It's coming...Follow Up Perspectives

I enjoy the writing that I do here, and in my last post, I indicated writing is a tool that helps me synthesize and articulate and develop thoughts that would otherwise remain abstract.

Fantastic for me, although perhaps selfish.  I'm flattered whenever something I write resonates with someone or triggers their thinking muscles.  But I want to offer more than just my perspective.

To kick off June (June! Next week! Already!!), I'm going to add a new feature to this blog called Follow Up Perspectives.  It will start as a new category of blog posts of follow-ups that provide links to the writing and analysis other fine people have done on the subject.

Follow Up Perspectives will be:

• Informative, so I will include references that allow you to skim, to swim and dive deep.  
• Balanced and inclusive.  It would be easy to find material that reinforces my conclusions, but that isn't really good sportsmanship.  References to other perspectives and view points.
• Open for discussion.  Your experience and insights matter!  Leave comments, send me links, continue the conversation.  

Follow ups will be published about a week after the initial post.  The first topic will be lessons in complexity.

Until then,
Andrea

Lessons in assumptions and complexity

A perfect knock out in the first round would have been less painful, but that is not the way complexity fights.  Round after round, the matches drag on, exhausting opponents, leaving them battered.  When they've been beat down, a new fresh-faced boxer is thrown into the ring and it all begins again.

On Monday I was working through the second Fire Starter Session.*  Part of the process was reflection and analysis on my three all-time screw-ups, and then letting go of past mistakes to focus on the good stuff.  I paused before letting go because I had an "Aha!" moment I knew I had to capture.  My thoughts and experience had coalesced into a lesson I wanted to make sure I learned.  Now is maybe a good time to admit I write here to fully articulate my thoughts, to sharpen the blurry points that my brain would fill in using the temporary lookup table of recent experience. (Note: I'm going to come back to this idea of a temporary lookup table in a future post.  Get excited.  It will be good. And geeky.)  So, I'm going to write about the insights I had in the hopes of fully developing these lessons for myself so I won't forget them.  I already learned them the hard way once.

My ill-fated match with complexity lasted almost two years and dealt with the relocation of a product line from one manufacturing facility to another.  I could tell you all the reasons why it was complicated, but they don't matter.  I could tell you about the loose ends that morphed into writhing snakes, but they don't matter either.  What matters are the lessons I learned from the experience, which are:

1. Be upfront and open about assumptions.  Write them down because they will need to checked and rechecked.  Share them with everyone who has a stake in the project - the people involved in making it happen, the people committing resources, the people who make project leaders accountable.  Ask other people for their assumptions and compare.  Assumptions should be public knowledge.  Why?  They could be wrong.  They may overlook something.  They may be based on outdated information.  They might overestimate the capability of people, of systems, of the resources to be consumed.  Guess what? It's ok if assumptions turn out to be wrong.  They're assumptions, not facts.  
2. Doing hard things simply is the be all and end all of an elegant solution. If success depends on an exquisitely detailed but rigid plan that rivals the setup for an Ok Go video, it's a good idea to call a time-out and review.  Don't automatically opt for complexity and assume killer project management will make it all work (see Lesson #1).  Bewildering plans contingent on very fine points are prime opportunities for unpleasant surprises.  If this is what Plan A looks like, Plan B is probably better.  Why?  Complexity consumes resources exponentially.  The attention and oversight has to come from somewhere.  Did the hours required for administration get factored into the project cost?  Energy that could be spent on "doing" other important things gets spent on "controlling" when complexity is in the ring. What about that opportunity cost?  The ROI has to be worth all of the hidden costs, too.

Moving on,
Andrea

*The Fire Starter Sessions is the brainchild of the lovely Danielle LaPorte.  If you don't know who she is yet, go ahead and take care of that.  She's inspiring and seriously, you have to experience how this gal talks.  Your day would go a whole lot better if you had a miniature Danielle sitting on your shoulder whispering kick-ass mantras in your ear.  That's not entirely possible, but the experiencing the Fire Starter Sessions is.  The experience happens over 10 sessions on how to burn your brightest, all delivered in a e-book.  You're going to have to self-reflect.  You're going to have to be honest with yourself.  And when it's all said and done, you'll be whispering your own kick-ass mantras.  

Flipping the diet segment

Standing in line for lunch today I saw a row of recently launched drinks sitting on the order counter.  All of them had the word "diet" in the name.

We've come to understand the "diet" description as another word for giving something up, for going without in the name of a longer-term result.  It gets me thinking about market segmentation.

If I owned a soft drink company, I would have two broad segments of offerings, except I would go about naming them a different way.  The healthier options - those with less or no sugar, no artificial flavorings - would just be the regular deal.  I wouldn't call it "diet" drink A or "healthy choice" drink A.  It would be my default offering, the one you would get if you didn't specify any qualifying characteristic.  The other segment would be the one I would call out with a different name.  Maybe "diabetes express" drink A or "High-Carb" drink A.  Don't think that would work?  Is it unprofitable to alienate the population of consumers that haven't yet jumped on the health conscious bandwagon?

Maybe that's why I don't own a soft drink company.

-Andrea

The moment before

I catch my myself wallowing in possibility.  I really get to know it.  There's the feeling of the impatient butterflies in my stomach. There's the nervousness that gets uncomfortable.  When I have my wits about me, I go for a run, work it out of my system, and return home more focused and clear.  Other times I throw my energy into something else, a tangential task that suddenly takes on more importance than it should.  Like reorganizing the kitchen yet again.  How can I expect to concentrate on this other thing without an organized kitchen? Or an empty dirty clothes hamper? Or with those books I have left to read sitting there, waiting to tell me something that might be important?

This place is the moment before execution, the moment before the critical step that once taken means I can no longer go back.  It's the step I take that crosses the line between thinking about a good idea and having a permanent record of actually trying to act on it.  It's pregnant with anticipation and possibility and visions of success and shaded by fear of failure.  It is as if prolonging this moment preserves a vision of the future that is sure to be sullied by the messiness of the real world.  I hold uncertainty at bay, allowing myself to ignore the unexpected that threatens to extinguish the dream completely.

This place is the shore around water that looks deceptively shallow.  I walk all around it, dip a toe in here or there, develop rationalizations for why the water is colder or deeper than I expected.  I could keep going in these circles forever, spiraling in as the water eventually dries up, leaving nothing but salt from a good idea that once had potential.

I'm reminded of how hard it was for me to learn to swim as a kid.  I was sure I had to fight the water in order to survive.  I worked so hard, flailed my limbs so desperately, panicking every time my head slipped even a little from its strained position over the water.  I couldn't swim very far at all before exhaustion set in.  I would be enrolled again, thinking I needed more practice.  I was the oldest kid in swimming lessons by that point and I felt like a miserable failure.  Eventually, many years later, I learned to swim thanks to a patient friend and a different approach.  Instead of focusing on all the different activities, I simply floated, adding movement here or there until it all came together.  I was amazed at how easy it really was, how very little energy was needed to tread water.  Even better, I actually enjoyed swimming.

It doesn't matter how much more prepared I think I need to be.  The more preparations I continue to make, the more I actually have to lose in terms of sunk time and energy.  Going through all these motions won't necessarily keep me from drowning.  I can't control all of the circumstances no more than I can control the weather.   There will be adjustments.  There will be changes.  What I have to do is frame my psyche to be comfortable with the little waves, to be confident in my ability to navigate the current, to swim out to meet the cresting waves rather than recoil from them.  Most of all, I have to remember how to float, how to slow down and see what is happening when I start to slip under.

The door of my refrigerator boasts a quote from Eleanor Roosevelt that I sometimes forget about, but when I rediscover it, I smile to myself, stand a little straighter, and remember where I put my courage.

"You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face...Do the thing you think you cannot do."

-Andrea

Random Bits of Appreciation

• The strange satisfaction that comes from putting little seeds into soil
• How leftovers make life easier
• Quietly sending someone an unexpected gift
• Keeping up with a goal to run at least 10 miles a week realizing I'm almost to my next milestone of 15.
• The unpredictability in browsing yard sales on a late Saturday morning (bought a book and found a student's book report from 1974 tucked in the back cover).
• Being reminded that no matter how hard people try, money can't buy character.  

Want to know one of my favorite habits?  Being present enough every day to appreciate all of those little moments.  I may not jot them down as frequently as I used to, but that doesn't mean that I stopped noticing.

-Andrea

My Case for Rules of Engagement

Just a warning - this is a bit of a long post.  You might want to get a cup of coffee, take a restroom break, or get a snack before sitting down to it.  I'm going to thank you now for going ahead and reading it.  I've been trying to figure out how to approach this topic for a while and I guarantee it's taken me much longer to write than it will for you to read it.  This is my best shot at it.  

I'll start with the rules, my personal set of commandments, if you will, for the way I participate with everyone else on the internet.

1. Be responsible for what I post. If I am uncomfortable with something being broadcast beyond my intended audience, I don't post it.  If I would be ashamed to explain the post to my family or close friends, I don't post it. This is not some form of crazy self-censorship.  It's respect for me, for you, for all of us involved.
2. Don't be an asshole.  Some people call it trolling, but it can get much worse than that.  The perceived anonymity and distance from consequence that the internet affords can enable meanness or bullying.  Just because it's possible doesn't mean it's okay.  I don't engage in personal attacks on other people or look for opportunities to deliver "You're doing it wrong" messages.  I don't like mean people, and chances are I am not the only one.  It is possible to disagree with someone without being an asshole or a troll.  I am going to practice doing that.
3. Be a contributor, not a detractor.  I don't use my online connections and communities for venting, ranting and spewing my anger at the world.  I share my thoughts, insights and experience instead.  Support people rather than tear them down.  Stand up, both for myself and other people when the situation calls for it.  Comment instead of lurk.  
4. Use the "unfollow" or "remove friend" features.  An awesome person taught me that attention is limited, and I want to give my attention to those I have real connection with, that bring out the best in me and inspire me.  As Bindu Wiles said, "Life is just to darn short not to use my Unfollow button."  I unfollow people saturated with negativity (see #3), people who attacks others (see #2), and those who say hurtful things about other people on the internet thinking they will never be found out.  It says more about those delivering the hurt than those they talk about.  Finally, I unfollow people that violate Rule #6.
5. Show appreciation.  It takes a fair amount of courage to keep putting yourself out there, to keep sharing a part of yourself with strangers you may never meet, especially since not everyone subscribes to Rule #2.  If what has been shared resonates with me in some way, I try to speak up and say so.  I want to make someone's day.  If I want people to know I value their contributions, I have to tell them!  
6. Remember that quality is better than quantity.  I would like to think I coined the phrase "Twitter Vomit."  This refers to the people that post excessively, driving up clicks but also clogging up the stream.  They dilute their message.  I don't want to dilute myself.  
7. Laugh at myself, not other people.  Laughing at other people makes me an asshole.  Laughing at myself keeps me honest.  I try not to make fun of other people for the sake of being funny.  I generate plenty of my own material, believe me.  
8. Don't be afraid to apologize.  Online communication is a precarious thing.  It's hard to infuse what we type with the appropriate tone and emotion.  You and I may disagree and even have an animated debate.  I don't intentionally go out of my way to hurt people, but if it happens, I want to apologize sincerely and timely.
9. Seek out other perspectives.  The diversity of thought and opinion on the internet is staggering.  It's easy to limit myself to a protective bubble of people I know I will agree with.  Admittedly, this is a hard rule to live up to.  I shouldn't be threatened by someone else's point of view.  It's an opportunity to learn something new and expand my own horizons.  
10. Have fun!  Maybe this should be Rule #1!  After all, we wouldn't keep coming back if it wasn't fun.

The interwebs can be a wild and crazy place, but also incredibly rewarding because the construct is distinctly human.  On the one hand, I am continually amazed at how organically communities develop, at how each little pocket develops its own personality, its own norms and support networks.  On the other hand, I am astounded at how the internet is used to lash out in ways that would be unacceptable in face-to-face communication.  Let's not even get to the behaviors that would make your mother smack you on the head.  If you know what I'm talking about, don't worry.  I won't link to the YouTube video.

I admit to my share of lapses in judgement, hurling hurtful rants out into cyberspace with a few simple keystrokes.  I've mocked people, trying to be funny about pointing out the stupid things they did.  You know what I realized, though?  I didn't feel any better for it once the initial feeling of snarky victory faded.  Whatever situation I was ranting about didn't improve.

Another thing about the interwebs...it's just so...well...everywhere.  As in, if you need to keep a secret, the internet is probably not a good place to put it.  If you want so say something that you wouldn't want your dear Aunt Betsy to ever get wind of, it's probably not where you should be saying it.  The theory of 6 degrees of separation lurks in quiet corners just waiting for such plum opportunities to bite people in the ass.

I've struggled with where to draw my personal line of engagement.  I've wrestled over whether or not to accept my boss's friend request on Facebook and which coworkers I allow to see the online interactions I have with friends and family.  I know people that choose not to participate in this venue.  They don't have Facebook accounts, never seen a Twitter feed, never left a comment on a blog and have never subscribed to any RSS feeds.  I could choose that option, and for a brief period, I did.

And then I realized how much I valued those online connections.  I missed seeing updates from friends living in another state.  I missed the pictures people shared from their last BBQ, pictures of their kids, watching their families grow.  I missed hearing about the little victories of everyday life.  Essentially, I missed the aspect of human community.  Put a group of us together and it just develops.

So, I re-engaged, but this time, I abide by own personal code of conduct.  Another awesome person taught me that every time we make a choice, we make an entry into our book of life.  It is up to us how that book reads.  I'm maybe taking one step farther and saying that the choices we make online are just as important.

What do you think?

-Andrea

April...

Dear April,

I am so glad you are here.  March and I spent some time incubating ideas, and now that you've come along, we've got some great work to do.  If you happen to see May, tell her to rest up and bring an extra pair of shoes.  

In kindness,
-Andrea