Digital Temperance
My favorite places recently have been golf courses. I’ll explain by mentioning that I attended the 2007 U.S. Open held at Oakmont in June and was properly impressed with the whole event. The players were fascinating to watch as they succumbed to the masochistic test that is Oakmont. The event itself was run like a Swiss watch, the crowd and traffic logistics were virtually flawless. Even the weather gods were on our side with 4-5 “Chamber of Commerce” days that for those of us who live here know are, well, rare.
But here was my favorite part.
Not one ring, beep, buzz or any other downloadable cell phone silliness and digital noise for over 9 hours on both of the days I attended. Many golf courses have adopted this policy to combat the digitally hyper-dependent. There weren’t hordes of people “multi-tasking” (which for most people is code for doing many things on a mediocre level) with heads bowed, praying to the Blackberry/PDA/cell phone god that has secured such a powerful hold over the converted. Not that they didn’t try. I witnessed literally a dozen or so people who – despite umpteen warnings, instructions and outright threats NOT to bring said devices – plead with the beleaguered security folks that they were the exception to the rule. They HAD to be connected, because they had a pregnant wife, a patient, the office, an elderly parent or a sick dog. As I listened to the whining two thoughts ran through my head: 1. If you’re THAT important and necessary with someone like that in your life maybe the golf course isn’t the place for you to be and 2. You’re digitally out of whack.
Now, I’m not a Luddite. I believe that technology and the way it helps us connect is a good evolutionary thing. I’m in the connection business after all, my company, Mullen, connects brands to consumers. The best thing about the new technologies has been the consumer’s ability to wrestle control from the advertisers. They are deciding what they want to hear about and when they want to hear it. It’s an exciting and challenging time to be in the creative field for all aspects of communications.
But do I have to be connected 24/7? Do I have to wear the strange cyborg growth on my ear and speak overly loud to show folks I’m important? Will the field lap me technologically speaking if I don’t surf the web every 5 minutes? The answers are – in order – no, hell no and I don’t believe so.
Digital technology has unleashed all of this freedom to personalize our own spaces. Wendy Richmond, a designer, communicator and a contributor for Communication Arts magazine has written about the idea of “being alone in public spaces”. Through the advent of cell phones/ipods individuals have constructed fairly impregnable walls around them. Before it was books, newspapers, notebooks or the “thousand yard stare” to ward off unwanted conversations or advances. Mere child’s play compared to the arsenal at our disposal now.
So I can construct the walls, check e-mail, look at a picture or video on a two inch screen, make a phone call, surf the web or zone out to Tom Waits and with the iPhone now unleashed – another seminal techie moment brought to us via Apple (and yes, I got one – extremely cool) – I can do all of this on a single “converged device”. But in doing so all the time I believe I would erode my ability to listen, to observe, or as an anthropologist might say “practice the art of hanging out”.
I’m insistent with my group that we need to break away from the desktop and the interruptions of everyday office life in order to accomplish two vital functions that are required when pushing creativity forward. The first is uninterrupted thought. It takes approximately 12 minutes to get back to an in depth state of thought on a subject once you’ve been interrupted. Coherency becomes an issue. The old adage of “work being the worst place to get work done” particularly applies to the creative process. The second is I adhere to the concept of balance. If you’re constantly plugged in you won’t take as many breaths – a walk, a bike ride, engaged dialogue - I’m sure you have your own list. Unplugging and going off the grid – even for just a little while - simply restores this sense of balance to healthier levels both emotionally and physically.
In addressing the concern that if you’re not constantly plugged in you’ll, you know, miss something, I ultimately find solace in the fact that regardless of how we will connect we still need to tell good stories. Good ideas and good storytelling matter now more than ever if you hope to persuade. Being a good storyteller absolutely requires the two components I wrote about earlier – uninterrupted thought and balance.
Am I tilting at technological windmills? Possibly. But there are signs of hope. John Mackey, the maverick CEO of Whole Foods, has talked about how he sets aside two times a day to check e-mail – and that’s it. They’re doing pretty well. Other companies have experimented with e-free days, or have daylong bans on internal e-mails, which refreshes people on the art of dialogue. In Japan they’ve instituted cell-free zones in certain public places and commuter vehicles and they’re firmly enforced by social and legal codes. Back here in the states, I recently rode in the “quiet car” on a train from NYC to Philadelphia and still was forced to be involved in 4-5 phone conversations. I’m hopeful we Americans will begin to adopt a digital social code that is more balanced and polite.
But until then it’s why Oakmont was so refreshing. The focus of the fans was enlightening to witness as they intently watched Tiger and company display their craftsmanship on the greens and tee boxes. Contrasting that level of engagement with the meetings we’ve all been in where people are checking e-mail or having to excuse themselves because of a phone call and you get a level of communication and professionalism that is full of contradictions and half-measures.
Which shouldn’t be par for the course.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Testostrogen (Older Post - 2008 - recopied here)
Testostrogen
Realizing full well that entering the gender minefield usually leaves one bloodied and bowed I nonetheless will rush headlong into a dialogue that somewhat crystallized for me when I attended the Pennsylvania Governor’s Conference for Women in early October of this year. This dialogue has been rumbling about in my head for roughly, oh…33 years, when in the summer before 8th grade girls began to breakthrough my formerly impenetrable wall of sports, TV and food (primarily of the chocolate variety) that had been the primary focus of my life up and they progressed from being really, really annoying to extremely, extremely interesting.
Hormones played a role of course – the testosterone levels in 13 year-old boys tend to rise around this age but there was more than pure lust at play here. I was raised by a single mother who devoted much of her life to civil and in particular, women’s rights, and made damn well sure I was aware of each from an early age. In addition, I was frequently set straight by an indomitable matriarchal grandmother, surrounded by 3 activist aunts and hopelessly outmaneuvered by three younger sisters. Women played the central roles in my upbringing. One that continues as I have been both strengthened and humbled by my wife and best friend for 26 years and basically flummoxed by two, let’s just say headstrong, daughters. This resume also includes the countless strong, articulate and intelligent women I’ve been fortunate enough to have as colleagues my entire career. The notion of men and women treating each other with respect, intelligence and on equal ground was the overarching belief. That doesn’t mean I’m immune to bias – we all fall prey on occasion but the foundation for not letting a person’s gender predetermine qualification or contribution is the tenet guiding me.
All of which is why the impression I had when I walked out the door at the end of a day spent as one of roughly 6 men in a sea of 4000 women has been troubling me for weeks. I knew I wanted to write about this gnawing realization I that day as I think it’s entirely creatively relevant for our business - not too mention maybe personal growth - but I’ve struggled mightily about how to articulate what I experienced without coming across as at best patronizing and at worst misogynistic. Both labels having been applied when I judiciously showed first drafts of this article to several women I know and neither epithet is one I ever want to be branded as – from a business, personal and, you know, human perspective.
As my mother demanded when I would sputter through one of my several adolescent confessions about breaking this, that or the other thing or maybe the one or two times I may – never proven – have dispensed unwarranted torment to one of my sisters - “Out with it already!” she would demand, “it can’t be that bad.” (my punishments often proved otherwise). Anyway – here goes.
Where were the men?
What does a conference whose stated goal – at least from the Governor himself - (which is ironic in it’s own right) is for women to “share ideas, forge new relationships and gain the tools needed to tackle challenges” really do for women – in terms of advancing the ideal of gender equity - if it doesn’t include dialogue from and with men? The Pennsylvania Commission for Women states that the conference is designed to “provide opportunities to empower women and girls to reach their highest potential”. Both of these goals are laudable and at the same time it’s lamentable that these goals and opportunities aren’t naturally more part of everyday life. We culturally divide the sexes more often than we combine them.
It’s the wisdom of crowds premise. Better solutions come from more diverse thought, information and opinion. The argument forming in my brain – and hey, I could be wrong, this is simply a dialogue worth exploring - is that a conference that lacks the diversity of both genders misses the creativity, inclusion and perspectives ultimately necessary to empower women to reach their “highest potential”.
I realize the conference was designed for both personal and professional growth and I am really only focusing on the professional discussions – although there was certainly illuminating perspectives for me in listening to some of the personal dialogue. I don’t deny that many of the attendees that day were provided with great information, inspiring ideas and valuable networking opportunities – with other women. The world doesn’t – at least shouldn’t - work that way though. We both inhabit the same environments. Too often men still dominate these environs and we need to share them more equitably. One of the ways to do that would be to make sure men hear the issues I heard discussed that day and conversely women need to hear what men are thinking.
Some of the arguments I’ve heard as I’ve discussed this is that the conference is for women because women won’t discuss as freely what’s on their minds if men are present. Men tend to – generally speaking – dominate discussions more often based on more aggressive natures and simply practice. Also, studies have also shown that girls and women tend to learn better in all female environments. While all of this has been true I think you have to consider that those things are so because we haven’t fully and honestly engaged more often in what I would call inclusion dialogue. And when women only engage one side in a debate, argument or discussion, then they fall prey to the very same failings men have exhibited for years.
Would that kind of conference be uncomfortable? You betcha. Being uncomfortable tends to be one of my favorite sensations, not because the tactile experience is all that enjoyable but rather because it initiates better dialogue within my own brain. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of comfort as well – too much of it though leads to complacency, which in my industry – as in most - is a death sentence. Being uncomfortable tends to spark action. Hell, I’m uncomfortable writing this article.
One of the more salient points made during the conference that I would hope more people would adopt was the one that Ariane de Bonvoisin (CEO and Founder of First30Days) made about how we make, or don’t make, changes in our lives. She relayed a conversation she had with a good friend of hers where she had launched into one of her frequent diatribes at that time about the failings of the men in New York City. Her friend stopped her in mid diatribe and said “You need to get a new story.” I took it to mean if you’re really going to change yours and other’s perceptions you need to explore other avenues of expression.
Barack Obama was just elected President – in my mind one of the top five seminal moments in this county’s history. It doesn’t change the fact that there are serious racial divides still present – but it does allow us to begin a new story. Similar thinking should be applied to gender equity by fostering more dialogue about gender issues that includes both.
Realizing full well that entering the gender minefield usually leaves one bloodied and bowed I nonetheless will rush headlong into a dialogue that somewhat crystallized for me when I attended the Pennsylvania Governor’s Conference for Women in early October of this year. This dialogue has been rumbling about in my head for roughly, oh…33 years, when in the summer before 8th grade girls began to breakthrough my formerly impenetrable wall of sports, TV and food (primarily of the chocolate variety) that had been the primary focus of my life up and they progressed from being really, really annoying to extremely, extremely interesting.
Hormones played a role of course – the testosterone levels in 13 year-old boys tend to rise around this age but there was more than pure lust at play here. I was raised by a single mother who devoted much of her life to civil and in particular, women’s rights, and made damn well sure I was aware of each from an early age. In addition, I was frequently set straight by an indomitable matriarchal grandmother, surrounded by 3 activist aunts and hopelessly outmaneuvered by three younger sisters. Women played the central roles in my upbringing. One that continues as I have been both strengthened and humbled by my wife and best friend for 26 years and basically flummoxed by two, let’s just say headstrong, daughters. This resume also includes the countless strong, articulate and intelligent women I’ve been fortunate enough to have as colleagues my entire career. The notion of men and women treating each other with respect, intelligence and on equal ground was the overarching belief. That doesn’t mean I’m immune to bias – we all fall prey on occasion but the foundation for not letting a person’s gender predetermine qualification or contribution is the tenet guiding me.
All of which is why the impression I had when I walked out the door at the end of a day spent as one of roughly 6 men in a sea of 4000 women has been troubling me for weeks. I knew I wanted to write about this gnawing realization I that day as I think it’s entirely creatively relevant for our business - not too mention maybe personal growth - but I’ve struggled mightily about how to articulate what I experienced without coming across as at best patronizing and at worst misogynistic. Both labels having been applied when I judiciously showed first drafts of this article to several women I know and neither epithet is one I ever want to be branded as – from a business, personal and, you know, human perspective.
As my mother demanded when I would sputter through one of my several adolescent confessions about breaking this, that or the other thing or maybe the one or two times I may – never proven – have dispensed unwarranted torment to one of my sisters - “Out with it already!” she would demand, “it can’t be that bad.” (my punishments often proved otherwise). Anyway – here goes.
Where were the men?
What does a conference whose stated goal – at least from the Governor himself - (which is ironic in it’s own right) is for women to “share ideas, forge new relationships and gain the tools needed to tackle challenges” really do for women – in terms of advancing the ideal of gender equity - if it doesn’t include dialogue from and with men? The Pennsylvania Commission for Women states that the conference is designed to “provide opportunities to empower women and girls to reach their highest potential”. Both of these goals are laudable and at the same time it’s lamentable that these goals and opportunities aren’t naturally more part of everyday life. We culturally divide the sexes more often than we combine them.
It’s the wisdom of crowds premise. Better solutions come from more diverse thought, information and opinion. The argument forming in my brain – and hey, I could be wrong, this is simply a dialogue worth exploring - is that a conference that lacks the diversity of both genders misses the creativity, inclusion and perspectives ultimately necessary to empower women to reach their “highest potential”.
I realize the conference was designed for both personal and professional growth and I am really only focusing on the professional discussions – although there was certainly illuminating perspectives for me in listening to some of the personal dialogue. I don’t deny that many of the attendees that day were provided with great information, inspiring ideas and valuable networking opportunities – with other women. The world doesn’t – at least shouldn’t - work that way though. We both inhabit the same environments. Too often men still dominate these environs and we need to share them more equitably. One of the ways to do that would be to make sure men hear the issues I heard discussed that day and conversely women need to hear what men are thinking.
Some of the arguments I’ve heard as I’ve discussed this is that the conference is for women because women won’t discuss as freely what’s on their minds if men are present. Men tend to – generally speaking – dominate discussions more often based on more aggressive natures and simply practice. Also, studies have also shown that girls and women tend to learn better in all female environments. While all of this has been true I think you have to consider that those things are so because we haven’t fully and honestly engaged more often in what I would call inclusion dialogue. And when women only engage one side in a debate, argument or discussion, then they fall prey to the very same failings men have exhibited for years.
Would that kind of conference be uncomfortable? You betcha. Being uncomfortable tends to be one of my favorite sensations, not because the tactile experience is all that enjoyable but rather because it initiates better dialogue within my own brain. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of comfort as well – too much of it though leads to complacency, which in my industry – as in most - is a death sentence. Being uncomfortable tends to spark action. Hell, I’m uncomfortable writing this article.
One of the more salient points made during the conference that I would hope more people would adopt was the one that Ariane de Bonvoisin (CEO and Founder of First30Days) made about how we make, or don’t make, changes in our lives. She relayed a conversation she had with a good friend of hers where she had launched into one of her frequent diatribes at that time about the failings of the men in New York City. Her friend stopped her in mid diatribe and said “You need to get a new story.” I took it to mean if you’re really going to change yours and other’s perceptions you need to explore other avenues of expression.
Barack Obama was just elected President – in my mind one of the top five seminal moments in this county’s history. It doesn’t change the fact that there are serious racial divides still present – but it does allow us to begin a new story. Similar thinking should be applied to gender equity by fostering more dialogue about gender issues that includes both.
Gee 20
Gee 20 (An Older Post recopied here)
My mother came to visit us a few weeks back. We had invited her to come for a long-overdue visit. My family is spread out around the country, she lives in Wisconsin and getting face-to-face time is unfortunately an all too infrequent occurrence so this qualified as a big event. Even though it was only my mom or perhaps precisely because it was only my mom we spent the better part of the week leading up to the visit engaged in a flurry of cleaning, organizing and, to borrow the ubiquitous Pittsburgh term, “redding up” the ol’ domicile.
Pittsburgh is undergoing much the same endeavor with the impending G20 Summit as we “Welcome the World” to the banks of the Allegheny, Monongahela and Ohio this September. Big events are great catalysts for change. Valentino Castellani, the Mayor of Torino, Italy spoke at a CityLive lecture here recently about how the Winter Olympics of 2006 became a catalyst for that region’s realization of a litany of infrastructure projects – the foremost being hi-speed rail that connects Torino to other parts of Italy as well as Europe with an ease and speed that was unprecedented. Big events elicit big ideas, hopes and dreams. They also puff out a lot of hot air – creating events designed specifically around the big event that typically become forums for politicians to take credit – some deservedly - but more often not so much.
Now, my mother’s visit required that I give attention to some neglected tasks that the everyday routines had rendered insignificant – in short, I got a bit lazy. Everyday routines tend to do that – get in the way of progress. Rebuilding the garden wall, staining the deck and patching the hole in the kitchen wall were secondary to grocery store runs, laundry cycles, some golf and, oh yeah, going to work. But coming she was and even at age 48, fear of your mother’s disapproval is still a great motivating factor to get things done.
Similarly, the region is hyperventilating as it prepares to “Welcome the World”. “Clean up! Fix the roads! Cover up the decay, neglect and ugliness! Show we’re not the smoky city! We’re green! ” All have been shouted from rooftops and boardrooms in one form or another since the announcement. All are laudable. All should have been shouted about before.
The singular difference, of course, between my exertions to our Penn Hills chalet and the ones currently underway region wide is that while my mother – or anyone invited to our home – comes around fairly infrequently, this region is – or should be – constantly inviting people, businesses, conventions and summits to live, work, meet and play here. “Welcome the World” should be a 24/7/365 thought process – not reserved just for Sept 24th and 25th.
It says here that we should be who we always were – resourceful, inventive, energetic, and tolerant and for the most part, you know – fairly happy and productive. The G20 is a great thing for us to be hosting and this is in no way knocking any of the enthusiasm for being excited about it – it’s most definitely a good thing. The hope is most of that energy gets channeled into lasting initiatives and not built up with vacuous and ineffectual grand gestures for what is fundamentally a business meeting that most of us will not be attending. It’s ironic and a bit sad that we all of a sudden have a mad desire to “clean up” abandoned storefronts and the like because of the great motivator that is the G20. That’s a stimulus that should be ever present.
We were picked for a reason – several reasons actually. President Obama likes Pittsburgh. That seems fairly obvious – roots for the Steelers (after Da’ Bears), appoints Dan Rooney Ambassador to Ireland and occasionally requests Pamela’s pancakes for breakfast. I think the real reason he likes us though is because of the aforementioned attributes – we figure things out and get things done. Not always cleanly or the most efficiently - there’s a chunnel and a casino that come to mind – but there are a lot of good minds and good businesses here that contribute mightily to the potential that is Pittsburgh. We’ve transformed. What attracts the President and others is what has been building for the past 25 years or so as we have evolved into a hub for healthcare, academia, the related tech associated with both and of course, there are those pancakes.
Nathan Martin, CEO of the mobile software design, development and strategy studio deeplocal, (www.deeplocal.com) which is housed in Pittsburgh’s increasingly hip east end and is most definitely one of those good businesses that contributes, has spoken about the idea of “micro-revolutions” which advances the notion that grand revolutions (or big events) are rarer – not impossible but harder to author and more importantly, to fund - especially in an urban redevelopment model. Smaller, incremental gains accomplished over time will foster larger and longer-term career gains for a region. What will make Pittsburgh audacious, weirder and more interesting will be rooted more in thousands of small community projects through service, donations, design and diverse thinking and less so in singular big events.
I’m not convinced big events even really get remembered all that much. I mean I know the Steelers won the last Super Bowl but I couldn’t tell you who was even in Super Bowl XXXIV (OK, I googled it – Rams vs Titans). There are also the various monuments to unintended consequences that big events typically produce – most recently evidenced by Bejing, China’s Bird’s Nest stadium. Not even a year after their own big event, the stadium stands virtually empty – the home to nothing in particular. Paint is already peeling and there are nebulous plans to turn it into a “shopping and entertainment complex” – not exactly an Olympian ideal.
What are remembered are moments. Moments are rooted in consistency, authenticity and surprise. Moments are sustained by an emotional connection. Pittsburgh needs to continue to produce more moments. The real opportunity here is to do less chest beating, take more action and produce more moments. If we harness this collective energy inspired by the big event into ongoing, sustainable and authentic community organizations, businesses, neighborhoods and individuals that make this place vibrant, eclectic and an interesting place to live – rather than fabricating temporary ones around this singular occasion – these will sustain long after the motorcades leave town and we’ll be doing more to ensure future Presidents and G20’s come to visit more often.
My mother came to visit us a few weeks back. We had invited her to come for a long-overdue visit. My family is spread out around the country, she lives in Wisconsin and getting face-to-face time is unfortunately an all too infrequent occurrence so this qualified as a big event. Even though it was only my mom or perhaps precisely because it was only my mom we spent the better part of the week leading up to the visit engaged in a flurry of cleaning, organizing and, to borrow the ubiquitous Pittsburgh term, “redding up” the ol’ domicile.
Pittsburgh is undergoing much the same endeavor with the impending G20 Summit as we “Welcome the World” to the banks of the Allegheny, Monongahela and Ohio this September. Big events are great catalysts for change. Valentino Castellani, the Mayor of Torino, Italy spoke at a CityLive lecture here recently about how the Winter Olympics of 2006 became a catalyst for that region’s realization of a litany of infrastructure projects – the foremost being hi-speed rail that connects Torino to other parts of Italy as well as Europe with an ease and speed that was unprecedented. Big events elicit big ideas, hopes and dreams. They also puff out a lot of hot air – creating events designed specifically around the big event that typically become forums for politicians to take credit – some deservedly - but more often not so much.
Now, my mother’s visit required that I give attention to some neglected tasks that the everyday routines had rendered insignificant – in short, I got a bit lazy. Everyday routines tend to do that – get in the way of progress. Rebuilding the garden wall, staining the deck and patching the hole in the kitchen wall were secondary to grocery store runs, laundry cycles, some golf and, oh yeah, going to work. But coming she was and even at age 48, fear of your mother’s disapproval is still a great motivating factor to get things done.
Similarly, the region is hyperventilating as it prepares to “Welcome the World”. “Clean up! Fix the roads! Cover up the decay, neglect and ugliness! Show we’re not the smoky city! We’re green! ” All have been shouted from rooftops and boardrooms in one form or another since the announcement. All are laudable. All should have been shouted about before.
The singular difference, of course, between my exertions to our Penn Hills chalet and the ones currently underway region wide is that while my mother – or anyone invited to our home – comes around fairly infrequently, this region is – or should be – constantly inviting people, businesses, conventions and summits to live, work, meet and play here. “Welcome the World” should be a 24/7/365 thought process – not reserved just for Sept 24th and 25th.
It says here that we should be who we always were – resourceful, inventive, energetic, and tolerant and for the most part, you know – fairly happy and productive. The G20 is a great thing for us to be hosting and this is in no way knocking any of the enthusiasm for being excited about it – it’s most definitely a good thing. The hope is most of that energy gets channeled into lasting initiatives and not built up with vacuous and ineffectual grand gestures for what is fundamentally a business meeting that most of us will not be attending. It’s ironic and a bit sad that we all of a sudden have a mad desire to “clean up” abandoned storefronts and the like because of the great motivator that is the G20. That’s a stimulus that should be ever present.
We were picked for a reason – several reasons actually. President Obama likes Pittsburgh. That seems fairly obvious – roots for the Steelers (after Da’ Bears), appoints Dan Rooney Ambassador to Ireland and occasionally requests Pamela’s pancakes for breakfast. I think the real reason he likes us though is because of the aforementioned attributes – we figure things out and get things done. Not always cleanly or the most efficiently - there’s a chunnel and a casino that come to mind – but there are a lot of good minds and good businesses here that contribute mightily to the potential that is Pittsburgh. We’ve transformed. What attracts the President and others is what has been building for the past 25 years or so as we have evolved into a hub for healthcare, academia, the related tech associated with both and of course, there are those pancakes.
Nathan Martin, CEO of the mobile software design, development and strategy studio deeplocal, (www.deeplocal.com) which is housed in Pittsburgh’s increasingly hip east end and is most definitely one of those good businesses that contributes, has spoken about the idea of “micro-revolutions” which advances the notion that grand revolutions (or big events) are rarer – not impossible but harder to author and more importantly, to fund - especially in an urban redevelopment model. Smaller, incremental gains accomplished over time will foster larger and longer-term career gains for a region. What will make Pittsburgh audacious, weirder and more interesting will be rooted more in thousands of small community projects through service, donations, design and diverse thinking and less so in singular big events.
I’m not convinced big events even really get remembered all that much. I mean I know the Steelers won the last Super Bowl but I couldn’t tell you who was even in Super Bowl XXXIV (OK, I googled it – Rams vs Titans). There are also the various monuments to unintended consequences that big events typically produce – most recently evidenced by Bejing, China’s Bird’s Nest stadium. Not even a year after their own big event, the stadium stands virtually empty – the home to nothing in particular. Paint is already peeling and there are nebulous plans to turn it into a “shopping and entertainment complex” – not exactly an Olympian ideal.
What are remembered are moments. Moments are rooted in consistency, authenticity and surprise. Moments are sustained by an emotional connection. Pittsburgh needs to continue to produce more moments. The real opportunity here is to do less chest beating, take more action and produce more moments. If we harness this collective energy inspired by the big event into ongoing, sustainable and authentic community organizations, businesses, neighborhoods and individuals that make this place vibrant, eclectic and an interesting place to live – rather than fabricating temporary ones around this singular occasion – these will sustain long after the motorcades leave town and we’ll be doing more to ensure future Presidents and G20’s come to visit more often.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Last Times
The last time.
We would meet nearly every morning in the summer. No text messaging, cell phone calls or twitter announcements were required, you simply showed up. In the days before video or on-line games, uber-organized youth sports and helicopter parents the kids in my neighborhood participated in something called going out to play. For this particular activity – which we called T-ball (not to be confused with the hit-the-ball-off-of-a-pole version of T-ball 6 year-olds play) – all that was required was a solid wall, baseball glove, bat, sneakers, a few tennis balls and a bike to escape on. We had in youth then what so few of us as adults possess now – time, energy and an enthusiasm to just go.
T-ball was simple. At the high school the macadam playground was enclosed on one end by a large brick barrier on whose other side apparently housed the school library – but that was still several years and a million miles away from torturing us. This wall was quickly transformed into a backstop by a shaky rectangular chalk outline of the strike zone scrawled on its surface. A pitcher, batter and fielders were quickly chosen up – no catcher was required as the wall caromed back with a satisfying “thwump” from the Wilson tennis balls that had seen better days and most likely, more proper usage. It wasn’t pure baseball – which we also played, but that was the afternoon city league, this was our own league – and we launched into a different version of the then national pastime (the pastime now appears to be poker, NASCAR, World of Warcraft or maybe Thursday night football). The tennis ball was hurled towards the batter, who either missed or hit it and depending on the hit was rewarded with a simple point system – grounders, liners past second, solid shots to the chain link fence or, best of all, pure connections that arched over the fence and into the yards and flower beds of the houses across the street. They all had their corresponding numerical value. Three strikes was still an out and three outs signified everyone switching positions.
Thus the summer mornings passed and hours were consumed by this game. Points were added up, arguments ensued and the beginnings of testosterone test flights took off where the dialogue and game became half comedy show and half contest. All of this combined to make the ritual one of the more satisfying memories I have from my childhood.
And at some point it stopped.
There came a day when it was the last time we played T-ball. I can’t remember how or why it ended and I’m sure none of us knew when we walked off the schoolyard on that particular day that it would be the last time. Everyday rituals you think will last forever all have end points that get lost in the shadows of onrushing time. Other events and routines take over but rarely are we conscious of the fact that it’s the last time. Last times fascinate and haunt me. Did Claude Monet know that was his last brush stroke? Did Carl Sandburg know that was the last poem? Did my mother know it was the last lunch she would pack for me? I’m not speaking of sudden death or ultimate finality here – my mother is doing just fine thank you – but the everyday occurrences that we do all the time that have an ending, a last time, but where ending’s specificity was elusive.
Of course, some last times are definable. As a senior in high school or college the last time is indelibly marked by promises to always remain friends, grand ceremonies, pictures, videos and usually a large meal with family. Weddings are similar as the commitment marks the last time – well, for 50% of us anyway – that you are just you. The pronoun “we” dramatically becomes the operative descriptor of your life. The birth of your first child further evolves even that definition. Last times are often hard to reconcile. Retirements mark the end of careers and it’s nervous fascination that overcomes me as I see how those individuals come to grips with gold watches and the melancholy of knowing that their last time professionally is approaching juxtaposed with the freedom they will soon hopefully enjoy.
Athletes struggle with the last time more so than other professions I believe – the Brett Farve saga being the current exhibit A. Barring a career ending injury, Troy Polamalu knows that there is a day out there where he will pull off the number 43 for the last time. Walking away from something you were among the best in the world at doing has to be a singularly difficult – and for most of us – unfamiliar experience. But there’s a clarity there that is missing in the everyday last times.
Plus those events can also be beginnings – you’re entering a new phase of your life as much as leaving one behind and these kinds of signature moment last times can be counted on one hand usually. It’s the everyday where the mystery endings occur and that collectively do more to create and define who we are and who we become.
We - all of us - lead legacy lives. We’re simply – most of the time – oblivious to that fact. Presidents, musicians, actors, writers and athletes are not the only stewards of legacy nor do they affect us as significantly. Our commonplace beginnings and endings influence in small increments and the collective body of work we all produce has a profound effect on both our selves and the people in our orbits. When we end one chapter or venture and begin to explore new arenas we continue to shape and chisel away at the sculpture that our life becomes. The endings allow for new surfaces to emerge.
Youth denied me the ability to be cognizant of more of these day-to-day last times in my early life - we are in such a hurry then. Perhaps the real value here is to simply embrace and recognize them at some point. I’m 48 and I haven’t thought about those T-ball games in over 3 decades but I now appreciate and acknowledge what the banter, activity and sounds of that summer began to embed in me – the ability to explore, argue, bond and to gain some athletic coordination. All have been further honed (well, in the case of athletic coordination - beginning to deteriorate slightly) and have become useful characteristics personally and professionally.
The recognition radar is a little sharper now as age and experience progress inexorably forward. I feel a sense of déjà vu as I try to remember the last shoulder ride I gave my daughters or the last real excited greeting I received from them for simply coming home from work. There was a moment at dinner on our deck late this summer when the four of us were together talking after the meal was over and I had a palpable sense wash over me that this specific kind of moment was about to end. One kid was leaving college soon and one was going to be entering college next year. Significant others, far away jobs and grandchildren seemed to be looming in the not too distant future and would soon populate our family mosaic. It felt like a last time.
Possibly it was. I’ll recognize, enjoy and embrace it at some point.
We would meet nearly every morning in the summer. No text messaging, cell phone calls or twitter announcements were required, you simply showed up. In the days before video or on-line games, uber-organized youth sports and helicopter parents the kids in my neighborhood participated in something called going out to play. For this particular activity – which we called T-ball (not to be confused with the hit-the-ball-off-of-a-pole version of T-ball 6 year-olds play) – all that was required was a solid wall, baseball glove, bat, sneakers, a few tennis balls and a bike to escape on. We had in youth then what so few of us as adults possess now – time, energy and an enthusiasm to just go.
T-ball was simple. At the high school the macadam playground was enclosed on one end by a large brick barrier on whose other side apparently housed the school library – but that was still several years and a million miles away from torturing us. This wall was quickly transformed into a backstop by a shaky rectangular chalk outline of the strike zone scrawled on its surface. A pitcher, batter and fielders were quickly chosen up – no catcher was required as the wall caromed back with a satisfying “thwump” from the Wilson tennis balls that had seen better days and most likely, more proper usage. It wasn’t pure baseball – which we also played, but that was the afternoon city league, this was our own league – and we launched into a different version of the then national pastime (the pastime now appears to be poker, NASCAR, World of Warcraft or maybe Thursday night football). The tennis ball was hurled towards the batter, who either missed or hit it and depending on the hit was rewarded with a simple point system – grounders, liners past second, solid shots to the chain link fence or, best of all, pure connections that arched over the fence and into the yards and flower beds of the houses across the street. They all had their corresponding numerical value. Three strikes was still an out and three outs signified everyone switching positions.
Thus the summer mornings passed and hours were consumed by this game. Points were added up, arguments ensued and the beginnings of testosterone test flights took off where the dialogue and game became half comedy show and half contest. All of this combined to make the ritual one of the more satisfying memories I have from my childhood.
And at some point it stopped.
There came a day when it was the last time we played T-ball. I can’t remember how or why it ended and I’m sure none of us knew when we walked off the schoolyard on that particular day that it would be the last time. Everyday rituals you think will last forever all have end points that get lost in the shadows of onrushing time. Other events and routines take over but rarely are we conscious of the fact that it’s the last time. Last times fascinate and haunt me. Did Claude Monet know that was his last brush stroke? Did Carl Sandburg know that was the last poem? Did my mother know it was the last lunch she would pack for me? I’m not speaking of sudden death or ultimate finality here – my mother is doing just fine thank you – but the everyday occurrences that we do all the time that have an ending, a last time, but where ending’s specificity was elusive.
Of course, some last times are definable. As a senior in high school or college the last time is indelibly marked by promises to always remain friends, grand ceremonies, pictures, videos and usually a large meal with family. Weddings are similar as the commitment marks the last time – well, for 50% of us anyway – that you are just you. The pronoun “we” dramatically becomes the operative descriptor of your life. The birth of your first child further evolves even that definition. Last times are often hard to reconcile. Retirements mark the end of careers and it’s nervous fascination that overcomes me as I see how those individuals come to grips with gold watches and the melancholy of knowing that their last time professionally is approaching juxtaposed with the freedom they will soon hopefully enjoy.
Athletes struggle with the last time more so than other professions I believe – the Brett Farve saga being the current exhibit A. Barring a career ending injury, Troy Polamalu knows that there is a day out there where he will pull off the number 43 for the last time. Walking away from something you were among the best in the world at doing has to be a singularly difficult – and for most of us – unfamiliar experience. But there’s a clarity there that is missing in the everyday last times.
Plus those events can also be beginnings – you’re entering a new phase of your life as much as leaving one behind and these kinds of signature moment last times can be counted on one hand usually. It’s the everyday where the mystery endings occur and that collectively do more to create and define who we are and who we become.
We - all of us - lead legacy lives. We’re simply – most of the time – oblivious to that fact. Presidents, musicians, actors, writers and athletes are not the only stewards of legacy nor do they affect us as significantly. Our commonplace beginnings and endings influence in small increments and the collective body of work we all produce has a profound effect on both our selves and the people in our orbits. When we end one chapter or venture and begin to explore new arenas we continue to shape and chisel away at the sculpture that our life becomes. The endings allow for new surfaces to emerge.
Youth denied me the ability to be cognizant of more of these day-to-day last times in my early life - we are in such a hurry then. Perhaps the real value here is to simply embrace and recognize them at some point. I’m 48 and I haven’t thought about those T-ball games in over 3 decades but I now appreciate and acknowledge what the banter, activity and sounds of that summer began to embed in me – the ability to explore, argue, bond and to gain some athletic coordination. All have been further honed (well, in the case of athletic coordination - beginning to deteriorate slightly) and have become useful characteristics personally and professionally.
The recognition radar is a little sharper now as age and experience progress inexorably forward. I feel a sense of déjà vu as I try to remember the last shoulder ride I gave my daughters or the last real excited greeting I received from them for simply coming home from work. There was a moment at dinner on our deck late this summer when the four of us were together talking after the meal was over and I had a palpable sense wash over me that this specific kind of moment was about to end. One kid was leaving college soon and one was going to be entering college next year. Significant others, far away jobs and grandchildren seemed to be looming in the not too distant future and would soon populate our family mosaic. It felt like a last time.
Possibly it was. I’ll recognize, enjoy and embrace it at some point.
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