Meandering...

When I travel, I have one goal that pre-empts everything else — efficiency.

In other words, how can I cover the most ground in the shortest distance and time possible. Of course, this leaves no time for collecting the experiences of travel. There is a starting point and an ending point. There is nothing in the middle — no lingering, no exploring, no surprises. In fact, half the fun is getting there sooner than the GPS predicted.

So when I set off from Vermont en route to Chapel Hill, N.C. with the idea that the blonde and I would “meander” I had my doubts that I would be able to resist the “beeline” impulse and, instead, actually relax and enjoy a trip planned around “whatever,” “wherever,” and “whenever.”

Surprisingly, it’s worked. Instead of looking for the straightest line, I’ve found some great roads and breathtaking scenery. And a confused wrong turn taken in a downpour becomes simply another enjoyable route to the same destination. The contrast is stark. When I joined an interstate for a brief 70-mile leg, it was like landing on another planet, its inhabitants obsessed with speed, seemingly panicking at their lack of margin. It was unnerving.

I’m enjoying myself. I’ve reconnected with an old friend and reminisced about the origins and sustainability of our friendship over three decades. I’ve been reminded that this is still a very rural, untouched country. I’ve spent an afternoon on a college campus chatting with students and faculty, feeling every one of my forty-four years. I’ve given myself margin, and not just in time, but in spirit and experience as well.

I also realized that my car is not the delicate flower I tell myself she is, and that she’ll be okay in all kinds of weather.

And, even though it rained all day yesterday, it wasn’t so bad — I came this close to Intercourse…Pennsylvania.

I'm Travelling. Here's My Baggage.

So I’m driving to Chapel Hill, North Carolina this week, and included in my luggage are some mixed feelings.

But first, some background:

There are two major reasons I’m driving 1,200 miles round trip instead of flying. First, as an experiment — does someone actually have to be bolted in their office to be productive, particularly if the work they are doing is mainly (a) thinking and advising; and (b) connecting and networking? We have great tools where I work: national broadband access, a virtual private network, VoIP phones. These tools, used intelligently, can be liberating; that is, since virtually none of my work is physical, the traditional “sit-at-your-desk-answer-your-phone” requirements don’t necessarily apply. I could make the argument that, although I am travelling on business, I am nearly as productive and “present” sitting in this hotel room as I am in my office for any given period of time.

Second — and here’s where I’ve packed the mixed feelings — I need to spend more time with my mistress.

Yes, it’s just a car. Owning it has made me a little neurotic, however, taking pride in silly little things like using it sparingly, never driving it in the rain, obsessing over its condition and cleanliness, and bragging about how few miles I put on it each season. In three years, I’ve put only 4,000 miles on it which, when you think about how much fun and joy the thing gives me, is a crying shame.

Yeah, right. So I need to get over that. This trip is the prescription.

I left Vermont yesterday afternoon a little later than expected (my wife had food poisoning, and the kids needed to be shuttled to various activities and obligations around town. Plus, I was procrastinating and still unsure I even wanted to go). It had been raining and overcast in the morning, but the weather broke and it was an absolutely stunning day for a drive.

Less than five miles out of town, I received an omen. A carload of teenage girls pulls alongside, squealing and giggling. One of them scrawls a note in lipstick on the passenger window of their Honda Civic; “I love your car” (only the word “love” was a heart. Awww…)

I think it’s going to be a good trip.

He's Back

Buddy is back. And he’s making waves. Again.

I did a fair amount of work for Buddy Cianci in the early 1990s, specifically as a consultant on two of his mayoral campaigns (including his 1990 comeback election). As a starry-eyed twenty-six year-old, I overlooked most, if not all, of the man’s flaws because, quite frankly, he was charming and witty and personable and magnetic and razor smart. And I was having a lot of fun.

As he did when first forced from office in 1984, Buddy has returned to Providence as a talk radio personality. This gives him a natural platform to stay relevant, engaged and visible. It is also a devastatingly effective outlet for his natural gifts.

I just hope he resists his worst impulses, stays out of politics, and just tries to be the best Buddy he can be.

Out of Control

Take a moment and look around your organization — and I don’t care if it’s your business or the department you work in, your family, your school, your church, or your kids’ soccer team.

Where does it draw its “order” and “control” from?

Does it rely primarily on processes, policies and procedures, and systems — in other words, does it rely on “the rules” to get the results it wants?

Or is it a place where a high degree of trust, communication, shared purpose, clarity of expectations, and a weave of abundant information sharing and connection exist? In other words, does it draw its order, functionality and efficiency from “relationships”?

What motivates people in that organization to act — “have to,” or “want to?” The difference is very, very significant.

Rules, or relationships — where would you rather work, play and live?

An Auto Show, and a Visit to A New Cathedral

My son Andrew and I went to New York City this past Saturday for our annual trip to the New York International Auto Show. Andrew has been a car buff since a very young age, but now that he’s older, he combines that enthusiasm with a very sophisticated sensibility about automobile design, marketing, business strategy, and performance. It’s an education to accompany him throughout the entire exhibition; in fact, I’m more than happy to take my cues directly from him about what I should and shouldn’t like, or should and shouldn’t be impressed by.

Sleek, great lines…I can’t wait to bring one of these home

We also use the opportunity to explore Manhattan and, in a little bit of a switch, he gets to look up to me. To a fifteen year-old growing up in a small town in Vermont, New York City is a stimulating, strange planet of sophistication, temptations and…well, life. My own career has given me an education in the more interesting delights of the island, and the fact that I know where to get a great milkshake in Hell’s Kitchen makes me in his eyes, well…less of a dweeb. At least temporarily.

Some observations from an afternoon of people watching and walking about:

One. The vast, vast majority of consumers don’t seem to be the least bit interested in an automobile’s performance. People are less attracted by good engineering, instead perferring to be exclusively mesmerized by a vehicle’s creature comforts. Not surprisingly, manufacturers have picked up on this, and the auto show was consistently characterized (in my view) by an odd emphasis on marketing cars as mobile living rooms or entertainment centers. I saw flat panel televisions that drop out of the roof and pivot in all directions; center-stack audio, video and environment controls that rival in sophistication many primary flight displays in modern jets; and, in a concept vehicle from Nissan, a rear seat that was essentially a plush, curved sofa. Is anybody planning on paying attention to the road? And do we really need minivans a fourteenth century baron would consider an outstanding home for his wife and their fourteen children?

Two. This is an impressive vehicle, both aesthetically and in promised performance. Boy, Hyundai has come a long way. My wife’s first car was a Hyundai she paid $4,995 for brand new; if you held it up to the light, you could almost see through it.

Three. Honda had a blonde at the show. Don’t worry, honey; she looked like a slut.

Four. The environmental and “green” movements have jumped the shark — or are about to. “Green” has become almost a parody of marketing hype — an “industry of cool.” One manufacturer’s presentation included an almost carnival barker-like description of how the interior burled wood trim came from old furniture scraps and the carpet is made entirely from banana silk fibers rather than — gasp! — petroleum. No word on how these vehicles can be produced economically (and without depleting the earth’s banana reserves) so the slack-jawed dude from New Jersey standing there in his shiny track suit and his gold chains can afford one, but this company has a soul, man, and, hey, now you can buy one too.

A Tale of Two Cathedrals

So we walked up to the Apple store on Fifth Avenue. There was a line to approach the clear glass cube that serves as the above-ground entry to the smoky plexiglass stairway where you descend to join a mob of worshippers, all reverently seeking the hope, peace and a better life where a trinity of design, information and entertainment all converge in a stunning facsimile of perfection.

A few blocks south sits St. Patrick’s Cathedral. It, too, is a “retail” presence of a movement that offers hope, peace and a better life. There was no line outside.

I'm Coming to Visit You

OK. So this is a test of two things.

First, does anybody anywhere actually visit (and read) this silly, self-indulgent stuff I write?

Second, does anybody anywhere actually want to be my friend?

Here’s the deal — in late-April, early-May, the blonde and I will be travelling from our home in Vermont to Chapel Hill, North Carolina, and back again. I’ll be in no particular hurry; instead, we’ll be meandering over the back roads and scenic by-ways of the several states that comprise a general, though not perfect, straight line between Point A (Vermont) and Point B (Chapel Hill).

If you live along this general route, let’s connect. I’ll buy you lunch, or whatever, and, as an added bonus, interview you as part of this site’s occasional “Conversations” series.

Drop me a note, or leave me a comment.

Don't Ask What Your Country Can Do For You...

One of the things we know from the sheer volume of “spam” we receive is that there are endless amounts and varieties of human appetites and endless amounts and varieties of people willing to satisfy them.

And yet, we learn something new every day, don’t we?

This enticing subject line dropped into my spam filter the other day:

“Teenage hotties at their liberal best”

I just might click on that one. I’m actually quite curious about the complex and thoughtful arguments the younger generation is making in favor of universal health care.

What…aren’t you?

Techo Chamber

Here’s a new word I’ve invented:

”Techo”

Techo — a hybrid of “technology” and “echo” — describes the increasingly maddening habit of resending, or “echoing,” the same usually mundane or useless message by different technologies in everyday interpersonal communications.

Here’s an illustration: several managers I know report receiving phone calls from people asking them, “did you get my email?” almost instantaneous with the receipt of the email. Slightly different example: one manager has even received an email with the request, “Call me.”

My guess is there are two kinds of people who create “techoes:” (1) folks who just can’t seem to trust all them invisible tubes and wires that make up the Network, or (2) self-absorbed people who’ve been cutting into lines their whole lives.

Resiliency

I rely on my children’s schools — virtually on faith alone — to do an excellent job teaching them literature, math, biology and history and so on.

But what scares me most is that I have no one to rely on but myself to teach them the skills I have come to understand play the most significant role in their pursuit of happiness, success and achievement — passion, commitment, focus and resiliency.

This wonderful story is from Hollywood Remembered, an oral history of the movie industry. It is an interview with producer A.C. Lyles, who worked at Paramount for over 60 years. This is the kind of child would hope I could raise to adulthood, even as I realize how terribly inadequate I most likely am, both as a teacher and a role model.

“When I was 10 [in 1928] I wanted to make movies…

“I had seen a picture called Wings — the first and only silent picture to win the Academy Award — with Clara Bow… and a new fella named Gary Cooper [who subsequently became a huge star]. I went and just fell in love with that picture. It was a Paramount picture playing at the Paramount Theater [at the time, the studios owned the theaters] in Jacksonville. I had seen that it said Adolph Zukor Presents, so I was in awe of Adolph Zukor [the founder and CEO of Paramount]. I spoke to the manager of the theater that day [to see] if he would give me a job. And he gave me a job handing out leaflets…

“After four years in the job [he was then 14] I eventually met Adolph Zukor… when he came to Jacksonville. I asked him to let me come to Hollywood to work for him. He said, “Well, you’re just a kid, but you’ve been working for Paramount now for four years at the theater. So you finish high school, keep in touch, and I’ll hire you when you get out of high school.”

“Now that was extremely kind of him… when he said to keep in touch and finish high school, my main objective then was to finish high school. But the most important thing was writing him a letter every Sunday. He didn’t tell me to write him every Sunday, he just told me to keep in touch. So I wrote him every Sunday for four years.

“He didn’t write back — I didn’t hear from him but it didn’t matter. I never lost confidence or lost courage. I just knew he was looking forward to my letter each week as much as I was looking forward to writing him.

“One day Gary Cooper came to my hometown. I was writing movie news for the hometown paper. I saw Mr. Cooper and I told him I would be out here in Hollywood to work at Paramount as soon as I got out of high school. And there again, for some reason, he took a quick liking to me. I told him about my letters to Zukor every Sunday and he asked me what I would be writing about this week, and I said, “Oh, about meeting you, Mr. Cooper.”

“So he said, “Give me a piece of paper.” So he… wrote a note to Adolph Zukor saying, “I’m looking forward to seeing this kid on the lot.” So I wrote to Mr. Zukor telling him I had met Gary Cooper and enclosed the note to him.

“Then I heard from Mr. Zukor indirectly. A woman named Sidney Brecker, who was his secretary, wrote to me and said, “Mr. Zukor has been receiving your letters. But he feels that you don’t have to write every week. If you wrote once every three or four or five months, that would be enough.”

“Well, that didn’t discourage me at all. I continued to write to Mr. Zukor every Sunday. But I also had a new pigeon, Sidney Brecker, his secretary. So I wrote her every Sunday too. My whole main objective all week was what I was going to write to Mr. Zukor. Then I had to write another original letter to Sidney Brecker…

“I wrote [Zukor] a letter every Sunday for four years, keeping in touch. The day I got out of high school [in 1936, in the heart of the Great Depression], I was in a day coach headed for Hollywood, where you sit up — probably four days and four nights. I had $48 in cash that I had saved up, and two loaves of bread, and two jars of peanut butter and a sack of apples, and I headed for Hollywood. Got off the train downtown, took the streetcar straight to Paramount, and told them at the gate to tell Mr. Zukor I was here.

“And I’ve been here ever since.”

I would be willing to forgive almost any variety of numbers or letters on their report cards if they genuinely demonstrated this kind of heart.

But for now, that’s just between us.

A Few Minutes With...Steve Rizzo

“Humor gives you the faith to carry on…”

Steve Rizzo is a sought-after speaker and author on the subject of humor and its role in success and happiness. I had the honor of meeting and working with him a few years ago when I asked him to speak to a group of managers I work with. He’s very, very funny. Smart, too.

Beyond that, however, he is an exceptionally humble, caring, encouraging and accessible person. And very, very funny.

A former stand-up comedian, Steve has appeared nationally on Showtime, the Comedy Channel, Fox television, Evening at the Improv, and many other cable and network television programs.

In recent years, Steve has devoted himself and his talents to coaching organizations like American Express, Blue Cross/Blue Shield and the Central Intelligence Agency on how to embrace change and boost human performance with laughter.

He is the author of the book, Becoming a Humor Being.

He and I had a chance to talk recently about why he does what he does, what he sees as people’s biggest challenges, and what he’s working on for 2008.

“When you stifle laughter, you stifle your spirit, the very essence of who you are,” he says. The complete conversation, in mp3 format, is below:

A Conversation With Steve Rizzo (3.3 MB)

Two Rules for Success

I came across this great bit of advice today, and I thought I’d share it:

There are two rules for success in life:

Rule 1: Don’t tell people everything you know.

Dr. Gerald Bell

It is an indescribable thrill just to be in the same picture as this man. His friendship, encouragement and generosity mean the world to me, and have enriched my life immensely. What he said to me ten seconds before this photo was taken I will remember as long as I live.

I am simply putting this link here, with the advice that, at some point in everyone’s life, they should do whatever it takes to meet him and learn something from him.

The Four Most Important "Love Affairs" of Your Life

Hmmm. I’m not so sure I like this trend.

I seem to be stuck lately on numbered lists — low-calorie observations on personal and leadership effectiveness. And, now, this pithy title, pathetically begging for your attention like the cover of a self-help magazine.

Gosh, I hope it works.

To be honest, though, I don’t know any other way to put it. From my observations, the best leaders and the most effective people in the world all seem to share a passion for some very important ideals.

These four deep attachments — love affairs, really — are powerful advantages not only in the pursuit of success and accomplishment, but in the pursuit of happiness and quiet fulfillment as well, no matter what your mission in life.

One. A Love Affair With the Truth. Great leaders love the truth. And not just any truth — the truth. In other words, reality. They’re focused on uncovering as much objective truth as possible about their customers, their markets and their environment, of course. But the one truth they love the most is understanding and acknowledging their strengths and weaknesses as people, and the impact of their behavior on others. And when they speak the truth, they do it with love, intent on building other people.

Two. A Love Affair With Learning. Most, if not all, of the highly effective, happy and successful people I’ve come across share a love of learning. Not an earth shattering observation, I know, but I think what distinguishes them in this passion is their approach to learning beyond the anticipation of discovery or the acquisition of knowledge or information.

What is unique about them, I’ve found, is their comfort with the inevitability of mistakes and errors. These mistakes are not seen as disasters, but as the elimination of one wrong answer — or, conversely, moving one step closer to the right answer. They recognize, on some level, that the sin isn’t the misstep, it’s failing to learn from it that’s unforgivable.

Similarly, they love to test their ideas and solutions, to patiently and constantly refine them when presented with new information or environmental changes. More importantly, this love affair with learning gives them the confidence to “open source” their ideas — inviting the contribution and knowledge of others. It’s the result of an easy embrace of the truth — hello — of how much they don’t know.

Three. A Love Affair With Mastery. Related to, but distinct from, the love of learning, mastery is the focused, passionate pursuit of  performing as well as humanly possible. It’s not an obsession with perfection. It’s a love of, and commitment to, the joyful, never-ending process of growing, improving, practicing and pushing your abilities to their highest and best use. Mastery is never saying, “good enough.”

Four. A Love Affair With Other People. At its most basic, I believe the measure of leadership is how great you make other people at what they do. Our cultural concept of leadership is too often upside down — “how influential/powerful/secure/successful can I be,” instead of “how great do I make others?”

Great leadership takes a selflessness and focus on others most of us don’t spend enough time developing in ourselves.

The world’s best leaders and the most effective people have a deep, genuine desire to see other people achieve, learn, grow and succeed. They believe success and effectiveness are abundant, and not scarce resources to be hoarded for themselves. They devote their lives to building other people. That’s why we’re attracted to them. That’s why we follow them — they make us better at what we do.

To live like that, you have to love other people. And not just the good parts, or the people who are easy to love. You have to love the time they demand, and the frustrations they cause. You have to love them despite their imperfections (and because of them). Building people is hard work. The first step is to care about them — genuinely. That’s what great leaders spend most of their time doing.

Each of these four love affairs, like any deeply meaningful relationship, calls for some sacrifice — to “die” just a little, to put to death your ego, and most of the little voices that scream “me” and “mine.”

Is it worth it? I’m convinced that if you make a commitment to nurturing each of these love affairs, your life will bear their fruits — whether at home, in your workplace, or in your community.

Lucky, and Grateful

It was a little more than a year ago that one day, for no particular reason, I just decided not to go to the office.

Instead, I climbed into my truck and made the five-hour drive to Long Island, N.Y. to visit my grandparents: Concetta, 92 years old at the time; and Salvatore, 94 years old. It had been many months since I’d seen them; they had given me a special gift, and I wanted to thank them in person.

My grandfather asked me if I drove my car down; he was hoping to see it, having heard a great deal about it from my father. This was a surprise to me since the car has (what I had come to learn over the years) two unforgivable qualities in his eyes : it’s Japanese and it only has two seats, making it virtually useless and morally indefensible. “Bulls—- cars,” he always called them.

Anyway, we sat and talked for a few hours.

“I’m ready to die, Joe” he said. I was taken aback by the clarity and conviction in his voice.

“What? Why would you say that?”

“I’ve seen everything. What am I waiting around for?”

I listed a few reasons off the top of my head, which he acknowledged politely, but it was clear my argument was feeble at best.

Three weeks later he was dead.

My grandparents, as immigrants and children of immigrants, led hard lives, full of seemingly unending, back-breaking work. And they had the stories to prove it, stories I never got tired of hearing, no matter how many times they were told. And retold.

“Do you know how this family wound up in America?” he asked me during one visit.

I’ve heard it a million times. “Tell me,” I replied.

He began the familiar litany, which begins on a hillside in southern Italy:

“My father, after planting his crops, which included some very valuable melons, had the local priest come over to bless the farm.

“The very next day, a hailstorm destroyed everything in the field, wiping out the entire farm.”

He paused. And he said something new, something I’d never, ever heard in all the years I’d listened to this story — a story so pivotal to my family’s history.

“And from that day on, my father cursed God.”

Hold on just a minute. “He cursed God from that day on?” I asked.

“Yes, and he left for America soon after.”

“Did you curse God for that?”

“I never thought about it,” he replied.

“‘Cause I gotta tell you,” I said, “that hailstorm was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.”

I explained to him my feeling that, as tragic as that storm was to his family, its outcome as far as I was concerned was a damn good one. Because of that storm, I was born in the United States of America in the late 20th century, which is arguably the equivalent of winning the biggest lottery in the Universe.

Because of that storm, I grew up and live comfortably, with opportunity and optimism, and without fear, doubt or danger.

Because of that storm, and because they were willing to risk it all on the unknown and, when called to, spend their lives on their hands and knees doing back-breaking work, I have reaped a very fruitful crop.

I sit in a comfortable office; the work I do, I do because I want to, not because I have to.

I have no calluses on my hands, no aches in my back. The only hunger I ever feel is mostly spiritual, and arises from self-indulgence rather than physical survival.

A hailstorm destroyed a man’s livelihood, and I’m the luckiest person I know.

My point — if you’ve stuck with me this far — is that it is very easy to succumb to what is becoming a whiny, cynical culture. That is, it’s so easy to feel sorry for ourselves, given how hopeless, horrible and inconvenient daily life has become, right?

No, actually. We’re all lucky and fortunate in some way. We’re all able to be grateful for something.

For me, it’s growing up American, privileged to be accepted as part of a tribe founded not on ethnicity or ancestry, but on an idea — that human beings have a right to be free. That, and being able to turn a hailstorm from a curse to a blessing in less than a century.

For you, it may be something else, something entirely different. But it’s there — trust me.

I hope you find it.

Hey, I Know Nothing About Enterprise Software and User Interfaces

So, I left a comment a few days ago on a posting about enterprise software design over at Signal vs. Noise, the blog written by the guys at 37signals.

Do you know that famous New Yorker cartoon — “…on the Internet, no one knows you’re a dog”?

Oh, how true.

So that comment generates a boatload of traffic to our humble little vanity blog, including — get this — a number of serious emails asking my opinion about user interface design for enterprise software and, in one instance, whether I thought these types of design firms have a future.

Those of you who know me understand the rich humor in these requests because, although I am inept in many, many things, I am spectacularly unqualifed to formulate meaningful insight into the enterprise software and user interface industry.

Except as a user.

I’m an everyday person in an organization who uses software (including my company’s enterprise tools) as an occasionally central tool to accomplish what  I need to do.

I understand nothing about the technical skeleton of software and interface design, but I do know that bad interface design bothers me because it costs me time and energy and focus — or worse, it wastes these precious resources. I think there is a spectacular future for any company or developer who can design simple, intuitive, adaptable interfaces that make people’s work easy and useful. I am deeply loyal to any product, for that matter, that is exceptionally considerate of me, my time, and my energy.

If you design interfaces for enterprise software and you like what you just read and you have a lot of money, please call me. My eleven year-old daughter thinks we’re going to be rich because Daddy has his own website.