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You know how sometimes something gets in your head and drives you to distraction? It may not even be important. It's usually something stupid like a sound or mannerism no one else notices or a song melody you can't match any words to or the name of that actor who was with what's-her-face in that one movie you can't remember. Regardless, once this kind of something gets into your head you have a crisis on your hands.
Now, you may not understand or appreciate what I'm about to share and that's okay — this type of crisis is personal. But few things get under my skin faster than misused words, and I just got out of a five hour HR meeting about "Succession Planning".
(I'm sorry — just typing those words brought back a flood of troubling memories and I had to step away from my computer for a few minutes and breathe into a paper bag.)
Get a firm grip on yourself because you may be about to learn something: "succession" is not a fancy-schmancy synonym for "success". No no. No no no. No. "Success" planning, which is what we were really talking about, has everything to do with making arrangements to attain a favorable or desired outcome or some measure of favor. "Succession" planning would literally mean "sequence planning" and would probably involve making provisions for someone else to take over your duties should you decide to leave the company (planning for a "successor" if you will). And that is not what we were doing. No it was not.
What kills me is that, in this whole giant company of thousands of very smart people, this company-wide process and all these handouts and forms came into existence without anyone being like, "Hey, whoa — 'succession' planning? Don't you mean 'success'?" I mean, maybe HR could've run the whole thing past the writers and editors first (hellooo — that's my job here), you know, just to double check. But no. So now everyone has to participate in these mistitled meetings and fill out idiot mistitled forms. I just — I can't — okay, you know, I'm done.
Ha. If only it were that easy.
I don't care how cool you think you are. You can amass experience and skills and graduate degrees and big-ticket toys all you want -- sooner or later you're going to find yourself someplace where you don't have a prayer of fitting in. I'm convinced of this.
A personal example. Last Saturday I slipped on black shoes from Aldo, dark denim jeans from Express, and a gray wool and cashmere topcoat from Banana Republic (cool outfit, right?) and went with my brother-in-law and his dad to look at motorcycles. Perhaps you see where this is going.
I know nothing about motorcycles. Nothing. Never even sat on one. I'm a little scared of the things if you must know the truth. So we walk into this tiny chop shop set up in some guy's dirty garage and the eight-year-old girl contentedly playing with tools behind the counter stops for a puzzled moment and gives me a once-over. She knows. Fleeing her accusing eyes, I step into the shop to stand amid all the burly men and bike parts while they talk of things beyond my understanding and judge me silently. I don't even try to contribute. Even the slobbering black lab smells my fear.
Our journey continues at the local Harley Davidson dealership where my apparel draws stares like a Terrell Owens' Cowboy jersey at an Eagles playoff game. My pulse quickens and I try to assume an air of confidence, but I'm definitely not wearing the right color scheme, a blue denim button-down, short leather jacket, boots, or a suitable hat, never mind the fact that I'm not talking loudly to any of my "buddies" and am clearly missing visible tattoos. Fortunately, some old-time players from the glory years of the Philadelphia Flyers are there signing autographs, so I'm simultaneously confronted by two different fanatical groups with whom I have nothing in common.
It's then I realize I don't care. I don't care if don't fit in at a Harley dealership. It doesn't bother me that I don't know how to build a motorcycle. It doesn't even bother me that I don't know how to ride one. Sure, there are skills I'd like to learn. There are things and experiences I'd like to pursue. But I'm not desperate to prove myself to everybody, as if that were even possible.
Of course, I say all this having amassed neither much experience, many skills, or any graduate degrees, and the biggest-ticket toy to my name is a well-worn and handsomely aged Toyota Corolla that's traveled the approximate equivalent of seventeen times around the world (impressive, I know), so you have my permission to take my words with a grain of salt.
Maybe you're a New York Times best-selling author, four-star general, Noble Prize-winner, and three-time Olympic gold medalist who once summited Everest on a solo climb without oxygen and now practices medicine in AIDS-ridden African countries for a global nonprofit organization between touring with your rock band, managing your gourmet restaurant chain, and selling your original artwork which, sadly, you haven't had much time for lately because you've been writing/directing/starring in several Oscar-nominated films. If so, that really is impressive. Still, how would you fare in a Harley shop?
This just in: Responding in a panic to a collapsing stock market, the Fed jumps the gun and announces an emergency interest rate cut early this morning of 0.75% -- the largest one-day cut in decades. MSN headline reads: "Stocks plunge despite an emergency rate cut by the central bank." I'm not surprised. As a rule, reactionary measures don't build confidence. They merely make you look unprepared, reinforcing and confirming suspicions that you're not in control -- that other, more powerful forces are forcing your hand. MSN could've written, "Stocks plunge because of emergency rate cut by the central bank" and hit closer to the truth.
This whole economic "crisis" fascinates me, really. The way I see it, it's a classic example of the power of words. Semantics, if you will.
Consider this: When was the last time you heard someone -- anyone -- in the media or government say something positive and hopeful about the immediate future of our economy? I could have amnesia, but I can't think of the last time I heard a positive spin on the situation. However, in the last fifteen minutes alone I've been told that "hard times" lie ahead, that "recession" is "inevitable", that the Fed can't stop the "bloodbath", that markets are in a "nosedive", that people are "worried" and "disappointed" and reacting out of "fear" as profits "plummet", "plunge", "slump", "slip", "drop", "fall", and otherwise come crashing down around us, all but destroying the middle class. It's enough to make me want to cash in my 401(k) over my lunch break and sock it away in a drawer. Every article and newscast on the topic proclaims through a megaphone: "These are desperate times, no one will escape, and no, not even God can save you."
Then, if you listen carefully, interjected midway through the latest gloom and doom analysis of our financial future, you'll hear Mr. Random Economist sharing a brief soundbite of conventional wisdom to help explain the situation: "If consumers lose faith, if they panic and pull back, then you can have recession."
Now, I'm not an economist, but I'm not an idiot, either. As the federal government, if the last thing you want is for people to lose faith, start to panic, and pull back from participating in our economy, what the heck are you doing crushing faith, causing panic, and encouraging people to pull back? Has anyone tried using reassuring words? Demonstrating a little faith? Offering a little hope?
I'm not advocating that the government or media sweep a real crisis under the proverbial rug. If this really is a crisis, and it sure looks like it is now, then fine, let's work to address it. But if the formula looks something like faith + confidence = a strong economy, stop fighting against a solution.
"Don't let me into this year with an empty heart," sings modern music legend Josh Ritter in one of many great songs from his outstanding 2007 album, The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter. I don't know whether his heart was full at midnight on January 1, but I hope someone let him into the year either way. Actually, I'm not authorized to speak for Josh concerning personal matters. (I like to think he greeted the new year in high spirits, full to bursting with hope and inspiration for the future. If that's not the case, well, chin up, Josh -- the year is young.) Anyway, that's neither here nor there. Three weeks into 2008, I can say with assurance my heart is full -- fuller than it's ever been.
My wife and I celebrated two milestones on Saturday: January 19 marked our second full week as husband and wife...and our first dating anniversary. Pretty cool, if you ask me. And, in hindsight, more than a little strange. In a good way.
You see, I never saw this past year coming. No, the passage of time is not a foreign concept to me, and no, I didn't expect the world to end midway through 2006 or my life to be suddenly and mysteriously snuffed out before the ball dropped on December 31. I saw 2007 coming. I just never expected or imagined it would hold so much: a new job, a new relationship, a promotion, an engagement, a new apartment...more blessings than I can number.
For all our planning, we humans are predictably bad at predicting the future. Had my present-day self gone to visit me thirteen months ago to tell me what lay ahead, I would've scoffed in my own face. The future is a mystery -- always full of surprises. Sometimes surprises really screw up your plans, like wrecking your car or something. Other times they're pleasant -- even, euphoric -- surprises, like falling head-over-heels in love with your best friend. This past year was loaded with surprises like that.
Right now, Heather and I live large in a small apartment on a humble gross income with grandiose hopes and dreams for our future: a trip to South America this spring, a year abroad, possibly pursuing flexible (and lucrative?) self-employment, world travel, city life, kids in five years or so, and making a lasting positive difference in this world...the list goes on and on. We're practically penniless but more than happy with our new life together, and we're excited about what lies ahead for us.
But we're not naive. We know we're not in control and we know we're not always going to have stars in our eyes when we look at each other. But "in sickness and in health, in times of want and in times of plenty, in joy and in sorrow, in failure and in triumph -- either way" we will be there for each other. By God's grace, I know we'll be alright, come what may. I hope you can say the same. But if that kind of love doesn't fill your heart, well, chin up, my friend -- the year is young.
