the mold,
Joining, transforming.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Whirlwinds, Stories and Recharging
This week felt like a whirlwind for me, the polar opposite of the previous one. While weather kept me cooped up for a couple days and limited my travel, this past week was just the opposite. Lots of running and working at a furious pace. And lots of presenting. Storytelling really ought to have a more prominent place in our society. Behind every media clip, newspaper article, blog post, novel, radio banter, and so on - there's a story. Someone is trying to tell you that story and hopefully generate a reaction to those words or images.
The challenge is telling the story right. Telling it in a way that will move the listener. Motion. Now add an "e". And that's the key: emotion (thanks Mark and Mike). Does the story create a change in your emotion?
I read or listened to plenty of stories that have led to feelings of disinterest and the urge to doing something else with my time. The problem with those stories was that they didn't grab me. Just one description after another. One fact after another. Nothing poked and prodded my heart. They didn't make me care about their characters or the narrator or any other element in the story except for its eventual end.
I find this often in news stories where we are given information up front, the story winds along and then the last two paragraphs go back in time to some point before this story started. It's kind of like "this stuff was way too important to leave out, but not important enough to lead with or else you would have gotten bored and moved on, so we threw it in at the end and so when you finish the story you'll have all the information." Sorry, but when I read articles like that I put the paper down and mumble, "Huh?".
Storytelling is really an art and if I learned anything this week, and I certainly did learn, it's that you've got to practice telling a story if anyone is going to give a hoot about it. Ever listen to someone fielding a question or giving a speech that's disjointed, full of uhm's or loaded with superfluous phrases? I particularly abhor these phrases during storytelling: for all intents and purposes, in and around, what I'm trying to say is, in spite of what you may think, contrary to popular belief, as you can see on the slide right here. I could go on and I 'm sure I'm not remembering some of the more egregious ones but you get the point.
After watching several hundred presentations over the last few years, there is something that comes into focus. I didn't always know this, but my two favorite weekly podcasts, Manager Tools and Career Tools have lifted the veil for me. People don't write down their thoughts like a story to persuade people. We hope our pretty slides or voluminous handouts will win the day. In the end that stuff becomes eye candy or recycling bin filler. What matters are the words.
How did you feel when that presentation ended? If you didn't feel anything you certainly won't remember it. When I clean my desk I always throw out old presentation decks from meetings I cant remember. Someones hours of last minute labor going all for naught. Guess what I do save? My notes. I have a couple file folders that contain notes from every meeting I've ever attended in the last three years. At the bottom of those notes are the critical points that I either need to know, execute or create.
I haven't always done this. It was a learned skill but the process of good note-taking is highly undervalued. It's my attempt to capture the story or at the very least, my role in it. Presenters would show their audiences higher levels of respect if they could just remember, it's about the story.
The ironic part of this piece is that in order to accentuate my story this week, I purchased a clearance PowerPoint graphics package for $9 from a company in Germany. It accomplished exactly what I intended. The graphics were sharp and different. The charts I put together were simple and enhanced my message, There were not the message. Even though it was a 2010 clearance set, it was so different from what my team usually sees, it worked.
It's reassuring that even at 40 I can learn like sponge-brained kindergartner and then successfully execute that new stuff. A side benefit to the whole process was that I became a more effective speech writer. I wrote it out long hand twice, practiced it several times, reduced it to an outline, practiced again, and then whittled it down to a single note card. Something to be said for preparation, eh?
A final observation from this week. I've never felt as tired at the end of each day as I did this week. I think I poured so much into each day, I really needed to recover. I read something recently that said you should strive to be in bed by 10pm every night during your work week. Your brain needs to recharge and requires a respite from stimulus.
The author also said you should take one day per week and do nothing that involves a laptop, cellphone, smart phone, TV, or book. Get outside and move around. Take walks, work outdoors, work out, compete in sports. Do anything that uses your brain in a more instinctive and reactive way versus a thoughtful and sharply-focused way. That is sound advice, but I think in our tech driven world, that is a tall order for most.
I told a story this week about an apartment. I lived in alone in that two room apartment. Nestled in a pine grove far enough from main roads, the apartment offered solitude and silence. Unlike right now. My kids have interrupted the creation of this piece about eight times now and I'm ready to stop and enforce some discipline! Ok. That's taken care of, we should be good for another two minutes! All I owned was a radio, a bed, a dumpster-rescued coffee table, clothes and a car. How did I ever survive? I need to play that song "Enjoy the Silence"!
The challenge is telling the story right. Telling it in a way that will move the listener. Motion. Now add an "e". And that's the key: emotion (thanks Mark and Mike). Does the story create a change in your emotion?
I read or listened to plenty of stories that have led to feelings of disinterest and the urge to doing something else with my time. The problem with those stories was that they didn't grab me. Just one description after another. One fact after another. Nothing poked and prodded my heart. They didn't make me care about their characters or the narrator or any other element in the story except for its eventual end.
I find this often in news stories where we are given information up front, the story winds along and then the last two paragraphs go back in time to some point before this story started. It's kind of like "this stuff was way too important to leave out, but not important enough to lead with or else you would have gotten bored and moved on, so we threw it in at the end and so when you finish the story you'll have all the information." Sorry, but when I read articles like that I put the paper down and mumble, "Huh?".
Storytelling is really an art and if I learned anything this week, and I certainly did learn, it's that you've got to practice telling a story if anyone is going to give a hoot about it. Ever listen to someone fielding a question or giving a speech that's disjointed, full of uhm's or loaded with superfluous phrases? I particularly abhor these phrases during storytelling: for all intents and purposes, in and around, what I'm trying to say is, in spite of what you may think, contrary to popular belief, as you can see on the slide right here. I could go on and I 'm sure I'm not remembering some of the more egregious ones but you get the point.
After watching several hundred presentations over the last few years, there is something that comes into focus. I didn't always know this, but my two favorite weekly podcasts, Manager Tools and Career Tools have lifted the veil for me. People don't write down their thoughts like a story to persuade people. We hope our pretty slides or voluminous handouts will win the day. In the end that stuff becomes eye candy or recycling bin filler. What matters are the words.
How did you feel when that presentation ended? If you didn't feel anything you certainly won't remember it. When I clean my desk I always throw out old presentation decks from meetings I cant remember. Someones hours of last minute labor going all for naught. Guess what I do save? My notes. I have a couple file folders that contain notes from every meeting I've ever attended in the last three years. At the bottom of those notes are the critical points that I either need to know, execute or create.
I haven't always done this. It was a learned skill but the process of good note-taking is highly undervalued. It's my attempt to capture the story or at the very least, my role in it. Presenters would show their audiences higher levels of respect if they could just remember, it's about the story.
The ironic part of this piece is that in order to accentuate my story this week, I purchased a clearance PowerPoint graphics package for $9 from a company in Germany. It accomplished exactly what I intended. The graphics were sharp and different. The charts I put together were simple and enhanced my message, There were not the message. Even though it was a 2010 clearance set, it was so different from what my team usually sees, it worked.
It's reassuring that even at 40 I can learn like sponge-brained kindergartner and then successfully execute that new stuff. A side benefit to the whole process was that I became a more effective speech writer. I wrote it out long hand twice, practiced it several times, reduced it to an outline, practiced again, and then whittled it down to a single note card. Something to be said for preparation, eh?
A final observation from this week. I've never felt as tired at the end of each day as I did this week. I think I poured so much into each day, I really needed to recover. I read something recently that said you should strive to be in bed by 10pm every night during your work week. Your brain needs to recharge and requires a respite from stimulus.
The author also said you should take one day per week and do nothing that involves a laptop, cellphone, smart phone, TV, or book. Get outside and move around. Take walks, work outdoors, work out, compete in sports. Do anything that uses your brain in a more instinctive and reactive way versus a thoughtful and sharply-focused way. That is sound advice, but I think in our tech driven world, that is a tall order for most.
I told a story this week about an apartment. I lived in alone in that two room apartment. Nestled in a pine grove far enough from main roads, the apartment offered solitude and silence. Unlike right now. My kids have interrupted the creation of this piece about eight times now and I'm ready to stop and enforce some discipline! Ok. That's taken care of, we should be good for another two minutes! All I owned was a radio, a bed, a dumpster-rescued coffee table, clothes and a car. How did I ever survive? I need to play that song "Enjoy the Silence"!
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