I Need Help

"I Need Help"

That was the subject of an email I sent a couple weeks ago to the SmallBox leadership team. I'd had a tough week. My stress levels had been high for several months, along with my blood pressure. Various health issues were perking up asking for attention. I was ending every day pretty wiped out. Things had to change. 

Although I often tell my team that they should ask for help I'm not very good practicing what I preach. The craziness of reinventing SmallBox along with numerous other commitments pushed me to a breaking point and I had no choice but to reach out for help. The problem is that I had waited too long. It had already negatively affected my health and happiness. I shouldn't have waited. I was becoming a "heroic worker".

My pride was getting in the way. Asking for help requires vulnerability which is seen in our culture as a weakness. Of course, asking for help isn't a weakness but I still struggle with that cultural construct every day. 

Asking for help means you can't do it all, you have limits and you are not a superhero. This is a truth we all know but many of us buy into the illusion that we can do it all. That we can say "yes" to whatever is asked of us. We also live with the fear of admitting that we can't do it all- appearing weak. The question becomes, what wins? Too often fear and illusion trump the truth.

There are limits to our abilities. We all need help. Hopefully I get better at asking for it. 

Growth Is Annoying

“ I want to grow” I’ve said it many times. But do I really want to grow or do I just want the byproduct of growth? When it’s happening I feel sore and a little beat up. I don’t look forward to it. If I could I would probably just leap to what’s next. But growth is in the way.

“Growth spurt”. When this happens to kids you can see it, measure it. But as an adult it is hard to measure growth. For instance, in my life right now I'm struggling with vision in some areas, business things mostly. Moving between clarity and confusion on a daily basis. Maybe I’m growing. But it’s hard to tell in the moment. In the past when I’ve looked back on these times I saw growth. 

I know, I know. This is how you learn, this is how you go from good to great. I get all that. But it doesn’t make it any easier. It still sucks when you're in it.

In Ed Catmull’s book “Creativity Inc” he talked about the tunnel. He explained that the creative process is like going into a long tunnel and the only reason you keep going is because you have been in tunnels before and know they have an end. I feel like I’m in a tunnel now. But like Ed's story, I've been here before so I'm not too freaked out. 

But I will say that sometimes I can feel a little manic during these tunnel times. Oscillating between highs and lows. I can feel like a car stuck in the mud suddenly sputtering forward. It’s not just a mental thing, it’s all of my energy. 

When you start working out they (those trainer people) tell you to take off a day in-beween workouts. To let your body rest, for muscles to build. What if our mind needed similar intervals of activity and rest? It's basically a muscle, right? Maybe these stops and starts are natural and healthy. Light and dark, winter and summer. Growth may work in a similar way- stops and starts. A cycle. Maybe I can come to see in the stops a natural cadence, something to expect and respect. Maybe then I will see the beauty in the process of growth. But right now it's just annoying.

Playing Chess With My Dad

I played chess with my Dad for the last time over Christmas break. He had trouble remembering which color he was. He had forgotten how a knight moves. I worked to simplify the game by removing all but a few pieces on each side. But I couldn’t bring myself to win and I found an excuse to end the game early. 

I heard from my Mom that Dad qualified for hospice this weekend. We had moved him into the dinning room about 18 months ago. It made life a lot easier for everyone. Getting up and down the steps was an ordeal and my Mom was already dealing with bad hips. A motorized bed and chair helps move my Dad around. He just doesn’t move much anymore.

My Dad has been living with Parkinson’s Disease for about 25 years. Sometimes he fought it, sometimes he accepted it and sometimes it even made him a better man. Calmer, more apt to listen than talk. But mostly Parkinson’s wore him down. It stole his vibrant personality, his booming voice – “have a terrific day!” he would shout to his customers on the phone. He would run up a flight of stairs, never walking. He would laugh uncontrollably during family dinners or road trips. He was a full spectrum human being. 

I was home schooled for a year during high school. After being transferred from a lackluster middle school to an accelerated high school I struggled to keep up. Fortunately I was also a year younger than my classmates so taking a year “off” wasn’t such a bad thing. It got me back on track and put me in a better class when I returned. It was during this year at home that I really learned how to play chess (and guitar). My Dad taught me chess in the same way he taught me algebra. He would let me make my moves then talk me through all the things I did right and wrong. It was a frustrating experience as a 14 year old kid but I learned. 

Chess became a constant in our relationship. He would always push me to play a game whenever I visited. Most of the time he would beat me. He read books on Chess and played constantly. Often I would get an advantage on him but then lose my lead as he picked off my pieces one at a time. Always taking time at the end of the game to talk through what happened. He would remember specific setups and moves. I’ve never had that kind of memory. I’m wired more for feelings than specifics. 

As Parkinson’s and age began to wear on his mind I found myself winning more often. What was once a pretty even battle turned in my favor. He took longer and longer to make his moves. I would sometimes lose patience. Even when he was healthy he would play slower than me, taking time to think through every move. After a while I had learned to watch his eyes and follow his thinking. He taught me the value of strategic planning, visioning many moves ahead. I like to think I taught him something about following your gut. 

My Dad savored these moments of focus. He would corner anyone who could play and badger them until they consented to a game. He had several chess sets ready to go throughout the house and a portable set in the car. Always ready to play. I think Chess became a place of solace for my Dad. It kept his mind active and was a welcome escape from the cage his body was becoming. 

During that last time we played Chess I felt the weight of his decline hit me full on. It was a quiet trauma. Later that night he pointed at his grandchildren playing in the living room and asked “who are these people?” He wasn’t angry or upset, just curious. Of course I explained that these “people” were his grandchildren. Then I asked him “do you know who I am?” and he responded “my oldest son”. Which is correct. I was somewhat reassured. I didn't ask him my name. I wasn't ready for that answer. 

I was prepared for my Dad’s physical decline. I knew that was coming. In fact, we had all expected it to happen a lot faster. When he was diagnosed in his early 50s we were told 15 years was the most likely scenario. Heck, Dad was still driving 7 years ago. Although he probably should not have been. But I didn’t really expect his mind to go. His mind had always been so sharp. A constant in my life. His blue eyes seemed to twinkle with intelligence. No conversation was off limits. As a teenager I used to go to his office and talk for hours. He told me the truth about life, no bullshit. He listened to my stories and withheld judgment, offered advice. He cared. 

Losing someone to Parkinson’s is slow motion mourning. The feeling I will have when my Dad passes will probably be a mixture of profound sadness and relief. Maybe even joy. Knowing that he is finally free of that cage, no longer an agile mind trapped in a rigid body. It has been a long goodbye and one that continues. I both dread and anticipate the end. I truly wish him to be at peace. And I can’t imagine my life without him. But I know what kind of life I can live to honor his. And I know I have no time to waste. 

Why The Medium Matters

Some have scratched their heads at the recent vinyl record resurgence. Why would all these “kids” want to spend $20-30 for a record when they can just get it free or cheap online? Isn’t it the same music? Add to this a rediscovery of cassette tapes as a cheap, effective way to release music. Yes, people are buying cassettes again. Even VHS has some diehard fans. Millions of DVDs and CDs are still being made and purchased. Essentially taking digital files and putting them in a box and upping the price. Why not just download the files? There isn’t a real difference in terms of the viewing experience. Why bother with buying the “thing”? Aren’t we trying to de-clutter and get rid of all our stuff?

Here’s the thing, the medium matters. The medium can change the experience, it can make something more “real”. Sure, sometimes the medium is a nostalgic one, it can take you back–listening to cassettes on your Walkman while lying in bed as a teenager. But it isn’t just a nostalgic experience. It is a visceral one. It deepens and expands the experience. I know from years of experience that listening to a vinyl record is altogether a different experience from streaming digital files. Sure, if you blindfolded me I might not be able to tell the difference half the time but that misses the point. My eyes aren’t closed when I listen to a record, I am looking at the jacket or browsing other records to find what’s next. Listening to a record is a tactile, sensory experience. There is no separating the two.

Physical objects can act as bridges, companions and bookmarks. They can bridge our past and present, they can connect our senses, they can bring together people, they travel with us. An effective object demands presence and focus. It whispers in our ears “take care of me and I’ll take care of you.” It is a constant companion as we navigate all the changes in our lives. The object externalizes and bookmarks our journey. Our brains are wired for recognition and struggle with recall. Every object we own has the power to trigger memories that might disappear otherwise. 

Humans have always been fascinated by the flickering of a fire or the song of a bird. We spent millennium finding ways to capture and reproduce those experiences. It wasn’t just to play the experience on repeat but to own it, to touch and feel it. The power of a vinyl record is as much the visual of seeing the sound in those grooves and marveling at how the tiniest diamond in the world could so wonderfully bring a sound back to life! The magic of  “motion pictures” wasn’t just on the screen, it was the film we could hold in our hand, looking at the individual frames, marveling at how they could somehow turn back into motion. We weren’t just looking to capture sound and vision to reproduce it. We had to hold and touch it. We needed to feel it. The medium matters, almost as much as the content it holds. 

Obama Gets Vulnerable

"It’s one of the few regrets of my presidency -- that the rancor and suspicion between the parties has gotten worse instead of better. I have no doubt a president with the gifts of Lincoln or Roosevelt might have better bridged the divide, and I guarantee I’ll keep trying to be better so long as I hold this office."

- President Obama, State Of The Union January 12th 2016
 

In his last State Of The Union speech President Obama did two remarkable things. First, he owned up to failure and secondly he lead with questions not answers. It’s hard to remember the last time a politician, much less a president, owned failure. It speaks to a level of vulnerability that our modern politics doesn’t seem to tolerate. Of course, it helps that Obama isn’t running for office again. 

The image of someone who is “presidential” isn’t far off from the image of a super hero. Someone strong and confident. Completely trustworthy and consistent. If you look at the rise of Donald Trump you see this prototype at work. He never questions himself, he is always right and no-one is as smart as him. His house of cards is built on a foundation of ego and hubris. You can almost see the cape drifting in the wind, connecting magically with his gravity defying hair. 

This model of the “uber” president may have been what we needed in times past. And you can see a nostalgia for “real” America in many who recall, and idealize, leaders like Ronald Reagan. A president that shows strength in the face of the enemy (USSR). Of course Reagan was not that idealized man, he was much more complex.

So if you dig even slightly under the covers you begin to see a different story. Our greatest leaders are remembered as being great mostly because of one or two major accomplishments that outshine their many failures. Ending slavery, winning a war, bringing people out of poverty. They failed constantly and approached their role as leader of our country with great humility. Humility is not in fashion these days. Humility and vulnerability are seen as weaknesses. To be exploited by others. 

But there is great strength in vulnerability. When a leader gets vulnerable those they lead start to feel safe, to be human and vulnerable themselves. It lays the foundation for real human interaction- which is a powerful change agent. So when Obama owned his failure to improve relations between the two parties he immediately made it safe for others to start talking again. Also, when he framed his address around 4 questions the nation must answer in the coming years he distributed ownership of the solutions. It was an implicit admission that he needs our help, that he didn't have the answers. It creates space to explore.

Obama’s State Of The Union was one of his finest moments. Of course, in the heat of presidential politics we've only heard discussion around his veiled critiques of Donald Trump- a bait too tasty for him to resist. I hope in time we will come back to those 4 questions, below, and begin to work together on their answers. I think they are the right questions to ask. I’m proud to have a president that was vulnerable enough to embrace his failures and humble enough to frame a future beyond his term. 

I wish he’d gotten to this place sooner, it feels like Obama is finally getting his sea legs as a president. When you look at the cast of candidates on both sides of the aisle you don’t see anyone yet suited to fill his shoes. Not even Bernie Sanders. 
 

Here are Obama’s 4 Questions:

1. How do we give everyone a fair shot at opportunity and security in this new economy?

2. How do we make technology work for us, and not against us, particularly for urgent challenges such as climate change?

3. How do we keep America safe and lead the world without becoming its policemen?

4. How can we make our politics reflect the best of us, not the worst?