Sweeping Up

Lance Stiehl was finally home.

After a month alone on the road, he arrived home just in time to deal with the remnants of a three-day power outage, no air conditioning, no perishable food in the house and a critical need to get his car repaired after an unfortunate run-in between The Silver Steed and a large piece of truck tire tread in Memphis. His found his son who had returned from Barcelona, just barely, after being "profiled" at the airport thereby delaying the flight for two hours. His professor wife was still in Cambridge, England chaperoning 26 Honors students for three weeks. But for now, Part One of the Great Sabbatical Trilogy was over and aside from photos to tag, there were many thoughts to collect and lessons learned. Over 4,500 miles of thoughts were just lying there, cluttering up the desktop of his mind. It was time to straighten things up. Four "file folders of the mind" appeared to him as he reviewed what he learned about himself. He listed them, thusly;

My Day: Bringing Higher Value To Each Day
My Job: Focusing on New Priorities and Initiatives
My Family: Changing Old Roles and Spaces
My Passions: The Lance Bucket List 3.0

My Day:

Prior to the trip, "A Day in the Life of Lance" had been, in a word, work-centric. Up early with coffee, the paper and sudoku. Meetings all day, performances or TV at night. Repeat. Weekends featured Saturday morning with The Guys at Panera, the usual domestic errands, and lots of negotiating things to do as a family or couple with too many conflicting schedules and expectations. Often, it was easier for Lance just to say "OK, you all do your thing, I'll do mine." But Lance was burning time, not living it. And when he did "his thing", too often it was a movie, back to the office or napping on the couch.

Strangely, while Lance was on the road, he was never bored and watched virtually no TV. When he was driving, he was thinking. When he stopped, he was studying everything around him. Every night when he fell asleep, he couldn't wait to get started the next day even though he had no idea where he was going or what he would find there. He was rarely disappointed though, whatever he found. As a motorcycle riding friend recently reminded him, the point of the ride is the journey, not the destination. Lance asked himself why can't every day be lived like that? How can I make every day an exciting ride toward a destination, but remembering that the quality of the journey is the real goal?

My Job:

Lance has already spent one of his blogs explicitly redefining his job when he returns (see the DRAFT Five B's.) On the road, he had a markedly clearer vision of what he should focus on and what he could now let go of. Still missing was the staff's own evaluation of their new duties and their vision for their own of growth. Lance had no illusions about the fact that he now needs to be more about raising up the next generation of leaders. He already sensed they were chomping at the bit in every department, as they should be. For himself, Lance needed to move from daily manager to architect of the future. From driving the monthly budget to paving the road to the future with major sustainable income from new sources. He must now think multi-year development and every project he works on should start with the question, when this is achieved, is it something we'll all be proud of 5 to 10 years from now? He needed to lift his eyes to the horizon, build an even stronger Board, fill a solid 3 part endowment and solidify an institutional mission/identity for the ages. In a sense, this is what he's trained his entire life to do. But if he waited any longer to shift his focus, he'd be redundant to his own staff. Lance realized he really never can go home again. He has to move forward.

My Family:

Speaking of never being able to go home again, in much the same way his staff has stepped up handling matters in his absence, Lance's children too have proved their emerging maturity during the absence of both parents for almost three weeks. On the road, Lance checked in by cell phone (way too often...) only to discover they were fine. Even in a major power outage that shut down 300,000 homes, they survived together. Best of all, they had become a real team. They actually liked each other and chose to spend time together. Lance knew he'd would never fully know the intrigues they shared by text and on evenings out, but the fact that they shared their lives with each other was more than gratifying. With that new found degree of independence from Lance, it was becoming clear that his old Father role had to change, as well. Sure, his money was always welcome but his advice, not so much. Listening was his new best tool. Preaching was bankrupt. Dad cooking for everyone usually meant Lance eating alone with lots of leftovers. Even his wife preferred to eat what she wanted, when she wanted and it was rarely anything Lance could prepare.

This was so different from Lance's home as a child where dinnertime was the one time everyone set aside to be together. Not so long ago Lance loved to shop on Saturday or Sunday, whichever day he had off, and then make a big dinner for everyone. Not any longer. Whatever role he was moving into after 60, it couldn't be based on predictable family togetherness beyond the standard holidays, and someday even those bonds would melt. So how could Lance value his family, without practicing rituals?

And then he saw the answer. The rituals of yesteryear have no inherent magic, only the people do. Every encounter with family needs to be honored with open ears and a supportive heart, whenever and wherever it arises. Although he often forgets it, Lance doesn't control anyone but himself. He can only hold himself accountable to be available, attentive and responsive to whatever value he can bring to the few family moments OTHERS initiate. For the first time, he realized it had happened the same way with his parents when he moved out after college (there's a concept...moving out!) They slid comfortably into the "We're here when you need us" role, so smoothly he never noticed. So that would be Lance's new family role: convenient Interdependence... quite different from both dependence (a child) and independent (all alone).

And he decided to completely re-do the Library into a his-and-her office suite. That should take the month of September to clean it out and set it up. Lance smiled at the message that might send to the kids..."OK. Now, its all about us!"

My Passions:

Most of the wise old people Lance had encountered in his travels, when asked how to live happily after 60 said "Pursue your passion!" Fine. But Lance honestly thought he had spent his entire life pursuing his various passions of arts, leadership and administration. His life had not been one of deferred gratification, professional frustration, or stoically working for "The Man" without personal satisfaction. The only thing he ever gave up that he truly loved was dancing. And while several people had told him he should get back into it, social dancing is a bore. Musical Theatre choreography is his love. But Lance has seen one too many senior community theatre types (and a few full blown, vintage professionals) clinging far too long to a self-image of 20-30 years ago, whilst avoiding the mirror lest they see how pathetic they have become. He dances in the car now, where he is still sure footed and perfectly rhythmic with the stereo turned all the way up.

Lance's other passions? Teaching leadership. This will be a mainstay of any future life plan. Now that he actually has some wisdom to dispense, he is sure there is market, opportunity and talent to be exploited. Most recently, Lance has felt a 40 year pull to create the sustainable Board of Directors and operating model for Maryland Leadership Workshops it has aways deserved. This high school age program launched his self-confidence and career and continues to do the same for many others. While a handful of heroes have held it together over the years, the problem is structural. Until the foundation is strengthened, it could blow away in one or two political or financial windstorms. Lance knew MLW was a unique educational peer teaching model and demanded some one's attention now. Lance had the tools, history and relationships to help. It was time.

But Lance struggled mightily with what other passions he could follow. He had no patience for writing a book or picking up a musical instrument again. He had given his all by leading two capital campaigns to build a new church building in the face of a recession. Lance didn't bowl, fish, hunt, play golf, go drinking, collect stamps or play competitive cards. He didn't like NASCAR, football, baseball, soccer or basketball. And beyond the usual cooking shows, his tastes in TV were decidedly weird...Weeds, Burn Notice, Mad Men, Big Love, So You Think You Can Dance, The Big Bang Theory, Dexter and Glee! (Yes, Glee! Not the plot, just the music and dancing: it's that show thing still whispering in his ear...) Anyway, these aren't passions, they are pastimes.

For Lance, there was scant magic left in diving into the political process after the legislative battles he'd seen. The best things could only be accomplished in the dark and truly selfless acts by politicians were rare, even when the money was available. Worst of all, it seemed no good deed ever went unpunished by those who saw someone else's success as a challenge to their own. A friend of his once commented during formal testimony on a major arts project, "This government makes it almost impossible to do the right thing, even when you're a volunteer." And he was right. Politics was out.

New passions? Lance forced himself to create a bucket list, most of which he never thought of before:

Lance's Bucket List 3.0

- Chautauqua Institute for a week every summer with wife and any children who want to come. (brand new)
- Maine for 2 weeks every summer with anyone who wants to come, then three, then four. (OK, that's an old one with a twist!)
- Maryland Leadership Workshops (MLW) set for life.
- Strathmore Creativity Institute or whatever it turns out to be.
- A Honda Gold Wing "Trike" motorcycle for weekend Lance-a-lotting alone in the countryside.
- Grandchildren who don't live too close or to far.
- A weekly radio talk show of good, surprising and creative news.
- Possible part-time business with one or more of my children or wife.
- Visit the Canadian Alps, Italy, Swiss Alps, Vancouver, Montreal, Quebec, Alaska, Australia & New Zealand, a cruise anywhere.
- Die timely and painlessly.

That last one just popped into Lance's head at the very end. But it is something he thinks about often after watching his Dad die with neither dignity or comfort, way too long after he had stopped truly living. "Don't know how to manage that one", Lance thought, "But always have a smooth exit prepared was a workshop commandment."

Apparently, the trip had done its work. Lance had a solid idea not only of who he was, without work, but who he wanted to be for the rest of his life. He knew what he had to do to bring greater value to each day, his work, his family and where to steer his future. The cost of the trip? About $2,000 and 4,500 miles. The value of the trip...priceless.

Tomorrow, Lance takes his youngest son to MLW and will stick around for a couple of days remembering what his first workshop week was like in 1967. And Part Two of the Great Sabbatical Trilogy continues.

I'm "Tired" And I Wanna Go Home...

Lying on his side on the burning pavement of Rte 40 West, about half way to Memphis from Nashville, Lance tried to rip away what was left of his front bumper and drain pan under the engine compartment of his beloved 2007 Toyota Prius. After three thousand uneventful miles, a five foot piece of discarded tire tread had come shooting out from between the wheels of a tractor trailer at 70 miles an hour and ripped away the front lower bumper, bent the radiator support bar, demolished most of the four foot square molded plastic pan beneath the engine thereby causing it to rub against the pavement sounding like the end of the world was imminent. Fortunately, the flying tread hadn't bounced higher or Lance would not be blogging right now.

Lost in a reverie of thought all morning, Lance had been listing lessons learned on the road during his past month as he drove past Natchez Trace, across the Tennessee River, and headed for the Mississippi. Here were a few of his gleanings:

- Go to the bathroom at every opportunity. You never know when there won't be one.
- There are more sexual aids/love toys/undergarment fashion stores in the South than in the North, or at least their signs are bigger.
- Lance found that two meals a day on the road, with a extra large ice tea at noon, is quite sufficient.
- Never trust the hotel clock, TV remote, wake-up messages or shower temperature indicator. They are built to break or lie.
- No matter where you are, be sure to book a hotel room before 3:30 p.m. or you are tempting fate. Even then, there will be a monster motorcycle rally, a city-wide arts festival or a Paul McCartney Concert taking up all the rooms within a 45 minute drive of wherever you didn't make early reservations.
- In every hotel room, there is at least one, small repetitive sound you didn't notice until you turned off the lights. It will go on and on, all night. It will disappear by daylight.

Then, Lance started to see some "truths of the road" that might apply to life back home, at least metaphorically:

- Just like in in our cars, there is always a Directions Lady speaking in our ear...but she is inside, not outside of us. She has a route planned for our daily life and if we don't follow it, she glares at us and intones "RECALCULATING..." and then keeps on muttering to us. She tells us to play it safe. Don't rock the boat. Color within the lines. Say what they want to hear. There is no OFF switch. SHE also comes as a HE, for those who prefer. She usually sounds a lot like...us.

- Lance may think he is the center of the universe, but when he is alone on the road, he is insignificant to those around him...and sometimes to the people he left back home. He is not the center of the universe. He is his own universe, orbiting his own ego and imagining that everyone senses the great gravity of what he is thinking when actually, they don't. Lance found that realization both freeing and damning.

- Warren Buffet said, "If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together." Traveling alone, Lance travels light and goes fast. But because he is blogging to others as he goes, the mental distance being covered during the trip is multiplied by all the people he is taking with him, far exceeding the absolute miles covered. Time and again, Lance would take a picture, glance around and sadly realize he was having these experiences alone. Beyond his own faltering memory, without the photos and the blog there would literally be nothing tangible remaining when he got home. (If the tree falls in the forest...and all that.) The journey of Lance's life is not about sights seen or miles covered. It's about thoughts dreamed and expressed, opinions discussed and discarded, and love lost, then found. All of that required company at some point if he would travel far.

- Every time Lance passed a hitch hiker (and there were far fewer than he remembered from his youth..) he spent the next hundred miles imagining the conversation he WOULD have had with them if he picked them up. Of course, he never actually did, not even the women. It wasn't because of safety issues, but because he feared he would be trapped for some undetermined length of time having to entertain or counsel them (he couldn't help himself.) On one hand, Lance jealously guarded his new found independence, but on the other he would still construct an imaginary dialogue with the person and always ended up regretting not accepting the invitation to new perspectives they may have brought with them. How many times a day do we pass up the "hitch hikers" in the hallways, at the cafeteria, at events or even on the street, Lance wondered, and then complain about the lack of adventure in our lives.

- Lance realized he is currently and unabashedly living at the top of Maslow's Hierarchy on this venture. He's got the Physiological, Safety, Love/Belonging, and Esteem well-covered, albeit much of it purchased on a Platinum American Express Card. At the top step of the pyramid lies Self-actualization usually characterized by morality, creativity, spontaneity, problem solving, lack of prejudice and acceptance of facts. Literally not worried about the basics, Lance found himself engaged full-time in chasing those very qualities in his mind. Lance was seeing what it was like to make a life, not just a living, and he was beginning to appreciate the difference.

Well, all of this is pretty much what he was thinking when "the rubber met his road" and ripped out the underside of his car. Tumbling down the Hierarchy pyramid all the way back to the baseline of physiological and safety issues, Lance now lay mere feet from whizzing tractor trailers, trying to decide if his trip was over and if bad karma had finally caught up to him. Then, just as suddenly, he remembered a note he had written to himself last night in the hotel room, "The body travels, only the spirit soars."

Re-fortified, he jammed the broken pieces up into the grill; used his iPhone to call ahead to a Toyota shop in Memphis; called his insurance agent back home to arrange for repairs on Friday morning; drove a conservative 60 miles an hour for the next two hours into Memphis where the nice mechanic cut away the broken parts and bound everything loose with plastic ties to get him home. Now, Lance could drive back to Washington over the next two days, just as envisioned, and Lance still made it to downtown Memphis for the famous Rendezvous ribs, to Graceland for the Elvis Mansion tour, and then drove the four hours back to Nashville carefully avoiding the dreaded death tread where ever he saw it. Looking back over the day, Lance knew that both trips- body and mind - were well worth it.

The body may travel, but the spirit MUST be allowed to soar. That is a keeper, he grinned.

Your Time Radar

"Just adjust your Time Radar", Lance thought as he was driving from Asheville NC straight west on Rte 40 through the winding Smoky Mountains toward Nashville,Tennessee. He landed on that phrase while trying to explain to himself what was happening to him every day on this odyssey . Having no particular destination seemed to make no difference in his enjoyment of each day, Lance concluded. And there was no one he expected nor wanted to meet, so people were irrelevant. Having things, buying things, finding things, seeking things was the farthest thing from his mind. (Well, weekly he needed a laundromat for two hours...) Lance realized that people, places and things didn't affect the quality of his days, so what was so radically different about this trip that appealed to Lance? What variable in his perception or behavior generated such joy and satisfaction?

Time. Time was completely different. He couldn't be late or rushed since he had no metric of deadlines or schedule to meet. He ate when he was hungry, not by the clock. He slept when he felt like it and while a 6 AM wake up was relentlessly programmed into his body there were no consequences to staying in bed as long as he checked out of the hotel by 11. Distance, as a function of time, didn't matter either. Driving one hour or six made no difference since his mind was always chewing on some nugget of an idea. Even as he drove, he scribbled notes to himself on little note pads stolen from the last hotel room. Time stopped. Nothing was boring, anxious, frustrating, stressful or demanding. Time was gone or at least irrelevant. Even sunrise and sunset were inconsequential to Lance who woke up in daylight and didn't notice sunset because he was typing away in a hotel room almost every night at sunset.

His Time Radar had been adjusted...

Every weather radar Lance had ever seen on TV had a set range with the sweep arm reaching out so many miles into the mountains, other counties, other states, etc. Depending on how the operator sets it, it can scan a huge area or quite one quite small and specific. Same with the GPS in his car. Lance noticed that he could set the range to look out 200 miles or 200 feet. Correspondingly, the cursor on the screen would move either very slowly on the long distance map or very fast on the smaller scale map. So it was with time in his new world. Lance had set his time radar to one day (think 200 feet or very close.) Anything outside of that time frame was only vaguely interesting to him and and certainly not top of mind. NOW was everything.

You can't be bored when you live completely focused on this very moment of being, Lance figured. Most thoughts have a very short life span and either you think it through now, or it passes out of sight and out of mind. When a thought occurred, Lance fully cherished it, played with it, expanded it, etc. When he found something worth keeping, he jotted down a few key words as he drove. (Instantly, he would hear the drum beat of the rumble strips beneath his wheels even as he veered back onto the roadway from the shoulder. NOTE: This is not a sustainable nor advisable practice, he admitted.) Still, by the end of each contemplative day, there was a pile of these little notes on his desk as he opened the laptop to write. (Even now, there are at least five such scribbled cheat sheets surrounding him.)

He had found a way to adjust his time radar down to such a small window of focus that he would drive for hours and often surprise himself that he had arrived when he felt like he had just left. More akin to sci-fi star travel in suspended animation than anything else, Lance admitted it was not dissimilar to smoking pot in the 70's when hours and minutes felt interchangeable. Only this time around, he remembered most of what he thought. In fact, hunger was gone, fear was gone, anxiety was gone...all the things he measured time and productivity by were all gone. Miles didn't matter when his true destination lay inside a thought, not outside the car. Fascinating. Lance had not expected this time warp phenomena when he was planning the trip. Truth be told, Lance didn't know what to expect from the trip other than to escape where he was, not to arrive at a new way of thinking. Once he removed all the usual benchmarks of his day- task, schedule, destination and intended outcomes- it now made sense that perception of time would become the only remaining variable.

But can it happen, at will, back in the life to which he would return? Maybe. If he consciously focused harder on the moment, the person, the issue, the creative thought right in front of him and not the next looming thing, time might become more flexible. Lance felt like every moment of this trip was fully realized, fully exploited and nothing wasted. Even when plans seemed not to work out as he expected, whatever DID happen was endlessly interesting and well worth the living, No regrets. That seemed to come with the deal. Suddenly, Harrison Owen's Open Space Technology (OST) "laws" popped into Lance's mind.

Whenever it starts, is the right time.
When its over, its over.
Whoever comes, are the right people.
Whatever happens, is the only thing that could have.

What to many people seems like gibberish, is in fact an acknowledgment of the basic reality of our daily life. There is no right start, right end, right people or right outcomes. There is ONLY whatever happened. And we control it.

As a philosophy of life, that seemed just fine from Lance's point of view. It said, get over yourself and blaming others. Get past the past and focus on now to make anything happen. If you really want to see something happen, YOU make it happen. Don't sit around and wait for the "right person" to come along (like some white knight.) And if you are waiting for the right time, it may never come. Lance, with this trip, had stopped waiting for the right time, person, circumstance, miracle or magic to arrive. He just went.

Dinner in Nashville that rainy night with a friend brought it all home. Here is a guy who moved to Nashville following his passion and talent for music. Music City was everything he thought it would be and over the past 20 years has made himself both known and respected by world class pros all over town as a songwriter and singer. He just hasn't made himself famous. Instead, he teaches high school biology to a challenging population of minority kids, serving selflessly as a rare and valuable male role model for the many. Right now, he spends his rare free time, rebuilding his nearly ruined house from the Great Nashville Flood of May 2010 that filled his first floor rooms shoulder high with muddy, polluted water from the nearby river. It is a thankless task in the heat and humidity of a summer in Nashville without A/C. Flood insurance falls far short of the standards he has for a place he dreams of calling home. It had taken its toll on his spirit and pocketbook. Looking ahead over the coming year of work he sees, life is hard.

But in the 20 year rear view mirror, it is clear to Lance that he has built a lifelong network of friends, professional accomplishments, many grateful students, a master's degree and a body most guys would kill for. Even now, he takes weekend rides on his Triumph motorcycle with no particular destination in mind and quietly confesses he feels fully in sync with this place and these people. Those blessings, especially his friends, his work, and his home are blessings many never know. His time radar needs to be adjusted to a day by day setting.

When he was young, Lance had an uncle who took him hiking our west. Frustrated with how hot, steep and long the trail seemed to be, Lance complained endlessly. Finally, his Zen like uncle, always gentle and unfazed, said "Focus just feet ahead of you on the trail instead of at the top of the next hill or horizon. Notice the leaves and sticks on the ground, they tell you about the trees overhead. Listen to the sound of the river, even though you can't see it. Take each step deliberately and joyfully, and the miles will melt" he intoned. And sure enough, they did.

Lance wanted to tell his friend to have heart, adjust your time radar a bit tighter, pay more attention to today and let the future and past take care of themselves.The miles will fly by. As they say, you may not live longer, but it will sure feel like it.

After the years of hearing that saying, Lance finally got it.

The Beautiful Life

Bele Chere, Scottish for "the beautiful life", is a three decade old festival which consumes most of downtown Asheville, North Carolina on the last full weekend in July every summer. Like a giant octopus with legs extending out from the central park triangle, block after block is filled with a sea of white tents brimming with artists' work, food of every kind, non-profit displays, street performers and at the end of each arm, a major stage for music - five in all. All day long, the air is filled with blue grass, swing, jazz, rock, and there is even an Anti-Belle Chere venue giving voice to the dark side. After yesterdays frustration, Lance arose at 7, was parked within a block of the festival by 8, had breakfast at Tupelo Honey Cafe (Rachel Ray was right about the pumpkin pancake with peach butter and pecans) and he was on the street by 10, virtually alone. Unfortunately the Festival didn't start until 12 on Sunday, but Lance walked the main streets getting acquainted with the layout and selecting the stages and areas he would visit. It worked like a charm.

Imagine about 75,000 people cruising an entire downtown in 95 degree heat for about 8 hours and you get the picture. Mostly white, mostly young (surprise!), many families and more than the usual sprinkling of real nut cases...like the guy (we'll call him Falwell) standing in the middle of the park with a bull horn condemning everyone to hell and eternal damnation who was NOT a born again Christian. His list was endless including gays, unemployed, welfare cheats, most of the people around him and certainly Lance. Then, another guy (we'll call him Reformed) simply saw Lance watching the first guy's rant and he felt compelled to come over to tell Lance his five point plan, in great detail, refuting everything Falwell was saying. Lance found out Falwell and Reformed had already had it out without a clear victor so now Reformed was trying to recruit Lance to his side. Lance shook his hand, wished him luck and fled, There is a a good reason they sell T-shirts here that proclaim, "Nice Town, Weird People." (Did Lance mention the dog diving contest where dogs run after balls thrown by their masters into a long, measured, above-ground pool to the cheers of hundreds of on lookers? At least the dogs were staying cool!)

On the other hand, Lance would still rather live here than in some of the towns he's visited. This town has many flavors.

The Asheville Civic Arena is a combined indoor event arena attached to the city's primary concert hall. On this weekend, Lance discovered, it was also where all the families with small children went for the A/C and a cavernous arena floor filled with carnival of rides, handicrafts, rock walls, face painting (both simple and complex) and kiddie food. It was kinda like a Kiddie Underground, Lance noted. Emerging again into the sunlight, the outdoor misting sites, Red Cross tents with person-sized air conditioners, plentiful cold drinks at every corner and abundant rest rooms every couple of blocks were indicators of this town's long experience in the festival business. Asheville also boasts a dancing fountains plaza, in-ground architectural water features, terraced lawns and massive permanent stage in front of the Courthouse and Municipal building giving it a certain Emerald City balloon scene demeanor. A fundraising thermometer noted that this little 18M project is only 2M away from being fully paid for by the generous citizens of Asheville (with a little help, Lance guessed from the Biltmore Corporation right across the street.) Ah, the civic pride of it all.

Later that afternoon, Lance found himself luxuriating in a laboratory of human behavioral subjects when he found his way onto the second story balcony of a parking garage overlooking one of the stages. It came complete with cooling breeze, shade from the summer sun, a front row seat to a concert and, best of all, a birds eye view of the entire street of people below, ebbing and flowing like waves on a beach. After a while, his mind drifted away from the music as he focused on the hypnotic movement patterns of the people below him. He became acutely aware of who was leading or steering each small group. After a while, some interesting dynamics repeated themselves with great frequency. For instance, Lance noticed:

- Women with strollers almost always determined where the family unit was going and at what rate. Their husbands almost universally lagged behind. They always seemed determined to get somewhere specific, managing breakaways with a harsh look.

- In young couples, the men usually led. In middle age couples without children, women led, although with more deference toward their men than those women with strollers. In elderly couples, Lance found it nearly impossible to figure out who was leading although the strongest seemed to drive the action over the one in need of assistance.

- In groups of men, the tallest seemed to be in the lead most of the time with the shortest almost never leading,

- In groups of women, there seemed to be an Alpha leader who never gave up the role, at least while Lance was watching.

- In mixed groups of teenagers, well, there were none. There were always girls with girls and boys with boys, occasionally careening into each other, but not consistently following anyone and certainly never constituting a true mixed group.

- And there were relatively few singles, but they seemed mostly to be young men looking hung over from the previous night of street revelry, wincing at the sunlight and noise. Solo women were almost non-existent. Darn it, thought Lance.

- Of course, Lance had to wonder how he appeared to other people, if anyone had stopped to notice him. No one, other than the Reformed guy, spoke to him. Nevertheless, a quick look in the bathroom mirror confirmed they would have seen a denim shirted, baggy short wearing, chubby old bald guy in white tennis shoes, sunglasses with a big black bag slung diagonally across his chest. Lance wouldn't have spoken to someone who looked like that either.

- If there was any indication of being bikers, the men were dominant over their women mates, to an extreme. And the women, maybe depending on them for a ride home, were clearly submissive. A striking culture, those bikers. And there are a lot of bikers on the roads and in the hotels where Lance has been staying. This is rally season in the mountains.

Around three-thirty, the skies started to darken so Lance headed for the car only to arrive just minutes before the rain. A welcome 20 degree drop in temperature followed the brief thunder and lightening show as he headed south toward the Biltmore area, had dinner and drove back to the hotel. He called home after noting the weather advisory for his hometown on his iPhone called for damaging winds, rain and possible power outages. Sure enough the power was out at home, a real travesty to a generation weaned on TV, computers, video games and air conditioning. After taking to the oldest kids and assuring that no one would die or be left alone if the power stayed off too long, he hung up with only a hint of "what kind of parent runs off for a month while his wife is gone, leaving his children to fend for themselves in the rugged urbanity of home?"

And now we are finding out what kind of person does that. His name is Lance.

Into the Mountains of the Mind

A good place to spend a day when the temperatures are hitting record highs, Lance decided, is in an air-conditioned car speeding southwest down Route 79, sailing south through West Virginia and Virginia, then west into the Blue Ridge mountains of Asheville, North Carolina, all the while listening to the full Saturday lineup of NPR programming. A friend had suggested Asheville as his next destination after a four day stint at Leadership Maryland held at Rocky Gap Lodge near Cumberland, MD. Lance decided rather than stretch out the eight hour drive over two days, he'd leave at 8 AM and devote one whole day to the trip so he could spend two nights in Asheville. It almost worked.

Thanks to the Blue Ridge Mountains, Asheville is cooler by ten degrees than anywhere heading East. It is also blessed with a remarkable wealth of arts, culture and cache as Lance fondly remembered from his three-day conference at the Biltmore Estate many years ago. The Biltmore Estate, known as "America's Largest Home" was was built in the 1800's on 6,000 acres in including a winery, farm, orchards, livestock and and dairy. inspired by French Chateaux architecture. it is an American palace, furnished with European and Asian treasures heralding from the days when when northern aristocracy came down to the cool Carolina mountains for the restorative spring waters and natural beauty. During that conference, his group left the Estate grounds and went into downtown Asheville where Lance was astounded at the cosmopolitan, creative, downright quirky street scene. He vividly remembered looking west out of the huge windows on the top floor of an office building into the mountains at sunset and thinking, now THIS is a place I could learn to love. That is a very rare infatuation for Lance and he knew then he would have to return someday. Yesterday, it all came back to him.

Lance knew that Asheville was known as a Mecca for "half-backs", retirees from the North East who went to Florida, and when understandably disappointed at what they found, came running halfway back to North Carolina to reclaim a better quality of life. But he didn't know Asheville is also home to a major UNC campus, 4,000 craftspeople, an orchestra, a lyric opera, several museums, multiple theaters and a great section of town known as The River Arts District housing over 100 artists working in a a strip of renovated warehouses lining the shore.

As fate would have it, Lance wandered into town on the first day of the three day Bele Chere celebration, the largest street festival in the Southeastern United State. Blocked off streets, no hotel rooms and more young people than he'd seen on his whole trip jammed downtown shutting down any possibility of staying there until Sunday when they all would start to leave. So that became the plan. Finally settled in a Days Inn outside of town, one mile from the same Blue Ridge Parkway he had driven northward over a week ago, Lance unearthed a robust, un-airconditioned restaurant called Ruby's Italian Smokehouse, specializing in the rare combination of cold beer, hot pizza, full Italian entrees and excellent BBQ with 20 different sauces, all served up on sheets of paper,,,no plates. Lance finally got the BBQ he had been looking for since he left home.

And while it had been a long day of headlong travel, beneath the noise, Lance found new ideas and leads he would follow in the coming days about destiny, possibility and positioning. A cellphone conversation Friday afternoon confirmed things were going smoothly back at the office. Several more cell conversations with family in England, Barcelona and a skype call home indicated that the sense of dependency Lance assumed imprisoned him was more HIS mental construction than anyone else's. To be missed is human. to be irreplaceable is apparently more rare than any of us wants to admit.

Worry allayed, his thoughts drifted not to what wasn't getting done without him, but to what he could now see he could do better by bringing a new perspective home with him. It all started with a question that popped into his mind, "Do I actually need an office when I return?" Maybe not, Lance thought, now that he'd have been entirely mobile for three months. That led to the larger question "Should I automatically return to what I used to do every day or should I stake out new and expanded duties that use my existing skills and relationships more effectively than I've been able to over the last 5 years? " The damn gates were opening and heretical, outrageous, incendiary ideas poured forth. To wit:

The first draft of a new job description, The Five B's, leapt forth in Lance's mind (He's always been a fan of such lists...almost went into advertising, remember?) He would focus on Big Bucks, Best Practices, Board Development, Business Opportunities and the Big Picture for his not-for-profit institution. These seemed to be the big priority boulders, as Steven Covey would say, that will determine the long-term success of his enterprise. Day-to-day operations were now well established and highly competent people were in place, performing admirably. Lance's future value did not lay in duplicating their efforts just as they would be unlikely to excel in his challenges.

Big Bucks would require consistent,high-level relationship building with the many people in his community capable, but not currently engaged in, capitalizing future growth and quality programming. The development department was exceeding their own targets in five figure and lower memberships, sponsorships and and foundation giving. But the big money at hand had been tapped out and new fields needed to be plowed and planted. Lance knew that to raise that kind of money wasn't as much a problem of asking, but of envisioning and selling the compelling need for that level of support to the right people at the right time. (He could see Yoda nodding.)

Best Practices would be include creating an employee knowledge exchange utilizing the gifts of our own employees to teach each other skill sets other staff might need within working hours. It could also reach out to our many talented Board and business friends to bring their wisdom and techniques to bear on our staff and programs, With a well-established culture of moving interns up and into staff positions, the will is there, just not the efficiencies. The Academy should be open to all of the staff in the building and the course catalogue should come directly from the staff. This had been previously discussed but was pushed to the side by the press of other priorities. And, Lance decided it was high time to work out a modern, functional flex-time program for everyone who wants it including compensated time for creative thought and professional growth. What if all staff agreed to be on site every Tuesday and Wednesday for meetings, joint project time and face-to-face availability, but the rest of their schedule would be up to them and their specific workload. To hold it all together, everyone would have to agree to be reachable at any time, fully accountable for getting their job done, and always respectful and supportive of other staff's need for their own flexible work schedules. Perhaps a trial period of say, 3 months could precede formal adoption, Lance thought. Empowerment starts with self-management. If you can't manage yourself, the rest is futile.

Board Development is one of the most critical indicators of future success Lance had learned in his first 30 years of non-profit management. It is a vastly underrated art, until it blows up, that is. With a brilliant set of Board members, Lance had seen the deep and lasting value of smart people, drawn from business and government, advising and assisting his organization. They were not there by accident, but Lance knew not enough attention had been paid over the years to setting up future generations of Board members. It is a confidential, strategic, political enterprise requiring a few knowledgeable connected souls and someone has to coordinate the search, This is not something Lance could delegate since it lay at the heart of the integrity and sustainability of the corporation. Above all else, it requires close and continuing communication with the Board Chair. And it needs dedicated time.

Business Opportunities seemed fairly self-explanatory until Lance realized how tradition-bound his own profession had become over the years. New ideas like the Stars/Circles revision, multiple seasons, Friday Night Eclectic and One Portal had all been resisted by some as much out of inertia as logic. The very definition of an Arts Center as the concept of "a place for only for art "or the very "concept of Creativity long captured and held hostage exclusively by the arts" despite its value in every walk of life, these were fighting words to Lance. How strange, that right here in the cathedral of open-mindedness, lies a hallowed ground wherein Thou Shalt Not make money outside of tickets and begging. Thou Shalt Not seek other self-sustaining enterprises for Thy Sacred Stage. Thou Shalt Not covet other like-minded businesses who could mutually benefit from shared overhead, marketing and governance. Aside from obvious legal restrictions on not-for-profits, there lay before Lance a vast horizon of business opportunities, most of which could nurture the mission and market of the original dream. Other ideas came to his fertile mind but he decided they would be too inflammatory to prematurely publish before they were ready. But in the sanctity of his car, his mind was breaking the speed limit,


And that left the Big Picture. Who can look around the corner, over the horizon, beyond the quarterly report and envision a place and program that doesn't yet exist? Often, when Lance was asked to describe the creation of the Concert Hall and Education Center to visitors, he fell back on the metaphor of constructing a scaffolding of a vision and then, as opportunities came along, one could pick the right pieces to hang on the framework. If you have no scaffolding, you don't even know what pieces are going by or where to put them. What is the next scaffolding? Sure, new little things will still come. Big things need focus. And it can't be the last thing on your To Do list everyday or it will never get done, That is a fact Lance knew from life.

"Five B's. Not bad for a first draft" Lance chuckled as he drifted off to sleep.

Through New Eyes and Ears

When Lance was on the road, swimming in oceans of strangers, he was working hard to engage people in conversations that didn't come easily. Lance had gone so far as to draft a taxonomy of The Strategic Conversation Starter Kit. It went like this.

1. Observe for clues of topical interest from a distance.
2. Engage with direct eye contact and a easy smile.
3. Venture a mutual observation.
4. Initiate a question with open ended response (not a yes or no answer)
5. Extend their answer into another question. Validate their expertise.
6. Share a response of sincerity and transparency on your part to build trust.
7. Introduce humor, as appropriate, perhaps mildly self-deprecating.
8. Conclude with thanks and something about the value you gained from them.
9. Disengage with a firm handshake or light touch.

(That, thought Lance, is what happens when you give a guy too much time alone on the road, with too little to do.)

But the problem he was trying to solve was to be able to teach how to meet other people more easily, one of the scariest things for many of his his workshop participants. Unfortunately, a nine step process isn't memorable. Imagine breaking down the steps of a kiss. No one wants to learn that way and the underlying human emotion driving the act is entirely missing.

So when Lance walked into his first day of work in Western Maryland after being alone on the road for almost three weeks, he expected to be awkward, stilted and maybe even a bit antisocial. Nothing could be further from the truth. He found himself fully engaged with people he used to avoid. He was relaxed, calm, happy and confident as never before, He focused on them as if they were the only people in the room. He listened intently and responded with empathy far beyond anything he had ever heard come out of his mouth before. The colors of the conversation were brilliant, the words were jewels strung together like pearls, his repartee flowed effortlessly as the conversation blossomed naturally and seamlessly. One, two, three, four conversations in a row. Tireless and timeless.

Somehow, during his exile, he had developed new eyes, ears and focus unlike anything he remembered in his adult years. Time stopped. Speaking truth was comfortable, even with relative strangers. He wrapped trust around the other person like a blanket and all sense of needing to escape, disengage, protect his time was gone. The silence he found in being able to turn off the demands of time and task opened up a world of intimacy and communication last experienced in a T-group in 1967.

What had changed? The state of mind he brought to the conversation, not the 9 steps of scripting. Now, he could stop, listen and hear beyond their words without impatience and judgement. Now, he could allow himself to be swept up in their energy and not feel he had to impose his. Now, he could dance to their music and partner them without fear of losing his balance. And when he needed to lift them to the next level of understanding and meaning, it was easy. The muscle was stronger. And what had become such a chore...the grin and grip, the meet and greet, the having to smile...was gone. It was natural, smooth, effortless and vivid.

For the first time in years, he felt like he had found someone inside himself who he had forgotten or lost. What he described later as "finding quiet enough in his mind to hear new sounds" around him was tangible, useful and replicable. If Lance could will himself to this state, shut down the distractions and ambient noise to focus on the more important messages in that moment, he could vastly improve his ability to communicate with others, both giving and receiving far greater value for the time spent. It wasn't about the steps he took to start a conversation, but the quality of attention he gave to each moment. So much of his time had been taken up with what would happen four steps down the path. In the silence, was the sound that mattered.

Finally, Lance could see the lessons of this trip were becoming useful. And the answers Lance was seeking seemed to be more about how to live life today, than what to do about the future. Paradox. Lance believed in paradox.

A funny thing happened to Lance on he way to life. He ran into someone he had known for years who exemplified the carefree, get out of dodge, go wherever the wind blows you attitude Lance was now embracing. A quiet, solid accomplished professional in his field, he had annually taken month long solo motorcycle trips on a trike...a tricked out, bright red, 3 wheeled Honda Gold Wing.

Perhaps it was his "person within a person" character that intrigued Lance years ago when he first heard about it, but ever since then, when they saw each other, Lance eagerly asked about his most recent adventures on the road. Although deciding NOT to do his sabbatical trip on a motorcycle, Lance still looked forward to sharing his sabbatical stories when he arrived at their annual encounter.

But this time, his friend announced that he was leaving his job and within the month, he and his wife were moving, to southwest Colorado to be near their two grown children. Once there, he could fly off to consultant stints around the country at his whim, ride his trike through at least 5 National Parks in the region and "not have to smile all the time." They had already determined to sell their house and take their time making a transition out West but the house sold in one day and rather than rent back, they just went ahead and did the whole deed. An auctioneer took everything they couldn't move in about 6 hours. They only kept what they could stuff in the back of a Budget Rental truck. He booked a flight for her, a driver for the truck and worked in a solo cycle trip for him. BAM! The biggest transition most people make after buying their first house was a done deal in days. Now he won't have to smile all the time.

This was a man who seemed always to have an authentic smile of wisdom and generosity on his face, but he was telling Lance, the pressure to perform for others, both at work and in his community, was wearing thin. Lance intuitively got that. It wasn't that his friend wouldn't ever smile again, but he wanted to be able to choose to do it. He wanted to be truly moved to smile instead of doing it primarily to reassure others in his leadership role. When you are perceived to be a leader, people are overly sensitive to your moods and expressions, perhaps because they have a more-than-passing stake in your opinions and attitudes. It isn't an intrusive interest, its a pragmatic necessity. A survival skill of the work culture.

Still, for Lance, "To not have to smile all the time" was a unique definition of retirement. "To want to smile most of the time" seemed equally serviceable. It all came down to one's ability to choose their daily path. Speaking of happy, Lance remembered discussing with his son a dream he secretly harbored for years...perhaps silly but quite true. Lance would like to run a breakfast/lunch only diner. Lance would take the early shift (4 - 11 AM) leaving the lunch shift to others. How noble and exhilarating it would be, he thought, to greet people first thing in the morning with hot coffee and pancakes. It just seemed like a heavenly chore and as an natural early riser, better HIS smiling face to start the day than so many others he knew. Why, to specialize in putting a smile on folk's faces and caffeine in their bloodstream as they headed out to work each day, well what could be better than that? And then, to have the rest of the day to do whatever he chose sounded like a life Lance could wrap his mind and heart around.

It can't be hard finding a breakfast place that would love to hire an ENFP, happy-morning guy, a dedicated worker, and a competent conversationalist, Lance mused. In fact, Lance didn't need to own the place. Might be better not to...just in case alternatives arose or travel seemed likely.

In an unrelated e-mail to another friend, but still on the topic of life after retirement, Lance discovered himself doing math he had not done before. It went like this. Lance is 60. His wife is seven years younger. She is in a great career track that she loves with at least 15 years to run before retirement will loom for her. By then, Lance will be 75, dead or significantly diminished in capacity. (Still kicking at 80 is not a significant goal in Lance's life. 90 is a nightmare he saw on his father.)

Those are the facts, he thought. Simple. Definitive. Compelling. Not distressing or alarming, just true. To look truth in the face is a relief, he thought. It brings with a clarity and release from fear all its own. Rather than pretend it isn't true, or hope to defy the odds longer or ignore the fact that no one is promised even tomorrow, this seemed like a compass bearing that made "a lifetime" into a 15 year program of options, He could deal with that. It took 15 years to raise kids, build a concert hall, go bald. Fifteen years had shape, meaning and edges he could see. Anything longer was nice, but not something to be concerned with in his current quest.

Fifteen years left to not have to smile. Or, fifteen years to do nothing but smile.

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The Longest Swim

Diana Nyad, Hall of Fame long distance swimmer, sports commentator and recently turned 60, announced she will swim from Cuba to Florida next month. She had tried this swim before and failed, due to rough seas and wind, but this time she said she would stay in the water until her feet hit Florida, no matter what. That could be 36 to 60+ hours depending on conditions. When asked why she was doing it, she said it was a feat waiting to be conquered and while she wanted to redeem her previous attempt, it was less about being able to say WHAT she had done than measuring WHO she had become. She blamed it on "the urgency of 60" which recently hit her. There is a point, she said, when living forever is no longer a given and you start to see people run out of time to do what they are capable of. Sure, she might make it to age 80 or more, but plenty of folks don't - through no fault of their own. She was taking control of her destiny.

Lance heard this news interview driving through the mountains of western Maryland toward Rocky Gap Conference Center and Resort near Cumberland. He was booked for a week at the resort - Monday through Wednesday on his own and Thursday and Friday while facilitating the annual Criminal Justice/Western Maryland session of Leadership Maryland. It was this longstanding gig that briefly brought him in off the sabbatical road. For years, he had been coming out here and always wanted to have a couple of days to just relax and enjoy the beautiful sit like a normal hotel guest. Now he could.

Besides, Western Maryland was a touchstone of his childhood years, often camping with his parents and later camping with ManCamp, a bonding weekend with his own sons and male in-laws always at Swallow Falls State Park. In adulthood, the region was home to some of his most cherished leadership workshop experiences at sites like Wisp Ski Lodge, Rocky Gap and Savage River Lodge. He practically felt like a native and boasted many friends from Garrett, Allegany and Washington Counties from these programs. When he told people he was "a mountain and lakes kinda guy", the specific picture in his mind was this very view outside his dining room windows. A fading sunset over a silver lake bounded by dark mountains. Lance felt at home here.

And then, all the lights went out. The entire hotel was plunged into darkness. Twenty retired businessmen at the next table proceeded to get drunk on wine comped by the hotel. Lance moved to a pool of emergency generator run lights in the bar, as much for quiet as for illumination. As Lance gazed out into the total darkness of the night, he thought he felt, more than heard, God saying, "Ya wanna think deep thoughts? Fine. Lights out. No excuses now, buddy."

Then he remembered the Diana Nyad interview. Lance realized that awakening to mortality, that change of focus from WHAT he had accomplished in his life to discovering WHO he had become, resonated completely with the true spirit of his journey. He was in search of himself in the present so he could find his next adventure by looking ahead, not backward. His journey wasn't about writing his own obit, it was about launching the next phase of life with new wisdom, hope and passion.

What would his "Cuba to Florida swim" be?

He could build upon what he had already done for the last 30 years but stretch it, bend it, and take it to a whole new scale of impact. Or, he could start something entirely different, an enterprise going in a brand new direction perhaps built alongside colleagues who were also ready to move on from their success to new frontiers. He already knew who they were. Or, he could design a family-operated business that could sweep some of his children into productive careers while leaving them a legacy of creativity, a strong work ethic and maybe even some assets for when he was no longer there to provide. Or, he could finally create that Conference Center on a Mountain, the one he could envision and describe in the smallest of detail, the one that had haunted his dreams since he was in high school. A long held, always tomorrow dream of his.

If not now, when? If not him, who? (Ugh. Lance thought. What a Degrassie cliche!)

There, looking into the pitch black windows now turned into vast mirrors reflecting only the glow of the emergency lights in the exits, Lance knew none of this was an accident. He had taken the right road at the right time of his life. He had pushed off from the shore where he had stood pondering for so very long and was finally swimming northward in full expectation of his ability to go the whole way. Lance now knew that one day his feet would touch the sand of that distant shore and he would discover the next new land he was destined to find. Not if, just when. And at that moment, the hotel lights came on. No kidding.

Post Script: When asked where her mind went during those endless hours battling the rolling waves, stroke after stoke, breath after breath, alone in the inky darkness, Diana Nyad said she mentally sang the theme song to the Beverly Hillbilly's, literally 2,000 times in a row. She counted.

Lance decided he, too, needed a song for the road. But definitely not that one.

Up, Up and Away!

In the space of three days, Lance's wife went to England for three weeks, a son went to New Orleans for five days with his church group, another son went to Barcelona, Spain as a reward for his graduation from college, and still another went on a three-day junket to a rock concert, followed by a gig at the beach, followed by a day in Delaware. Lance was also on the road, leaving only one college-aged daughter at home with her best friend and a bewildered dog, Scout. Never had this family been spread so far and wide. The shock to his karma was palpable. An overwhelming sense of not being needed was a foreign concept to Lance. It was an unexpected byproduct of his self-imposed sabbatical. Why, from all reports, his colleagues, family and friends were all getting along just fine without him. Ain't that a kick in the head, Lance grumbled.

Let's face it, there is a secret longing in everyone hungering to be missed. We want to be told that without us, life is bleak and unlivable. That just wants to hear the plaintive cry of "Please, I beg you, DON'T GO!!!" No such luck this time. At Lance's dramatic sabbatical announcement, almost everyone urged him to go ahead and have a good time. Some even praised his bold initiative and sighed about how they wished they could do it. And then, the moment over, they went about their daily routine, perfectly confident that life would go on just fine without him. And damn it, it did.

When, for 30 years, he had felt so burdened everyday with the overwhelming responsibilities of job and family, of being provider and father, of serving as counselor and commander, it always seemed far too important to just walk away from it all. How many times had Lance turned away from whimsical side trips and invitations of every kind to escape, all because "I just can't abandon my responsibilities!." Well, apparently, one CAN just walk away. Or at least, now Lance found he could. He had to wonder if this is the beginning of senior obsolescence?

Lance was somewhat comforted by the fact that today, cell phones and email provide a magical link to anyone, anywhere at anytime. But Jesus, LIVES were being re-shaped on these trips. Whole new narratives were being imprinted on memories, none of which could ever adequately be conveyed even in the inevitable catch-up conversations soon to come when the family gathered in Maine in August. Just as Plato conjectured that we can never directly see reality, but merely the shadows of it dancing on the opposite walls of the cave, so Lance knew he would never know the new reality of their lives lived so far beyond his sight. Nor could they ever really know his new insights, pondered Lance. Already, he understood from his own travels, something profound happens to people when they measure themselves against unfamiliar places and people. In every moment, they constantly evaluate, compare, test, and edit their own values and assumptions against this new set of behaviors, beliefs and customs surrounding them. He and his family were now swimming in new oceans of foreign cultures and whoever they were before, they would never be quite the same again. But then, that IS why they went out, isn't it. To both go somewhere new... and come home as someone new.

Strangely, in the small towns of Pennsylvania and West Virginia, Lance met people who clung to a genuine loyalty for their hometown, bore very modest dreams about their futures and exhibited a fierce desire to retain the predictable nature of their lifestyle. For them (at least the ones who stayed) change was not highly valued and news of political, economic or societal events beyond their observable horizons, held relatively little interest. At Chautauqua, the pace was slower (because the age was higher?) laughter more reluctant, conversation more measured, and the urgency of anything was highly suspect. Knowledge was highly valued, but action seemed to be academic. In Erie, Cleveland, and on the campuses of Penn State, Virginia Tech, the University of Virginia and Oberlin College the pace was fast, the anxiety intense, and the urgency to be first/best/tops was overwhelming. But above all, there was a desperate need to be constantly connected to the flow and to be always the one in the know. Here, Road Kill was the last person to find out...anything. They got run over by the herd.

Looking back over what he had just written, Lance became self-conscious about the pejorative way his thoughts sounded about those places...like Town A was better than Town B. And truth be told, that was truly the way he felt about them if he were judging where he would choose to live. But the lessons of importance here were about the effect the culture of a place has on its people. His business, after all, was all about socio-engineering the culture of a community. Creative enterprise requires people to value self-awareness, be open to investigations of new thinking, and be tolerant of the inherent ambiguity of diverse cultures engaged in productive discourse. Lance had preached that institutions must exist in every community to encourage, develop and reward minds that stretch and bend. Creativity needs to be taught and spoken somewhere in every community.Lance felt it was his mission in life to discover how the skill sets of the arts could be brought to bear on the daily enterprise of community building in ANY town, city or country? How do you break the arts out of its own prison of elitism to give voice to the expressive, creative soul born into everyone before the stern voice of "You can't" steals their initiative and hope?

Thankfully, there were many more days ahead of him on the road to figure it out. And now he took solace in the fact that there would indeed be many more stories to share in Maine in August.

The Problem With Passion

There is was again...that word passion. Lance was sitting in the upper deck of the Music Hall watching an orientation session for parents of new students at U VA in Charlottesville, VA. It was a sweltering afternoon and after guided tour of the Rotunda Building, Thomas Jefferson's legacy as Father of U VA, and a long walk down the green, Lance ducked in to this concert Hall to escape the heat only to hear the nice lady say that psychologists say the difference between happy people and sad people over their lives is that the sad ones followed their parents dreams, and the happy ones followed their passion. The moral was clear. Let your kids pick whatever turns them on and don't be a helicopter parent. Sounds fine but you could almost hear the parents around the hall muttering prayers beneath their breath like "Dear God, don't let them be an artist! Not for THIS tuition!"

God knows Lance was all about passion...preaching it, teaching it, living it. But he also knew when he used that word in a workshop setting, some people's eyes glazed over and they'd look helplessly back as if to say..."OK, just tell me what my passion is and I'll pursue it." That kinda misses the point. Others take it as a free ticket to do whatever feels good, over and over again, while avoiding the hard work of getting better at something. And still others do go out and do what they love, but can't make a life of it. For whatever reason, no one is buying their products. Clearly passion alone is not enough.

In Open Space Technology (OST), participants are told to pursue only new ideas where they have both both passion and authority. Its not enough to just love it, you have to know about it...get smart in it... before you can be productive. Lance had seen plenty of newbies come roaring into the the workplace with plenty of exuberant passion, but little stamina, patience or perseverance. If it didn't happen for them in the first year (sometimes six months!) they were disheartened and disenchanted. They didn't understand that passion (love of the what) is the fire, authority (knowledge of the how) is the fuel.

Driving up the Blue Ridge Parkway in the morning hours was downright meditative. No signs, fast food places, gas stations, businesses, or people (aside from a lone biker or Appalachian hiker now and then.) If you want to do some uninterrupted thinking while driving and not hit anything, The Big Blue is for you, Lance used it as a time to review the almost two weeks of his journey. Here is his list:

1) Small towns in the mountains (Pa, NY, Kentucky, Va and West VA are built beside a river and a railroad track and tend to be a 7 blocks long and 3 blocks wide because that is all the flat, non flood plain land available upon which to build. They all have a village green, anchored by fountain, a statue,or a war memorial (some have all three) and the people who live there will tell you, often in the same breath, how boring it is and how they'd never leave. Live music is a rarity except on special days sponsored by the Chamber of Commerce or VFW. Those special days will never be the ones you are in that town. BTW There are fewer diners than you think, at least on the local roads Lance used.

2) Ohio, on the other hand, is flat, uninteresting and painfully lacking in charm, warmth or welcoming community. Sorry.

3) Driving 2-3 hours in the morning, asking 3 questions at lunch, and exploring in the afternoon and evening is a formula that works. Lance would add a few notes, however. When you hit a town you like, check the listings and book a hotel before 3:00. Call it first for price and availability, drive by it for location and any "ick" factors, then drive in and check in. Dump your stuff, turn on the A/C, and hit the town for lunch and adventure. Blog either that night or first thing in the AM before you hit the road.

4) Food on the road is about entertainment, not nutrition. Not a good thing. "Perfect Oatmeal" at Starbucks and a banana for breakfast, a late lunch of soup or a BLT, and a dinner of an appetizer and a beer will suffice. Lance discovered that in week two. Chautauqua included three full meals in their package and it took Lance almost a week to detox from that. Never defer coffee in the morning, always minimize drinking liquids while driving long distances, and just because they put food in front of you, doesn't mean you have to finish it (doggie bags and hotel rooms don't go well together.)

5) Thank heaven for credit cards. Having a little extra credit on them helps, too. Lance also quickly learned not to use his special traveling name business cards with hotel clerks who just checked his photo ID and driver's license. It just confuses them. Instead, he'd save them for restaurant workers and others who don't care who you are or at least have the time to hear the full explanation.

6) WiFi is everywhere (except in the hills of southern West Virginia and on the Blue Ridge Parkway) and Lance will never pay for it again. It is now a God-given, red-blooded, American right! Ditto NPR and AT&T for the iPhone, they should be mandated everywhere. Lance now knows that if you take an iPhone or a laptop with you, you WILL check your email and Face Book several times a day. However, you don't have to answer any of it! That simple truth turned out to be more fun than Lance expected. Every time he hit DELETE, he erased the old Lance a little bit more. And if you got wrong number calls for a doctor at home several times a week, you'll still get them on the road.

7) Even when Lance could sleep late, he was up and out by 8:00. There's just something about knowing you don't have to get up that made Lance want to get going early each day. There was real excitement in not knowing what would happen, who he'd meet, what he'd think about that day. Breaking the predictability of his life may be the best lesson he'd be bringing home.

8) Most of the housing stock Lance saw on his roads were double-wides masquerading as fixed houses. America does not look like where Lance lives. A lot of America does not look like it does on TV. Much of America does not vote, worship or integrate the way Lance is used to. And judging from the radio, Lance now knows that God is an American, the Tea Party doesn't think it is prejudiced, and just saying NO is still better than fixing things for others. The Federal budget only matters when someone else is getting it and not you. Turning off the radio helped Lance's state of mind, immeasurably.

9) Next time, Lance would change the questions by alternating the live music question with "So, what's the favorite sin in this town?"

10) See? We're back to passion again.

It Is A Wonderful Life

After a rainy night in Huntington W.Va, Lance rose at dawn, unable to stop the stream of scenes from the trip flooding his dreams. Something was different in his head, like a dam breaking, spilling repressed and forgotten ideas, fears, hopes, and regrets without anything to stop them. Free now from the filter of his traditional work related To Do lists, thoughts that would have been routinely filed away under Later, Someday, Not Important and Delete were now taking center stage. The blinders of daily life are also a blessing, Lance almost said out loud. It was enough to launch him to his feet and toward the shower while dawn was still breaking over the Ohio River below.

Soon, heading south on Rte 52, deep into the hillbilly mountains of West Virginia vaguely headed for Blacksburg VA, Lance found himself on a roller coaster of a two lane road, bordered by the river on one side and steep wooded hills all around. Not a place to drift either way. Passing a sign saying "Beginning of Hatfield and McCoy Trail" Lance felt a chill on his neck as he plunged further into a land of no cellphones, no NPR, no Starbucks and no AAA. When stuck behind a garbage truck for miles on end, and with at least three hours of monotomy ahead, this seemed like the perfect time to take another mental trip he'd been avoding for days. Who is Lance Stiehl and what different life choices could he have made that would have made his life different?? The twisting, hilly terrain of Rte 52 S mirrored the convoluted thoughts that rushed forth the minute he posed the question what could he have chosen differently? Lance assumed one doesn't get to choose much until after high school. The choice of college seemed the appropriate place to begin revising his life story. No more George Washington University in DC.

Ah, let's try this, he thought.

Fresh out of high school, Lance was accepted at Boston University conveniently located the heart of East Coast academia, Boston. Like most urban areas north of the Mason-Dixon line, from 1968-1972 many students majored in the street protests 101, angered by US bombings in Cambodia and the continuing presence of US troops in Viet Nam. Not given to political activism or violent street theatrics, Lance stayed in the background of that era, more a watcher than a player (although later he proudly boasted to his children about the time he got tear-gassed going to class.) He pledged a fraternity, fell in and out of love, messed around with college shows and clung to the bottom rung of a B average. It was enough to get by, but not enough upon which to build a life mission.

Frankly, the rest of his college years were less than memorable. BU is a big place and it was easy to get lost in the crowd. At the end of his Sophomore year, instead of majoring in Psychology, he fell in love with Marketing and Public Relations, no doubt a product of the ever-gentle but compelling influence of his father's highly successful career. His Dad fervently believed that selling people on new ideas and public projects was an honorable enterprise, as long as whatever he was selling was for the common good, not soap or cigarettes. His father's causes included the rebirth of the Washington Star newspaper, the re-born United Way Charities, and the building of Washington's first 96 mile Metro system. If telling and selling had to be done for any of these projects, he was the guy to do it. He won a Washingtonian of the Year award for it.

Endless nights spent in town hall meetings, hundreds of living room Q & A's, speaking to anyone who would listen, that was Lance's memory of his father growing up. The few times Lance tagged along as a boy, he marveled at how his dad would step to the front of the room, take off his coat, roll up his sleeves, loosen his tie and launch into a conversational style that made everyone feel he was their best friend. Years later, total strangers would stop him on the street and recall how he came to their house, their office, their community and talked just to them. Along with his wife, they were a civic minded couple always the head of the PTA, the Democratic Precinct Chair or emceeing the testimonial banquet.

So that was what Lance wanted to be, but upon graduation from college, he was snatched up in the draft having drawn #44 in the national lottery - lowest in his dorm. Sent to basic training and then for a two-year tour in Viet Nam, Lance came home with only injuries of the spirit, a bit angrier, more mistrustful and fiercely independent. He had to start at the bottom and climb his way up in the world of marketing, starting out at a firm in Boston and then joining two of his college buddies in a small PR shop of their own. It was the 80's, and business was good. Traveling almost weekly to LA, NY, Chicago and Atlanta, there was little time or energy left to start a family or think about kids. But his life was good and his is future seemed secure.

He did have an abiding love of Maine, another artifact of his parent's DNA, having spent many care-free summers in Bar Harbor on Mt. Desert Island. Remembering his father and mother's long unfulfilled dream of building a Kennedy-like compound where the whole family could gather, he purchased a few acres overlooking Sommes Sound and brought the entire family there every August. Looking back on it now, Lance thought that was one of his best investments he ever made, both financially and for his family. Perhaps it was, in part, a substitute for not pausing long enough to build his own family. Late in life, he met and married a college professor who summered in Bangor, Maine and taught at a Boston based institution. By then it was too late to have kids.

As he progressed in his career, and younger associates ripened into seasoned professional behind him, he hungered for a legacy beyond his business. But there came a point in his life when he felt that too was too late. He was trapped in his success and handcuffed to his status. He knew nothing he had done would ever live beyond the memory of a customer and nothing he had ever written spoke to the ages. No children carried his name and as the last one of his line, the family name would soon be gone with his demise. He mused about taking a sabbatical to seek answers to his dilemma, but that too, seemed impractical.

At this very moment, Lance clearly heard the voice of Clarence, the reluctant Angel, whispering in his ear.

"Lance, just think. Because you weren't there, Maryland Leadership Workshops went out of business for lack of someone to incorporate it 30 years ago. Because you weren't there, the County never bought Strathmore Hall so there is no Concert Hall with 150 shows a year. Because you weren't there, Round House Theatre, Blackrock Center for the Arts and the Arts and Humanities Council never existed. And because you never had them, your four children never fell in love with Maine, music and mirth, much less continuing the family name through your ten grandchildren."

Lance swore he heard a bell ring and his daughter's voice sing out..."Daddy, every time a bell rings, a person, even an old person like you, gets their wings."

Right there and then, Lance decided that whatever person he had become, was as good as any he could possibly have been.

And that made him smile. "Ding!"

The Muse of Bob Evans

Lance was sitting at the intersection of Ohio, West Virginia and Kentucky wondering which way to go. And, for one of the few times in his life, he realized, there were no wrong choices. How very unlike his daily life of the past four decades. When he awoke this morning, still glowing from his new found status as the FIRST guest at the Holiday Inn Express outside of Washington Court House (see yesterday's blog) he had no idea where to day would lead him, and yet here he sat, in Huntington (yes, a week ago he was in Huntington PA but this is Huntington West Va!) muling over two of the best conversations he has had on this trip. And after checking off two more Diners, Driver Ins and Dives featured places...the Center City Cafe and Hillbilly Hotdogs (see Facebook for photos.) In fact, the whole day was a picture perfect Fork in the Road formula day.

Over breakfast, the FIRST EVER served in the new hotel, Lance chatted with a man in his 50's, a sincere and gentle soul and who seemed truly interested in the journey and quickly grasped the nature of Lance's questions. Over coffee, he revealed how his own life of teaching, then being a principal, and then taking a year off had brought him to a realization that family is the priority for him. They need his help, now more than ever, and this may be the time to move back to Iowa to reunite the generations. He could find purpose and passion in that to last him well into his golden years. Lance gave him the card and" felt a connection to this stranger that is rare. As he left the hotel, the regional manager and the hotel manager referred to Lance by name and wished him well on his jounrney. Workmen were hanging a banner from the top floor windows,announcing "OPEN!" Indeed they were.

Heading southeast on Rte. 35 toward Charleston W. VA (why not? Time to get out of Ohio...) Lance saw through the morning mists the cornfields fade behind him and hills appear ahead. Maybe having a little geographic topology makes towns more interesting. Maybe NOT being able to see what is around the corner or on the horizon makes life more interesting. As the rain started to fall in earnest, he approached the town of Gallipolis on the Ohio River, at the border between Ohio and West VIrginia. When, what to his wondering eyes should appear, but a sign saying "BOB EVANS FARM 1 mile." Swerving across two lanes of highway, Lance barely made the exit, only then realizing how fast he made that decision.

There really IS a "Bob Evans, down on the farm..." he sang. A scant mile further, he was sitting in the parking lot of the actual Bob Evans Homestead and Farm, (see FaceBook photos) a surprisingly modest red brick home, a barn and a well-worn but still operating restaurant. The mecca of every yawning coffee deprived morning traveler in search of a dependable breakfast on the road, Bob Evans built his empire in about 20 years by inviting folks over for some sausage at his house, then to his shed-like restaurant in his front yard, then to thousands of locations in his branded chain. Not bad for a guy from Rio Grande, Ohio.

An hour later later, Lance's daughter saw the pictures of Lance on the farm that he posted on FB. Turns out her college roommate lived nearby, so only minutes later, her roomie sent a FB message welcoming Lance to Gallipolis, already a receding dot in his rear view mirror. What a new world, thought Lance. You never have to be out of touch again. Anywhere. Ever. Scary.

By now he has checked the D3 app and found two restaurants of fame. The Center City Cafe and Hillbilly Hotdogs. That was enough reason to veer from destination Charleston to Huntington W.VA. And what a pleasant surprise it was. Home to Marshall University and a well restored downtown, Lance found his way to the cafe for a late lunch and ended up meeting with a bright and engaging attorney. A life-long resident of Huntington, graduate of Marshall, then law school and now a partner in his Dad's law firm, he willingly shared his modest dreams of work, family and future over home-made apple pie. While still too young to cite personal experience to question #3, he knew what his 70 year old father said to him on many occasions, "Follow your passion...whatever that may be." He knows his Dad will work as long as he can, because his work is his passion. So what was his passion, Lance asked? "I love the law because it makes a difference in people's lives. I love my family, my three children and my wife. And then, with a twinkle in his eye, he said his personal passion is martial art. "I may have started to late to really be competitive, but I really love teaching kids."

Rarely, had Lance encountered people who looked him dead in the eye and seemed truly interested in this kind of conversation, but in one day he hit two champions. Without fear. Without posturing. Without hubris. These men took the hand offered to them and stopped in their daily grind to embrace a moment with a stranger, without expectation of reward. "How often do I do that?" thought Lance. "What would life be like if I made a habit of stopping to honor sincere invitations of engagement when they arise?" Frankly, he had made an art of avoiding conversations not about work. They seemed too often to be a waste of valuable time, especially given the number of people he encountered on a daily basis.

Even within his family, he could suddenly think of many times he put off the casual inquiry of a family member in favor of sleep, TV or getting to work early. Think of how many Bob Evans moments he had "driven by" in his rush to avoid family or social entanglements or additional requests for assistance. Think how many of these would have had no cost whatsoever, but could have immeasurably deepened a relationship of real consequence. And like the turnoff for Bob Evans, once you are past it's gone forever. What really is more important than truly connecting with other people's hearts? If life is a highway, Lance thought, he should set aside time every week to take the slower back roads and the intriguing exits. And he should ALWAYS spend more time listening, than talking, a constant refrain of his dearest colleague back home. Ironically, it was becoming clear that here on the road, where Lance was virtually alone, he was learning lessons of being with others in new ways, not how to be alone.

On the drive east, he starting to redesign how he teaches leadership in preparation for September. Fact is, leadership is a chosen strategy to obtain collective outcomes. It is not a state of permanent status nor a title bestowed for life. It is a set of tools we must choose to pick up and put down, not a destiny conferred nor an entitlement of birth. It is measured in its outcome, not its input. Leadership is dynamic, contextual, and adjustable. Leadership is a human process more like facilitation than manufacturing. While some of the skills sets come more easily to some than others, virtually no one is incapable of improvement in all.

How to explain the process more clearly without using lofty phrases? wondered Lance. Well, it certainly starts with knowing who we are and where we come from. Knowing our own strengths and weaknesses is a matter of life experience and requires honest feedback from others. Then, it requires us to know the heart of those we wish to lead. That takes building trust. Leadership is, after all, a group thing. To do that, we must learn to listen for meaning, not words, for needs not wants, for hope not anger.We must do our homework and study the problems to be overcome to discover the change that need to be made.

"To lead" is a verb, not a noun. Sooner or later we must formulate and articulate a vision for action. We can enlist others in that process, but in the end, we must master telling the message with clarity and conviction. (If we can write it on the back of a business card, then we can tell it and sell it to others of short attention spans.) We have to relentlessly sell that vision until we engage and motivate enough others to act. Until then, it's just talk. Ethically, we must hold both ourselves and others accountable for progress every day. Finally, we can't stop until we publicly celebrate victory and people's individual and collective achievements.

That's seven steps and every one of them can be taught. Know thyself. Listen to hearts. Study. Envision. Tell and sell. Hold accountable. Celebrate. (Lance thought someday he might tie each of the 7 steps to a Dwarf to create the ultimate memorable training tool, but not tonight.) The point is, leadership is not a gift, it is a choice. People must choose to lead; for a moment in time; to achieve goals commonly held; seeking first to serve a common good without expectation of undue gain; and with knowledge of the risk and consequences inherent in creating any sustainable change.

So, here sat Lance, at the crossroads of three states, wrestling with which direction to head - in life and on the road. But after today, wherever he was going tomorrow, he had two new friends and plenty of time to get there. Not bad for one day's "work." Bob Evans would have been proud.

Snatched From the Jaws of...

Monday was the anniversary of Lance's launch...actually, it was his birthday, of sorts. Finally given voice and a morphological visage (see Facebook) for the first time ever, he felt like he was finally getting the hang of this nomadic quest. He spent the night amidst the vast stone and marble structures of Oberlin's sprawling campus, built to last after a fire leveled the wooden town in the early 1800's. Oberlin is the home to Oberlin college, known for its offbeat and brilliant graduates, and, among other things, their renown music conservatory. Lance had an old friend who graduated from there, one of the smartest men he'd ever met. He'd spent a weel on a college campus in a T-group with him. Life changing.

Only here, would you find a family of albino squirrels scurrying happily among the trees in the park, right next to a one-of-a-kind, truly quirky, postmodern Pagoda-style bandstand bracketed by wagon wheel-sized stones. Lance couldn't begin to imagine the type of music they would play in such a gazebo. Atonal variations on Sousa marches interrupted by long periods of John Cage-like meaningful silences? After all, these are the people who solved the town's graffetti problem by placing four large rocks in the park which they invite people to paint, at will, with anything, as many times as they like. Gotta love the creative brains in this place, Lance thought. That idea would come home with him.

Funny how the hotel clerks, almost always young women who grew up in the town, have very little charitable comment to say about their birthplace. Still, Lance always asks. What's to do here? "Not much". Where is live music?" "No idea, but we have a lot of jukeboxes in town." Lance didn't bother seeking their wisdom about aging...you can't know what you haven't lived. The same questions in the hotel bar that night fared better with a tag team of sisters and a silent male companion."Go look at the painted rocks in the park (seen 'em.) And we have an Underground Railway Museum I hear is pretty cool." She'd lived there all her life but never been inside. (Memo to self, never assume your neighbors have been inside you place!) "And we've got some albino squirrels (also seen 'em.) And there is a bar nearby that has music...nope, its a jukebox." As for happiness i old age, family is the answer. When we go home for the holidays and special occassions, we spend the whole time laughing and loving each other. We never fight, not really. I leave after one of those meals and my sides hurt from laughing so much. That's the secret to life in old age. Keep family around, and don't fight."

Headed out of town the next morning, he turned south, aiming for Springfield down by Dayton. Why? On the internet it had an arts festival advertised.( And somewhere in his trivia memory, he thought perhaps this was where Homer Simpson lived...) So after breakfast somewhere just south of Oberlin at a place called Nana's Family Restaurant (can't drive by THAT name!) he set his course for the other end of the state on a blue highway called Rte 4. The 80 year old energetic waitress at Nana's offered her wisdom recipe."I go to Arizona for the winter, do water walking, belong to many clubs and come home every summer to help Nana (her niece) run this place. After my husband died 9 years ago, I sold my condo here, but missed it so much I bought another right next door. That's how much I realized I loved it and my friends. (Note to self: don't make big life changing decisions right after a life crisis.)

Four hours later, and with visions of millions of ears of ripening corn dancing in his head, Lance arrived at Springfield, Ohio expecting a sweet little, tree lined town with artsy nymphs dancing on the lawns.

NO. Not only was it a cultural desert without a festival, it was a turgid, bombed out, tragedy of a place without any apparent redeeming features and a vibe so bad, Lance actually felt compelled to flee. Not even the thought of lunch could stay his steed as he dashed west in search of civilization and anything inspirational. Nearby Dayton was better, but a city that featured a vertical, fire hose of a fountain in their river, bordered by block after block of failed, semi-abandoned cityscape, was not Lance's idea of nutrient for his restless soul. On he drove, relentless now, doubting his instincts which just yesterday had seemed so sure and true. Lance considered just getting his ass into any over-priced, charmless city hotel, shutting the door and trying again the next day to find "where he was REALLY meant to be."

But much of the morning drive had been spent, mentally lost in considering the magic found in the brief, almost imperceptible moment between stimulus and response...a split second when man has control over his next action, but often fails to realize it and becomes a pawn of the instigator. So often, children and grownups tend to react as if they HAD to, instead of CHOSE TO respond by stopping and selecting an action in their own best-interest. We hear it every day. Strong emotional responses such as anger, love, lust, fear and prejudice elicit all too quick a result, later blamed on "he made me do it." Even as Lance tired of his fruitless quest for "a place that felt right" he longed to chuck it, pay too much for a downtown hotel, shut the door, and deal with it in the morning. But the stones beckoned, and he kept driving, this time southeast toward Washington Court House, Ohio on Rte. 35 East.

And there it was. a charming little town wrapped around an imposing county courthouse. On the edge of town, he had spotted a Holiday Inn Express, which looked like it might still be under construction with mud for gardens, sprinkler pipe still open to the sky, and no formal sign on the road. But that would be the road less taken, so he took it. Parking under the portico, leaving the engine running, he popped in the door and asked, "Are you open?' The cheerful young lady at the desk grinned and said "Oh yes, and YOU'RE OUR FIRST GUEST...EVER! REALLY!"

In a a flash, the more experienced manager came out, the regional manager (who said he got the hotel occupancy certificate only an hour ago) both came to the desk. They were soon joined by several of the workmen and even a guy who lives nearby and had been waiting to see it open. All congratulated Lance on his FIRST GUEST EVER status. When Lance gave them his traveling card with the 3 questions, it became a parlor game, of sorts.
#1: "There is a beautiful park with a lake just down the road."
#2:"We can't think of any live music on a Monday night, least anywhere around here."
#3 "I got the answer to that one! CONTENTMENT is the answer to a successful life over 60. FIND it, DO it, and BE it...whatever makes you content. Just know that you don't need lots of stuff in life to be happy. Just find what makes you at peace within and want for nothing more."

The Regional Manager walked Lance to the elevator, proudly showing off all the fresh amenities, pride filling every breath. Lance knew the joy of inaugurating a new facility...actually a new enterprise. Suddenly, whatever it meant to you is pre-empted by what it will mean to them, the users. If you did your job right, the place takes on a life of its own. He was watching his work, come to life. Lance felt the stones, solid again beneath his feet. A small honor, but a rare one for a random visitor.Best of all, it saved a day of frustration by registering a special memory for a lifetime. Lance felt redeemed as he fell into bed with his confidence restored. You can listen for better possibilities in every moment, and patience and persistence helps. But when you feel (there it is again...feel) like you haven't arrived where you want to be, keep driving. Even if you have't found your destination on the map.

Lance lingered over his morning coffee at the Quality inn in Franklin PA. It dawned on him that Sunday, on the road, feels like just any other day. Or maybe Sunday on sabbatical, feels just like any other day when there is no "Back to work on Monday" deadline staring him in the face. Are stolen moments of rest in the midst of a grind, sweeter than hours of leisure in the midst of retirement? Context is so important to value. A cup of water in the middle of a hot hike vs a gallon of water sitting in an air conditioned movie theatre. A few gentle words spoken by a total stranger in a strange land vs. the torrents of words heard everyday in the office. A single bird singing in a deep, dark forest vs. the orchestra of sound heard on ant street in any city.

Perhaps the trick is to control the context, not the sound...the signal/noise ratio. Reduce the noise (backgound) and the signal (the intended sound) is perceived to be amplified. Don't just up the volume of the signal. (This is a lesson for so many road techie sound guys that come through Strathmore. If you just lower the background noise, we'll hear your featured singer much better and without pain!) Focusing attention becomes a matter of stripping away distractions, not juicing the message. Whisper to be heard. Mime anything to get attention. Use one word when 50 are being spoken around you.

It was at that moment that Lance understood what he had intuitively constructed with this trip...a chance to strip away the noise of his life so might hear that little voice within that was...him. And there was so much noise in his life, most of it there for a very good reason. But the inability to stop and listen, to stop and think, to stop and see what was new around him...that was gone. And while he though the trip would be about seeking other people's advice on retirement options, the answers he sought may well lie within IF HE COULD ONLY GET TO A PLACE OF STILLNESS AND HEAR THEM.

Lance knew that "place" isn't a real place, at all. There isn't a village, town, city or country capable of conferring tranquility upon us unless we are smart enough to shut up, sit down and pay attention to our own voice. Perhaps, that voice doesn't speak clearly or loudly enough to us when we are young. In the arts, they talk about "finding your own voice" as a writer, a dancer, an artist or a musician. It is what makes one distinct from others. Lance remembered summer trips to Maine, quiet evenings at camp, living with a theatre company and dancing on a dock when he tried to hear that voice, but like prayer, it went unanswered too often. Because the voice wasn't fully there, yet.

Now, it was there..strong and sweet. Whenever he wanted to hear it, it sang out to him. This trip was teaching him to listen to it, to trust it, and to tune out all other noise that distracted him from following it's direction. That would have been a terrifying thought several years ago but now, it is comforting. The imposing, controlling voice of the drillmaster conscience he sees his fellow workers, friends and family listening to, the voice that keeps them safe while they build their life, has left his head. While others march to a drummer intent on keeping them on the safe road, his voice is pulling him off and into the unexplored woods on either side of the highway. Today, he can go into those woods and see what's there.