Today is New Year's eve.
There was a time when I wanted to celebrate the coming in of another number we use at the end of our date. It's a new beginning, a new opportunity. People make resolutions to break a habit only to revert to old ways within the first 2 weeks.
I haven't made resolutions for over 10 years. I make pacts with myself. Pacts can come at any time of the year. Pacts are like promises. No one likes to break a promise, especially with oneself. If you do, you know about it right away and you feel like crap afterwards.
Last night, my wife asked if I wanted to anything special to commemorate the passing of another cycle. I prefer to celebrate success. The end of a year is not a success. It happens whether we want it to or not.
Success is achieving one's goals. One of my pacts is based on attaining a goal. The goal is hard. Harder than I ever thought possible. I have not achieved it so I don't want to celebrate yet. The coming of a new year does not wipe my goal away.
And now that we're at the dawn of a new number, it's time to plan out new goals. Setting annual goals is something I started doing last year. It kept me focused in a distractable world.
The end of the year gives us a chance to reflect what we've accomplished over the past 365 days and what we want to achieve over the next 12 months.
I write out 5 specific goals that are actionable, measurable, realistic, understandable and beyond normalcy. My goals are my own. They are hard. They are in my control and they keep me on track for my longer term vision.
I break my annual goals into 3 month chewable bites. These bites are smaller goals within the annual objectives. I keep a copy of my goals close by and refer to them daily.
It's the end of another year. So what! I am not celebrating until I reach my 2014 goal. And now I have to layer on a new set.
It's gonna be fun!
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Can't is a four letter word
I hate the word can't!
It's one of those four letter words that I don't want my kids to say.
It's not so much the word that bothers me. It's the line of thinking behind it.
Can't tells me that you've hit a brick wall. You're a bit skeptical about a potential outcome or activity. It generally means you've weighed all that you understand and the desired result is impossible.
The key word to the above sentence is "understand". Limiting beliefs pins our understanding to the ground. It puts us at a disadvantage because we only have one perspective and many times it's the only one we consider.
Knowing what we don't know is one of the keys to get passed our own challenges.
The next time you're faced with an impossible task, instead of coming to the conclusion that you can't do it, ask yourself how can you do it.
Saying something like "I can't afford a Porsche" is closed minded. End of story. End of thinking.
A different way to phrase the same challenge is, "What can I do to afford a Porsche?". That'll get the wheels turning in your brain. You'll go down a rabbit hole of possibilities.
Let me detail out my own thinking of how I could afford a Porsche:
Can I subscribe to any websites promoting used Porsche?
Is there a year that I want more than another?
Is there a type of Porsche that I want?
Do I know any other Porsche owners?
Porsche owners probably know other Porsche owners.
I should meet them all in my area. Someday they may want to sell.
If I want a new Porsche, it means I need to find throw away money to do that.
What do I have to do to make an extra $10,000 after tax income a year knowing that in 8 years I'll pay cash for my baby?
It's an extra $200 a week. So instead of watching TV for the next 8 years in my free time, what can I do extra, on the side, to build on my dream to own one of the world's finest automobiles.
I have a kick ass lawn-mower. I could find 5 lawns to mow for $40 each.
Kids sports always need officials. They pay the officials. I like sports. I could officiate my favourite ones on weekends.
That's a lot of work. And most people don't want to do more work. It's easier to numb their brains while they watch the latest episode of their favourite TV show while they say, "I can't afford a Porsche".
Are you willing to work for what you really want? It's that simple.
It's one of those four letter words that I don't want my kids to say.
It's not so much the word that bothers me. It's the line of thinking behind it.
Can't tells me that you've hit a brick wall. You're a bit skeptical about a potential outcome or activity. It generally means you've weighed all that you understand and the desired result is impossible.
The key word to the above sentence is "understand". Limiting beliefs pins our understanding to the ground. It puts us at a disadvantage because we only have one perspective and many times it's the only one we consider.
Knowing what we don't know is one of the keys to get passed our own challenges.
The next time you're faced with an impossible task, instead of coming to the conclusion that you can't do it, ask yourself how can you do it.
Saying something like "I can't afford a Porsche" is closed minded. End of story. End of thinking.
A different way to phrase the same challenge is, "What can I do to afford a Porsche?". That'll get the wheels turning in your brain. You'll go down a rabbit hole of possibilities.
Let me detail out my own thinking of how I could afford a Porsche:
Can I subscribe to any websites promoting used Porsche?
Is there a year that I want more than another?
Is there a type of Porsche that I want?
Do I know any other Porsche owners?
Porsche owners probably know other Porsche owners.
I should meet them all in my area. Someday they may want to sell.
If I want a new Porsche, it means I need to find throw away money to do that.
What do I have to do to make an extra $10,000 after tax income a year knowing that in 8 years I'll pay cash for my baby?
It's an extra $200 a week. So instead of watching TV for the next 8 years in my free time, what can I do extra, on the side, to build on my dream to own one of the world's finest automobiles.
I have a kick ass lawn-mower. I could find 5 lawns to mow for $40 each.
Kids sports always need officials. They pay the officials. I like sports. I could officiate my favourite ones on weekends.
That's a lot of work. And most people don't want to do more work. It's easier to numb their brains while they watch the latest episode of their favourite TV show while they say, "I can't afford a Porsche".
Are you willing to work for what you really want? It's that simple.
Do you want to be another statistic?
I was reading about standard deviations and normal distributions yesterday when I got hit with an ah-ha moment. Here's what I know about normal distribution. The top of the curve in the centre is the mean or the average of all data points plotted on a graph.
In normal distribution, there are approximately 34% of all data points to the left and 34% of all data points to the right of one standard deviation from the mean. Going out two standard deviations from the mean, you will find a total approximately 48% to each side of the mean.
Passed two standard deviations, there is only about 2% on each side.
Whew, that's heavy statistical lifting. To make it simple. Look at the graph to the right. Each white line represents a standard deviation from the middle. If we were looking at businesses revenues against customer loyalty, you would find a similar type of curve. What got me excited was the curve explained that only 2% of businesses would be wildly successful while the 96% cry in mediocrity about the economy. And the remaining 2% would be so bad, their voices would be lost as would their businesses.
It explains why 50% of businesses fail in the first two years of opening. If you're on the left side of this curve, customer loyalty is lower than average and thus, you're losing ground everyday you open your doors.
It also explained why about 97% of airlines worldwide fail. Only 3% were truly remarkable to stay in business. Think Virgin, Southwest Airlines and WestJet.
Most businesses track their sales growth year over year. They expect greater than average increases in growth but aren't willing to make greater than average sacrifices. Average is bad. It's what everyone else has and it's where everyone else competes.
Jim Collins states that the enemy of great is good. To be good is not enough in our hyper competitive market where customers can order product at the click of a mouse.
To be better than average, a business has to be in the 2% of the graph to the extreme right, two degrees of standard deviation away from the mean.
What does it mean to be two degrees away? It means not doing what everyone else does. It means climbing a tree and venturing out on the skinny branch not afraid of falling. It's all about being different in a remarkable way. It means paying maniac attention to detail to wow a customer. It means telling a story so compelling that customers want to tattoo your brand on their bodies.
What are you doing to go two standard deviations away from everyone else? That's where greatness lives.
In normal distribution, there are approximately 34% of all data points to the left and 34% of all data points to the right of one standard deviation from the mean. Going out two standard deviations from the mean, you will find a total approximately 48% to each side of the mean.
Passed two standard deviations, there is only about 2% on each side.
It explains why 50% of businesses fail in the first two years of opening. If you're on the left side of this curve, customer loyalty is lower than average and thus, you're losing ground everyday you open your doors.
It also explained why about 97% of airlines worldwide fail. Only 3% were truly remarkable to stay in business. Think Virgin, Southwest Airlines and WestJet.
Most businesses track their sales growth year over year. They expect greater than average increases in growth but aren't willing to make greater than average sacrifices. Average is bad. It's what everyone else has and it's where everyone else competes.
Jim Collins states that the enemy of great is good. To be good is not enough in our hyper competitive market where customers can order product at the click of a mouse.
To be better than average, a business has to be in the 2% of the graph to the extreme right, two degrees of standard deviation away from the mean.
What does it mean to be two degrees away? It means not doing what everyone else does. It means climbing a tree and venturing out on the skinny branch not afraid of falling. It's all about being different in a remarkable way. It means paying maniac attention to detail to wow a customer. It means telling a story so compelling that customers want to tattoo your brand on their bodies.
What are you doing to go two standard deviations away from everyone else? That's where greatness lives.
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Music makes me lose my mind
I love rap music. Always have. When I was a teenager, my friends used to think I was crazy. "Rap is not music". Most of my friends liked traditional rock 'n roll like Led Zeppelin, The Doobie Brothers, The Beatles, and Bruce Springsteen.
I like it all. There's something about the bass in a good dance tune, the story told in a old country song, the thrashing of a Metallica riff and the raw language of a rap song.
Rap has always been my favourite. The struggles with police, drugs, gangs and sex that urban musicians sung about has no relation to my own teenage struggles. For me it was the absolute opposite. It was my bizarro world.
Now that I think about it, it was my way of being different from everyone else.
It was my way of travelling the road less travelled.
But I didn't tell my friends because I was trying to conform. I didn't want to be singled out. It was a secret I didn't share until I started university.
When I bought my first car, I was one of those guys that spent too much money on subwoofers, amplifiers and stereo equipment. Driving down the street with my windows rolled down, my Honda Civic was a rolling DJ booth as it blasted out Gin and Juice by Snoop Dogg.
It wasn't until Eminem started rapping about Losing Control that rap music emerged as mainstream for white folks. The radio stations started playing his music with appropriate dubs to make it radio friendly. They even changed the name of the music genre to "Hip Hop" to make it sound more friendly.
As a dad, I don't play a lot of hip hop music out loud any more. My kids were taught that swearing is bad. I can't be a bad example with all the profanity.
My iPhone has some secret tunes that I listen to while I run.
My kids don't need to know. My secret continues but for a different reason.
Give me a beat...
I like it all. There's something about the bass in a good dance tune, the story told in a old country song, the thrashing of a Metallica riff and the raw language of a rap song.
Rap has always been my favourite. The struggles with police, drugs, gangs and sex that urban musicians sung about has no relation to my own teenage struggles. For me it was the absolute opposite. It was my bizarro world.
Now that I think about it, it was my way of being different from everyone else.
It was my way of travelling the road less travelled.
But I didn't tell my friends because I was trying to conform. I didn't want to be singled out. It was a secret I didn't share until I started university.
When I bought my first car, I was one of those guys that spent too much money on subwoofers, amplifiers and stereo equipment. Driving down the street with my windows rolled down, my Honda Civic was a rolling DJ booth as it blasted out Gin and Juice by Snoop Dogg.
It wasn't until Eminem started rapping about Losing Control that rap music emerged as mainstream for white folks. The radio stations started playing his music with appropriate dubs to make it radio friendly. They even changed the name of the music genre to "Hip Hop" to make it sound more friendly.
As a dad, I don't play a lot of hip hop music out loud any more. My kids were taught that swearing is bad. I can't be a bad example with all the profanity.
My iPhone has some secret tunes that I listen to while I run.
My kids don't need to know. My secret continues but for a different reason.
Give me a beat...
Sluggish
Think about the word sluggish for a minute.
Have you ever watched a slug. Its slimy, spongy, fatty exterior is disgusting. It moves slow. No wonder. When we say we're a bit sluggish, we are comparing ourselves to this beloved bottom feeder.
I've been a bit sluggish lately. Overweight, sometimes slimy and spongy, I woke up two weeks ago and asked what had to change in order to remove this feeling from my life forever. There are times when we're sick or just tired.
I'm not talking about neither. I'm talking about the feeling of not having energy to get up and to do something productive.
Reasons for my sluggishness are the following:
-Lack of exercise
-Lack of proper diet
-Lack of sleep
-Caffeine
-Lack of water
Changing one bad habit is hard enough, but changing them all at the same time is like climbing a icy brick wall without a ladder. But I've been doing it.
I broke down my bad habits and prioritized them in order of importance. Sleep was number one on my list.
Instead of watching movies and sports until midnight, I went to bed at 8:30 with my kids. The first night was hard, but I woke up at 4 am. Instead of watching sports highlights, I started exercising, writing and reading. All this happened before the rest of the family even got up. At 7:30 am, I had already put in a half day of work.
With exercise, I felt energized and didn't want to eat the normal crap I had in the morning. Plus I was thirsty after the workout. I needed water, not coffee. I filled up my water bottle and left the coffee pot alone.
That night, I didn't need to be convinced to go to bed at 8:30 pm. I was legitimately tired. Next morning I woke up early again. So the process began.
Three weeks later and I'm feeling great.
I tried a cup of coffee on Sunday. The taste disgusted me so bad I had to throw it out. No more coffee for this nut. A cup of coffee has always been like a hug in the morning. In a hug deprived society, it's always addictive to get that embrace. Instead of coffee, I replaced my vice with a green tea. I still get my hugs. It doesn't hurt me and I feel great.
No more sluggishness for this guy...
I had a bit of relapse at Christmas but yesterday morning I was up early again exercising before daylight. I feel great.
Have you ever watched a slug. Its slimy, spongy, fatty exterior is disgusting. It moves slow. No wonder. When we say we're a bit sluggish, we are comparing ourselves to this beloved bottom feeder.
I've been a bit sluggish lately. Overweight, sometimes slimy and spongy, I woke up two weeks ago and asked what had to change in order to remove this feeling from my life forever. There are times when we're sick or just tired.
I'm not talking about neither. I'm talking about the feeling of not having energy to get up and to do something productive.
Reasons for my sluggishness are the following:
-Lack of exercise
-Lack of proper diet
-Lack of sleep
-Caffeine
-Lack of water
Changing one bad habit is hard enough, but changing them all at the same time is like climbing a icy brick wall without a ladder. But I've been doing it.
I broke down my bad habits and prioritized them in order of importance. Sleep was number one on my list.
Instead of watching movies and sports until midnight, I went to bed at 8:30 with my kids. The first night was hard, but I woke up at 4 am. Instead of watching sports highlights, I started exercising, writing and reading. All this happened before the rest of the family even got up. At 7:30 am, I had already put in a half day of work.
With exercise, I felt energized and didn't want to eat the normal crap I had in the morning. Plus I was thirsty after the workout. I needed water, not coffee. I filled up my water bottle and left the coffee pot alone.
That night, I didn't need to be convinced to go to bed at 8:30 pm. I was legitimately tired. Next morning I woke up early again. So the process began.
Three weeks later and I'm feeling great.
I tried a cup of coffee on Sunday. The taste disgusted me so bad I had to throw it out. No more coffee for this nut. A cup of coffee has always been like a hug in the morning. In a hug deprived society, it's always addictive to get that embrace. Instead of coffee, I replaced my vice with a green tea. I still get my hugs. It doesn't hurt me and I feel great.
No more sluggishness for this guy...
I had a bit of relapse at Christmas but yesterday morning I was up early again exercising before daylight. I feel great.
My love/hate relationship with Facebook
In 2007 I was exposed to Facebook. It was the greatest technology to come along since email. Finally I had a way to find long lost friends as we crept further away from our original nesting grounds. Pictures of kids, family vacations, houses and oddities made me feel like I had reconnected with these comrades from a different time.
In one swoop, Facebook had fixed one of my problems. I hadn't gone to any of my high school reunions. I could catch up online. And I did! It was fun learning about other people's lives and all the exotic travelling. But then the inevitable happened. Once caught up, we stopped talking. We were Facebook friends but we weren't really friends anymore. Distance and time had broken the bond.
I read the more time one spends on Facebook, the more depressed a person becomes. In observing my own emotions, there's some truth there. Seeing all of the wonderful pictures, family vacations, parties, and houses made me wonder why my life wasn't as exciting. I envied others when my life was equally exciting. I didn't see that. I wasn't posting as frequently. I wasn't looking for affirmation. Nor was I asking for attention.
I started using Facebook for a means of communicating with staff. Creating a private group, we would have online staff meetings. Everyone had different schedules. So getting them all together was next to impossible. And it worked great. No need for email addresses or phone numbers, we would easily communicate via Facebook. If we needed an extra hand at work, I would post a mayday and someone would always respond to our SOS.
With more time these days, I find myself trolling through the news stories to see what others are posting. I don't feel a part of the Facebook crowd anymore. Some posts are informative, enlightening, educational and entertaining. But most feel contrived, forced and a few feel even fake.
I'm a big believer that if it makes you feel good, fill your boots. But if it doesn't make you feel good, you should stop it immediately. I have to quit Facebook for the same reason I stopped watching the news. None of it changes my life in a positive way.
So why bother?
In one swoop, Facebook had fixed one of my problems. I hadn't gone to any of my high school reunions. I could catch up online. And I did! It was fun learning about other people's lives and all the exotic travelling. But then the inevitable happened. Once caught up, we stopped talking. We were Facebook friends but we weren't really friends anymore. Distance and time had broken the bond.
I read the more time one spends on Facebook, the more depressed a person becomes. In observing my own emotions, there's some truth there. Seeing all of the wonderful pictures, family vacations, parties, and houses made me wonder why my life wasn't as exciting. I envied others when my life was equally exciting. I didn't see that. I wasn't posting as frequently. I wasn't looking for affirmation. Nor was I asking for attention.
I started using Facebook for a means of communicating with staff. Creating a private group, we would have online staff meetings. Everyone had different schedules. So getting them all together was next to impossible. And it worked great. No need for email addresses or phone numbers, we would easily communicate via Facebook. If we needed an extra hand at work, I would post a mayday and someone would always respond to our SOS.
With more time these days, I find myself trolling through the news stories to see what others are posting. I don't feel a part of the Facebook crowd anymore. Some posts are informative, enlightening, educational and entertaining. But most feel contrived, forced and a few feel even fake.
I'm a big believer that if it makes you feel good, fill your boots. But if it doesn't make you feel good, you should stop it immediately. I have to quit Facebook for the same reason I stopped watching the news. None of it changes my life in a positive way.
So why bother?
Monday, December 29, 2014
Self doubt
There are basically two types of emotion: love and fear.
Self doubt is one of fear's children.
It has the ability to enter my mind just when I thought I was certain.
When we bought our first business, there was blind optimism. I didn't think I could fail. And even if I could, there wasn't really much to lose. I had lost my job. We owed almost as much on the house as it was worth. There were no kids to feed. And there certainly wasn't any savings in the bank.
As I embark on a new adventure, blind optimism has been replaced with caution. Caution is important but it is related to self doubt. It can freeze an entrepreneur into analysis paralysis. Too much caution and fear starts to emerge its ugly head through the fruit of its womb: self doubt.
I now have things to lose. It shouldn't matter. But it does. Entrepreneurship is not for the faint of heart. Fear has no place in moving new ventures forward. But it strikes the best of us.
I read recently that Elon Musk sold his shares in Paypal for $200 million only to reinvest all of it in three new ventures. He didn't have enough money to pay rent. I'm not sure where that fearlessness comes from. There had to be days he questioned his motives.
In listening to Kenny Rogers' Baseball Song last night, it occurred to me that what I'm faced with has nothing to do with fear. My biggest problem is a lack of optimism.
Am I optimistic that I can duplicate the successes I have had or do I think I was just lucky? Pessimism is waving caution into the hanger of my life. Caution is holding me back. Caution is casting self doubt.
The glass needs to be half full.
Self doubt is one of fear's children.
It has the ability to enter my mind just when I thought I was certain.
When we bought our first business, there was blind optimism. I didn't think I could fail. And even if I could, there wasn't really much to lose. I had lost my job. We owed almost as much on the house as it was worth. There were no kids to feed. And there certainly wasn't any savings in the bank.
As I embark on a new adventure, blind optimism has been replaced with caution. Caution is important but it is related to self doubt. It can freeze an entrepreneur into analysis paralysis. Too much caution and fear starts to emerge its ugly head through the fruit of its womb: self doubt.
I now have things to lose. It shouldn't matter. But it does. Entrepreneurship is not for the faint of heart. Fear has no place in moving new ventures forward. But it strikes the best of us.
I read recently that Elon Musk sold his shares in Paypal for $200 million only to reinvest all of it in three new ventures. He didn't have enough money to pay rent. I'm not sure where that fearlessness comes from. There had to be days he questioned his motives.
In listening to Kenny Rogers' Baseball Song last night, it occurred to me that what I'm faced with has nothing to do with fear. My biggest problem is a lack of optimism.
Am I optimistic that I can duplicate the successes I have had or do I think I was just lucky? Pessimism is waving caution into the hanger of my life. Caution is holding me back. Caution is casting self doubt.
The glass needs to be half full.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
My cat is an asshole
My cat is a jerk. No that's too nice. He's an asshole.
He was born to my parents' cat, which weirdly makes him both my adopted son and my nephew. His greyish blue fur coat makes him look pure bred. I assure you, he's just a barnyard cat.
We've had him since he was six weeks old. We feed him every day only to find him in the mid afternoon perched on the desk, sprawled on top of my reading glasses and a book.
He always looks at me as if to say, "What do you want? I'm here so go find another spot. I've laid claim to everything on this desk". When I push him off, he meows. No, meowing is a cute noise. He lets out a bawl as if to say, you're hurting me, put me down before I chomp on that fleshy hand.
When he was young, we neutered him and de-clawed all four paws. Back claws and leather sofas are not a good combination for wildly playful kittens. He can't scratch me, even though he's tried. Maybe that's why he hates me.
The only time he's nice to me is in the morning when his fat ass crawls out of my daughter's bed to get fed. Once he knows the cat dish is full, he rubs his paw continuously over the door to be let out.
He's an indoor cat, but we let him outside for a few hours a day in the summer months. We live in the country and we're a safe distance from the road. There are nights when he can't find him as it gets dark. With foxes, bobcats and who knows what else lurking in the bushes, we try to get him to come in. But he's an asshole and assholes live on their own time. There have been a few nights he's been left outside to fend for himself. He usually wakes us up around 2am begging to come back in. I guess the big cat is not so tough with all of the real animals outside.
I swear he's tried to trip me a couple of times on the staircase as I wander down in the middle of the night. He'll run down the stairs only to stop on the fourth one and lay down. His greyish blue fur blends perfectly with our cherry staircase in the dark. No broken bones yet, but he's trying his damnedest.
I've always liked cats. I think it's the fur. Petting a cat is like snuggling with a live teddy bear. My cat doesn't like to be petted. He uses me for food, then he leaves.
Why I keep this asshole in my life is beyond me. I guess he's family and family sticks together.
He was born to my parents' cat, which weirdly makes him both my adopted son and my nephew. His greyish blue fur coat makes him look pure bred. I assure you, he's just a barnyard cat.
We've had him since he was six weeks old. We feed him every day only to find him in the mid afternoon perched on the desk, sprawled on top of my reading glasses and a book.
He always looks at me as if to say, "What do you want? I'm here so go find another spot. I've laid claim to everything on this desk". When I push him off, he meows. No, meowing is a cute noise. He lets out a bawl as if to say, you're hurting me, put me down before I chomp on that fleshy hand.
When he was young, we neutered him and de-clawed all four paws. Back claws and leather sofas are not a good combination for wildly playful kittens. He can't scratch me, even though he's tried. Maybe that's why he hates me.
The only time he's nice to me is in the morning when his fat ass crawls out of my daughter's bed to get fed. Once he knows the cat dish is full, he rubs his paw continuously over the door to be let out.
He's an indoor cat, but we let him outside for a few hours a day in the summer months. We live in the country and we're a safe distance from the road. There are nights when he can't find him as it gets dark. With foxes, bobcats and who knows what else lurking in the bushes, we try to get him to come in. But he's an asshole and assholes live on their own time. There have been a few nights he's been left outside to fend for himself. He usually wakes us up around 2am begging to come back in. I guess the big cat is not so tough with all of the real animals outside.
I swear he's tried to trip me a couple of times on the staircase as I wander down in the middle of the night. He'll run down the stairs only to stop on the fourth one and lay down. His greyish blue fur blends perfectly with our cherry staircase in the dark. No broken bones yet, but he's trying his damnedest.
I've always liked cats. I think it's the fur. Petting a cat is like snuggling with a live teddy bear. My cat doesn't like to be petted. He uses me for food, then he leaves.
Why I keep this asshole in my life is beyond me. I guess he's family and family sticks together.
God is in the details
Ludwig Mies van der Rohe is famous for the quote, "God is in the details". As an architect, he was simply referring to the need for planning of all small details in order to build the structure appropriately.
There are big picture thinkers and there are detail oriented individuals. There are tests out there that can assess into which you belong. I fall in the middle of the range, which means I don't like detail but I can do it if I feel it has to be done.
The restaurant business is not unlike any other business in that the details are extremely important for a clients' positive experience. You've all walked to the back of a restaurant to check the bathroom for a validation of the cleanliness of the kitchen. You don't have to waste that much energy. You can look for clues in the dining room. If a restaurant manager isn't paying attention to these details in the dining room, she isn't paying attention to the cleanliness of her kitchen.
The same holds true for any business. If the owner or manager isn't paying attention to simple cues, then chances are they aren't taking care of their customers in the best way possible.
A hotel that hasn't removed an old TV Guide may not be changing the sheets since the last customer did who knows what in your bed.
A dental office with ripped upholstery in the waiting area may mean the dentist doesn't have enough customers to pay for new chairs. If he doesn't have enough money for chairs it could mean he isn't that good. Are you sure you want a bad dentist treating that toothache?
A restaurant with burnt out light bulbs, beeping odour protectors in the bathroom, dusty shelves, cigarette butts at the front door, gum stuck under the table, ripped menus, walls needing paint, ripped bench seats could all point to the manager not paying attention to the cleanliness of her kitchen or the safety of the food being prepared. Just look for burnt out light bulbs. A good manager will have a system to change them daily if need be. Cleaning schedules, refrigerator temperature checks are based on the same type of systems.
The details are not just for businesses. They can used in life.
What important details in our lives are we not paying attention to that could indicate a more severe issue? The details have to be taken care of, God is in them.
I'm not good at detail. That's why I surround myself with people who are. And by luck I married a woman of detail. And yes, God is in her too.
There are big picture thinkers and there are detail oriented individuals. There are tests out there that can assess into which you belong. I fall in the middle of the range, which means I don't like detail but I can do it if I feel it has to be done.
The restaurant business is not unlike any other business in that the details are extremely important for a clients' positive experience. You've all walked to the back of a restaurant to check the bathroom for a validation of the cleanliness of the kitchen. You don't have to waste that much energy. You can look for clues in the dining room. If a restaurant manager isn't paying attention to these details in the dining room, she isn't paying attention to the cleanliness of her kitchen.
The same holds true for any business. If the owner or manager isn't paying attention to simple cues, then chances are they aren't taking care of their customers in the best way possible.
A hotel that hasn't removed an old TV Guide may not be changing the sheets since the last customer did who knows what in your bed.
A dental office with ripped upholstery in the waiting area may mean the dentist doesn't have enough customers to pay for new chairs. If he doesn't have enough money for chairs it could mean he isn't that good. Are you sure you want a bad dentist treating that toothache?
A restaurant with burnt out light bulbs, beeping odour protectors in the bathroom, dusty shelves, cigarette butts at the front door, gum stuck under the table, ripped menus, walls needing paint, ripped bench seats could all point to the manager not paying attention to the cleanliness of her kitchen or the safety of the food being prepared. Just look for burnt out light bulbs. A good manager will have a system to change them daily if need be. Cleaning schedules, refrigerator temperature checks are based on the same type of systems.
The details are not just for businesses. They can used in life.
What important details in our lives are we not paying attention to that could indicate a more severe issue? The details have to be taken care of, God is in them.
I'm not good at detail. That's why I surround myself with people who are. And by luck I married a woman of detail. And yes, God is in her too.
Working with family
My first experiment working with family was the summer my dad hired me to work in a fish processing plant. I hated working for him. We would be the first to arrive every morning and the last to leave every night.
The job was made for men with hair in their ears and stink between their legs. I was 14 and had neither at that point. My old man would push me harder than my 40 year colleagues. With sweat pouring down my forehead, he would tell me to go faster. I was already going twice as fast as the two pack a day future heart attack victims, but I wasn't going fast enough for him. I didn't take smoke breaks. I didn't talk about the drunken escapades from the weekend before.
I was 14 but I worked harder than most of the others for half the pay. He didn't see it and I momentarily hated him for it.
It was years later that he confessed that he pushed me harder so I wouldn't follow in his footsteps.
Forgetting the life lesson of working with family, my wife joined our family business 5 years ago. In training her, I was now the dictator, with emphasis on dick. I didn't realize how mean I was at the time. She would come home pissed at me almost every night. Staff noticed my behaviour and it strained not only the team but also my family at home.
I love my wife very much. I never wanted to hurt her. Yet in business, I was extra hard on her as I was trying to teach her the same level of scrutiny I expected from all my staff. She was extremely talented in running her restaurant. Her strengths were a perfect balance to my weaknesses.
We agreed one night that we both wanted to stay married to each other. We both wanted to stay in the family business. So we had to create boundaries if this relationship was to work.
Here are the rules we formed for a happy healthy working relationship in the family business.
1. Leave work at work. Leave home at home. If you are fighting about something at home, don't bring it to work.
2. Make time at work to talk about work stuff. Have a lunch meal together once per week to discuss anything important.
3. Promise to stay out each other's way. If one needs help, one needs to ask. Otherwise it will be assumed everything is fine.
4. Learn what will not work in the business relationship. In my case, my wife didn't like it when I told her what to do. Even if I knew what had to happen, I had to let her figure it out for herself or wait for her to ask for help.
5. Create an organizational chart with all of the necessary roles in the company. Decide who will assume which roles. Then revert to rule #3.
6. Lastly, don't be a dick!
The job was made for men with hair in their ears and stink between their legs. I was 14 and had neither at that point. My old man would push me harder than my 40 year colleagues. With sweat pouring down my forehead, he would tell me to go faster. I was already going twice as fast as the two pack a day future heart attack victims, but I wasn't going fast enough for him. I didn't take smoke breaks. I didn't talk about the drunken escapades from the weekend before.
I was 14 but I worked harder than most of the others for half the pay. He didn't see it and I momentarily hated him for it.
It was years later that he confessed that he pushed me harder so I wouldn't follow in his footsteps.
Forgetting the life lesson of working with family, my wife joined our family business 5 years ago. In training her, I was now the dictator, with emphasis on dick. I didn't realize how mean I was at the time. She would come home pissed at me almost every night. Staff noticed my behaviour and it strained not only the team but also my family at home.
I love my wife very much. I never wanted to hurt her. Yet in business, I was extra hard on her as I was trying to teach her the same level of scrutiny I expected from all my staff. She was extremely talented in running her restaurant. Her strengths were a perfect balance to my weaknesses.
We agreed one night that we both wanted to stay married to each other. We both wanted to stay in the family business. So we had to create boundaries if this relationship was to work.
Here are the rules we formed for a happy healthy working relationship in the family business.
1. Leave work at work. Leave home at home. If you are fighting about something at home, don't bring it to work.
2. Make time at work to talk about work stuff. Have a lunch meal together once per week to discuss anything important.
3. Promise to stay out each other's way. If one needs help, one needs to ask. Otherwise it will be assumed everything is fine.
4. Learn what will not work in the business relationship. In my case, my wife didn't like it when I told her what to do. Even if I knew what had to happen, I had to let her figure it out for herself or wait for her to ask for help.
5. Create an organizational chart with all of the necessary roles in the company. Decide who will assume which roles. Then revert to rule #3.
6. Lastly, don't be a dick!
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Wondering over trees
I think there might be something to learn from trees.
Trees are born as seeds. With enough luck and right conditions, they survive their youth.
Young trees reach for the sky, just like their parents do. The older trees protect the offspring from the snow and ice. But if the protection is too strong they don't allow the tasty sunshine through, the growth gets stunted.
The weaker trees die and the forest gets healthier.
A forest gets cut down and a new community of young trees emerge only to rebuild the once great forest, their parents left behind. Trees are resilient that way. Never giving up, never accepting defeat, trees grow on.
Animals searching for food, insects looking for shelter, parasites needing a host, the harsh realities of weather, and people using trees as their pawns, I wonder how we have any trees at all.
Thank goodness we do!
I was looking outside this morning at the beauty of the last snowfall. I'm not a fan of snow. But this snowfall was just the right amount of wetness to stick to the tree branches as it fell. Without these marvels I wouldn't have thought about life on earth, and it's beauty as it relates to our wooden buddies.
I look to the trees and wonder what stops their growth. Trees reach for the sun, but none have ever achieved it. Do all trees eventually lose to one of their predators? Or do they give up thinking their purpose was never to reach the sun. Is our life's purpose as simple as a their purpose in that it's their responsibility to continue the race, to provide a home to others, to provide food, and ultimately comfort.
I doubt any tree would want to become toilet paper. I can hear adult trees warning the sapling, "Keep it up and when you die, god will turn you into toilet paper". So even in the worst scenario, the purpose of comfort is still realized.
We do have a lot to learn from our wooden neighbours.
Trees are born as seeds. With enough luck and right conditions, they survive their youth.
Young trees reach for the sky, just like their parents do. The older trees protect the offspring from the snow and ice. But if the protection is too strong they don't allow the tasty sunshine through, the growth gets stunted.
The weaker trees die and the forest gets healthier.
A forest gets cut down and a new community of young trees emerge only to rebuild the once great forest, their parents left behind. Trees are resilient that way. Never giving up, never accepting defeat, trees grow on.
Animals searching for food, insects looking for shelter, parasites needing a host, the harsh realities of weather, and people using trees as their pawns, I wonder how we have any trees at all.
Thank goodness we do!
I was looking outside this morning at the beauty of the last snowfall. I'm not a fan of snow. But this snowfall was just the right amount of wetness to stick to the tree branches as it fell. Without these marvels I wouldn't have thought about life on earth, and it's beauty as it relates to our wooden buddies.
I look to the trees and wonder what stops their growth. Trees reach for the sun, but none have ever achieved it. Do all trees eventually lose to one of their predators? Or do they give up thinking their purpose was never to reach the sun. Is our life's purpose as simple as a their purpose in that it's their responsibility to continue the race, to provide a home to others, to provide food, and ultimately comfort.
I doubt any tree would want to become toilet paper. I can hear adult trees warning the sapling, "Keep it up and when you die, god will turn you into toilet paper". So even in the worst scenario, the purpose of comfort is still realized.
We do have a lot to learn from our wooden neighbours.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
The hard decision
Making a decision between two amazing things is extremely hard.
The summer before grade eight I started babysitting. I earned $400 that summer. The class field trip that year was Quebec City. A whole week in Quebec, taking in the historic sights had a price tag of $350. My parents couldn't afford it. They told me that if I wanted to go, I would have to use my own money.
There was one problem. I saved that money to go to basketball camp. The camp was going to take all of my savings. My parents gave me a choice: camp or Quebec. I really wanted to go to Quebec with all my classmates. The exoticness of this far away land was waving me over like the pretty girl in my dreams. If I didn't go, I would have to go to school for a whole week with a five other losers who couldn't afford the trip.
Basketball was my passion. I wanted to improve so much that making the varsity team wasn't enough. I wanted to be a starter.
I didn't want to be a loser.
I didn't want to miss the trip of a 14 year old's lifetime.
It hurt.
I cried a lot.
I begged for devine intervention.
It was not fair.
I wanted to do both things.
In the end my parents didn't waver from their initial stance. And I chose not to go to Quebec. The decision was neither right nor wrong. It was a decision and I thank my parents for forcing me to make one.
I was forced to make an equally difficult decision about a business today. I had to choose between chasing a dream or killing it. It sucks just as bad as it did back in grade 8.
I was fully committed to buying the business.
I spent 11 months working all of the angles and understanding the challenges.
I wrote out strategies and imagined systems that could improve the operations.
I put all other opportunities aside to pursue this one.
The pretty girl was waving me over in my dreams.
I didn't want to make the decision.
It hurt.
I asked for devine intervention.
I really really wanted to get involved in this business.
It won't matter if the decision is right or wrong. I made one. Now it's time to move on. Thanks Mom and Dad.
The summer before grade eight I started babysitting. I earned $400 that summer. The class field trip that year was Quebec City. A whole week in Quebec, taking in the historic sights had a price tag of $350. My parents couldn't afford it. They told me that if I wanted to go, I would have to use my own money.
There was one problem. I saved that money to go to basketball camp. The camp was going to take all of my savings. My parents gave me a choice: camp or Quebec. I really wanted to go to Quebec with all my classmates. The exoticness of this far away land was waving me over like the pretty girl in my dreams. If I didn't go, I would have to go to school for a whole week with a five other losers who couldn't afford the trip.
Basketball was my passion. I wanted to improve so much that making the varsity team wasn't enough. I wanted to be a starter.
I didn't want to be a loser.
I didn't want to miss the trip of a 14 year old's lifetime.
It hurt.
I cried a lot.
I begged for devine intervention.
It was not fair.
I wanted to do both things.
In the end my parents didn't waver from their initial stance. And I chose not to go to Quebec. The decision was neither right nor wrong. It was a decision and I thank my parents for forcing me to make one.
I was forced to make an equally difficult decision about a business today. I had to choose between chasing a dream or killing it. It sucks just as bad as it did back in grade 8.
I was fully committed to buying the business.
I spent 11 months working all of the angles and understanding the challenges.
I wrote out strategies and imagined systems that could improve the operations.
I put all other opportunities aside to pursue this one.
The pretty girl was waving me over in my dreams.
I didn't want to make the decision.
It hurt.
I asked for devine intervention.
I really really wanted to get involved in this business.
It won't matter if the decision is right or wrong. I made one. Now it's time to move on. Thanks Mom and Dad.
Kill dogs
Growing up with dogs, the whole alpha construct was clear. My dad was the alpha. My sister and I were part of the pack. We were equals. The dogs never bit us. The dogs played with us.
The neighbour's German Sheppard would attack me each time I would bike past the house. I would have to peddle my five speed as fast as I could up that small hill so I could get past the bastard's territory before he noticed me. On one occasion, he was in the front yard when he heard the squeakity squeak of my ungreased bicycle chain. He beat me to the road and leapt up to greet me with his smiling teeth as he tried to snap my juicy leg into his happy mouth. Impossibly peddling with my right leg, I lifted the left leg over the crossbar just in time to lose part of my gym sock. With the bike between me and the guard dog, I walked until the beast decided I was no longer infringing on his territory. It was by far the scariest moment I ever had with a canine.
We never had a dog that bit someone. They knew their place in our household. Even if they growled, my dad would remind them of their place. He was the alpha. They knew it and they respected him.
Some dogs are just bad. The rules don't apply to them. They are the alpha. They don't care about what the rest of the pack does. They are in charge. They make their own rules.
We had an alpha dog. My dad couldn't control him. He was an adult dog when we got him. He didn't play by dad's rules. Dad couldn't fix him. When he almost bit my sister, my dad took him to the woods and shot him. Can't have two alphas in one household.
I would personally learn that same lesson 12 years later.
The methods are different, but our society still kills bad dogs. Although a dog can be reformed, we don't waste the time or money on them. We remove them from life. This form of corporal punishment is still somewhat accepted.
We don't kill two legged dogs!
We allow murderers the right to live. Our society would rather lock a convicted murderer behind bars for 75 years than put them out of their misery.
I don't understand.
Putting a dog in a cage for the rest of its life just seems inhumane. I wouldn't do that to my Trixie.
The neighbour's German Sheppard would attack me each time I would bike past the house. I would have to peddle my five speed as fast as I could up that small hill so I could get past the bastard's territory before he noticed me. On one occasion, he was in the front yard when he heard the squeakity squeak of my ungreased bicycle chain. He beat me to the road and leapt up to greet me with his smiling teeth as he tried to snap my juicy leg into his happy mouth. Impossibly peddling with my right leg, I lifted the left leg over the crossbar just in time to lose part of my gym sock. With the bike between me and the guard dog, I walked until the beast decided I was no longer infringing on his territory. It was by far the scariest moment I ever had with a canine.
We never had a dog that bit someone. They knew their place in our household. Even if they growled, my dad would remind them of their place. He was the alpha. They knew it and they respected him.
Some dogs are just bad. The rules don't apply to them. They are the alpha. They don't care about what the rest of the pack does. They are in charge. They make their own rules.
We had an alpha dog. My dad couldn't control him. He was an adult dog when we got him. He didn't play by dad's rules. Dad couldn't fix him. When he almost bit my sister, my dad took him to the woods and shot him. Can't have two alphas in one household.
I would personally learn that same lesson 12 years later.
The methods are different, but our society still kills bad dogs. Although a dog can be reformed, we don't waste the time or money on them. We remove them from life. This form of corporal punishment is still somewhat accepted.
We don't kill two legged dogs!
We allow murderers the right to live. Our society would rather lock a convicted murderer behind bars for 75 years than put them out of their misery.
I don't understand.
Putting a dog in a cage for the rest of its life just seems inhumane. I wouldn't do that to my Trixie.
I'm losing my hair
What happened between ages 32 and 41?
I remember having more hair. I look in the photo album and I can prove my memory is correct.
16 years ago I got married. The faces in the wedding pictures are strangers. Who were these kids? My children don't believe me when I tell them I was once young. I'm not sure I believe me. Was that picture really me?
What happened to that young, good looking stud?
Two kids and three businesses later and I don't look as youthful.
I had my first grey hair when I was 16. It's not uncommon in my family. My gramma was grey in her forties. I never worried about the grey hair. It was hair loss that scared me.
I made a pact with myself 16 years ago. I would never be the guy hiding his budding baldness by combing over the remaining strands of dignity to mask the fleeting follicles.
This week, I used Skype for the first time. The person looking back at me on the computer screen was not the same person who greets me every morning in the mirror.
I didn't like the look of this guy. Where did his forehead end?
I made another pact recently. I like my haircuts short. I vowed not to get a haircut until I achieved one of my extremely hard goals. As my hair gets hippyishly long, my wife informs me the length of hair cannot cover-up the thinning effect. Have I become the comb-over guy?
I'm getting older. Was it the business stress, the family stress or just time catching up to this young punk?
I no longer look young.
I accept that.
I'm losing my hair.
I accept that too.
I blame my kids.
I remember having more hair. I look in the photo album and I can prove my memory is correct.
16 years ago I got married. The faces in the wedding pictures are strangers. Who were these kids? My children don't believe me when I tell them I was once young. I'm not sure I believe me. Was that picture really me?
What happened to that young, good looking stud?
Two kids and three businesses later and I don't look as youthful.
I had my first grey hair when I was 16. It's not uncommon in my family. My gramma was grey in her forties. I never worried about the grey hair. It was hair loss that scared me.
I made a pact with myself 16 years ago. I would never be the guy hiding his budding baldness by combing over the remaining strands of dignity to mask the fleeting follicles.
This week, I used Skype for the first time. The person looking back at me on the computer screen was not the same person who greets me every morning in the mirror.
I didn't like the look of this guy. Where did his forehead end?
I made another pact recently. I like my haircuts short. I vowed not to get a haircut until I achieved one of my extremely hard goals. As my hair gets hippyishly long, my wife informs me the length of hair cannot cover-up the thinning effect. Have I become the comb-over guy?
I'm getting older. Was it the business stress, the family stress or just time catching up to this young punk?
I no longer look young.
I accept that.
I'm losing my hair.
I accept that too.
I blame my kids.
An old t-shirt
Old childhood friends are like rock 'n roll t-shirts. The vivid memory is cemented in time by the shirt. The drinking, the debauchery, the borderline illegal activities will always be remembered but the show had to end. The memories cannot be forgotten. The t-shirt is the only thing I have left to remember the craziness. My wife convinced me to throw some of them away. There are still a few lingering around in my closet.
This week, an old t-shirt re-emerged from one of the drawers. I love this t-shirt. I love him like a brother.
He called on Tuesday afternoon. He hasn't called me in five years. Things must be bad. The only thing that came to mind was that he needed money. He told me he and his wife were unemployed. He wanted to meet for coffee the following morning.
Wednesday morning, he told me he's broke. He has fallen on tough times. Christmas is here. He doesn't know how to support his family. He can't pay the rent. His support network is thinning. He can't get a job.
I'm not throwing him out. I love him. His heart is made of solid gold. He's like his dad that way.
This t-shirt has always been one step away from ruin. It seemed everything he did was the opposite of what I would do. It might have been the alcohol or the drugs. Or it may have been his poor choice in women. About two years ago, he started getting his life together. He left his troubled girlfriend. He met a new girl and he fell in love again. Not hard for him. The kid always wore his heart on his sleeve. Although I don't know her, the new girl seems nice.
I trust the t-shirt. He's not a thief. He doesn't have a plan to pay it back. There's no income. I offered other potential solutions which may not work for him. But that's his decision. If I don't hear from him, I hope he solves his problem.
He'll always be one of my favourite t-shirts. He doesn't fit me any more. I've grown and he's still the same old party shirt.
I'm not throwing him out, but I'm not wearing him either.
This week, an old t-shirt re-emerged from one of the drawers. I love this t-shirt. I love him like a brother.
He called on Tuesday afternoon. He hasn't called me in five years. Things must be bad. The only thing that came to mind was that he needed money. He told me he and his wife were unemployed. He wanted to meet for coffee the following morning.
Wednesday morning, he told me he's broke. He has fallen on tough times. Christmas is here. He doesn't know how to support his family. He can't pay the rent. His support network is thinning. He can't get a job.
I'm not throwing him out. I love him. His heart is made of solid gold. He's like his dad that way.
This t-shirt has always been one step away from ruin. It seemed everything he did was the opposite of what I would do. It might have been the alcohol or the drugs. Or it may have been his poor choice in women. About two years ago, he started getting his life together. He left his troubled girlfriend. He met a new girl and he fell in love again. Not hard for him. The kid always wore his heart on his sleeve. Although I don't know her, the new girl seems nice.
I trust the t-shirt. He's not a thief. He doesn't have a plan to pay it back. There's no income. I offered other potential solutions which may not work for him. But that's his decision. If I don't hear from him, I hope he solves his problem.
He'll always be one of my favourite t-shirts. He doesn't fit me any more. I've grown and he's still the same old party shirt.
I'm not throwing him out, but I'm not wearing him either.
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
There is a first for everything
My kids are addicted to electronics. More specifically, my daughter loves our iPad. She can spend all day focused on her fashion game playing dress-up with her online avatars.
She's quiet. There are no quarrels with her brother and quiet time on a Saturday afternoon is joy. Yet when the time comes to put down the e-device, a monster emerges.
We call it a zombie attack. Her eyes are popped out like a bug on heroine. He face is tired. Her attitude toward everything is apathetic. Then she starts whining and crying. Anything we do at this point is pure evil in her eyes. We don't like zombies.
Last Saturday, when she zombied us, we declared a dry day Sunday. No electronics, including TV for the entire day. Any moment on e-devices had to be met with an equal moment outside.
My daughter doesn't like going outside. No, she hates the outdoors. Even in the summer, with the pool and the trampoline and the beach, she prefers to stay indoors.
Sunday morning started with begging and pleading for a quick e-fix. Upon refusal, I was again cast as the villain of my children's story.
When Mama woke up, I had my Tonto. Together we could thwart the children's e-attacks.
Magic emerged from the potential zombie e-cloud. The kids played together. They made a mess at the kitchen table but they were using their creativity cutting out paper and drawing.
My daughter asked me if I had ever had my nails done. To her dismay, my fingers were once painted, but my toes were still virgin territory. She asked if we could play Daddy Spa. She wanted to paint my toenails. My only request was to have a racing stripe down the middle of each nail.
She spent the next 14 minutes delicately beautifying my nails with silver racing stripes. She went as far to include a clear coat so the paint wouldn't easily come off.
Last night she asked me if I took off the nail polish. When I informed her I had not, she seemed to quietly smile as if to say, "Daddy is weird, but I love him for it".
Hope she doesn't ask me if I ever wore make up and dressed up like a girl. I'll have to tell her I did it twice.
She's quiet. There are no quarrels with her brother and quiet time on a Saturday afternoon is joy. Yet when the time comes to put down the e-device, a monster emerges.
We call it a zombie attack. Her eyes are popped out like a bug on heroine. He face is tired. Her attitude toward everything is apathetic. Then she starts whining and crying. Anything we do at this point is pure evil in her eyes. We don't like zombies.
Last Saturday, when she zombied us, we declared a dry day Sunday. No electronics, including TV for the entire day. Any moment on e-devices had to be met with an equal moment outside.
My daughter doesn't like going outside. No, she hates the outdoors. Even in the summer, with the pool and the trampoline and the beach, she prefers to stay indoors.
Sunday morning started with begging and pleading for a quick e-fix. Upon refusal, I was again cast as the villain of my children's story.
When Mama woke up, I had my Tonto. Together we could thwart the children's e-attacks.
Magic emerged from the potential zombie e-cloud. The kids played together. They made a mess at the kitchen table but they were using their creativity cutting out paper and drawing.
My daughter asked me if I had ever had my nails done. To her dismay, my fingers were once painted, but my toes were still virgin territory. She asked if we could play Daddy Spa. She wanted to paint my toenails. My only request was to have a racing stripe down the middle of each nail.
She spent the next 14 minutes delicately beautifying my nails with silver racing stripes. She went as far to include a clear coat so the paint wouldn't easily come off.
Last night she asked me if I took off the nail polish. When I informed her I had not, she seemed to quietly smile as if to say, "Daddy is weird, but I love him for it".
Hope she doesn't ask me if I ever wore make up and dressed up like a girl. I'll have to tell her I did it twice.
I am not a writer
In grade seven, our class was given an assignment: Write a real or fictional short story about your family.
It was the only thing I remember writing as a child. I wrote a fictional story about a pet monkey. The monkey was a pest and eventually his undoing was messing with mom's supper. My parents told me they brought him to the zoo, where he could be comfortable doing monkey things. The story ends with a family meal. The steak, was the best meat I had ever tasted. It must've been the hint of banana mom put in the pan.
I never wrote anything again. No love letters. No songs. No poems. Nothing. Until 2014.
"I am not a writer", said a good friend.
What is a writer? Does not the ability to string words together to make sentences and then mesh thoughts to make essays or in today's lingo, blogs, constitute a writer.
For if I have written something, then I am writer.
The rules of writing are constantly changing. What was wrong in the 80's is being done by exceptionally gifted writers. Having a run on sentence is ok today. Making up words is acceptable now.
There was a time when a word wasn't a word until its own line in the Webster's Dictionary. Yet Dr. Seuss would make up words in every one of his books. And the educational system would sell us those books promoting them as works of art.
I write because I need to get stuff out of my head.
I write because I notice the small things more often.
I write because it makes me feel good.
I write to observe.
I write to understand.
I write to grow as a human.
It was the only thing I remember writing as a child. I wrote a fictional story about a pet monkey. The monkey was a pest and eventually his undoing was messing with mom's supper. My parents told me they brought him to the zoo, where he could be comfortable doing monkey things. The story ends with a family meal. The steak, was the best meat I had ever tasted. It must've been the hint of banana mom put in the pan.
I never wrote anything again. No love letters. No songs. No poems. Nothing. Until 2014.
"I am not a writer", said a good friend.
What is a writer? Does not the ability to string words together to make sentences and then mesh thoughts to make essays or in today's lingo, blogs, constitute a writer.
For if I have written something, then I am writer.
The rules of writing are constantly changing. What was wrong in the 80's is being done by exceptionally gifted writers. Having a run on sentence is ok today. Making up words is acceptable now.
There was a time when a word wasn't a word until its own line in the Webster's Dictionary. Yet Dr. Seuss would make up words in every one of his books. And the educational system would sell us those books promoting them as works of art.
I write because I need to get stuff out of my head.
I write because I notice the small things more often.
I write because it makes me feel good.
I write to observe.
I write to understand.
I write to grow as a human.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
What does a coach do?
I always thought a coach told players what to do. My coaches ran practices like army drills. They were tough.
Kids' coaches including teachers, parents, sports coaches, and music coaches. As adults we stop getting coaching. We rely on friends to tell us what to do.
Did you know the friend may be the worst type of coach you can have.
Did you know the friend may be the worst type of coach you can have.
A friend may be afraid for you. A friend who has not had a similar experience cannot coach you through your problem. In those cases, any advice you receive cannot be trusted, even if it came from your most trusted confidant.
A good friend will listen. Listening is only half of the answer. The other half is asking the right questions. The questions are more important than the feedback your friend offers you. Without experience, your buddy cannot ask the right questions.
As I get older, I respect the coach more now than ever before. A good coach doesn't tell us what to do. She trains us to tell ourselves what we want to do.
The professional athlete has a fitness coach, a nutrition coach, a media relations coach, a financial coach, a personal coach, an agent, etc.
Besides a few friends, what coaches do you have?
Sports Nation
I love my sports.
There was a time, I used to idolize the players as they performed their craft. The commitment level it takes to play professional sports today is off the charts. As a forty-ish year old man, playing professional sports is a dream I will never realize.
There was a time, training camp was to get all the athletes back in shape from the off season. Today, athletes train year round. Even when the season is over, they are in the gym. They constantly look for an edge to make them better, faster, stronger.
The game has gotten more competitive. There are more players trying to make the big leagues. Baseball has found new talent in Japan and India. Hockey now has access to players in Russia, which it didn't have 30 years ago.
The games are getting bigger. The players are stronger. The television coverage is better. And the dollars are astromungous.
I don't idolize the sport and its players much anymore.
The thing that appeals to me most about professional sport is the coach.
Coaches are not selected based on age or athleticism. Coaches were typically not great players. A great coach has an ability to get the most out of the players. The coach is the leader.
Yet teams still focus on players. They work free agency to pay for the best "free" talent only to mess with their team chemistry.
Coaches are chopped when players don't respond. Ironic in a way.
The coaches are my new idols in sport.
There was a time, I used to idolize the players as they performed their craft. The commitment level it takes to play professional sports today is off the charts. As a forty-ish year old man, playing professional sports is a dream I will never realize.
There was a time, training camp was to get all the athletes back in shape from the off season. Today, athletes train year round. Even when the season is over, they are in the gym. They constantly look for an edge to make them better, faster, stronger.
The game has gotten more competitive. There are more players trying to make the big leagues. Baseball has found new talent in Japan and India. Hockey now has access to players in Russia, which it didn't have 30 years ago.
The games are getting bigger. The players are stronger. The television coverage is better. And the dollars are astromungous.
I don't idolize the sport and its players much anymore.
The thing that appeals to me most about professional sport is the coach.
Coaches are not selected based on age or athleticism. Coaches were typically not great players. A great coach has an ability to get the most out of the players. The coach is the leader.
Yet teams still focus on players. They work free agency to pay for the best "free" talent only to mess with their team chemistry.
Coaches are chopped when players don't respond. Ironic in a way.
The coaches are my new idols in sport.
Monday, December 15, 2014
The Power of the Pause
The best speakers are the ones who know when to say nothing. As they share their material, they stop, as if they were about to tell a joke. The silence is maddening. They wait until finally.... they deliver the rest of the story.
The pauses are deliberate. They are used for effect. They act like a comedian delivering a punchline. The pause is a powerful tool.
Yet in life, we rarely pause. We rush from our bed, to get to work. We rush from work to pick up the kids. We rush from soccer practice to get the groceries. In December, we hurry through all of our obligations to buy gifts for loved ones. We scurry to friends and families trying not to forget anyone.
We rush through our conversations. We think that everything will be easier when the holidays are over. Only to realize there are a new set of things to do on the other side of December.
I think sometimes we like to rush. Maybe we get addicted to it. If they don't feel close to the edge of the cliff, they don't feel alive.
Other times, we are disorganized and ultimately feel overwhelmed.
We talk fast to get through to the next thought in the conversation.
We drive fast to get to our destination.
We eat fast so we can watch some TV.
And some of us have sex fast so we can go to sleep.
It sounded ridiculous when I wrote the previous paragraph. But it's true!
We all know the magic happens in the journey. Yet I'll be the first to admit I rarely look for it.
How do you find your powerful pause?
The pauses are deliberate. They are used for effect. They act like a comedian delivering a punchline. The pause is a powerful tool.
Yet in life, we rarely pause. We rush from our bed, to get to work. We rush from work to pick up the kids. We rush from soccer practice to get the groceries. In December, we hurry through all of our obligations to buy gifts for loved ones. We scurry to friends and families trying not to forget anyone.
We rush through our conversations. We think that everything will be easier when the holidays are over. Only to realize there are a new set of things to do on the other side of December.
I think sometimes we like to rush. Maybe we get addicted to it. If they don't feel close to the edge of the cliff, they don't feel alive.
Other times, we are disorganized and ultimately feel overwhelmed.
We talk fast to get through to the next thought in the conversation.
We drive fast to get to our destination.
We eat fast so we can watch some TV.
And some of us have sex fast so we can go to sleep.
It sounded ridiculous when I wrote the previous paragraph. But it's true!
We all know the magic happens in the journey. Yet I'll be the first to admit I rarely look for it.
How do you find your powerful pause?
Goal setting
I'm a member of a peer to peer mentoring group. It's a group that allows each member to share our goals, our dreams, our challenges, and our successes.
We talk about our businesses. We talk about our families. We talk about ourselves.
The reason I joined this group was to bounce ideas off others that didn't include family, friends and employees. The more I share, the more I get out of the meetings.
The biggest challenge of the group is goal setting and achievement. I'm the bad guy. The goalie. The guy that challenges others when they haven't achieved a goal they set for themselves.
If you ask my kids, they'll say I love being the bad guy. In fact, I hate it.
I'm as undisciplined as anyone else in the group. I set goals only to achieve 67% of them. I have no excuse. I don't have a job. I don't have a business. The distractions that everyone else have are not mine. I'm somewhat lazy.
Here's what I've learned about goals recently. The reason for achieving the goal is stronger than the goal itself.
If you set goals and don't achieve them, don't despair. I'm with you. The fact that you write down your goals puts you in the top 10% of people. Most actually don't take the time to put them on paper.
If you don't achieve your goal, check your reasons why you set the goal in the first place. I bet your reasons for setting the goal aren't very strong.
I'm trying to lose weight. It seems like everything I try falls apart. I know someone who lost 40 pounds recently. His reason might be a bit stronger. He separated from his wife and wants to look good as he reenters the dating scene.
We talk about our businesses. We talk about our families. We talk about ourselves.
The reason I joined this group was to bounce ideas off others that didn't include family, friends and employees. The more I share, the more I get out of the meetings.
The biggest challenge of the group is goal setting and achievement. I'm the bad guy. The goalie. The guy that challenges others when they haven't achieved a goal they set for themselves.
If you ask my kids, they'll say I love being the bad guy. In fact, I hate it.
I'm as undisciplined as anyone else in the group. I set goals only to achieve 67% of them. I have no excuse. I don't have a job. I don't have a business. The distractions that everyone else have are not mine. I'm somewhat lazy.
Here's what I've learned about goals recently. The reason for achieving the goal is stronger than the goal itself.
If you set goals and don't achieve them, don't despair. I'm with you. The fact that you write down your goals puts you in the top 10% of people. Most actually don't take the time to put them on paper.
If you don't achieve your goal, check your reasons why you set the goal in the first place. I bet your reasons for setting the goal aren't very strong.
I'm trying to lose weight. It seems like everything I try falls apart. I know someone who lost 40 pounds recently. His reason might be a bit stronger. He separated from his wife and wants to look good as he reenters the dating scene.
Monday, December 8, 2014
Start saying "Yes"
There are a lot of reasons someone says no. There are pleasers who take on extra responsibilities to the detriment of their own goals.
I recently had to go to a funeral for a member of my wife's family. It forced me to reflect on life. I didn't really know the person but people I care about were saddened by the loss. There are things that have to be done that no one wants to do on such a sad occasion. Someone always does them.
I know I'm aging as I'm asked to participate in more funerals. I don't like doing it. I don't think anyone does. It's not the attention. It's the sadness that bothers me. Yet I continue to say yes.
The person planning the funeral has a lot on her plate. Asking people to assist in the burial isn't what she wants to do either, but someone has to do it.
When someone says no, it means the planner has to ask someone else, which means more work in a time when grieving takes a back seat to actual work.
I could never put into words why I say yes until now. It has always felt like the right thing to do.
I never let my thoughts get in the way of these demands. Of course I don't want to do it. If I think about it too long, I'll say no. So I don't think. By saying yes, without thought makes me committed. Once someone is dependent on me, I won't let them down.
Funerals aside, some of my best life experiences have come from just saying yes. Was I scared? It didn't matter. Once committed, I had to do it. My growth has come from being utterly shitless and just saying "Yes" anyways.
I'm not writing about the pleasers who need to practice saying "no" in the mirror. I'm writing about those who need to say a few more "yeses". Your ability to say yes will have a direct impact on your future growth.
I recently had to go to a funeral for a member of my wife's family. It forced me to reflect on life. I didn't really know the person but people I care about were saddened by the loss. There are things that have to be done that no one wants to do on such a sad occasion. Someone always does them.
I know I'm aging as I'm asked to participate in more funerals. I don't like doing it. I don't think anyone does. It's not the attention. It's the sadness that bothers me. Yet I continue to say yes.
The person planning the funeral has a lot on her plate. Asking people to assist in the burial isn't what she wants to do either, but someone has to do it.
When someone says no, it means the planner has to ask someone else, which means more work in a time when grieving takes a back seat to actual work.
I could never put into words why I say yes until now. It has always felt like the right thing to do.
I never let my thoughts get in the way of these demands. Of course I don't want to do it. If I think about it too long, I'll say no. So I don't think. By saying yes, without thought makes me committed. Once someone is dependent on me, I won't let them down.
Funerals aside, some of my best life experiences have come from just saying yes. Was I scared? It didn't matter. Once committed, I had to do it. My growth has come from being utterly shitless and just saying "Yes" anyways.
I'm not writing about the pleasers who need to practice saying "no" in the mirror. I'm writing about those who need to say a few more "yeses". Your ability to say yes will have a direct impact on your future growth.
Friday, December 5, 2014
Discipline
I grew up in a house that was quite lenient. In a time when most kids still got the belt across the bum, I can't remember getting one.
I remember being afraid of my father when he shouted. His voice could carry for miles and vibrate my bones to cry. My mother was not intimidating. She tried to be. When she got mad at us, her face was a mix between Jerry Seinfeld and Bobo the Clown. She would yell and we would laugh at her.
Mom's only effective measure for discipline was the usage of six dreaded words, "Wait until your father gets home".
As adults what forces keep us disciplined?
Going to work five days a week keeps us on track. If we don't go to work, we may lose our job. Is it still fear that keeps us disciplined? The habit of going to work every day makes it easy to go through the motions.
I was asked a great question yesterday. Do you have 10 years' experience or do you have 1 year's experience repeated 10 times?"
Over the past year, there's been no job waiting for me. There's been no one, except myself, scaring me to go to work. There have been days that I stayed in my pyjamas while most people went to work.
I have no routine. I started writing. I went back to reading. I renewed an exercise routine about 7 times. All for it to get squashed by the lack of discipline.
Three days ago, as I draw closer to buying another business, I woke up at 4:30am. I went to the office and drank a lemon water while the keyboard started putting words to a computer screen. Before anyone awoke I had written two blogs and I had read 60 pages. Full of energy I started and finished a business plan, had a meeting with a banker, and I exercised for 40 minutes. I had made pancakes for everyone when they woke up, helped with the lessons when the kids got home and even did the dishes after supper. Going to bed at 8:30pm exhausted, I knew the day was a complete success. I fullfilled my potential for that day.
The next morning was a similar day. Again I felt I had done everything I could have for the day.
Day three and I'm feeling alive. For me, the key to my discipline over the last three days has been limited television, sleeping early and rising before the roosters.
Discipline is self directed. As adults no one can instill it in us except ourselves.
How's your discipline?
I remember being afraid of my father when he shouted. His voice could carry for miles and vibrate my bones to cry. My mother was not intimidating. She tried to be. When she got mad at us, her face was a mix between Jerry Seinfeld and Bobo the Clown. She would yell and we would laugh at her.
Mom's only effective measure for discipline was the usage of six dreaded words, "Wait until your father gets home".
As adults what forces keep us disciplined?
Going to work five days a week keeps us on track. If we don't go to work, we may lose our job. Is it still fear that keeps us disciplined? The habit of going to work every day makes it easy to go through the motions.
I was asked a great question yesterday. Do you have 10 years' experience or do you have 1 year's experience repeated 10 times?"
Over the past year, there's been no job waiting for me. There's been no one, except myself, scaring me to go to work. There have been days that I stayed in my pyjamas while most people went to work.
I have no routine. I started writing. I went back to reading. I renewed an exercise routine about 7 times. All for it to get squashed by the lack of discipline.
Three days ago, as I draw closer to buying another business, I woke up at 4:30am. I went to the office and drank a lemon water while the keyboard started putting words to a computer screen. Before anyone awoke I had written two blogs and I had read 60 pages. Full of energy I started and finished a business plan, had a meeting with a banker, and I exercised for 40 minutes. I had made pancakes for everyone when they woke up, helped with the lessons when the kids got home and even did the dishes after supper. Going to bed at 8:30pm exhausted, I knew the day was a complete success. I fullfilled my potential for that day.
The next morning was a similar day. Again I felt I had done everything I could have for the day.
Day three and I'm feeling alive. For me, the key to my discipline over the last three days has been limited television, sleeping early and rising before the roosters.
Discipline is self directed. As adults no one can instill it in us except ourselves.
How's your discipline?
Awoken in the night
Something breaks
Daddy screams
To hell with you
To hell with him
You drunken fool
Mommy cries
You'll wake the kids
It's 11 pm
I am tired
He whisperedly shouts
Is it Dennis or
Is it Tim
My eyes are open
My body aches
Is this beginning
Is this the end
What's this mean
My body seizes
I pray to you
I cry to HIM
Confusion enters
I love them both
I'm a boy
I'm only ten
No more sleeping
I'm mad inside
I bang the walls
I hurt my hand
Footsteps approach
Someone whispers
We're only talking
Go back to bed
With tearied face
I move my lips
To hell with you
To hell with him
Daddy screams
To hell with you
To hell with him
You drunken fool
Mommy cries
You'll wake the kids
It's 11 pm
I am tired
He whisperedly shouts
Is it Dennis or
Is it Tim
My eyes are open
My body aches
Is this beginning
Is this the end
What's this mean
My body seizes
I pray to you
I cry to HIM
Confusion enters
I love them both
I'm a boy
I'm only ten
No more sleeping
I'm mad inside
I bang the walls
I hurt my hand
Footsteps approach
Someone whispers
We're only talking
Go back to bed
With tearied face
I move my lips
To hell with you
To hell with him
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Costco's secret
Shhh! Don't tell anyone I told you this.
I found this note on the staff bulletin board at Costco. It was written for employees eyes only. I snuck back there in my black sleuth-like jacket and would've taken a picture of it with my Spi-phone but I was afraid that some would catch me.
Wanna know the secret of Costco's success?
There are four guiding principles for employees:
1. Smile.
2. Look a customer in the eye
3. Thank the customer.
4. Always say yes.
Sounds simple. Yet in my travels, there are very few retailers following these principles.
So why is it that Costco with its 200 employees in each store can follow these principles seamlessly yet a company of a mere 10 cannot?
The first three is based on the type of people who get hired at Costco. They hire people who like to smile, genuinely take the time to look people in the eye and people who are thankful on a daily basis.
Costco could easily have said there are two guiding principles.
1. Be yourself.
2. Always say yes.
30 day return policy? What if you were one of those keener Christmas shoppers that bought your wife's gift in July only to find out she bought it for herself while shopping in December. Instead of facing a Spanish Inquisition from Roz in Monster's Inc, the agent takes it back without any hassle.
Can we learn something about ALL of our relationships from Costco?
I know. I know. It's sad that I try to compare my life to that of an inanimate corporation. In tomorrow's blog I will share a recent experience that reminds me of the Costco principles.
I found this note on the staff bulletin board at Costco. It was written for employees eyes only. I snuck back there in my black sleuth-like jacket and would've taken a picture of it with my Spi-phone but I was afraid that some would catch me.
Wanna know the secret of Costco's success?
There are four guiding principles for employees:
1. Smile.
2. Look a customer in the eye
3. Thank the customer.
4. Always say yes.
Sounds simple. Yet in my travels, there are very few retailers following these principles.
So why is it that Costco with its 200 employees in each store can follow these principles seamlessly yet a company of a mere 10 cannot?
The first three is based on the type of people who get hired at Costco. They hire people who like to smile, genuinely take the time to look people in the eye and people who are thankful on a daily basis.
Costco could easily have said there are two guiding principles.
1. Be yourself.
2. Always say yes.
30 day return policy? What if you were one of those keener Christmas shoppers that bought your wife's gift in July only to find out she bought it for herself while shopping in December. Instead of facing a Spanish Inquisition from Roz in Monster's Inc, the agent takes it back without any hassle.
Can we learn something about ALL of our relationships from Costco?
I know. I know. It's sad that I try to compare my life to that of an inanimate corporation. In tomorrow's blog I will share a recent experience that reminds me of the Costco principles.
Measuring success in sport and in life
Sports is about winning. Right?
Watch any championship game. There is a clear definition of a winner and a loser. The winner screams in jubilation while the opponent hangs their heads in defeat.
John Wooden, legendary coach at UCLA, states that success cannot be measured by the number of wins. "Don't worry about whether you're better than somebody else, but never cease trying to be the best you can become. You have control over that; the other you don't."
Success isn't based on winning. It's based on growth. It's based on becoming the best we can be.
Sounds like the idea behind youth soccer.
Kids soccer was set up for participation where everyone gets a medal. Ask my 8 year old about last summer's soccer season and he will say they won the championship. There was no championship. There weren't any playoffs. We weren't even supposed to keep score. I sat and watched, while drinking my iced water, to witness the psychoness of sport emerge in little kids and grown parents.
Children can't be taught that sport isn't about winning if parents don't believe it.
If you ask anyone if life is a race, they will say no. Talk is cheap. Observe what they do instead. We don't wait to save money to buy that shiny toy. We wait to pay off the credit card bill instead. Instant gratification until the next desired shiny toy comes along.
Life isn't a race, but we act like it is. We know we can't win at the race called life, but we try.
We crazy!
The only way we achieve success is if we fulfill our potential. The only question that matters is "What is your potential?"
Watch any championship game. There is a clear definition of a winner and a loser. The winner screams in jubilation while the opponent hangs their heads in defeat.
John Wooden, legendary coach at UCLA, states that success cannot be measured by the number of wins. "Don't worry about whether you're better than somebody else, but never cease trying to be the best you can become. You have control over that; the other you don't."
Success isn't based on winning. It's based on growth. It's based on becoming the best we can be.
Sounds like the idea behind youth soccer.
Kids soccer was set up for participation where everyone gets a medal. Ask my 8 year old about last summer's soccer season and he will say they won the championship. There was no championship. There weren't any playoffs. We weren't even supposed to keep score. I sat and watched, while drinking my iced water, to witness the psychoness of sport emerge in little kids and grown parents.
Children can't be taught that sport isn't about winning if parents don't believe it.
If you ask anyone if life is a race, they will say no. Talk is cheap. Observe what they do instead. We don't wait to save money to buy that shiny toy. We wait to pay off the credit card bill instead. Instant gratification until the next desired shiny toy comes along.
Life isn't a race, but we act like it is. We know we can't win at the race called life, but we try.
We crazy!
The only way we achieve success is if we fulfill our potential. The only question that matters is "What is your potential?"
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
How we doin?
How do you know when you're doing a good job at work if no one tells you? Are you one of the lucky people who get 6 month or annual employee reviews?
What about at home? How do you know if you're doing a good job as a mom, wife, daughter?
How do you improve? Does it take an argument to bring the shit things you do to the surface?
It's weird but in many cases we don't know where we stand with our loved ones. It's like a balancing act on a set of scales. You live with my shit. I live with yours. As long as the two piles of poop are about the same everything stays in balance and somewhat in harmony.
There's a tool I learned 10 years ago from the business world that I've never implemented in my personal life. It works for businesses, entrepreneurs, employees, parents, couples, and even for children. And it's simple.
At the end of each week, I ask each target on a scale of 1-10 how I did this week as a boss, employee, husband, parent.
Whatever the answer is, the second question is just as simple. How could I have gotten a 10?
This does a couple of things for the relationship. It demonstrates a desire for continuous improvement. It starts a conversation. And ultimately you never have to wonder where you stand.
Imagine an employee who never gets an annual review. You're probably one of them. If you ask your boss each week those two simple questions, your relationship with your boss and ultimately with your job will no longer be in question. You'll know exactly where you stand.
So how we doin'? On a scale of 1-10 how am I doing as blog writer. How do I get a 10?
PS. I have been inconsistent since last spring. My goal is to write 60 blogs by the end of January. So you will see more of my rants, thoughts, and observations.
What about at home? How do you know if you're doing a good job as a mom, wife, daughter?
How do you improve? Does it take an argument to bring the shit things you do to the surface?
It's weird but in many cases we don't know where we stand with our loved ones. It's like a balancing act on a set of scales. You live with my shit. I live with yours. As long as the two piles of poop are about the same everything stays in balance and somewhat in harmony.
There's a tool I learned 10 years ago from the business world that I've never implemented in my personal life. It works for businesses, entrepreneurs, employees, parents, couples, and even for children. And it's simple.
At the end of each week, I ask each target on a scale of 1-10 how I did this week as a boss, employee, husband, parent.
Whatever the answer is, the second question is just as simple. How could I have gotten a 10?
This does a couple of things for the relationship. It demonstrates a desire for continuous improvement. It starts a conversation. And ultimately you never have to wonder where you stand.
Imagine an employee who never gets an annual review. You're probably one of them. If you ask your boss each week those two simple questions, your relationship with your boss and ultimately with your job will no longer be in question. You'll know exactly where you stand.
So how we doin'? On a scale of 1-10 how am I doing as blog writer. How do I get a 10?
PS. I have been inconsistent since last spring. My goal is to write 60 blogs by the end of January. So you will see more of my rants, thoughts, and observations.
We can all learn from WWE's vision
It seems that most people I talk to live in a regional mindset.
In university, for example, there was the proud Islander, who loved everyone and everything from PEI. There was the Alexander Keith drinking Nova Scotian.
24 years later, I observe the same regional level thinking going on with pre-Internet babies. Will the millenial generation will save us? The world is at their fingertips as they tap away on their internet ready devices at lunch, supper, movies, and no doubt during sex.
It's always been at our fingertips too. We lacked the vision to see it.
Before smartphones, 24/7 news, the Internet, and even before pay-per-view some had a vision of a global economy. The ones that did got insanely wealthy.
In the 1980's, wrestling companies thought and operated regionally. Vince McMahon inherited his business from his father. There were territorial lines in which a wrestling company wouldn't dare breach in fear of the retaliation from another.
Vince McMahon thought differently. He had a vision. He saw potential in a world class wrestling company that could make all the others look like amateurs. A packed arena of 300 people was small potatoes in his eyes. He wanted to fill football stadiums. 100,000 people in one venue was his dream.
In our communities, we regionalize our problems. Every few years, there is some community publicly looking for donations for a playground. "We need a place for our kids to play so that they stay off the streets". Turning the problem upside down, I see the real problem. The real problem is that the community doesn't have enough tax revenue to support it's infrastructure. I see a community not looking past tax dollars to increase that revenue stream. I see an opportunity for that town. Why couldn't the town buy a playground company, move the manufacturing to the town, create jobs, hire great people to run it. Then work with leasing companies to provide reasonable terms to other towns and schools looking for playgrounds. I'm sure there are problems with this idea, but why can't we do something instead of doing nothing.
All problems are opportunities turned upside down. Great opportunites have never been regional.
If McMahon can do it with a bunch of grown, steroid infused men acting like clowns with just enough cloth to hide their junk, then why can't you?
You need two things:
In university, for example, there was the proud Islander, who loved everyone and everything from PEI. There was the Alexander Keith drinking Nova Scotian.
24 years later, I observe the same regional level thinking going on with pre-Internet babies. Will the millenial generation will save us? The world is at their fingertips as they tap away on their internet ready devices at lunch, supper, movies, and no doubt during sex.
It's always been at our fingertips too. We lacked the vision to see it.
In the 1980's, wrestling companies thought and operated regionally. Vince McMahon inherited his business from his father. There were territorial lines in which a wrestling company wouldn't dare breach in fear of the retaliation from another.
Vince McMahon thought differently. He had a vision. He saw potential in a world class wrestling company that could make all the others look like amateurs. A packed arena of 300 people was small potatoes in his eyes. He wanted to fill football stadiums. 100,000 people in one venue was his dream.
In our communities, we regionalize our problems. Every few years, there is some community publicly looking for donations for a playground. "We need a place for our kids to play so that they stay off the streets". Turning the problem upside down, I see the real problem. The real problem is that the community doesn't have enough tax revenue to support it's infrastructure. I see a community not looking past tax dollars to increase that revenue stream. I see an opportunity for that town. Why couldn't the town buy a playground company, move the manufacturing to the town, create jobs, hire great people to run it. Then work with leasing companies to provide reasonable terms to other towns and schools looking for playgrounds. I'm sure there are problems with this idea, but why can't we do something instead of doing nothing.
All problems are opportunities turned upside down. Great opportunites have never been regional.
If McMahon can do it with a bunch of grown, steroid infused men acting like clowns with just enough cloth to hide their junk, then why can't you?
You need two things:
1. A dream for a better tomorrow.
2. The first step.
The path you choose is up to you.
Be a settler or a pioneer.
Follow others and you will be clear of danger.
There will be little fruit on the trees,
As others have already picked it clear.
Survival is almost certain, but you will be hungry.
Create your own path,
Be bold. Be strong.
Danger is lurking everywhere.
Safety is no where to be found.
If you survive, you will be famous
And your kids will never know what hunger is.
Thursday, November 20, 2014
Attack of the clones!!
I've been silently rebelling the school system since I was a teenager.
It has something to do with one size fits all.
As a parent, I remember my first parent teacher meeting. I was so excited. Finally I would know what happened in these secret meetings my mom attended.
"Your daughter has difficulty in prioritizing time in art class. She spent 10 minutes thinking about what she wanted to do. She didn't complete her painting in the time allotted."
Teaching the value of planning wasn't important to this person. Urgh.
Last week, I was speaking to the principal of my kids' school. The issue was my son. He takes classical music lessons at another school. He gets bussed there and returns to his school after dark. He caused a commotion on the school bus. I was informed that the bus was a privilege and not a right.
Sounded like I was back in grade 8 with mademoiselle Bourque as she referred to me as monsieur Nicholson. It still gives me the shakety shakes when people use mister in a condescending way.
"The number one priority of the bus system is to ensure the safe transportation of ALL kids. Your son's actions distracted the driver while he tried to perform his duties."
Can't argue with that line of thinking. Safety on the bus is my biggest priority too. Then I thought if safety was so important why there were no seat belts on the bus, except for the driver.
"Since we're talking about safety", I retort, "how can the bus driver leave children in the school parking lot unattended in the dark?"
"The bus driver belongs to a different department, and legally we can't be held responsible for the safety of the child when it's the parents' responsibility to pick up their children on time."
"What's your moral responsibility? If something happens to a child, you will all feel extremely bad. You'll carry it on your conscience for the rest of your life. You'll waste valuable time devising a strategy, sending it for approval to your boss and your boss's boss. Eventually someone will come up with an action plan that will require the bus driver to wait the extra FIVE minutes until all parents arrive."
"Tell me which parents are late. I will follow up with them to make sure they are always on time for their children".
Agghhhhh!
Why aren't these people thinking past their own responsibilities?
Have they lost the reasons why they are educators?
Are they drone teaching clones?
What happened to creative thinking?
If they are not curious how do they teach our kids to be more curious?
I was talking to a call centre agent acting as a principal. She was scrolling for possible answers on her computer screen. Using pre-defined answers demonstrates again that creativity and the ability to think for oneself is something not promoted in public school.
I don't want my kids to be clones.
I want my kids to question everything like they did when they were two.
I have friends who are teachers. They are extremely creative yet get bogged down by administrative tasks. Teachers have a raw deal. One that I would never want, except in July and August.
It has something to do with one size fits all.
As a parent, I remember my first parent teacher meeting. I was so excited. Finally I would know what happened in these secret meetings my mom attended.
"Your daughter has difficulty in prioritizing time in art class. She spent 10 minutes thinking about what she wanted to do. She didn't complete her painting in the time allotted."
Teaching the value of planning wasn't important to this person. Urgh.
Last week, I was speaking to the principal of my kids' school. The issue was my son. He takes classical music lessons at another school. He gets bussed there and returns to his school after dark. He caused a commotion on the school bus. I was informed that the bus was a privilege and not a right.
Sounded like I was back in grade 8 with mademoiselle Bourque as she referred to me as monsieur Nicholson. It still gives me the shakety shakes when people use mister in a condescending way.
"The number one priority of the bus system is to ensure the safe transportation of ALL kids. Your son's actions distracted the driver while he tried to perform his duties."
Can't argue with that line of thinking. Safety on the bus is my biggest priority too. Then I thought if safety was so important why there were no seat belts on the bus, except for the driver.
"Since we're talking about safety", I retort, "how can the bus driver leave children in the school parking lot unattended in the dark?"
"The bus driver belongs to a different department, and legally we can't be held responsible for the safety of the child when it's the parents' responsibility to pick up their children on time."
"What's your moral responsibility? If something happens to a child, you will all feel extremely bad. You'll carry it on your conscience for the rest of your life. You'll waste valuable time devising a strategy, sending it for approval to your boss and your boss's boss. Eventually someone will come up with an action plan that will require the bus driver to wait the extra FIVE minutes until all parents arrive."
"Tell me which parents are late. I will follow up with them to make sure they are always on time for their children".
Agghhhhh!
Why aren't these people thinking past their own responsibilities?
Have they lost the reasons why they are educators?
Are they drone teaching clones?
What happened to creative thinking?
If they are not curious how do they teach our kids to be more curious?
I was talking to a call centre agent acting as a principal. She was scrolling for possible answers on her computer screen. Using pre-defined answers demonstrates again that creativity and the ability to think for oneself is something not promoted in public school.
I don't want my kids to be clones.
I want my kids to question everything like they did when they were two.
I have friends who are teachers. They are extremely creative yet get bogged down by administrative tasks. Teachers have a raw deal. One that I would never want, except in July and August.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Walking on water
Every once in a while, I dream something vivid. When I try to explain it it the morning, it makes less sense than it did when it was experienced.
We have two brains. The left brain is our logical analytical brain while the right brain is the creative counterpart.
When we sleep, the logical, left brain shuts off while the creative right side awakens.
Poetry comes from the creative side too.
So in keeping with right brained thinking, I'm going to explain this cool dream in my first ever poem not of the "roses are red variety".
Walking on white sands of Talbota
Skies were aqua
Water like sky
Iron on beaches
Nails, nails, nails
Some turned down
Some turned up
Careful where I walked
I got to watersfront
There was feeling under my feet
Magnetic, magnetic, magnetic
The water lifted me up
For a brief moment
I walked on water
So does everyone else
Laughing, crying, numbing
Greatest feeling of joy
Serene, serene, serene
People everywhere are on knees
Celebrating with family
Magnetism leaves
I sink into the water
Bang, Bang, Bang
Our tour guide says its time to go
I don't want to leave
I am afraid, so I listen
We rush to a bus
Looking behind us
Scared, scared, scared
We leave this place never to return
We have two brains. The left brain is our logical analytical brain while the right brain is the creative counterpart.
When we sleep, the logical, left brain shuts off while the creative right side awakens.
Poetry comes from the creative side too.
So in keeping with right brained thinking, I'm going to explain this cool dream in my first ever poem not of the "roses are red variety".
Walking on white sands of Talbota
Skies were aqua
Water like sky
Iron on beaches
Nails, nails, nails
Some turned down
Some turned up
Careful where I walked
I got to watersfront
There was feeling under my feet
Magnetic, magnetic, magnetic
The water lifted me up
For a brief moment
I walked on water
So does everyone else
Laughing, crying, numbing
Greatest feeling of joy
Serene, serene, serene
People everywhere are on knees
Celebrating with family
Magnetism leaves
I sink into the water
Bang, Bang, Bang
Our tour guide says its time to go
I don't want to leave
I am afraid, so I listen
We rush to a bus
Looking behind us
Scared, scared, scared
We leave this place never to return
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Struggles with Motivation
I wonder where the little bugger called motivation hides.
When he's in my grasp, nothing holds me back.
It's the days I lose him that bothers me.
There are days when I can't lift my ass off the couch except to go to the bathroom or to grab some food in the kitchen. I just want to sit in front of the TV all day and not do a damn thing. Sit and watch movies, sports, sitcoms. Eat chips, ice cream, candies. Drink rum, beer or whatever's in the fridge.
It usually lasts for an entire day.
I have enough to do.
My wife has a honey-do list waiting for my attention.
The kids want to play.
The garage needs cleaning.
The dog likes to walk.
I'm zombing out.
My old man would call me lazy. .
In these funks, I ask myself, "What will it take to get me motivated today?". The more I do nothing, the less I want to do, and the less I feel good about myself.
How do I release myself from the clutches of inertia. Sleep and a shower help but they generally come a day too late. But sometimes I do break out. Here's what it takes.
Action!
I start by doing something. Even if I really don't want to do it. I just start it and think to myself that when it's over I'll go back to the sofa.
In taking those first few steps, I don't zombie out again. I start feeling good. I feel productive. I feel like I accomplished one thing. Then the dopamine kicks in and I want to do something else.
My wife is smart enough to know when I'm in one these moods by suggesting we go for a walk. After minutes of deliberating, I tag along kicking and screaming. Then by some miraculous magical occurrence I feel better.
I learned from my dark days that motivation is found in an accumulation of baby steps.
Where do you find motivation? Like a marathon, you take one step at a time.
Just do it!!!
When he's in my grasp, nothing holds me back.
It's the days I lose him that bothers me.
There are days when I can't lift my ass off the couch except to go to the bathroom or to grab some food in the kitchen. I just want to sit in front of the TV all day and not do a damn thing. Sit and watch movies, sports, sitcoms. Eat chips, ice cream, candies. Drink rum, beer or whatever's in the fridge.
It usually lasts for an entire day.
I have enough to do.
My wife has a honey-do list waiting for my attention.
The kids want to play.
The garage needs cleaning.
The dog likes to walk.
I'm zombing out.
My old man would call me lazy. .
In these funks, I ask myself, "What will it take to get me motivated today?". The more I do nothing, the less I want to do, and the less I feel good about myself.
How do I release myself from the clutches of inertia. Sleep and a shower help but they generally come a day too late. But sometimes I do break out. Here's what it takes.
Action!
I start by doing something. Even if I really don't want to do it. I just start it and think to myself that when it's over I'll go back to the sofa.
In taking those first few steps, I don't zombie out again. I start feeling good. I feel productive. I feel like I accomplished one thing. Then the dopamine kicks in and I want to do something else.
My wife is smart enough to know when I'm in one these moods by suggesting we go for a walk. After minutes of deliberating, I tag along kicking and screaming. Then by some miraculous magical occurrence I feel better.
I learned from my dark days that motivation is found in an accumulation of baby steps.
Where do you find motivation? Like a marathon, you take one step at a time.
Just do it!!!
Monday, November 17, 2014
Are you a hero or a victim?
I watched Maleficent this weekend. The story of Sleeping Beauty is retold from different angle.
The original children's story tells of a villainous witch who casts a spell on a young innocent baby in retaliation to the land's ruler. The kingdom descends into darkness until one fateful day, the hero arrives. He kisses the fair maiden to awaken her and slays the wicked witch.
In the original story, the hero is Prince Phillip. The victim is the Aurora. And the villain is the Maleficent.
This is a classic setup for every great story. It's called the "Drama Triangle". For drama to exist in any relationship, there is a need for all three characters.
Similar to most remakes, I expected a story told in the same way with super special effects and sustainable acting.
What I got was much better. They flipped the character archetypes.
In the retold version of Sleeping Beauty, Maleficent, a dark character, plays the victim. Aurora's father, King Sebastien takes on the villain role. Aurora is the hero.
The story took on a whole new meaning as the viewer sympathizes with the dark witch.
Now think about real life for a moment. Doesn't the Drama Triangle get flipped depending on perspective?
We don't see ourselves as the villain in the story of our lives. We see ourselves as either victim or hero.
If take the victim role, we look for our knight in shining armour to save the day.
If we play hero, we fight evil to right the wrongs of our world.
In either case, when we set ourselves up to be one of hero or victim, we've now entered the Drama Triangle. Arguments ensue, feelings get hurt, fights break out and vengeance devours the weak.
If we don't want drama in our lives, we must decline the roles of victim and hero. No participation, drama crumbles. It has no choice. It's only effective when there are three characters in the game.
Don't play the game!
The original children's story tells of a villainous witch who casts a spell on a young innocent baby in retaliation to the land's ruler. The kingdom descends into darkness until one fateful day, the hero arrives. He kisses the fair maiden to awaken her and slays the wicked witch.
In the original story, the hero is Prince Phillip. The victim is the Aurora. And the villain is the Maleficent.
This is a classic setup for every great story. It's called the "Drama Triangle". For drama to exist in any relationship, there is a need for all three characters.
Similar to most remakes, I expected a story told in the same way with super special effects and sustainable acting.
What I got was much better. They flipped the character archetypes.
In the retold version of Sleeping Beauty, Maleficent, a dark character, plays the victim. Aurora's father, King Sebastien takes on the villain role. Aurora is the hero.
The story took on a whole new meaning as the viewer sympathizes with the dark witch.
Now think about real life for a moment. Doesn't the Drama Triangle get flipped depending on perspective?
We don't see ourselves as the villain in the story of our lives. We see ourselves as either victim or hero.
If take the victim role, we look for our knight in shining armour to save the day.
If we play hero, we fight evil to right the wrongs of our world.
In either case, when we set ourselves up to be one of hero or victim, we've now entered the Drama Triangle. Arguments ensue, feelings get hurt, fights break out and vengeance devours the weak.
If we don't want drama in our lives, we must decline the roles of victim and hero. No participation, drama crumbles. It has no choice. It's only effective when there are three characters in the game.
Don't play the game!
Monday, November 10, 2014
Idea assassin
Have you ever been a killer of ideas?
Have you ever beaten up someone mentally because he/she said something so ridiculous that your mind could not process the idiocy of their thoughts?
Have you ever laughed at a stupid statement and then later saw the potential brilliance in the person?
I've been guilty of all the above. I'm hoping I'm not alone. If so, I have to reevaluate my opinion of me.
My mom had a dream of opening a restaurant. She found a location, built a business plan and bought a building. She had a dream. A dream that was going to give her family a better life than the seasonal low pay of a fish factory worker.
I see these dreams every day. I love hearing people dream in a non dreaming world.
At her worst possible moment when self doubt crept in, her smart-assed teenage son spoke up. Her eldest boy, her pride and joy, her spawn. No one could hurt her more than him.
And I did.
The dream died. A piece of mom died too. I never heard her dream anymore. She sold the building. She went back to work and stopped thinking about what could be.
I killed my mom's idea. I didn't know what I was talking about. I knew nothing about business. I knew nothing about dreams as I was desperately conforming in a teenage world where no one dared be different.
Yet when I wanted to start my businesses, what did my mom do? She did what every great mother does. She asked a lot of questions and stood on the sidelines and quietly cheered for her boy.
Love cheers others on. Jealously, fear, anger pulls them back.
Don't be an idea assassin. Love your friend or family member and cheer them on to success. If you know nothing about business, keep your opinions to yourself. If you don't KNOW what you're talking about, the advice you give will hurt them. I guarantee it will hurt you in the end.
I tell new entrepreneurs all of the time not to listen to their families and friends if they've never owned a successful business. The advice from loved ones is blind. Most times, it interferes and pulls you in the wrong direction.
I'm talking from experience. Take it for what it's worth.
Have you ever beaten up someone mentally because he/she said something so ridiculous that your mind could not process the idiocy of their thoughts?
Have you ever laughed at a stupid statement and then later saw the potential brilliance in the person?
I've been guilty of all the above. I'm hoping I'm not alone. If so, I have to reevaluate my opinion of me.
My mom had a dream of opening a restaurant. She found a location, built a business plan and bought a building. She had a dream. A dream that was going to give her family a better life than the seasonal low pay of a fish factory worker.
I see these dreams every day. I love hearing people dream in a non dreaming world.
At her worst possible moment when self doubt crept in, her smart-assed teenage son spoke up. Her eldest boy, her pride and joy, her spawn. No one could hurt her more than him.
And I did.
The dream died. A piece of mom died too. I never heard her dream anymore. She sold the building. She went back to work and stopped thinking about what could be.
I killed my mom's idea. I didn't know what I was talking about. I knew nothing about business. I knew nothing about dreams as I was desperately conforming in a teenage world where no one dared be different.
Yet when I wanted to start my businesses, what did my mom do? She did what every great mother does. She asked a lot of questions and stood on the sidelines and quietly cheered for her boy.
Love cheers others on. Jealously, fear, anger pulls them back.
Don't be an idea assassin. Love your friend or family member and cheer them on to success. If you know nothing about business, keep your opinions to yourself. If you don't KNOW what you're talking about, the advice you give will hurt them. I guarantee it will hurt you in the end.
I tell new entrepreneurs all of the time not to listen to their families and friends if they've never owned a successful business. The advice from loved ones is blind. Most times, it interferes and pulls you in the wrong direction.
I'm talking from experience. Take it for what it's worth.
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Weapons of mass destruction
Fear, anxiety, restlessness. Let us make sure everyone is afraid of some resident evil that will destroy the very clothed blanket of what our forefathers built for us.
I refuse to participate in the fear mongering of world leaders and the media. Bad people do crazy unethical acts. I get that.
We call them terrorists. By definition anyone can be considered a terrorist who instills fear. Are terrorists defined by brown people living under a Muslim faith? That's what we focus on. Can biker gangs be considered terrorist?
I accused my daughter of terrorism yesterday. If she is put on a no flight registry, should I be surprised?
We create the big bad wolf. We need some danger to target our attention. Hitler and Stalin became Hussein and Bin Ladin became ISIS and Al Quaeda.
We allow powerful men from powerful nations to have power over us.
Are we free?
The media tells us we're free. The leaders tell us we're free. Don't pay taxes and find out how free you are. Power is held by powerful men releasing an even flow of anxiety.
Was I born a slave? Is thought the only thing that can save us?
Paraphrasing Oscar Wilde's poem, replacing "love" with " freedom",
Freedom will fly if held too lightly,
Freedom will die if held too tightly,
Lightly, tightly, how do I know
Whether I'm holding or letting Freedom go.
Which pill are you willing to take - red or blue?
I refuse to participate in the fear mongering of world leaders and the media. Bad people do crazy unethical acts. I get that.
We call them terrorists. By definition anyone can be considered a terrorist who instills fear. Are terrorists defined by brown people living under a Muslim faith? That's what we focus on. Can biker gangs be considered terrorist?
I accused my daughter of terrorism yesterday. If she is put on a no flight registry, should I be surprised?
We create the big bad wolf. We need some danger to target our attention. Hitler and Stalin became Hussein and Bin Ladin became ISIS and Al Quaeda.
We allow powerful men from powerful nations to have power over us.
Are we free?
The media tells us we're free. The leaders tell us we're free. Don't pay taxes and find out how free you are. Power is held by powerful men releasing an even flow of anxiety.
Was I born a slave? Is thought the only thing that can save us?
Paraphrasing Oscar Wilde's poem, replacing "love" with " freedom",
Freedom will fly if held too lightly,
Freedom will die if held too tightly,
Lightly, tightly, how do I know
Whether I'm holding or letting Freedom go.
Which pill are you willing to take - red or blue?
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
I see nothing...
Do you remember the series "Hogan's Heros"? The story was about Americans in a German POW camp during World War II and all of their escapades in gathering espionage from the wanting to be loved Colonel Klink and his dupable sidekick Sergeant Shultz.
Many times Shultz would catch the prisoners in action. Thinking he himself would get into trouble from Klink, he would iterate in a poor American-German accent, "I see nutting".
I was thinking about that line this morning when I was reading about false assumptions.
We all make assumptions. Many of those assumptions are based on experience. Some are based on the experience of others that we've heard about. Some are just made up because we think we're pretty smart.
Although experience can mean a great deal. It can also mean nothing. Albert Einstein once gave the same Physics exam to the same group of students two years in a row. When his assistant asked why, his answer was, "Because the answers have changed".
Can the assumptions we have be wrong? Can the answers change?
A friend asked me a great question over lunch the other day. "Do you know the answer or do you think you know the answer?". Thinking hard about his pose, I believe that more often than not, I think I know the answer.
I know a lot of stuff. But more importantly, there's more I don't know. And things change...
Instead of having answers, I am trying to have more questions. How freeing!!
We learn about perceptions and how each of us can have quite different perceptions of the world. How can I see the world through your eyes? The simple answer is "I see nothing".
You may need help but it can't be from my advice. I need you to see the answers through my questions.
How many good questions have you asked lately?
Many times Shultz would catch the prisoners in action. Thinking he himself would get into trouble from Klink, he would iterate in a poor American-German accent, "I see nutting".
I was thinking about that line this morning when I was reading about false assumptions.
We all make assumptions. Many of those assumptions are based on experience. Some are based on the experience of others that we've heard about. Some are just made up because we think we're pretty smart.
Although experience can mean a great deal. It can also mean nothing. Albert Einstein once gave the same Physics exam to the same group of students two years in a row. When his assistant asked why, his answer was, "Because the answers have changed".
Can the assumptions we have be wrong? Can the answers change?
A friend asked me a great question over lunch the other day. "Do you know the answer or do you think you know the answer?". Thinking hard about his pose, I believe that more often than not, I think I know the answer.
I know a lot of stuff. But more importantly, there's more I don't know. And things change...
Instead of having answers, I am trying to have more questions. How freeing!!
We learn about perceptions and how each of us can have quite different perceptions of the world. How can I see the world through your eyes? The simple answer is "I see nothing".
You may need help but it can't be from my advice. I need you to see the answers through my questions.
How many good questions have you asked lately?
Friday, October 3, 2014
Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.
A friend recently opened a business. He was so excited. There was a gleam in his eye. The same gleam when a proud father talks about the birth of a child. He opened to very strong sales as people "test drove" his offering for the first time. This is what is called the honeymoon period.
Just like a relationship, nothing goes wrong on a honeymoon. And even if it did, you just shake it off and continue to enjoy the ride.
Just like a relationship, nothing goes wrong on a honeymoon. And even if it did, you just shake it off and continue to enjoy the ride.
Business was so good, he exclaimed the business had surpassed his wildest dreams. It was such an exciting time.
There were holes in his business model. Ignorant me, by pointing out some of the flaws in his assumptions, I upset him more than helped him. I thought his business could benefit from my input. Leaving that day, my main concern was how to improve my coaching skills.
There were holes in his business model. Ignorant me, by pointing out some of the flaws in his assumptions, I upset him more than helped him. I thought his business could benefit from my input. Leaving that day, my main concern was how to improve my coaching skills.
It's his business. He has the final say on all things. That's why owning a business is so great. You don't have to listen to anyone except your customer. Ultimately, the only boss that matters is the one putting money in the cash register. Business owners can take objective, outside advice or they can discount it. My friend chose the latter, stating consumers were quite happy with his product offering.
Three months later, sales started to decline. When sales start to lag, I see too many business owners who point the finger at some external force. It's someone else's fault whether it be the economy, increased competition, government regulations, landlord demands, employee problems or some other black force killing sales. People don't like to look internally at themselves.
How can I be be the problem? What can I do differently? Where are my blind spots? What are my limiting beliefs? Is there an assumption I'm making that may not be true?
This is not only true of business people.
We look to place blame on the big bad wolf that is trying to huff and puff to blow the house down.
How can I be be the problem? What can I do differently? Where are my blind spots? What are my limiting beliefs? Is there an assumption I'm making that may not be true?
This is not only true of business people.
We look to place blame on the big bad wolf that is trying to huff and puff to blow the house down.
I want you to remember the children's story of "The Three Little Pigs". The moral of the story has nothing to do with the wolf. It has to do with preparation for the wolf. Just build the business/yourself out of bricks - solid, stable and sturdy enough to withhold the wolf's breath.
One day there will be a wolf. Know your flaws. Learn your blindspots. If a wolf blows your house down, it was your fault. You should have known he was coming, because he is relentless.
Thursday, October 2, 2014
What is your art?
I took a step today.
Is it the right step? I dunno.
Is it a step in the right direction? I dunno that either.
The Chetshire Cat said to Alice, if you don't know where you're going, any road will do. That damn indignant face of a smug bastard reminds me to know where I want to go before taking the first step.
I have been still for too long. There's an old saying my gramma used to say, "Still water runs deep". Sorry gramma, with all due respect, still water can also stink. I think I'm starting to stink.
I'm looking for my passion. But everywhere I look, it's no where to be found.
One friend advised that passion was something we find after we develop our craft. That would mean craft is the driving force, and passion is in the backseat waiting for you to realize the drive is a lot of fun.
Not sure about that.
Another friend suggested to try a number of things like painting or photography and see what I would like to do. I'm thinking photography could be fun. But I don't want to take pictures of people. I want to take pictures of oddities. I saw a coffee cup on the beach, washed into the sand by constant beating of the waves. The beauty of the beach, coupled with the disgust of man's inconsideration of nature's beauty was a paradox. I was intrigued.
We have friends whom consider themselves artists. Some are painters, dancers, singers. And yes some are writers and photographers.
Is that where art ends? Can it be anything that breeds creativity? Or does creativity breed art?
In Seth Godin's book, "Linchpin", he stipulates that all of us have art inside of us. We suppress it out of fear, and self doubt. He says that the art is the one thing that exists deep within us that we would gladly do for free, if we could. We let money get in our way.
I don't think money has anything to do with it. I think it is fear and fear alone that keeps us still.
I'm no longer willing to sit still. I'm going to do stuff. I don't know if I'll find my art in the process. I can't mentally afford to stink any more.
Two questions for you today...
1. Have you identified your art?
2. Are you stinking in your own still water?
Happy Thursday!
Rick
Is it the right step? I dunno.
Is it a step in the right direction? I dunno that either.
The Chetshire Cat said to Alice, if you don't know where you're going, any road will do. That damn indignant face of a smug bastard reminds me to know where I want to go before taking the first step.
I have been still for too long. There's an old saying my gramma used to say, "Still water runs deep". Sorry gramma, with all due respect, still water can also stink. I think I'm starting to stink.
I'm looking for my passion. But everywhere I look, it's no where to be found.
One friend advised that passion was something we find after we develop our craft. That would mean craft is the driving force, and passion is in the backseat waiting for you to realize the drive is a lot of fun.
Not sure about that.
Another friend suggested to try a number of things like painting or photography and see what I would like to do. I'm thinking photography could be fun. But I don't want to take pictures of people. I want to take pictures of oddities. I saw a coffee cup on the beach, washed into the sand by constant beating of the waves. The beauty of the beach, coupled with the disgust of man's inconsideration of nature's beauty was a paradox. I was intrigued.
We have friends whom consider themselves artists. Some are painters, dancers, singers. And yes some are writers and photographers.
Is that where art ends? Can it be anything that breeds creativity? Or does creativity breed art?
In Seth Godin's book, "Linchpin", he stipulates that all of us have art inside of us. We suppress it out of fear, and self doubt. He says that the art is the one thing that exists deep within us that we would gladly do for free, if we could. We let money get in our way.
I don't think money has anything to do with it. I think it is fear and fear alone that keeps us still.
I'm no longer willing to sit still. I'm going to do stuff. I don't know if I'll find my art in the process. I can't mentally afford to stink any more.
Two questions for you today...
1. Have you identified your art?
2. Are you stinking in your own still water?
Happy Thursday!
Rick
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
The hand of God
Tick, tock, tick, tock. The watch on my wrist moves ever so slightly, each and every second of the day. I never notice the ticking of time. Seconds swing into minutes. Minutes move into hours. Hours hurry into days. Except today at 9:22.
Time stopped today at 9:22 am. I was in the middle of a presentation to a group of entrepreneurs when the clock stopped ticking. A very awkward event turned into a beautiful and loving interaction.
Have you ever had God speak to you? I believe he spoke to me today.
A woman came up to me in the middle of my presentation and stopped me cold in my tracks. She went to the front of the room and grabbed my right arm and looked deep into my eyes as if she was in a trance. She spoke to me on such a deep spiritual level that it felt like it came right from the mouth of God. When I tried to convince her to return to her seat, she reiterated the message and told me that I needed to listen to what she was saying.
She said some things that scared me. How does she know I'm struggling with that particular issue? I don't know this lady.
If God spoke to me today, I'm scared. Things were said that I don't know how to deal with. Some may say she's a bit odd, maybe even crazy. I'm not qualified to categorize her. I know how her words made me feel. Among many things, she asked me to look deep inside my heart and start working toward my true purpose.
The ticking started again as she was escorted away. I did the presentation feeling eternally touched by an angel.
Opportunity knocks? Bullshit.
Opportunity whispers in the faintest of voices that if we're not paying attention, we miss it.
I'm feeling that if I dismiss this message I miss the opportunity that is being presented.
Thank you mysterious lady. You changed my life today.
Time stopped today at 9:22 am. I was in the middle of a presentation to a group of entrepreneurs when the clock stopped ticking. A very awkward event turned into a beautiful and loving interaction.
Have you ever had God speak to you? I believe he spoke to me today.
A woman came up to me in the middle of my presentation and stopped me cold in my tracks. She went to the front of the room and grabbed my right arm and looked deep into my eyes as if she was in a trance. She spoke to me on such a deep spiritual level that it felt like it came right from the mouth of God. When I tried to convince her to return to her seat, she reiterated the message and told me that I needed to listen to what she was saying.
She said some things that scared me. How does she know I'm struggling with that particular issue? I don't know this lady.
If God spoke to me today, I'm scared. Things were said that I don't know how to deal with. Some may say she's a bit odd, maybe even crazy. I'm not qualified to categorize her. I know how her words made me feel. Among many things, she asked me to look deep inside my heart and start working toward my true purpose.
The ticking started again as she was escorted away. I did the presentation feeling eternally touched by an angel.
Opportunity knocks? Bullshit.
Opportunity whispers in the faintest of voices that if we're not paying attention, we miss it.
I'm feeling that if I dismiss this message I miss the opportunity that is being presented.
Thank you mysterious lady. You changed my life today.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
We need to talk
Going to get my first cup of coffee of the morning, my wife tells me we need to talk. Any time I'm informed of a need to talk, it's usually not a good way to start the day. My head sinks. My insides hurt. I want to run away shaking my head, while plugging my ears, screaming at the top of my lungs, "NANANANANANA".
Normal for a kid, but unfortunately not acceptable for me. I take my punishment. I listen. As hard as it is to keep my yap shut, I'm well aware that a talk is really her talking and me being quiet. So I bite my tongue, mute the sports highlights and I nod. I agree to as much as I possibly can. But I listen. Even when I'm not listening, I keep my eyes focused on hers. If nothing else she thinks I'm listening.
I'm a puppy. My mind races as the subject gets boring. That goal was unreal. Too bad I couldn't hear what the announcer just said. I can't believe I listened for this long. It has to be a world record. Did anyone time me? I'm sure my wife is proud of me for listening today. Maybe I'll get a treat when she's done. Wait a minute. Her mouth is still moving. She is not done. Turn away from the TV. What did she just say? I hope she won't ask me to repeat what she just said. Just keep nodding as if you heard every word I think to myself.
Then the dreaded question comes out, "What do you think"? as she rubs my nose in my mistake. Now that it's my turn to talk, I scroll through the possible answers.
"I couldn't give a rat's ass"
"Whatever you think"
"I can't tell you how much I really don't care what you do"
"How much is this going to cost"
I'm screwed. I got nothing. She wants a two way conversation and I'm still trying to get a java fix, while catching up on last night's sports highlights.
Sometimes I think I'm a terrible partner. But there are times when I think she knows I'm a puppy and she just tortures me for the fun of it.
As long as she thinks I'm cute, I should be ok. Dread be the day, she sees me as an old dog.
As long as she thinks I'm cute, I should be ok. Dread be the day, she sees me as an old dog.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Growth
Isn't it normal that we want more? We may want more money, more free time, more love or more vacations.
Each one of us have our reasons for wanting these things. Did you ever wonder why some people get more of what they want while we struggle with less sometimes.
Researching emotions, I discovered a fantastic equation that puts growth into a new perspective
Each one of us have our reasons for wanting these things. Did you ever wonder why some people get more of what they want while we struggle with less sometimes.
Researching emotions, I discovered a fantastic equation that puts growth into a new perspective
Growth = Change - Resistance
If we want more of anything in our lives, we're searching for growth. Growth requires change. Sustainable change requires commitment. Commitment needs us to change our thinking.
The last variable of the equation has to do with resistance. That little voice that spews out negativity, skepticism, cynicism or anything else that slows us down is part of this resistance. Resistances could be anything from limiting beliefs, stubbornness, to inability to see someone else's perspective. We need to go into change with a completely open, positive frame of mind.
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
What's your favourite body part?
Let us slip back and time and ask a question you may have been asked in high school. What is your favourite body part?
I love the eyes. They tell so much about a person.
Eyes are so called windows to the soul.
Notice that I didn't mention to who's body I was referring. Someone else's or our own?
In today's world of plasticity, we have forgotten to love ourselves.
Do you have a favourite body part on yourself? Do you have an area that you think was made just perfect?
Look at yourself in the mirror. Maybe there is an area that has too much hair, too flabby, too skeletal? What do you compare yourself to? Is it an ideal that you see in a photo-shopped magazine? Is the Hollywood standard what we measure ourselves against?
It's easy for us to criticize the plastic posers that supposedly signify beauty of our generation.
I think it's normal to have parts that we are dissatisfied with. I know I have my fair share of things that I would love to change. Some things are my own doing and some are genetic.
But there's one area on my body I have always loved. Call me egotistical. Call me vain. When I'm feeling down about my aging vessel, I check my fave part out in the mirror. It always makes me feel better.
My wife laughs when I brag about it. She thinks I'm a crazy.
Before we can love someone else we have to love ourselves. Yet we look in the mirror and there are things that we would like to change. Can we be thankful for the things we have?
That being said I'm going to continue to love this fave body part on myself.
I love the eyes. They tell so much about a person.
Eyes are so called windows to the soul.
Notice that I didn't mention to who's body I was referring. Someone else's or our own?
In today's world of plasticity, we have forgotten to love ourselves.
Do you have a favourite body part on yourself? Do you have an area that you think was made just perfect?
Look at yourself in the mirror. Maybe there is an area that has too much hair, too flabby, too skeletal? What do you compare yourself to? Is it an ideal that you see in a photo-shopped magazine? Is the Hollywood standard what we measure ourselves against?
It's easy for us to criticize the plastic posers that supposedly signify beauty of our generation.
I think it's normal to have parts that we are dissatisfied with. I know I have my fair share of things that I would love to change. Some things are my own doing and some are genetic.
But there's one area on my body I have always loved. Call me egotistical. Call me vain. When I'm feeling down about my aging vessel, I check my fave part out in the mirror. It always makes me feel better.
My wife laughs when I brag about it. She thinks I'm a crazy.
Before we can love someone else we have to love ourselves. Yet we look in the mirror and there are things that we would like to change. Can we be thankful for the things we have?
That being said I'm going to continue to love this fave body part on myself.
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Reflections
It's been 11 months since we sold our businesses. I planned to be back at the helm of another business within weeks. It doesn't feel that long ago. But then, I didn't do much all summer. Unless getting the best tan I've had since I was 22 is considered doing something.
I enjoyed the summer. It's now over. And now I must return to my dreams.
The quiet serenity of my house has returned as the kids re-enter school. So it is with this tranquility that I reflect. Reflect where I am and the progress of my 11 month non-voyage.
Three months into my sabbatical, encouraged that something was imminent, I hand wrote my goals for 2014. I was excited. Everything seemed possible.
Was I dreaming? Was I expecting too much? I have learned to shoot for the stars in my expectations and I'll end up somewhere near the moon. Dream big or go home.
Anyone who knows me, I mean really knows me, knows that I'm a dreamer. It's probably got something to do with when I was born. Not a fan of horoscopes, however there seems to be some truth to my Aquarius sign.
Until now, most of my dreams have come true. This one really hurts as 2014 enters the homestretch.
I know I can't force what I want. I know I can't make other people do what I want. But with all of this uncertainty, I am questioning if this is something I really want. I have pursued it for 9 months. Is there something in the universe that is holding it back from me. Am I worthy enough for this project? Am I being protected from it. Have I done everything I can to move this forward?
I'm concerned this dream is never going to be realized. I have to start dreaming of something else. So in analyzing what I want, I am told to follow my bliss. Have you ever wondered about your bliss? I don't know if I have one.
Your bliss is supposed to be that job you'd work happily at for free. Most anything I can think of would be fun for a few weeks, but then I'd be bored. My wife asked me what I'm really passionate about. I don't have an answer. Is it possible, I don't have a bliss?
I don't have any of the answers. I'm sharing my thoughts, my reflections, my insecurities.
I have to get back to work. All this reflecting is scaring the shit out of me.
I enjoyed the summer. It's now over. And now I must return to my dreams.
The quiet serenity of my house has returned as the kids re-enter school. So it is with this tranquility that I reflect. Reflect where I am and the progress of my 11 month non-voyage.
Three months into my sabbatical, encouraged that something was imminent, I hand wrote my goals for 2014. I was excited. Everything seemed possible.
Was I dreaming? Was I expecting too much? I have learned to shoot for the stars in my expectations and I'll end up somewhere near the moon. Dream big or go home.
Anyone who knows me, I mean really knows me, knows that I'm a dreamer. It's probably got something to do with when I was born. Not a fan of horoscopes, however there seems to be some truth to my Aquarius sign.
Until now, most of my dreams have come true. This one really hurts as 2014 enters the homestretch.
I know I can't force what I want. I know I can't make other people do what I want. But with all of this uncertainty, I am questioning if this is something I really want. I have pursued it for 9 months. Is there something in the universe that is holding it back from me. Am I worthy enough for this project? Am I being protected from it. Have I done everything I can to move this forward?
I'm concerned this dream is never going to be realized. I have to start dreaming of something else. So in analyzing what I want, I am told to follow my bliss. Have you ever wondered about your bliss? I don't know if I have one.
Your bliss is supposed to be that job you'd work happily at for free. Most anything I can think of would be fun for a few weeks, but then I'd be bored. My wife asked me what I'm really passionate about. I don't have an answer. Is it possible, I don't have a bliss?
I don't have any of the answers. I'm sharing my thoughts, my reflections, my insecurities.
I have to get back to work. All this reflecting is scaring the shit out of me.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Human touch
Do you have an impression of big box retailers? Is it good, bad or are you truly indifferent about them? Do you think about the level of service you receive versus the costs savings associated with them?
I do.
In my opinion they are all the same. You get cheap stuff at better prices than most other retailers. Service is questionable at best. But there is one glaring exception to this model: Costco.
What is Costco's secret sauce? As a fan, I've been noticing things I never noticed before. First off, former CEO Jim Senegal says that the only thing that matters at Costco is employee culture. He figured out that culture is more important than brand, more important than prices, more important than anything...
Recently I had the pleasure of walking by the staff area at my local Costco. I think I saw the key ingredient in their success. On a list of employee principles, the first line said, "Look at customers in the eye".
Look at customers in the eye!!! Brilliant. Acknowledge a customer as if they matter. Not another cog in an endless line of people buying disposal crap. Companies have a hard time training staff to do just that. And it's not just the big box multinational stores.
It's also the small and medium sized businesses.
A big company like Costco treats us like people and we reward them for it.
If you own a small business, try treating your customers like people. Treat them like family. You'll be surprised by the results. You don't need to spend that ad budget on getting new customers. Just work on the ones you already have. Create raving fans. They'll do all the advertising for you.
Have I mentioned I love Costco? What does it cost to look people in the eye?
Try it. Teach your staff how to do it. I dare you.
I do.
In my opinion they are all the same. You get cheap stuff at better prices than most other retailers. Service is questionable at best. But there is one glaring exception to this model: Costco.
What is Costco's secret sauce? As a fan, I've been noticing things I never noticed before. First off, former CEO Jim Senegal says that the only thing that matters at Costco is employee culture. He figured out that culture is more important than brand, more important than prices, more important than anything...
Recently I had the pleasure of walking by the staff area at my local Costco. I think I saw the key ingredient in their success. On a list of employee principles, the first line said, "Look at customers in the eye".
Look at customers in the eye!!! Brilliant. Acknowledge a customer as if they matter. Not another cog in an endless line of people buying disposal crap. Companies have a hard time training staff to do just that. And it's not just the big box multinational stores.
It's also the small and medium sized businesses.
A big company like Costco treats us like people and we reward them for it.
If you own a small business, try treating your customers like people. Treat them like family. You'll be surprised by the results. You don't need to spend that ad budget on getting new customers. Just work on the ones you already have. Create raving fans. They'll do all the advertising for you.
Have I mentioned I love Costco? What does it cost to look people in the eye?
Try it. Teach your staff how to do it. I dare you.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Are you a racist?
When I was five, a man delivered a sofa to my parent's house. He didn't have the same skin colour as anyone I had ever known. I was mesmerized. My mom tells the story about an innocent kid staring at him asking questions about why.
I remember the event. I remember not understanding. I remember focussing on him. I was a kid. He was different. I was curious.
Fast forward 25 years. My wife and I wanted to grow our little family. Colour of skin was never a concern. Anyone who adopts knows this.
Morgan Freeman said that the only way we get past racism is if we stop referring to people by labelling them by the colour of skin.
I can honestly tell you that I don't see the colour of my daughter's skin. I see it when others stare at us. I feel it when she cries about feeling lonely. My daughter sometimes feels different. She has a visible difference to those who don't love her. When she was five, she asked us when her skin would become white.
Here's what hurts the most. On three occasions in the past month, three different people affirmed that they were not racist. Yet they continued to categorize all people of colour the same way. In all cases they did not know about my daughter, nor was I confronting them. We were having normal conversations.
If you make a statement that includes all people of the same race, that is the very definition of racism.
How shocking it is to know that in my circle of influence there are racists who prejudge others by the colour of skin. How simple? How ignorant?
You can hurt me with your words, but one day these words will penetrate a sheltered innocent little girl.
That will be an even sadder day for my family.
I remember the event. I remember not understanding. I remember focussing on him. I was a kid. He was different. I was curious.
Fast forward 25 years. My wife and I wanted to grow our little family. Colour of skin was never a concern. Anyone who adopts knows this.
Morgan Freeman said that the only way we get past racism is if we stop referring to people by labelling them by the colour of skin.
I can honestly tell you that I don't see the colour of my daughter's skin. I see it when others stare at us. I feel it when she cries about feeling lonely. My daughter sometimes feels different. She has a visible difference to those who don't love her. When she was five, she asked us when her skin would become white.
Here's what hurts the most. On three occasions in the past month, three different people affirmed that they were not racist. Yet they continued to categorize all people of colour the same way. In all cases they did not know about my daughter, nor was I confronting them. We were having normal conversations.
If you make a statement that includes all people of the same race, that is the very definition of racism.
How shocking it is to know that in my circle of influence there are racists who prejudge others by the colour of skin. How simple? How ignorant?
You can hurt me with your words, but one day these words will penetrate a sheltered innocent little girl.
That will be an even sadder day for my family.
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Love of softball
I'm what some would call an old fart. Not decrepit old, just not young. Some use the words more experienced. Some would say wise.
I don't care about the label that is applied to me by others. Youthfulness isn't defined by age. It isn't defined by energy. It is defined by state of mind. My grandfather was in his nineties when he died. He had a more youthful character than most people a third of his age.
Youthfulness is demonstrated in the desire to play games and tricks. I love to play games.
From a very early age, I loved the game of softball. I remember my first glove was emblazened with the Montreal Expos logo. As a kid, I would find a way to practice the sport in some way or another. A good game of catch, shagging fly balls, throwing balls against a building. The game has always been a part of my life.
When no one else would organize a team, I would do it. At thirteen, I organized games against my cousin's team in a nearby community. When my cousin couldn't put together a team, I would organize a game against the local women's team. Our team consisted of players aged 8 to 13. We were good enough to compete with the adult women.
Our team was made up of a bunch of friends. A bunch of like-minded kids who were trying to occupy their time in a community where social dangers were everywhere.
Looking back at those youthful days, I'm very proud of the kids I grew up with. Most of my friends have moved to different parts of the world. Softball brought us together. Life has torn us a part.
As my friends gave up the youthful game, I continue to play. Now in my forties, I play only once per week. It is my time. I'm in my glory on the diamond. Time stands still for a couple of hours as I relive my childhood on the field. Friends are different but the game is the same.
It no longer matters if I win or lose. It should never have mattered but it did at one time.
Now a bunch of like minded old farts get together once per week to enjoy the passion of a game designed for youth.
I almost stopped playing this year when my son expressed interest in baseball. Unfortunately baseball was one night per week and it was on the same night as my softball night. As any good dad would do, I was ready to hang up the glove so he could enjoy the same wonderful game that I have always loved. Fortunately for me, he thought a hard ball being thrown at him was too scary this year.
So for one more year, I get to hit a ball, run around the bases with the ultimate goal of getting home safe.
There's something primal about that. Don't you think?
I don't care about the label that is applied to me by others. Youthfulness isn't defined by age. It isn't defined by energy. It is defined by state of mind. My grandfather was in his nineties when he died. He had a more youthful character than most people a third of his age.
Youthfulness is demonstrated in the desire to play games and tricks. I love to play games.
From a very early age, I loved the game of softball. I remember my first glove was emblazened with the Montreal Expos logo. As a kid, I would find a way to practice the sport in some way or another. A good game of catch, shagging fly balls, throwing balls against a building. The game has always been a part of my life.
When no one else would organize a team, I would do it. At thirteen, I organized games against my cousin's team in a nearby community. When my cousin couldn't put together a team, I would organize a game against the local women's team. Our team consisted of players aged 8 to 13. We were good enough to compete with the adult women.
Our team was made up of a bunch of friends. A bunch of like-minded kids who were trying to occupy their time in a community where social dangers were everywhere.
Looking back at those youthful days, I'm very proud of the kids I grew up with. Most of my friends have moved to different parts of the world. Softball brought us together. Life has torn us a part.
As my friends gave up the youthful game, I continue to play. Now in my forties, I play only once per week. It is my time. I'm in my glory on the diamond. Time stands still for a couple of hours as I relive my childhood on the field. Friends are different but the game is the same.
It no longer matters if I win or lose. It should never have mattered but it did at one time.
Now a bunch of like minded old farts get together once per week to enjoy the passion of a game designed for youth.
I almost stopped playing this year when my son expressed interest in baseball. Unfortunately baseball was one night per week and it was on the same night as my softball night. As any good dad would do, I was ready to hang up the glove so he could enjoy the same wonderful game that I have always loved. Fortunately for me, he thought a hard ball being thrown at him was too scary this year.
So for one more year, I get to hit a ball, run around the bases with the ultimate goal of getting home safe.
There's something primal about that. Don't you think?
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