Category: thoughts

No. 1 Word

On the way into work this morning, I heard a radio story about Merriam-Webster’s word of the year. That word? Culture.

The word is chosen based on total volume and percentage increase of searches online. They mentioned multiple uses—from the classroom, to pop culture to company culture—all contributing to the uptick in seeking out this word.

Culture is something I think about every day in my job, whether it’s how to foster healthy culture at SmallBox as we grow, or how to consult with our clients as they look to improve their own. From where I sit, I hear questions about culture all of the time. What is culture? What do we really mean? I’ve noticed some companies try to reduce culture to a picnic or other perks, hoping these things alone will create long-term cultural change. It’s so much more than that.

Merriam-Webster defines it this way:

cul·ture

noun \’kəl-chər\

: the beliefs, customs, arts, etc., of a particular society, group, place, or time
: a particular society that has its own beliefs, ways of life, art, etc.
: a way of thinking, behaving, or working that exists in a place or organization (such as a business)

This is the meaty part: “thinking, behaving.” Culture for companies is all about how we view the world, and the way our beliefs are brought to life. It’s how a group of people behave when they come together to form a greater sum.

I’ve come to think of core values as one of the best tools a business has for culture building. I don’t mean the kind that an executive went into a black box to write, then post on a fancy plaque. I mean values that were inherent in the business, the kind that people are reviewed on and given praise when they model them. Values can serve as an incredible lens for decision making, becoming a sort of moral compass for the organization. Will this help us be more collaborative? More ______? (Fill in the blank with your own company values).

I love that culture emerged as the word of the year. If it just gets a handful of executives at major companies to think about the work environment they’re creating, then that’s a big win. Year-round I conduct informational interviews with employee prospects, students, recent grads. My own experience is very in line with the increase detected my Merriam-Webster. People are clamoring for workplaces where they can be themselves, find meaning. The chorus has reached a fever pitch: “I just want to be in a place with a good culture.”

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Prompt: “Lucky Numbers. Time to get mathematical – and yes, you may use a calculator. Was there a significant number in your year? A birthday? A first? A personal record? A date now carved in the annals of time? A number that represents a streak, whether winning or losing, good or bad? A bellwether or a lagging indicator or just…three.”

Namaste, C’est la vie

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During today’s run along the Central Canal Towpath, I saw two ducks wildly splashing in a tail spin. One duck was clearly dominating, but both violently stabbed at one another with their beaks. It was gut instinct to break it up, and not knowing what else to do, I started clapping loudly in hopes it would spook them.

I learned about how clapping scattered birds when I was a kid. My grandmother has a great tree in her front yard. I remember how it would fill up with black birds. I never knew what drove her so crazy about them—their cacophony of twitters and caws, or the blueberry-stained droppings they left all over. She’d go after them, “CLAP, CLAP, CLAP” and they’d take fright-flight, startled up into the sky, the sound of hundreds of flapping wings.

So I stood on the banks of the Canal, “CLAP, CLAP, CLAP.”

The ducks just kept circling after each other, thrashing their wings in the water. A female duck tried to intervene, with slight beak nudges to the two fighters. There was biting of tails and wings, then the stronger of the two started taking the other down, plunging its head under water.

Horrified, I thought, I’m going to stand here and watch this duck murder happen. Is there something I can throw toward them? Should I jump in?

I cracked my hands together harder and faster, until my hands hurt from clapping.

Finally, the submerged duck managed to get his head back up for air. They nipped and splashed a bit more before the weaker bird broke free.

And this is why I can’t watch nature programs. Universe, sometimes I can’t handle your cruelty. One day you make my heart swell with beauty and goodness, then you crush me with your harsh realities.

Namaste, C’est la vie.

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Prompt: “Put Down Your Blog… And pick up a pen! Or pencil. Heck – we’d settle for a crayon. You don’t have to stay in-between ruled lines, but we do want you to write something by hand. Sure, a letter comes to mind. But so does a recipe you discovered this year. A poem. A series of tweets that is a poem. A contract with yourself – or someone else. Whatever you get on paper – write it, then photograph & blog it. Cursive or manuscript, we promise not to grade on penmanship.”

Mulligan Balloons

IMG_8698.JPGI remember the first time I heard the word mulligan. I was volunteering at golf outing for a charity, and a re-do on a bad swing could be purchased for a few bucks. I knew nothing about golf, but I liked the word, and that each mulligan was represented by a helium balloon. Once purchased, the mulligans were tied to the back of the golf cart, where they bobbed around in the wind until set free by a bad swing.

Of course, real life doesn’t work that way. We just have to push through the bad stuff and hopefully learn from our mistakes. But if I could have a mulligan, I’d use it for stuff like this:

Earlier this year, in a moment of complete lapse in judgment, I decided Velveeta cheese was a good idea. The weather had been brutal, polar vortex-y, forcing us to hole up inside. Comfort foods beckoned. The Super Bowl was happening.

Somehow that slippery-sloped into craving drippy, gooey queso dip made with Velveeta. There were rumors, a purported Velveeta shortage afoot. Despite those reports, we found neat stacks of the signature golden rectangle box piled high. (A marketing ploy? Proof that Indianapolans are discerning folks with superior taste in cheese?) I think they were actually BOGO, because somehow we ended up with two blocks, all of the processed cheese a girl could want. Or, never want to see again ever. MULLIGAN!

Bad processed cheese decisions? Fine. But I don’t really believe in mulligans for the big stuff. A do-over would erase knowledge gained from past mistakes. Sounds like a sure-fire way to get trapped in an infinite Mulligan loop. Life is full of forks in the roads, unexpected detours, hard choices. You set a course. You live. You react. You learn.

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Prompt: “Mulligan. We’ve put another quarter in the slot – free play! Hit the reset button on a moment this year: what would you do over? Whether or not you analyze your actions – how would you act differently? Would the outcomes shift, or stay the same? From a single sentence to a whole day (and everything in-between), feel free to explain your choice, from how you felt immediately after the moment passed, to any thoughts that ran through your mind beforehand. Take a mulligan!”

Whoooo’s there?

Meet the Barred Owl. This was my first sighting. A couple of expert birders and Eagle Creek devotees led Louie and I to this spot. There were no guarantees we’d find one, but they knew the regular haunts of the owls. We ventured off trail, sank through snow half-way up to our shins.

We were given tips to help scout. In the winter, Barred Owls will likely roost in evergreen trees. Their feather markings blend with the tree, so we should look out for a strange lump on a branch – we’d likely notice the shape being off before really “seeing” the owl. Finally, they’d be higher up in the tree, around 20′ up or so.

Louie had his pair of binoculars – he’s had them since he was a kid. I looked through the zoom lens of our camera. I forget who saw the owl first, but someone called us over, pointed up at the sky. Even then, it took a while for my eyes to focus in and find him. Looking at the picture, it seems obvious, but this is with the benefit of zoom. Without the expert birders, I doubt I’d ever have noticed this quiet soul resting up there.

Getting to know birds helped me understand the power of awareness in a new way. Louie and I put up backyard bird feeders in January. With the help of a guide book, we’ve learned the names of a lot of new birds. Some of them, being both common and distinct, make me wonder how in the world I never noticed them before. Now that I know what a Nuthatch looks like, I see them all the time as I walk the Monon Trail. I’m beginning to recognize the calls of some of the birds too. Now that I know these things, I see and hear them everywhere.

I can’t help but wonder what other secrets of the universe my brain is hiding from me. What happenings am I editing out? What other beings share my space, undetected? I know my mind is just trying to parse out what’s important and protect me from being overwhelmed. Birds helped me realize just how much I’m capable of filtering out. They’ve pushed me to see what I don’t see, or at least to try.

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Prompt: “Hi, I’m ______. Nametags and punchbowls aren’t necessary (but we’re okay with that!) – who did you meet this year? Was it awkward? Enlightening? Was your first impression correct? Was it accidental & meant to be, pre-arranged, or somewhere in-between? Whether you found a soulmate, held a new baby, or finally trusted someone to style your hair just so, write about a new person (or people) in your life.”

Early Warning Sign

Just after the new year, I had an early warning sign. I saw Neko Case at the Vogue. She performed an a cappella song I hadn’t heard yet. Go ahead and press play (this will all make more sense if you experience this):

Her words weighted me down, my eyes closed, in hope that by not seeing I might hear more. It seemed brave of her, serenading us with this haunting pill to swallow. I was almost completely transported, except for the occasional shout or guffaw pulling me back to the beer-drenched Vogue. So many inebriated and/or self-absorbed people were loud-talking, oblivious to what was happening on stage. And there you have it: the first time I wanted to shush people at a concert.

This was something strange and foreign for me. The beginning of becoming the curmudgeonly one. That was in January, and it was just the beginning.

Of course this is the inevitable change, the aging. It comes faster now that the door is open. Over Thanksgiving break, in her kitchen, my mom told me it accelerates year after year. I get whiplash just thinking about it.

The evidence mounted. I bought decaf coffee for the house for the first time. Louie and I brought the average age down a solid 10-15 years at the Eagle Creek bird walk. My co-workers’ eyes glazed over when I mentioned Buffalo Stance, subjected them to bad eighties videos of L’Trimm and Sir Mix-a-Lot’s Buttermilk Biscuits.

And the real kicker. I caught myself saying, “In my day…” And not in jest.

But no, really! In my day…

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Prompt: “Weird. Wild. Wacky. Time to get weird. We want to hear your strangest story from the last year (or more). Will it make us raise an eyebrow or three? That’s what we want. Whether it’s a tale of colliding coincidences, a strange Saturday you just can’t shake, or if it makes you squirm just to remember: get weird.”

North Star

IMG_8666.JPGImagine how different the world would be if every one of us had discovered our purpose in life. Think of all the people out there with dreams unrealized, with work that depletes without re-energizing, the ones who feel aimless. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I actually can’t wrap my mind around it. Could the world absorb that energy? Would we all join hands and have one big Kumbaya?

The people I’ve met who have come to know their North Star are full. By this I mean they seem to have so much energy. They’re resilient, productive, driven, thoughtful, joyful.

If I could wave a magic wand and change one thing about the world, I’d give that gift to everyone. Would a North Star for one and all be the silver bullet that solves all of the world’s problems? I don’t know that a “one thing” exists. But I’ve seen what can happen for one person fired up with meaning. Have you noticed how it can change people?

I asked via twitter, What changed for you once you understood your purpose? and got these answers:

 

I love thinking about purpose in both of those ways – as a lens, and as a driver. My own North Star – to make goodness – has provided both for me. I like this simple statement because I can apply it to many things that I love. At the core, it’s about using my creativity and doing good in the world. Over time, it has been like peeling an onion. I find new layers of meaning, new ways to tap into that purpose.

Have you found your purpose? What’s your North Star?

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Prompt: “Alla-Kazam! Wave your magic wand – whoosh – what would you transform, create, or make disappear in 2015? Don’t be afraid to change the world, or merely alter the mundane. Just be prepared to defend your decision with reason, or irrational emotion! Oh…this wand will self-destruct after a single use, so choose wisely!”

Pause

Not that I knew what I was doing, but I started meditating 20 years ago. There was no guide book, no training taken – just a person thinking, “I’ll roll out this blanket, stretch out here, breathe and think.” I was just making it up as I went along. For the past several years my meditation has been on the mat, in a yoga studio, in the hands of experts. Despite those early explorations on my own I had mostly stopped practicing at home.

Off and on I have sleepless spells, usually when I’m over-committed, over-screen-timed, my head swimming with ideas and to-dos. During one such bout this summer, I decided to try guided meditation. The sarcastic, jaded side of me thought it would be cheesy, so I was hesitant to buy something. I ended up downloading a free app called Stop, Breathe and Think.

The app has about 15 free guided meditations, like “Mindful Breathing,” “Body Scan” and “Be Present.” I can’t lie that part of my decision to go with this app was based on their illustrations. When you complete various feats of peace-finding, you earn badges like the double rainbow, or this one:

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It’s perhaps a bit weird to solve for this using a device that is part of the cause of my splintered self, but I found it has worked for me to hit play to pause.

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Lifeline prompt: “Pause Button. How do you pause your day? What’s a break look like in your world – is it refreshing, reenergizing, or restful? What makes you able to keep on keepin’ on?”

Just Misunderstood

I am going to sound like a really terrible person, but there’s just no way around it. Fatty Lumpkin was the worst cat. He had a mean streak like no other feline I’ve known. I can’t say the number of times he bit me, came at me with claws. Guests to our home would be afraid of our attack kitty, and I’m pretty sure the vet had extensive notes warning their fellow docs to watch out.

My best friend Doug, before he passed away, would always say, “But Fatty’s just misunderstood.” I loved that Doug loved my terrible cat. He would have taken him in, had I asked. I’m pretty staunch on the whole pet adoption thing. That cat could have taken me to hell and back (we did come close a couple of times), but I couldn’t bail on the commitment I made once I took him in.

Fatty calmed down over the years, and we figured out how to co-exist. Now and again he’d remind me he still had that old fire, could draw blood, but mostly, he softened. To my surprise, he became a lap cat. We found our own understanding of one another.

Earlier this year, Fatty started losing weight. Initially we thought it was because we switched dog food, and he didn’t like the new flavor. He’d been sneaking from the dogs for years, thwarting our careful attempts to measure his food and get him to a reasonable weight. When he kept losing, we went to the vet and learned he was diabetic. His condition declined quickly. His back legs were getting wonky. He could no longer jump up to the bed. He was having a hard time cleaning his paws. It was heart-breaking to watch.

On April 12th, we made the decision that it was cruel to prolong his life. By then his bones jutted out so sharply, he was hard to pet. On his final day he calmly purred in my lap, even at the vet.

lumper

I didn’t make a big announcement. I wasn’t really sure how to pay tribute to this cat I mostly loved, but at times loathed. Grief is hard enough. Throw on mixed feelings, and it’s a pretty toxic cocktail of mourning and guilt. And I couldn’t help but think about the bond between Doug and my cat – it stirred up my grief for Doug too, a loss compounded with another loss.

In the days after his euthanasia, I had a series of strange moments. I opened the window, and waited, expectant. It was he first time in years Fatty didn’t come to explore the open window. I thought I felt the cat brush up against my leg while I washed dishes in the kitchen. A moth fluttered through the house, nothing stirred.

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Today’s prompt: “Aloha. What did you say goodbye to this year? Was it a bad habit? A ’94 hatchback? Or something less tangible? How did you feel the day after? The week after?”

Solicited Advice

Advice is kind of weird, right? When I think of most of the times I’ve asked for it, it’s been when there’s something wrong, or if I have a problem I can’t solve.

It hadn’t occurred to me to actively ask for advice when there’s nothing up, no issue or angle, until earlier this year. As part of a project, I had to ask my collaborators four questions from a script, with one of them being: “What advice do you have for me?”

That’s it. Simple. No other context or prompts. A wide open ask for advice.

I actually was telling Drew, Lydia and Jackie about this exchange earlier this evening. Here’s what they had to say:
“Weird!”
“That’s so robotic!”
“It sounds unnatural!”

…and so on.

I agree. And it did feel strange to ask, but guess what? I got some of my favorite advice ever (thanks, Jeremy and Jenny!)

Doodle more.

This advice came at a time when I was in the thick of my creative withdrawal. It was advice I didn’t even know how much I needed. I’ve been picking up the pen more than ever because of it. Behold, two recent, random doodles:

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Do you ever ask for advice just because?

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Today’s prompt: “2¢. Whether you asked for it – or not – what good advice did you get this year?”

Closure

door-knob

In the final moments in the house, I spent a lot of time trying to get a great photo of the door knob in our tiny kitchen pantry, in our tiny galley kitchen. I had a mountain of other things to do – cleaning, hauling, sorting. The weight of a move half-done hung over me. But this knob was a detail I feared I may long forget, when this house became a distant memory. By this point the house was nearly empty, and everything sounded over loud. Every move I made sent out sharp, jarring echoes.

For whatever reason, this door knob always captured my imagination. Maybe because it was a last original detail in an otherwise completely rehabbed room. Maybe it was that the keyhole was deep and dark, like it might hide secret worlds, or at least secrets. The symbolism of doors left slightly ajar was not lost on me either. To move on, this door must close.

The move was a slow burn. We saved for years, house-hunted for months. Like all things that seem far away, one day, suddenly, the move was a lump in my throat. Endings are just hard, even when there’s something exciting ahead.

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Today’s prompt: “Share your year in photos. Was there a moment of unrestrained happiness? An unexpected encounter?”