The I-Method?

While relatively accustomed and accomplished at public speaking in his daily work, during his life on the road Lance's primary source of learning was asking questions of strangers. It was harder than he expected but yielded the highest quality experiences of his trip. Once engaged, Lance sensed when to drill down and when to back off in his daily conversation with strangers. It was at once, thrilling, dangerous and rewarding. It was also the only strategy available since preaching and selling were likely to get him ridden out of town on a rail. (OK, that's anachronistic...how about Un-friended on Facebook?)

Excellent dancing requires reading the subtle directional cues and weight shifts of one's partner as well as feeling the dynamic flow of the music. Likewise, Lance found that if the variable of time was open-ended and external distractions were minimized, the potential depth of conversations became vast. Life dreams, tragedies, hopes, victories, doubts, even surprising secrets played out in almost every successful conversation he initiated. He could distinctly feel when his questions were opening doors that had been long closed. Lance instinctively knew when to back out, offer his own answers to build transparency and trust, and how to disengage with respect showing gratitude for sharing. Ironically, truths told to A Stranger on the Greyhound Bus could be surprisingly profound because the likelihood of future encounters are slim.

Which got Lance thinking, what if that Inquisitive Method (I-Method) can come back with him to his home and workplace cultures? He asked himself "What can well formed, strategically targeted, equisitely timed questions accomplish better than one's natural tendency to spout declarative statements and opinions?

A lot. But questions come in many flavors.

TELL ME. The traditional function of questions is to illicit new information, primarily for the benefit of the asker. What time is dinner? When will the report be ready? What is this meeting about? How did you spend your budget? These are all legitimate inquiries intended to inform the asker and enable them to make their own decisions. If the answers are within a prescribed boundary of reason, such communication is useful, nonthreatening and mutually satisfying.

GOTCHA. In the public forum, another form of questions often targeted at public officials, barely masks the opinion of the inquisitor. This is an attempt to create controversy or to wedge another voice onto the table of public opinion. Lance has seen countless examples during his past legislative and governmental adventures where fully loaded statements were topped off with a question mark. No one was fooled and the message remembered as the "zing" intended by the asker, not the response given by the askee.

Such statements in the form of questions are clearly visible in some meetings when the risks of voicing clear and unambiguous disapproval is too great. The "coup de grace" can be delivered in the form of a question usually dripping with cynicism. Again, the answer is irrelevant since the value proposition of the asker is now obvious, but it leaves the convenient backdoor if things go array of "Hey, I was just asking."

WHAT IF. A third form of questions are those less intended to inform the asker, but more to lead the other person toward their own new realizations and conclusions. This is the "Inquisitive Method" Lance wanted to perfect, both in the work and family setting. He has long known that in a leadership workshop, where the growth of the individual is paramount over the accomplishment of a task, such questions are the key to effective adult learning. It is the role of the facilitator (One Who Makes Learning Easy) to provide structure and process to group interactions so everyone can do their best thinking and the group can make high quality decisions in a collaborative manner.

Framing these questions is an art. The right questions elicit growth in others because, by their very nature, they assume the person is already capable of self-examination and retains full control and responsibility over their future actions. No power is transferred, regardless of the answer. No implication exists that there is one right answer and only asker knows it. No consequence awaits beyond the other person's empowerment. NOTE: To do this, the facilitator must remain content neutral, dedicated to going wherever the answer leads, and dispassionate about the quality of the response regardless of their own values.

Admittedly, such self-enforced neutrality makes the I-Method somewhat problematic for the Parent or the Boss, both of whom harbor views well-known to their constituents. But as he was now approaching the Faculty Phase of Life, Lance saw his primary leadership role may well be to insure the long-term sustainability of the enterprise by nurturing future leadership. This "long view" is not clearly visible to most rising employees still seeking to establish their credentials. Likewise, Lance saw most of his younger employees were just beginning to appreciate the need for retirement accounts, 401k's and lifetime health insurance. Ah, to be young again, Lance thought, when Invincibility is presumed. Only now he could see that once you hit the point in life where you are "no longer auditioning", one's view changes substantially.

Back at work, with the completion of five years of successful operations in the new facility, the training wheels were coming off. Even before he left on sabbatical, Lance had seen his increasingly competent staff now required enablement, not control. Their ability to define problems, assess resources, collaborate with others, make decisions and execute them are the curriculum of life. The same is true for young adults entering the world of work. Lance knew that questions prick the creative mind and linger much longer than sermons. In his many roles as Father, Boss and Workshop leader he had his own clear values and opinions, as any aware and involved citizen must. But when the focus is on the growth of others, he knew no amount of telling or selling motivates internal growth and change like a well-placed, well-timed question.

Lance generated a list of I-Questions on one of his longer drives across Ohio. (The endless corn fields offered little distraction...)

How's that (behavior) workin' for you?
Why does this matter to you?
What do you think you should do about it?
What else could you do?
How will you know if you succeed?
What role can you best play in this?
What help might you need?
What have you learned here?
What could you do differently next time?

Lance noted that all the questions focused on what YOU can do, not what I can do or OTHERS can do. Clearly, every time the subject changed to someone else, the opportunity to defer, delegate, or deny responsibility increased. The monkey (problems) could never jump to someone else's back if the action alternatives resided squarely on the shoulders of the person being asked the questions. If one does this enough, presumably colleagues will begin to anticipate these questions and proactively think in terms of their answers without even being asked. Good questions must be formulated without expectation of providing "the right answers." Lance could see obvious benefits: it would reward taking responsibility for oneself, assuming accountability for one's outcomes, enhance creativity in problem solving and reinforce the inevitable need for collaboration to make progress as an institution.

It could also piss people off, Lance admitted. But after that, they're still left with the integrity and effectiveness of their answers...or non-answers. Once the question is launched, if it is the right one, it can't be ignored. Looking for the best questions, loaded with honesty and polished with respect, seemed to be a quest Lance could undertake.

He invites all suggestions. What are some of the best questions anyone ever asked you that shaped your choices?

Angels Among Us

Lance has regretfully been on a sabbatical from his blog since returning home at the end of July. You may remember he drove straight through from Memphis to Silver Spring after losing his front bumper, grill and engine pan to a errant piece of truck tread. He arrived home to dismal tales of the heat, humidity and power outages that plagued his brave children throughout July. Within days, he packed up his youngest son and drove off to Maryland Leadership Workshops at Washington College in Chestertown, MD on the Eastern Shore where he spent two days reliving his own workshop experience 40 years earlier at that very same college campus.

The following week, the entire family headed for the blessed cool and green of Bar Harbor, Maine for their annual pilgrimage and then a week at even cooler, greener Moosehead Lake, in the North Woods. (There is a "Maine 2010 Slide Show" and a "MLW Slide Show" complete with music, always available on his MacBook Pro for the truly curious. Come to think of it, if a picture is truly worth a thousand words, Lance "video-blogged" his ever-lovin' heart out in August!)

Still, why Lance didn't feel the need to write during this month long "Lance With Family" chapter of his sabbatical is a mystery. It would be easy to say he filled up his blogging time with the inevitable responsibilities of providing food, housing and entertainment for 8 people. It's hard to meaningfully reflect on cosmic issues when you're playing tour guide and hotelier. But one makes time for what is important, even in Maine.

Or, it might simply be because he had taken a public oath NOT to be on the computer in Maine, in the fervent hope that his video game addicted children would take the same pledge of computer abstinence (which they did!)

But, on a deeper level, he ultimately surmised that living a full month being fully present with his family was a wiser use of this precious time than sitting in a corner, pounding away on a keyboard, mumbling things like "Dear Diary..."

So, here he is now, on the last day of August 2010. It is also the first day of REAL LIFE, as most people know it. School started today. Summer ended and traffic jams reflected the return of the workforce to their daily commute patterns. Surprisingly, Lance found himself up and out by 7:00 AM rushing to deliver his son to high school when the school bus failed to show up.

Quickly, Lance decided such crack o' dawn heroics deserved a trip to Panera, his old workaday morning haunt, as a reward for such fast response to a crisis. Besides, it represented a gentle nudge back into the usual morning routine of his past 15 years at a different Panera in search of pre-work solitude. This time, he didn't have to be at work by 9:00 AM so the prospect of a toasted whole wheat bagel, endless Hazelnut coffee, and the morning paper beckoned suggestively.

It's worthwhile pausing here to remind the gentle reader that, if nothing else, Lance's trip had taught him the value and magic of the unintended encounter, the serendipitous event, the karma net that is always fishing for the rare and wonderful better-than-one-could-ever-have-planned-moment. Lance once compared it to walking through water on stones hidden beneath the surface, ever guided sure-footed and confidently toward a new destination on the other side. Lance now trusted in such adventures and accepted them as the norm when living "The Summoned Life" instead of "The Well-Planned Life."

To review, in the Summoned Life, each day is a journey wherein adventure is just around the corner, but always out of sight. Here, there is an open-ended time frame, flexible routes to travel, and progress can't be measured until the morning after. Conversely, In the Well-Planned Life, each day is a strategic trip with a predictable destination, strict timetables, a a route direction designed explicitly to avoid detours, and a slew of defined outcomes to measure forward progress.

Unfortunately, most of us work very hard to make our life well-planned when we should be working harder to leave it open to fates and destinies we can't predict. Among the treasures tp be gleaned are love, luck, wonder, miracles and surprises. The critical difference is, when serendipity knocks, do you give yourself permission to open the door and chat? The hardest part is actually believing...even knowing, it will knock. Today, it knocked.

And so it came to pass, while Lance was standing in line for his bagel and coffee, he bumped into a friend he'd been meaning to call since he had started his sabbatical two months ago. They sat down in a booth and what started as a polite and inconsequential conversation, soon turned into a no holds barred, straight forward, compellingly honest, self-revelatory purge of his journey, it's meaning, roads-not-taken, and mysteries yet to be explored. It went on for two hours. Amazingly, it was fully mutual. For every admission, regret, joy or longing Lance revealed, his friend had a complementary, technicolor, visionary, all-consuming passion equally aligned as if living in a parallel universe. How did that happen? What made it such a right place, time, person thing? One thing was for certain. Lance didn't have to run off this time. That made all the difference. We need time to dwell, reflect, imagine, play, invent, and conceptually dance. We need time to hear our own thoughts, and the thoughts of others and then take them to the next plane of possibility. If there is such a thing as a quantum leap forward in a friendship, this was it. Unplanned. Unforeseen. Unprecedented.

But not unexpected. During the month of July he spent with family, the most dramatic change he noticed Lance was the increased number of significant conversations he had with his family simply because he was no longer distracted or interrupted. Just being there, willing to listen to someone, sends a message that no time conscious, schedule-driven parent or friend can fake. And when that moment is given its full measure, Lance discovered, most people actually want to talk. And when Lance learned to swallow his immediate impulse to respond, to solve or to fix the problems, they talked even more. Irt turns out a good listener, listens.

With strangers on the road, Lance had been surprised with his own struggle to make conversation. One night in a motel room in North Carolina, he carefully listed the steps needed to engage a stranger, dispel fear, build trust, establish mutual interest, seek information, and then gently disengage and exit. In his professional role back at work, he could always fallback on his institutional context with strangers. They were on his turf and he held the cards. Same thing held true in workshop settings where he routinely stood in front of fifty Type A strangers. But Lance always controlled the agenda.

But on the road, he had no portfolio, no standing, no constituency and nothing to build on. Other than mundane topics like the weather, the opening encounter was always delicate. Politics, the economy, even TV shows and movies were iffy propositions with strangers, especially when the culture was small town and a guy wandering around with no obvious purpose couldn't be normal. Caution won.

Lance soon discovered with men, seeking directions or local information was always a safe bet. Guys like to provide answers and solve problems. Women, however, were tricky. After overcoming the initial fear for their own safety (no small thing with a male stranger) they seemed to respond best when protected by a professional role...waitress, hotel clerk, visitors center guide, etc. Starting a conversation with a single woman, out of a workplace context, was terrifying, both for the women and for Lance. Handing his crafty Three Questions card to a waitresses sometimes earned him only suspicious looks and a quick exit. Some even handed it right back like it was a bank robber's note to a teller. Strange. Lance hadn't expected to have such a hard time connecting,

But now, this morning's conversation was simply extraordinary. There was a pre-existing friendship, of course. But now Lance was able to listen more deeply than before his journey. Perhaps, he had more quality thoughts to share, new perspectives on life or a greater capacity to empathize with someone else's journey, in light of his own. Perhaps, for the first time, he finally took enough time to savor the many thoughts, dreams and even life plots they invented. Whatever the reason, he came away more exhilarated, renewed and confident of his relationship to this person than ever before.

There are moments when Life takes us by the shoulders and shakes us alive, again. To still be able to connect so vividly and deeply is a blessing Lance had forgotten. It reminded him that there are angels and they walk among us every day. We just have to stop and make time to listen to them.

If A Tree Falls...

Most nights, there is a moment just before sleep when Lance feels very alone. Though tempted to suggest that everyone feels this, or at least all men do if truly honest about their frailties, he nevertheless resisted the generalization because it added nothing to its veracity. He knew what he felt and even if he was the only one on earth who experienced it, it was real enough to him. Lance didn't read it as sadness, as in loss, or as regret, as in a mistaken life choice. He just took it as a simple fact of his life which, despite the constant presence of family and friends, persisted deep in his chest like a low hum of an engine in the far distance. During the day, the rowdy noise of work, parental responsibilities and social life easily blocked out the hum, but at night, in that quietest of moments, it returned like a one note song of deep loneliness.

The feeling wasn't one of fear or failure. Lance had felt the chilling fear of failure on several occasions. His first marriage had ended within two years and during the separation, the conflict made him physically sick. "Heartache" perfectly described that toxic combination of despair and abandonment. And while he had no regrets about the decision to divorce, he lost weight, questioned his professional abilities and wondered out loud if he was "broken" and never cutout for a committed relationship. He was haunted by being the rejected party and nothing would ever change that. He still has never gotten over an instinctual skepticism when someone says "I love you" to him. Yet, somehow, in his secret self, Lance sees himself as a wild romantic. The kind that wants to romp through a field, sing out loud at inappropriate moments, shout his heart's longings to the heavens or just sit in front of a fire, wordlessly present with another soul. To fail was not something he expected.

Failure haunted him again in the late 90's during the fierce funding battles fought over the building of the arts center. Lance endured many sleepless nights filled with the darkest of dread and technicolor visions of imminent doom. He had witnessed the very real prospect the whole Concert Hall project could stop in its tracks because of some random, short-term political act by any number of politicians who would rather trade the future promise of great music for a momentary victory over an adversary. The scenario loomed large for over three years. When at last, on the day the project funding was in the balance, Lance stood alone in the government chambers listening to a debate more about the worries than the wonder of what could soon rise on that vacant hillside. Watching the matter go right down to the last minute, Lance watched the vote, stepped out into the hallway outside of the chambers and suddenly, outside the window, torrential rain, thunder and lighting crashed down from heaven. It was poetic - a dream born in a storm. But Lance remembered that fear of failure long after. It was palpable.

Lance's aforementioned feelings at night were not fear of failure. This was a profound loneliness. The kind you can't easily talk about. The kind that cuts through all the humanity around us and whispers quietly, "You are still alone." No matter what wives, friends,. pastors and family profess, that was a truth Lance was coming to accept in his older years. A young man can't hear it...the trumpeting of his presumed immortality drowns out the voice. He is invincible, incorrigible, indomitable, the young man, always in a headlong rush to test his powers, challenges authority, fall in and out of love. and slay all the dragons in sight. Even failures are brushed off as temporary set-backs. Lonely is not the sound to which young man falls asleep. His is sound is more like a drum cadence, calling him to arms the next day.

But somewhere around 50, the superman illusions melt and there is an undeniable record of life one has acquired. Not a bad record actually, Lance's was filled with achievements and adventures, but a growing sense of "Who is it all for?" began to prick at his thoughts. Long fascinated by the existential argument "If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, did it happen", Lance's version went more like this: "If a tree falls in a forest and you are the only one who hears it, did it happen?" If you are the only one experiencing a rainbow, and there is no one there to share it, what is the point? With whom had he shared those adventures and accomplishments? Who listened when his doubts outnumbered his confidence. Who could he brag to and not offend? Who could appreciate the connection between lessons learned and lessons taught? Must the answer be no one?

So often, Lance thought, there was no one sharing his rainbows or his thunderstorms. Everyone around him was preoccupied with their own lives, their own struggles, their own weather. He must be no different. To whom did he offer such open-ended listening, acceptance and unconditional acceptance? Actually, there were several people he had extended open invitations into various aspects of his life, but rarely were they accepted. Besides, hadn't he urged each of them to become more independent, self-sufficient, even self-actualized? Hadn't he cheered their success, advanced their careers, empowered, emboldened and encouraged their creative emergence? Of course he had, just as others had done for him.

But now, he simply felt alone in that dark moment before sleep. Perhaps, this is just the "exit music" everyone hears as they descend the arc of life. Despite erstwhile protestations to the contrary by others whenever he alluded to his aging state, there was something new in his perception of time, life and self that came from a place of experience and wisdom. There was a new satisfaction with encountering present life instead of driving it. Of embracing those opportunities which presented themselves instead of waiting for the best of the future. Of living the Summoned Life.

But that didn't stop him from hoping someone would occasionally reach out, take his hand, and just be with him in his moments. Someone who would also hear the tree fall. Maybe the solitude would melt, too.

P.S. Keep this to yourself, please. Lance asked me not to tell anyone about this, you know, being a guy and everything.

The Touch

One of the three questions Lance wrote on the back of his "On The Road" business card was "How to assure happiness after 60." The old man sitting in the village green of the small town Lance was exploring, seemed wistful, wise and unafraid to venture into such a private matter with a total stranger. Although his first reaction was cautionary, as if to question the sincerity of this stranger's motive, but Lance quickly unveiled the whole story of his trip, its intent, and some of the advice he had heard from others. Apparently it was enough to satisfy the man, so after a minute of reflection, he began:

"I agree with what others have already told you. Stay active, pursue your dreams and pay attention to family. But there's something more, something no one ever talks about. Something equally life sustaining and yet so simple, it's almost invisible in our daily lives...at least until isn't there anymore. I don't know when it left my life. As a young man I was the kinda guy who reached out to most people easily, making friends and social relationships without even thinking, without trying to impress folks. I had plenty of girlfriends, two wives, lots of children, a passel of in-laws and good co-workers on the job.

I spent my whole life not just surrounded by, but engaged with hundreds of people. Their energy, their adventures, their dreams, even their failures sustained me whenever I felt inadequate. Our futures seemed inextricably bound together, so each day always began with a inexhaustible list of things to do, people to see, places to go. The importance of my being was validated in some small way by every person who ever greeted me, needed my help or wanted me as a friend. Even folks who were mad at me or just wanted to vent, gave momentary purpose to my life.

But I was always conscious of the physical space around me. It was a shell, permeable to sound and light. Looking out from within my shell, everything outside could have been a 3 D movie. I could watch and know things were happening around me. I knew it was all real. But unless someone broke the shell, now and then, with a gentle hand on my shoulder, a brief hug, a firm handshake, a soft kiss or simply held my hand once a day, I wasn't a whole person. You see, touching matters. And the older you get, the less you'll be touched. Just a single touch can be life-giving. Life without touch is hell.

Now, I don't believe in all that hocus pocus electricity in the hands stuff. And I'm not sayin' sexual intent is the point (though it can be healthy at regular intervals!) And, there certainly are plenty of people I have no interest in touching or being touched by in this world. Still, a physical touch is uniquely awakening to the soul. At it's least, it is irrefutable evidence we are still alive in the corporeal sense. It acknowledges our very being in direct relation to another living being. At it's best, it undeniably coveys a certain and reassuring trust between two people even words can't describe. It recharges our connection to the world and our
place in the present.

As I watched my father and mother lie dying, I knew the only connection they had left to life was the touch of my hand. Beyond sight, smell, and sound, touch speaks its own language of caring. And the absence of touch is an undeniable message in and of itself. As I watched my children grow up, they became increasingly reluctant to touch their parents, especially in the presence of others. As I watched couples fall in and then out of love, the first thing to go was touching. And the sad fact is, as people get older, they are touched less often, except out of pity or as a possession needing to be moved about. Sometimes, when there are no words, only a touch will do. No one doesn't need to be touched and no one can live without it.

It also matters who initiates the touch. Touching someone else is good, but being touched by someone is vital. Unfortunately we can't tactfully ask to be touched by others without appearing needy or profane. As a direct request, it almost sounds pathetic. Yet when someone we care about chooses to touch us, the message we get is one of respect, friendship, connection and is uniquely life-affirming. And the message we get when there is no touch by is distance, fear, alienation or apathy...the state of not caring. Even when drowned in eloquent words of gratitude or tribute, only meaning-filled, direct contact speaks pure truth.

So, pursue your hobbies, move to a warmer climate, work until you drop...but if you aren't touched and touching every day of your life, it all might just be a movie, my young friend."

The Guardians

Lance brought his youngest son to Maryland Leadership Workshops at Washington College on Sunday for the same week-long workshop experience that was so pivotal in his formative teenage years some 43 years ago. But his secondary interest, and why he stayed three days being ignored by his son (no one wants their DAD on site...) was to recapture the culture, curriculum and spirit of the present day staff in preparation for assuming the Presidency of the new Board of Directors they were building in the Fall. Three days wandering around a college campus attending classes, morning sing, eating in the cafeteria and sleeping in the dorms was like boot camp for a 60 year old. But it did exactly what lance wanted it to do. It brought back the WHY of this remarkable enterprise and rekindled a passion, not just an appreciation, of what MLW does and how unique it is. The leader of this leadership staff is a dedicated young lawyer who has made this his life for the past 15 years and he needs help. From one of many discussions with him, Lance tripped over this question.

Who owns a non-profit? The textbook answer is the Board of Directors, not the staff. But those who have served on Boards know the President, CEO or Executive Director are both the public face and daily leader of the enterprise. The President or Chair of the Board of Directors generally serves 1-3 years and must (at least) exemplify the commitment the institution asks of all Board Members, but these duties are limited to fiduciary and mission oversight and sometimes, annual fundraising activities. Boards can be weak or strong, and the enterprise will still go on if staff leadership is talented. All of this is classic textbook material.

But who owns the soul of a non-profit? Lance is becoming convinced that every non-profit needs a vested group of individuals (The Guardians) who have the deepest passion and conviction to see the institution survive. They may or may not be elected. They may or may not have ever been staff members, Board members or donors. They must have no conflict of interest whereby their primary motivation is self-interest or profit. They must be in love with the mission and honor the impact it has on society. They must have a long-term point of view regarding the sustainability of the mission and be willing to bring whatever appropriate resources they command to the table without expecting anything more than timely and modest recognition. Above all, they do not require visibility nor office to support their beloved institution. The best are rarely seen or heard, but they are always watching and available.

Lance had never heard about the existence of such a body of enablers. Yet, when he stopped to think "Who owns the soul of a non-profit" he could name a discreet set of individuals who protect the legacy, the heart, the essence of almost every non-profit of which he had ever been part. Never identified, rarely elected or appointed, but quietly at the center of critical decisions made in the shadows of the formal structure, they seemed to be the unspoken key to managing change, long-term sustainability and the organizations arc of growth over decades. And when there was no such set of Guardians, the non-profit lurched from growth to stagnancy, from profit to debt and from program to program like a storm tossed ship, eventually crashing on the rocks.

Who are these Guardians? Lance could name them at his church. He could name them at work. He could name them at MLW. He could name them at Leadership Maryland. In several of the County leadership programs with whom he worked, he could name them. Yet strangely, none of these people ever applied, were elected, or lobbied to be Guardians. All they did was perform consistently, self-lessly and with conviction on behalf of the non-profit when they most needed it. In profile, they tend to be the ones who stick around longer than most, who accept an invitation to step up when forthcoming, and whose advice is unfailingly constructive, absent any whiff of private agendas. When the organization hit a crisis, they were ready, aware, and concerned. They stand up, if needed, to speak to the problem at hand, always urging unity and forward motion. They are independent, professionally secure, experienced, wise and remarkably humble. Who wouldn't want such a group of protectors as the wind beneath their non-profit's wings?

Guardians. Lance believed he had tripped over a distinct and invisible layer of organizational reality, one which needed to stay in the background, but if identified, nurtured and targeted could contribute mightily to the success of any enterprise. Never in control, but always a productive influence, perhaps they are the ones who own the soul of the non-profit they love. Someone has to or it will grow weak and rudderless over time and under many masters. Non-profits are nothing more than their impact on the people they empower. And those who realize the value of that empowerment in their own lives, make the best Guardians.

Lance knew it was time to get on the road again because he had found what he came for. Another purpose in his life. Be a Guardian.

Payback Time - 43 Years Later

It was a hot summer day in 1967 on the campus of Washington College in Chestertown, Maryland. Following the advice of his high school student council advisor, a man he revered for so many reasons, Lance found himself in an auditorium with a hundred other rising juniors, chanting "La La Pops! La La Pops!" a motley tribute to La La, one of the staff leaders of his group. The din in the steamy room of six robust groups trying to outshout each other was both ear shattering and deliciously irreverent. Urged on by staff, barely older themselves, this was just the opening act in a week of growth and self-realization beyond anything Lance had ever known. It was Maryland Leadership Workshops. And he was completely at home.

On a somewhat a cooler summer day some 43 years later, Lance returned to that exact room (WITH air conditioning this time) and heard the same din, this time as the father of a delegate. He was on a mission to create a stronger foundation and Board of Directors to sustain MLW far into the future. In those intervening years, Lance rose from delegate to staff, to Program Director to become the first elected President when they finally incorporated. After about 12 years, he left MLW to work with several adult leadership programs throughout Maryland. The MLW program, bless its heart, continued under several leaders after him, but the financial and political stresses of this era were more profound than one heroic person and a perpetually young staff could handle for long. So, Lance came back to finish what he had started four decades ago.
ts legacy. (think akin to a Kunta Kinte baptismal rite of passage into adulthood.) Since he was already signed on to strengthen MLW this year and had time to kill on sabbatical, he chose to stay at the program for two days getting reacquainted with the distinctive peer teaching model and contemporary curriculum.

Lance remembered how struck he was that first summer at meeting people who spoke his language. These were smart, articulate, self-aware kids who had felt the inherent loneliness of leadership, even at their young age, but couldn't escape the rush of being at the center of action and change. Lance had been elected 9th, 10th, and Senior Class president and President Pro Tem of the Student Senate in the 11th grade. He had never NOT been active in leadership activities. At MLW, he was in community with his peers from across the State and the skills sets they admired came easily to him. Problem solving, communications, group dynamics, conflict resolution...these were the building blocks of this society and music to his ears. And while many of his peers back at school chided him for "selling out", Lance was consumed with the next dance, food drive, student convention or school board petition.

But at MLW, leadership was spoken here. Lance carried it forward to his first job running the Maryland Association of Student Councils at the Maryland State Department of Education and later, his life long association with Leadership Montgomery, Leadership Maryland and a handful of other adult county leadership programs. It was a life changing week, and while he hardly expected it would do the same for his youngest son, at least he offered the opportunity. Lance saw his life rotate through arts, leadership and administration at various times, but they all fed off and complimented to each other. But none of this was new.

What was new was the confidence he had in himself now to make a real contribution back for the life MLW had given him. Tomorrow would be the first step on that road. A 43 year long road that circled back to this place. Strange, Lance thought, how life literally comes full circle.

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.