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.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
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."
"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."
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, July 26, 2010
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.
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.
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