Archives for July 2012

One of the Clan Mothers that Jamie Sams talks about is Listening Woman. She is the keeper of Tiyoweh and is in tune with all things. She doesn’t just listen to words. She listens by watching how people act when they speak. She listens by interpreting dreams, and she listens to her own signals that she might lose her temper or that she might not be at her best.

I have been noticing over the last few years that listening seems to be a skill that is going by the wayside. As an example, there was an instance not too long ago when I was talking to a friend on the phone. They were telling some sort of story and I, as I tend to do, was quietly listening. They finished and said, “Hello?” They were wondering if I was still there. Clearly they had expected some sort of interruption while they were speaking. The experience of being able to get through a story sans interruption has become a rarity.

Why is this? I think perhaps social media plays a lot into this problem. After all, as I type here, no one can interrupt me. Well, I suppose my writing process could be interrupted, but I don’t need to worry about someone missing a detail. I don’t have to worry, just now, about whether I’m keeping someone’s attention. I’m talking. It’s all me. And that’s how it is across the online world. You are talking without interruption in conversations that may span hours or even days. Everyone gets to express their full thought. In the real world, though, it’s not like that. We have to travel with the ebb and flow of conversation. That seems a lot harder when you’re used to monologues.

What are we missing by not listening? A treasure trove, almost certainly. But we are also missing important details. I remember hearing about an experiment performed at a university quite some time ago. A student said hi to other students and always tended to get a “Oh hi, how are you?” response. Sometimes, the student countered with, “Ah, I have Cancer.” In almost all cases the other student either simply walked away or worse, said something like, “Oh, I’m fine too.” The expected response was, “Oh, I’m fine.” And that’s what people heard, even if that wasn’t what was said.

Listening can help us become attuned with our environment, not just with other people. Have you ever listened to the sounds of your house? The sounds of your neighborhood? Suddenly the ticking of your clock sounds like thunder. The whirring of your fridge or dishwasher seems deafening. You might hear sounds you never even noticed before. Step outside and just listen. You may hear birds or squirrels or cars from far away. And again, you may hear sounds you never really noticed before.

What are you missing by not listening? Take those earbuds out. Go a day (or an hour) without speaking, and only listen. How does this experiment affect you? Or how do you think it would? Go ahead. I’m listening.

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When I was six years old, my grandmother passed away due to a serious asthma attack. When I think of six-year-old me, I think I was pretty smart. I really loved the movie Amadeus, for some reason, as a small example (what a weird kid). But I really didn’t understand this whole asthma thing. I was horrified that people could just suddenly stop breathing. I didn’t understand that it was a disease. So, for many months, I was scared that I was going to stop breathing. I’d go to sleep and wonder if people still breathe when they’re sleeping. How do we breathe when we talk? Was my family still breathing? It was truly horrifying.

When I got older, my allergies kept getting worse and worse to the point where now if I have one of my really bad attacks, it’s very close to an asthma attack. My chest closes up and breathing becomes painful. But I’ve never stopped breathing. I’ve not come close. How is it that my grandma had to go through that while I’ve gotten off easy? Why can I walk and run when my other grandmother suffered with MS for over half her life?

We all encounter situations, at one time or another, where someone we adore goes through something that seems so unfair. We love them so much that it seems ridiculous that anything bad should happen to them. But they get sick or they lose a loved one or their house gets broken into, and while we do our best to support them or remember them or do whatever we need to do, our lives keep going along. Why is that? Who determines these things? How can you deal with the feeling that you are not deserving of what you have, or that someone else deserves much more than what they are getting?

I think the key is to turn your thinking around. Instead of saying “Why me?” or “Why them,” perhaps we should say, “I now am reminded how very lucky I am.” You see, every day that something bad doesn’t happen to you or someone you love is really a special day worth celebrating. That is not gloating. That is realizing that nothing in life can be taken for granted.

Consider this. If the person you are lamenting came back, what would they say if they saw you closed off in a dark room on their behalf? I would imagine they’d be pretty disappointed in us. “Why are you WASTING your life,” they might well say. “My time came and went. Your time is still going. Live!”

Every day that I can breathe, walk, and run, I remember that my grandmothers lost those basic abilities. So when I take a deep breath, I think of my grandma and all of the great times we shared. When I walk or run, I imagine my grandma is traveling with me. I do not regret that I can do these things. I cherish them because I know what gifts they are.

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You have been through such a hard time. I understand. I’ve been there.  Your world becomes tiny. You don’t feel like eating. You don’t enjoy being awake and your sleeps are restless and tense. Every word and glance is an insult. Every new connection is a person waiting to tear you down. You curl yourself tighter and tighter into that cocoon, and sometimes, you wish you could just plain curl yourself out of existence. You hope your cocoon falls to the ground in the next big storm. This is everything you know, and it’s none too pleasant.

Now then, is this making you feel any better? The sun is shining. You are surrounded by green vibrant leaves, a blue sky, and if you let yourself emerge, I’m guessing you’ll find out that you are a darned beautiful creature with wings that can fly and a proboscis that can suck the very nectar out of life. It’s time to come out of your little shell. There’s no room to grow or change in there. There’s no way to discover the really real you in there. You can’t realize your full potential in there, you know. You’re too restricted. You’re too constricted. Your world is too small.

Yes, there will be a few moments when you break loose where the dew on your new wings will make them seem heavy. You’ll feel unsure about showing the world your splendor. What if it isn’t all that splendid? What if you’re a moth instead of a butterfly? Well, there’s only one way to find out, of course. You need to come on out of that little cocoon. You need to shake that dew off and feel the sun on your back. You need to visit some of those flowers and fly through the air currents.

We all need cocoon time now and then. And for a little while, that’s okay. It’s expected, even. But living in a cocoon can become a habit. A bad habit. It can make us shrink. It can make us forget what we like about ourselves and about the world. Life is too short to do such things.

Come on out, you lovely being. Spread those wings and show the world what it is you’ve been keeping to yourself all this time. You’re too precious to stay hidden away. You’re too beautiful, inside and out.

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I just got done watching the Wimbledon men’s championship – Roger Federer versus Andy Murray. I used to watch tennis a lot when I was younger, especially around my high school years. At that time, I agreed with the announcers whole-heartedly when they talked about a player being “old” at age 30. Thirty seemed ancient. Now that I’m a bit past 30, the fact that I’m older than Roger Federer is kind of depressing. Even more strange is that people were kind of expecting Federer to crash and burn this year at Wimbledon. He’s almost 31. He has twin girls. People were thinking his run was over.

Against that backdrop, the announcers noted, as Federer headed towards championship point, that he had talked about wanting to get his 7th Wimbledon win from the time the tournament started. He had also made it no secret that he wanted to get back to being the #1 male player in the world (which he now is). The announcers expressed some surprise about this. It seemed odd that a player would so openly voice his hopes and dreams. Most players shy away from saying such things because they don’t want to jinx themselves, or maybe because they don’t want to have to eat their words.

I tend to think this phenomenon is not restricted to tennis or even athletes. I think we are all hesitant to say that we are going for something. We don’t want to say we’re aiming to get rich. We don’t want to say we hope to be president of our company or of our nation or of the world one day. We don’t want to give a name to our goals. Now why is that? Are we afraid we’re going to jinx ourselves? I’m not so sure that’s it. I think people frown on ambition. I think people confuse ambition with cockiness or ego. We don’t want people to think we’re cocky. We don’t want people to think our egos are bigger than the planet. So we refrain from voicing our goals and our dreams. We tuck them in and just strive for them on our own, quietly.

I’m not sure this is the best way to go about things. First of all, if you achieve your dreams or your goals and you start doing a victory dance, it will seem sort of out of place. No one will understand how long you fought for those accomplishments or how much you wanted to get to where you are. That’s a shame because nothing is more fun than doing a victory dance as a group. But even more than that, I think we keep a distance between ourselves and our dreams by not giving them a voice. They’re sort of minimized little secrets until we give voice to them. It’s like we’re ashamed of them or ashamed of ourselves for wanting something, for fighting for something.

Roger Federer voiced his wish for winning his 7th (record-breaking) Wimbledon title. And when he did it, when he accomplished that, people said, “Woah, he said he was going to and he did.” It seems like we could learn from his example. Why be ashamed of your wishes? Why refrain from voicing your dreams just because there’s a chance you might fail, at least at first? Seize your dreams. Give them a voice.

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If you know much about William Tecumseh Sherman, you’re probably unable to think of him as the soft and squishy type. In fact, at least based on his wartime actions and his writings, Sherman was cantankerous, honest to a fault (even when it was uncomfortable), stoic to the point of hardly showing any emotion at all, and merciless. His “March to the Sea” is perhaps one of the better known military campaigns in all of US history, not only for the pragmatic genius behind it but also because of the amount of damage he inflicted on the South in such a short period of time.

In his writings and in the writings about him, I can think of only two people to whom Sherman showed respect and affection. One was Ulysses S. Grant, whom Sherman profoundly respected. The other was a woman named Mary Ann Bickerdyke, who served Sherman’s troops for four years by feeding them, finding food for them, and caring for them. Her ability to organize and execute plans to keep up the care of her men inspired Sherman to say, “She ranks me.”

Now that’s quite a statement. Sherman, a general, a man in the 19th century, a man who was having increasing amounts of success, points to a woman and says, “She ranks me.” It was oddly humble. It was oddly favorable. Coming from Sherman, in fact, it was just plain odd. But this tells you how amazing “Mother” Bickerdyke must have truly been.

When you reach a point of success, it’s important to acknowledge other people who have done things you feel are more extraordinary. Doing this helps keep your feet firmly planted and it helps prevent your head from becoming too big. Doing this reminds you that you are not the greatest gift to creation now. Doing this reminds you that other people may be traveling paths that are more fraught with danger than yours. Doing this reminds you that other people might be working more towards a greater good than you are. Doing this gives you an outside perspective on your own success. It gives you context.

Sherman is known in our history books as an extraordinary messenger of death and destruction. Mary Ann Bickerdyke is known as a bringer of care and compassion. Can you weigh which kind of success is better remembered?

When I have some sort of social media success, I think of women like Molly Cantrell-Kraig, Angela Daffron, and Jennifer Windrum, who are using social media for social good. When I do a good deed, I think about people like Steve Woodruff, who travels to Haiti to help those in need (far more than anything I’ve ever done). These people rank me.

Who might you think of as people who “rank” you? It doesn’t have to be a comparative thing. It is more a perspective thing. Who would you strive to be, even at a moment of your greatest success? Why do they rank you? And would you try to travel that path you admire or would you rather let them shine on alone?

I’m interested to hear your thoughts!

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Back in 2000, Ed Harris produced and acted in a movie called Pollock, which, per the name, told the story of artist Jackson Pollock or “Jack the Dripper.” I don’t remember a whole lot about the movie – it was pretty depressing, if you must know – but there is one scene that has always stuck in my head. Despite all of his neuroses, Pollock eventually found not only fame and success but also several people who cared for him and supported him with devotion. There is a scene in the movie where Pollock is in a gallery, surrounded by admirers, and all of a sudden he looks up and over to his wife, who stood by him even when things weren’t going well. He nods to her. Then he goes back to his conversation. It’s extremely understated, and if you had been in the scene you probably would not even have known it had happened.

I think this is how true influence is really measured.

There are all sorts of ways to give a nod to a person. You can do it physically, of course, like in that scene. You can tell someone that they really helped you out or opened your eyes to a new perspective (that’s quite a direct way to go about it). In the online world, the “mention” is the thing. Unfortunately, a lot of ways I used to give the nod to people online have become shrouded in yuckiness. For example, I used to really like making lists highlighting people for various reasons, but now there are so many lists and so many lists that are clearly just link bait that the effort seems cheapened somehow. The same holds true for “Follow Friday” on Twitter. So many people just list a dozen names that the actual feeling behind the nod is kind of lost. That’s too bad. I think if it were easier to give meaningful nods, there might not be so much confusion about who the “influencers” are.

To me, influence is not always something you can pinpoint. Have you ever watched the movie Hugo? Hugo influences an older man he barely knows and doesn’t like. It ends up benefitting both of them in the end, but it all happens in indirect, serendipitous ways. Hugo gets a nod (not to spoil too much), though not by name. In a lot of ways, it’s like the scene from Pollock. Understated yet powerful.

In my two years in the online world, and in my 30-some years of life on this earth, I’ve been influenced by countless people, from my parents to my high school speech team coach to my driving instructor, the lovely Wally. I’ve been influenced in ways that cannot be measured by things like retweets and “conversations.” I’ve been influenced to try or not try new things. I’ve been influenced to change my perspective or to develop a new opinion. I’ve been influenced to take part in a cause or in an effort. Giving a nod to all who have influenced me would be great neck exercise. But quantifying this influence? I’d never be able to do it. I wouldn’t know where to start. What is the value of believing you can do something? What is the value of accomplishing something you were afraid to even try?

Do not aim for the Klout Score, the Ad Age Power 150, the PeerIndex score, or that Kred number. Aim for something more valuable and less tangible. Aim for the nod.

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