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I need discipline. Oh, how I need writing discipline!

Why Would I Laugh??

I had an odd moment of sangfroide the other day while sitting in a restaurant in St. Petersubrg, FL.  Culturally, St. Pete is home to many different groups and has a rich diversity to it that I found very enjoyable.  Alan and Sophia were off to Busch Gardens to get in as many Big Rides as possible before heading back home.  I on the other hand was taking just a few minutes to read the paper, get my head wrapped around coming back to chilly Seattle, and just take a breather from what had been a wonderful whirlwind "tasting tour" of southern Florida.

As I was sitting at my table, I noticed a family of five in a booth to the front of me.  They were all dressed in nice clothing and were rambunciously engaged in conversation and having a lot of fun with each other.  This being a Sunday and the South, I thought perhaps they had come from church services.  

At one point in their meal, the father somehow managed to fall out of the booth.  I started up to help him but he managed to right himself on the floor and shook himself off, motioning me that he was fine.  I was dismayed to see that his kids (all four of them) were laughing hysterically at his misfortune, as were several other parties around them.  One of the boys was pointing at his father and yelling "Daddy dumped himself!  Daddy done dumpled himself!"  He looked to be about 10 and I was very surprised that a child of this age would ridicule their father in this way. 

This was a big man.  The kind of man that has difficulty sliding into a booth to begin with, let alone wriggling back out after a meal.  Perhaps they had been discussing something funny, or he was acting out a part.  I couldn't tell, but he looked embarassed and chagrined.  I know I would have been.  

I couldn't understand, however, why the children continued to laugh as this man struggled to raise himself, leaning heavily on the table and hauling himself upwards to a standing position.  I could see I wouldn't have been much help anyway, but why didn't his family help?  Why didn't the big guy at the table next to his help?  When did it become okay to mock a stranger, let a lone a family member in distress?

After making sure he got up alright, I sat back down and continued reading.  I must have gotten deeply involved in an article because some time later, I felt a gentle touch on my hand.  Startled, I looked up into the deep brown eyes of the man who had fallen.  He quietly said "Thank you for not laughing."  I looked at him in amazement and said "Of course I wouldn't laugh!  That wasn't funny!  Are you okay??"  He looked sheepishly down and said "Yeah - I jus' hurt my pride."  

As he shambled off with his brood, I took a deep breath, shook my head and silently wished him well.

 

 

 

That Saddle Looks Challenging!

 

There is nothing quite so daunting as having to get back in the saddle again - whether with a workout program, a diet, or even regulary writing.  A couple of weekends ago, I took Sophia to the Tri-Cities to watch my oldest Goddaughter's 8 year-old son compete in the Regional Championship at the Horse Heaven Round-up.  There was a lot going on - but the toughest thing that any of these kids had to do was to stay in the saddle.  Carter managed to get an ok calf ride in on Saturday, but apparently did very well on Sunday.  

The process metaphor really struck me.  You have to get on the calf while in the stall.  You have to stay on that hummer's back for the regulation time limit.  Then, if you've got an ounce of grace left, you dismount in a standing position and mosey on back to the staging area while someone else makes sure you don't get run over by the cranky calf you just rode.  Honestly, it's a wonder to get through stages 1 and 2, let alone get all the way to 3.  

I'm feeling like that about writing.  I'm hovering over the calf (or in my case, probably a Jersey cow...) in the stall, waiting for that moment to drop down, run through the gate and see what happens.  I last wrote in this blog in 2010.  Sophia was three - now a bold and bodacious 7.  My eldest has just returned from a 3 year sojourn in Italy.  God willing she'll be a graduate in March when her thesis is complete and successfully defended.  Alan is still working in technology but has grown a completely new set of competences around home design, construction and management.  We're growing into our 5th property and I am wondering if it will stop there or just morph again.  We still have 3 out of 4 parents.  Some are doing better than others but that is a completely different topic.

The topic du jour is just what it means to write....to be a writer.  I'm painting, and I get that (sort of.)  My work is improving, I see an emerging sense of style, but I feel that writing requires more than a brush and some color.  It's an exploration; a commitment.  It's fine to be funny, but at almost 55 I feel like I want more depth.  To take responsibility for what I write and how it might affect others.  I'm finally reading again too, and it feels good.  There may still be more than one neuron in there to stir around and bump into each other after all!

And so we begin.  Me and the camel; a nod to our trip to Morocco last spring.  Hopefully my new muse will keeping the spitting to a bare minimum. 

 

 

The Divine Mr. M - and the Many Facets of Choice

 My friend the Divine Mr. M is in a bit of a pickle.  Not the full-on super-spicy-lime-rind chutney kind of pickle – but not your garden-variety Kosher dill, either.

There’s the woman pickle…and the purpose pickle…and the job pickle…and the housing pickle…and the cultural wasteland pickle.  I love pickles – and I have to tell you I don’t want to eat any of these.

He’s hit that period in our lives where you take a look around and go “Huh.  That’s not quite what I had in mind!”  No matter where you are, no matter how successful you may be – the analysis takes place.  I don’t know whether it’s hormonal, or systemic, or driven by the tides or the planets or whatever, but everyone I know that has hit their post-40’s gets into it.

I think this used to be called a mid-life crisis.  But apparently, given that these folks are hardly in their 50’s (and we’re all going to live to be at least a 100 and be in great shape while doing so, yah?) perhaps this would be better termed a sub-mid-inflection-point redirect analysis.  I am sure some psychologist somewhere will adopt this ridiculous term and make it their own – and more power to him or her.

But back to the Divine Mr. M.  He’s sort of single; sort of not.  He’s dashingly good looking in that tall, Nordic Alexander Skarsgard kind of way and has no problem crooking his finger, smiling mischievously and finding instantaneous company.  But it’s not just the company that speaks to his heart any more.  He wants to build a relationship.  With a real woman.  One that cares about him and what he cares about – and that he can connect with and play with and grow old with.  And, God willing – have children with.  Guys get away with that even in their fifties and sixties.  It’s annoying.

Because he is the Divine Mr. M, of course there is more than one choice to be considered.  The European ingénue with a full career a-blossom in her native land? The steadfast but somewhat dubious former love that isn’t quite satisfied to let things be as they are?  Or is there someone entirely new on the horizon that hasn’t yet appeared on the scene but that fires on all cylinders?  These are the ongoing debates that we all face in the world of love.  How to find it, how to nurture it... how to feed and sustain and cherish it.  Daily life does not make this task easy.

And he wants a career that embodies what he’s passionate about, which includes music and art and creativity on pretty much any front.  And being a spokesperson about something that turns him on.  And that isn’t going to kill him, either now or when he’s too old to carry all the accoutrements that are part of his current schtick.  And that doesn’t involve heights.  But what he is best known and respected for (and for good reason – he is genuinely talented in several domains) is the thing that he’d be willing to abandon in a heartbeat if the passion play were to present itself.  Sound familiar? 

Then there is the housing and cultural wasteland pickles.  He lives where there is plentiful work in his industry – not where he would prefer to live.  But in this segment of our economic history – that might well be considered smart, if not optimal.  And its not a complete cultural wasteland, but is unfortunately heavily weighted in ways that do not serve to pique his interest.  Kind of like living in the middle of Nashville when you’re into rap.  And so he spends a lot of time with his TV, his books and in the Apple store.  Where, as everyone knows, you can’t even breathe the air without spending $39 a visit.  (I still wonder how they do that…)

Choice is one of those actions that you need to engage in and own.  You can choose to be a victim to your own inaction, but I’ve had enough experience now to to know that a lot of this does end up boiling down to timing.  And preparedness.  And opportunity.  And stomach for risk.  It’s not all choice; it’s a meld of many different elements, all of which rotate in and out of prominence at any given point.

I work for a company that believes that baby steps can take you where you want to go, even if it is going to take a long time.  But in my recent conversations with the Divine Mr. M – it is clear that under certain circumstances, it can be hard to find your feet let alone tell them where to go.

We’re working on it.  I send encouraging texts from the cell phone carrier cloud.  He sends me pithy, and sometimes amusingly insightful tidbits back.  ‘Things are looking up”, says he.  “I’m on a dolly about 75’ in the air”.  My stomach drops when I read this as I know he doesn’t like heights – at which point, I realize that I can I choose to believe him, and that in all likelihood, from that height it is better to look up than down.  I find it hard to watch my friend’s struggle; it pains my heart – especially when you can’t physically be there to offer a shoulder or a hand.

But everyone’s pathway is their own – and owning the portion that isn’t working is just as important as celebrating the portions that are.  So I applaud his distress in a certain way, and know that he’ll make those choices, find that girl, get an evangelist gig and move back where he belongs soon enough.  Hopefully with a little one or two in tow.  I’m looking forward to it.  I miss you, my friend.

Grateful to be Here

I was in the park with Sophia today – the old-fashioned Pioneer Park up in Waimea, with about a half a mile of wooden stair steps, bridges, gateways, towers and all manner of clime-able footage to enjoy.  They designed the structure with a number of waypoints – places to rest, sit and contemplate the remainder of the substantive and highly exploratory structure.

At one of these waypoints sat a woman;  pale, reserved and watchful.  In my continuous circuits of the structure, I got to know which parent traveled with which child, and could easily see family dynamics at work where several siblings were at play amongst the bars, rings, poles, tunnels and steps leading hither and thither. 

At some point it became obvious that she was attached to a young man chasing a 3 year-old blond girl through the structure.  As she ran by, I caught a “Hi Mommy!” and the woman bloomed in response

The place is a beehive of activity.  Which is why it made it all the more curious to see this woman at rest.  Sophia, not having the good grace one learns from accreted layers of civility learned over years of experience, chose to plop down next to this woman and announce that we were going on the bus.  The woman was graceful enough to respond “And where will the bus be taking us?”

“Azooga” was her prompt response.  This is one of her favorite destinations.  Apparently there is ice cream and any number of friendly dogs there.  The woman smiled gently, leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes and said “Let me know when we get there”.

Sophia made the requisite sounds and movements needed to drive our bus to the appointed destination.  Upon arrival, she said “It’s wake up time!”, and the woman popped up, only to slump back down upon the bench.  I reached out a hand to steady her, asking “Are you okay?”  She smiled wanly and looked poignantly across the play structure at her family, then turned to me directly and said “No.  I’m not okay.  But I’ve got a great family and I know they’ll be okay”.

God.  What to say now?  Sophia was closely watching every word; every nuance of the conversation.  Small children are enormously observant when they want to be, and she was sensing something important was passing before her.  I’m rarely completely at a loss for words, but this was pretty close.  Finally, after looking at each other for what seemed to be an eternity, I said “Is there anything I can do?” Clearly she was in distress, but I didn’t want to alarm Sophia further, nor did I want to pry.

The woman put her hand on my arm.  Even in the warmth of the sun, it was cool, thin and light as a feather.  “Thank you for asking” she said, then gave me a gentle squeeze, after which she released my arm and returned to watching her family play on the tower bridge across the way.

Knowing our time to depart had come, I said “Come on Sophia – lets see what Azooga has to offer today” and we left the “bus” and headed towards the flower garden.

I don’t know what illness had befallen her , but it seemed certain that it was dire.  I looked at the mussed hair, unbounded exuberance and delighted demeanor of MY almost three-year-old and had one of those golden moments of gratitude.  I’m glad to be alive.  I’m glad to be a mother, and I am very, very glad that I am well.

Let Silence Carry the Weight

We were in an all-hands meeting a couple of days ago, a meeting graced with the presence of one Debbie Daniels, life and executive coach extraordinaire.  Glowing aura, magenta coat, great earrings and shiny boots, oh my!  Would that I were comfortable adorning myself in such splendid raiment. 

Debbie does such a remarkable job reminding us of where we need to be at any given point in time (that would be right here, right now btw...).

At Mindbloom, we're in the business of taking words-into-action.  Given our focus, it is sometimes  difficult to remember to just shut up, thus moving towards both deeper understanding and the action part of that equation.  I know that sounds a little harsh - but really, how can you listen if your gums are flapping all the time?

In an earlier stage of my life I was even more prone to over-speaking than I am now.  For those of you that know me well, it's actually terrifying to think about what I was like at that point.  So many words - so little time!

This week I am practicing being still - and letting silence carry the weight.  Weight of the the intent, meaning and even the outcome.  Trust and ye shall receive.  In this spirit, I'll keep it short and to the point.  My thanks again to Debbie for such an important reminder!

Why Portland Rocks for Families

I spent the weekend visiting with elder daughter Arianna, having brought younger daughter Sophia down for a little R&R.

Portland is a great town for families.  There are multiple neighborhoods that are fun to explore day into night.  They've done a great job incorporating green space into most places - including the heart of downtown.  Parks a plenty - including water features that during the warmer months are a boatload of fun.  I could wander the Pearl District for hours and not get bored.

The number of restaurants - across the entire spectrum of casual to fancy is nothing short of astonishing.  We enjoyed coffee and a nosh at Stumptown, an excellent dinner at The Bluehour, and brunch at Mother's Bar and Bistro.  I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm a foodie - but I know yummy food when I taste it and had nothing to complain about whatsoever.

Another nice feature is the suite of kid-friendly options up on top of the hill on Highway 26, heading out towards the ocean beaches.  The Oregon Zoo is right next door to The Children's Museum is right next door to the Hoyt Arboretum.  You could spend days exploring up there, and I frankly wished I'd had more time to do so.  The Zoo, though small, is very well done and interestingly configured in a lovely twisty/turny what's-around-the-corner-next type of exploration.  Sophia did most of it at a dead run, until she got to the next exhibit and communed with whomever she found there.  For a cold day there were quite a few animals out and about.  The steller sea lions were impressive, and the tigers quite regal in their habitat.  The exhibits are large enough to be comfortable but small enough to feel close to the animals.  We had a great time.

Lastly - we traveled on the Amtrak Coast Starlight, which is a great way to go with a 2 year old.  The observation car has huge windows, and the trip between Seattle and Portland is for the most part visually interesting.  We kept our eye out for mammals and birds, and the scenery did not disappoint.  And there is the added value of being able to traverse the length of the train, something that car seat travel most assuredly does NOT provide.  It's longer and more expensive than driving, but in terms of arriving in great spirits - the train is definitely the way to go.  

It was nice to get away for the weekend and Ari definitely appreciated the visit.  Getting reacquainted with the complexities of University life can be tough after taking time off - but she's doing well and from all appearances is thriving.  But that girl would thrive in a desert - so no real surprise there.  And now Sophia will have a frame of reference for where Sissy is - and what her school is like.  Good stuff all the way around!

Truth will Tell

So I just brought in an old friend and former colleague into Mindbloom for a little chat.  I am fond of bright, irreverent men and Mike certainly fits the bill.

I've been struggling on how to make Mindbloom founder Chris Hewitt's personal story accessible.  Every time I hear him tell it, it gets to me - right where it's supposed to.  The emotional side of Mindbloom isn't readily apparent.  That's because it has to be created, driven by purpose and individually conceived.  Each time someone chooses to grow a Mindbloom tree - it's uniquely and personally theirs.  We each have our own story and our own path.  The beauty of Mindbloom is that its a personal place to envision and create that reality, one step at a time.

The pitch opens - and Brent does a great job with the mechanics, the numbers.... the plan.  But at a very fundamental level, it's not about the technology, and it's not about the mechanics of using the technology.  It's not about the plan.  It's about why we each want to grow and change.

Mike and I walk away - sidebar conversation ensues.  He's enthusiastic but uncommitted.  Gaining commitment of time, energy or dollars is tough.  You either get it in your gut - at which point you generally commit to something, or the opportunity or experience just goes on by in the unfolding panorama of our nights and days.

Chris is available for lunch.  Yummy comestibles enjoyed by all, but lo and behold - the emotional side of Mindbloom emerges from about six sentences uttered while reading a menu.  Chris not only gets it - he lives it, breathes it, takes action on it, and embodies it.  It struck me again, as it often does when I have a chance to engage with Chris, that when someone speaks from a genuine and incontrovertible place of truth - there is no stopping them.  It's like the difference between someone talking about your existence to hearing firsthand from the source, "I am."

And so I am reminded that this essence is something I want to capture and share.  When speaking on stage recently with another man who speaks from his truth, the conversation was by far and away the very best part of the presentation.  Its the nugget that people remember and take away - the element that comes closest to home, making what we discussed resonate at a very personal level.  I want to make that conversation with Chris available.  I think it makes all the difference to understanding who we are as a company, and why we're out here doing what we do.

It's because everyone wants to be better - better at something; maybe better at a lot of things.  Better partners, better parents -- better people.  And very few folks have either the toolbox or the personal fortitude to make good on that desire.  Whether its fear or outside influences or just plain inertia - it is hard to change.  But Mindbloom exists because we want to bring people one step closer to living their best life.  

Mike has engaged - because he now understands where the real value is.  I continue to remain engaged - because I love to help people grow in positive ways.  And I've finally got some ideas on creating the bridge between why this makes business sense and why this makes even more personal sense.  Let the creative process begin!  If you're a killer videographer or know one - feel free to get in touch!

Long Stick; Big Carrot

I'm in the midst of identifying and quantifying all the moving parts around pricing, contract terms and other business bits for a lovely opportunity that we're closing in on.  As a company that is schlepping an experience that should allow us all to become better humans - I feel compelled at this point to rethink the Art of the Deal.

Traditional SWOT analysis aside - in our business, it really comes down to how many carrots you can pull out of your proverbial hat (bunny not included) from the rich loam of opportunity - not the punishments associated with non-performance or the culpabilities around indemnification.  And how delightfully near one can place those carrots to the nose.

Me - I'm an asparagus girl myself.  Big fields of naturally regenerating and expanding stalks of green.  Tender and juicy when young; robust and substantial when in their prime.  And of value in either case to an audience who gives a rats tail about the particulars.

I'm happy to see the heretics of Internet Business are on board with this type of thinking.  Dave McClure, notable author of 500 hats and well-known internet upside-down thinking kind of guy has recently written an article that hits on all cylinders for irreverence coupled with some somewhat controversial truths.  In it I find our business model, which is oddly satisfying given the rant he goes on to make his point(s).

Calls today went very well - got a direct marketing partner to more fully support the private label version of our software they're using as a management tool.  Garnered substantial additional marketing support from a first class author and personal transformation expert.  Didn't get yelled at by anyone - a huge plus as far as I am concerned.  I'm getting slightly craftier on what those carrots look like, and how we make them available.  Business bunny is back!

Stepping up.  And diving in.  Tonight is swim night in Mountlake Terrace.  Warm kiddie pool, here I come! It's a great way to end a great day.

I *am* the Nutmeat!

 
Well, bang my Burmese gong.

I get that we go through phases in life, and that there are seasons in our existence, no matter what existential framework you happen to espouse.

I've had periods of wild creative abandon - where I would dance til dawn and paint with great passion; sing with abandon and drum til my hands were so swollen they could have been asbestos oven mitts.   These were periods very much of the "now" - not the past, and not the future.  Birthing and raising Sophia has been another wonderful experience of the "now" - this cry, that breast, with a singular focus on what would create the most satisfying experience for her.  She's a capable little cuss - and lets me know in no uncertain terminology what she wants.  I really like that aspect of her personality.

Now - I'm lucky to be in another growth phase - with eyes both on the now and what the future might hold.  Risk/reward analysis is a process that I blessedly ignored for the past three years.  It wasn't relevant.  But to think strategically, you have to extrapolate.  I'm finding that transition challenging but not undo-able.

Now, about those Nutmeats....while completing my doctorate at UW, I had the wonderful opportunity to work with some incredibly creative, bright people.  It was one of the most intellectually stimulating and though-provoking experiences of my life.  Informal groups would coalesce, break apart and reform based on common interest or purpose.  One of these groups was the Nutmeats - with a Filbert of immense creative capacity at the helm.  I'd forgotten how much fun mud baths, Burning Man and re-baptism in the holy-but-freezing waters of the Miller River could be.  As a bead-bearing member of the tribe, and with the leather thong around my neck to prove it - we managed to collectively create some substantive waves in the world of 3D experiential art.

I've recently had the opportunity to connect with another amazingly creative soul - one who is living his passion, channeling the divine in spirit and song. I'm pretty sure there are no chance encounters - and that if you're open to inspiration it is all around you.  In about 45 seconds, all of the well-placed callouses I'd developed to sublimate my creative side were summarily removed, leaving nothing but a big ah-hah! and peals of delighted laughter as a complement to the moment.  

As I finger my beautiful bead, and dream of songs yet to be sung, I can honestly say I am *so thankful* to be reminded of a huge part of who I am, and the freedom I have to re-engage.  And how delightful to once again have the motivation to let that lovely, and highly treasured side of me come forth once again.  Mahalo nui loa, my delightful friend.  A hui hou!