I remember working until 2 a.m. once, stuffing envelopes getting ready for this event. I remember wondering how many people would even come. The event went off OK, but lots to improve and do. And I remember doing it again and again and again, constantly trying to improve it, seeing small progresses then steps back. Over and over and over again.
Today, 4 years later, I went to that event, the one that was literally birthed at my dining room table those years ago. And I saw 350 people and an event that quite literally has a life all its own. Most importantly, I attended that event and simply did that -- just attended. The event, the project, ran on its own steam with other very capable people being charged with its care. It is, alive and well and doing better than ever.
Its gratifying in those moments to stop and remember, even when no one else may recall, how something may have started. Just an idea that became energy and then motion, involving others and becoming real.
It made me stop and think -- how many current projects do I often wonder, "will this EVER get done?" Will I ever see success in this endeavor? Will it ever be finished?"
Today, I saw a glimpse, a hope. I heard a whisper that reminded me, "just keep going."
It confirms my suspicion that all great endeavors begin as a flash, first in the mind then in reality.
Or maybe, creating in the mind is the reality. Whatever the case, it was great to see something and to know deep inside, there is a part of me in this thing and a part of it in me. For me the definition of a true leader is how well things go when they are not around.
Today, that was very, very good to see.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Memoirs of a Techno-Geek
It's sitting in a FedEx Box, wrapped in bubble wrap, packaging slip on top.
The description reads something like, "Treo 600..." but it really is much more than that.
After months of trying to make a large laptop and cell phone work, I decided to take the plunge into the hand held world of palmpilots. I was blissfully happy downloading my email during long meetings, taking picture of my kids when they weren't looking, getting "IM"s from my husband as he drove home. I even could download my books from audible AND put my very own music on the playlist and use my walk time as my music time.
One small problem. The real reason that I purchased the device -- that is, for a usable working phone -- was not working. By "usable working" phone I mean by that that I could simply hear the other person and they could hear me.
Generally, my cell phone conversations would go like th is:
Ring, ring.
(them) "Hello"?
(me) "Hello"?
(them - more loudly) "HELLO?"
(me- stupidly) " CAN YOU HEAR ME?"
(them - more loudly than before) "WHO IS THIS?"
(me - really stupidly) 'CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW" (I'd say this while I was juggling my headset, driving down the road, waving at the cop that was just pulling out to give me a ticket for going 75 in a 45.)
(them ) "click". (as in "I'm hanging up now")
If I did get through, there would be an unbearable ringing noise, loud as a siren, in the background. So the above conversation would be peppereded with,
LOUD RINGING SOUND LOUD RINGING SOUND LOUD RIINGING SOUND....
which, of course, made it very hard to carry on any kind of conversation.
One good thing, my cell phone bill dropped dramatically. In fact, my cell phone carrier called just to see if I had lost my cell phone because my bills were cut in half.
This gave me a great opportunity to explain to the non-English speaking customer "care" person about my communication challenges.
(me) - "I can't hear when someone calls me"
(them) - "Can you identify any broken or rattling pieces on the device?"
(me) -- "nope".
(them) - "have you dropped your phone or hit it against something?"
(me) - slowly, carefully. "not at all".
(them) - "please answer the following questions, taking your time, answer carefully.."
To which I was submitted to no less than 40 questions regarding all types of communication "issues". I gave no less than 7 "id" numbers, my birthdate, my age, my hair color, possible blood types and mother's maiden name (I think that was her maiden name).
After about 30 minutes, I was told that they could not help me, that I had to "migrate" to another phone carrier because my original phone carrer -- AT&T -- was no longer.
me - "But my bills say your company's name. My money goes to your company".
them - "Yes, but to purchase one of our phones we have to have you 'migrate' to our company."
me (stupidly) -- "So let me get this straight...my money goes to you, my bills say your company's name, but I can't get a replacement phone from your company?"
them - "That is correct. You must migrate to our company."
me (even more stupidly) - "How do I do that, exactly?"
them - "We don't know."
After another day of such conversations such as this, a "replacement" phone arrives in my mail with a ream of paper about the size of the Dallas phone book with specific instructions on how to return my device, which I gave to my engineering husband who spent 3 hours stripping my personal information from the device.
9 months of calls/emails/IM's -- all stripped in about 3 hours. Erased. Gone. Out into cyber town.
My whole life is on a SIM card that can be sent back and forth like a hand me down. My life electronically stored and packaged. (For those of you who don't know what a SIM card is, it's what the cops on "Law and Order" people use to track down the perp's phone numbers, addresses, information.)
I'm not sure how I feel about being able to trade out my life electronically like a battery. What implications does this have for us? Can we create alternative personalities, plugging them in and out whenever we need to? I'm not sure how I feel about the 'electronic' age in this regard.
The description reads something like, "Treo 600..." but it really is much more than that.
After months of trying to make a large laptop and cell phone work, I decided to take the plunge into the hand held world of palmpilots. I was blissfully happy downloading my email during long meetings, taking picture of my kids when they weren't looking, getting "IM"s from my husband as he drove home. I even could download my books from audible AND put my very own music on the playlist and use my walk time as my music time.
One small problem. The real reason that I purchased the device -- that is, for a usable working phone -- was not working. By "usable working" phone I mean by that that I could simply hear the other person and they could hear me.
Generally, my cell phone conversations would go like th is:
Ring, ring.
(them) "Hello"?
(me) "Hello"?
(them - more loudly) "HELLO?"
(me- stupidly) " CAN YOU HEAR ME?"
(them - more loudly than before) "WHO IS THIS?"
(me - really stupidly) 'CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW" (I'd say this while I was juggling my headset, driving down the road, waving at the cop that was just pulling out to give me a ticket for going 75 in a 45.)
(them ) "click". (as in "I'm hanging up now")
If I did get through, there would be an unbearable ringing noise, loud as a siren, in the background. So the above conversation would be peppereded with,
LOUD RINGING SOUND LOUD RINGING SOUND LOUD RIINGING SOUND....
which, of course, made it very hard to carry on any kind of conversation.
One good thing, my cell phone bill dropped dramatically. In fact, my cell phone carrier called just to see if I had lost my cell phone because my bills were cut in half.
This gave me a great opportunity to explain to the non-English speaking customer "care" person about my communication challenges.
(me) - "I can't hear when someone calls me"
(them) - "Can you identify any broken or rattling pieces on the device?"
(me) -- "nope".
(them) - "have you dropped your phone or hit it against something?"
(me) - slowly, carefully. "not at all".
(them) - "please answer the following questions, taking your time, answer carefully.."
To which I was submitted to no less than 40 questions regarding all types of communication "issues". I gave no less than 7 "id" numbers, my birthdate, my age, my hair color, possible blood types and mother's maiden name (I think that was her maiden name).
After about 30 minutes, I was told that they could not help me, that I had to "migrate" to another phone carrier because my original phone carrer -- AT&T -- was no longer.
me - "But my bills say your company's name. My money goes to your company".
them - "Yes, but to purchase one of our phones we have to have you 'migrate' to our company."
me (stupidly) -- "So let me get this straight...my money goes to you, my bills say your company's name, but I can't get a replacement phone from your company?"
them - "That is correct. You must migrate to our company."
me (even more stupidly) - "How do I do that, exactly?"
them - "We don't know."
After another day of such conversations such as this, a "replacement" phone arrives in my mail with a ream of paper about the size of the Dallas phone book with specific instructions on how to return my device, which I gave to my engineering husband who spent 3 hours stripping my personal information from the device.
9 months of calls/emails/IM's -- all stripped in about 3 hours. Erased. Gone. Out into cyber town.
My whole life is on a SIM card that can be sent back and forth like a hand me down. My life electronically stored and packaged. (For those of you who don't know what a SIM card is, it's what the cops on "Law and Order" people use to track down the perp's phone numbers, addresses, information.)
I'm not sure how I feel about being able to trade out my life electronically like a battery. What implications does this have for us? Can we create alternative personalities, plugging them in and out whenever we need to? I'm not sure how I feel about the 'electronic' age in this regard.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Where everyone knows your name
I've been redefining my schedule. With kids now fully into the back to school routine, and Dan no longer working at home, I've found myself with some very quiet mornings and a chance to redefine how I approach my day.
What is surprising is just how hard change can be, even for someone like myself who often gets a bit antsy when too many things stay the same for too long. I'm always thinking about painting a room, moving things in my garden, changing things up. Such is the blessing -- and curse -- of being an INTJ..our mantra is, "things can always be better".
I use to laugh at my grandparents when they would take trips. They'd pack up and make a dash for the door only to rush back home so that they could be home before nightfall, so that they could be in their own home. "Why?' I would ask myself. "Why would it be so important just to get back to the same old thing?"
I'm beginning to understand. I find myself having to work hard to find new places to have lunch with new friends and seek out new places to write during my morning and afternoon time that I have now set aside for writing. (Nestled firmly into the routines of work, rest assured.)
Yesterday I drove across town looking for some new stomping grounds. I guess I'm searching for that place that is familar yet different enough each day. I was searching for a different palette, I think, from the same-ness that seems to be rampant in my small corner of the world. The same bland taste of lilly-white-same-ness in the homogeneous white Midwestern part of the world. I feel like I'm drinking flat cola and munching on stale chips. Practically the same, but not altogether pleasing either.
And yet as I settled into my morning cup of coffee at a "new" location, I yearned for the old. The predictability, the sameness, the meager friendliness of the staff at my "home" coffeeshop. Benign neglect is sometimes preferred over outright rudeness.
I strolled some new locations, meeting some new people even running into some old friends. It was all the same and all different and I felt off center, out of balance, out of sync. I couldn't wait to arrive back home in my dishelved office with phone calls to return, tasks to do.
So today, I'm going to try it again. I'm going to force myself to continue finding a new "routine" that will be both stimulating and challenging. The very reason that it is hard prods me on to do it again until it isn't so hard the next time. I don't know where I'm going to go yet. Maybe I won't until I get there.
I know that I'm just too young to be so set in my ways.
What is surprising is just how hard change can be, even for someone like myself who often gets a bit antsy when too many things stay the same for too long. I'm always thinking about painting a room, moving things in my garden, changing things up. Such is the blessing -- and curse -- of being an INTJ..our mantra is, "things can always be better".
I use to laugh at my grandparents when they would take trips. They'd pack up and make a dash for the door only to rush back home so that they could be home before nightfall, so that they could be in their own home. "Why?' I would ask myself. "Why would it be so important just to get back to the same old thing?"
I'm beginning to understand. I find myself having to work hard to find new places to have lunch with new friends and seek out new places to write during my morning and afternoon time that I have now set aside for writing. (Nestled firmly into the routines of work, rest assured.)
Yesterday I drove across town looking for some new stomping grounds. I guess I'm searching for that place that is familar yet different enough each day. I was searching for a different palette, I think, from the same-ness that seems to be rampant in my small corner of the world. The same bland taste of lilly-white-same-ness in the homogeneous white Midwestern part of the world. I feel like I'm drinking flat cola and munching on stale chips. Practically the same, but not altogether pleasing either.
And yet as I settled into my morning cup of coffee at a "new" location, I yearned for the old. The predictability, the sameness, the meager friendliness of the staff at my "home" coffeeshop. Benign neglect is sometimes preferred over outright rudeness.
I strolled some new locations, meeting some new people even running into some old friends. It was all the same and all different and I felt off center, out of balance, out of sync. I couldn't wait to arrive back home in my dishelved office with phone calls to return, tasks to do.
So today, I'm going to try it again. I'm going to force myself to continue finding a new "routine" that will be both stimulating and challenging. The very reason that it is hard prods me on to do it again until it isn't so hard the next time. I don't know where I'm going to go yet. Maybe I won't until I get there.
I know that I'm just too young to be so set in my ways.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Joyce Carol Oates
I'm reading "I'll take you there" by Joyce Carol Oates (http://www.harpercollins.com/authorintro/index.asp?authorid=7275) one of my all time favorite authors.
When I read her stuff I am both amazed and disappointed. Amazed that someone can write with such conviction resonance. Disappointed that I think "can I ever, ever write like that?"
I find myself also wondering, "how many pages did she write to get that one great scene? how many times did her editor say, 'again and again'? did she ever suffer from fear of writing someting that seemed too close to her, too personal?"
Reading a book by Joyce Carol Oates is for me like drinking a long, tall glass of water. It both refreshes and renews. She's on my "would love to meet in this lifetime" list.
When I read her stuff I am both amazed and disappointed. Amazed that someone can write with such conviction resonance. Disappointed that I think "can I ever, ever write like that?"
I find myself also wondering, "how many pages did she write to get that one great scene? how many times did her editor say, 'again and again'? did she ever suffer from fear of writing someting that seemed too close to her, too personal?"
Reading a book by Joyce Carol Oates is for me like drinking a long, tall glass of water. It both refreshes and renews. She's on my "would love to meet in this lifetime" list.
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