Next time

We are lucky to have three different Moth events each month (themoth.org) in the Chicago area.  The Moth is a NYC based program of personal storytelling that grew into a public radio show and podcast.  Moth events emphasize "true stories told live and without notes."  Events, called storyslams, are open mic, anyone can come to the stage and tell a story.  However, since time is limited, if you want to tell a story you put your name "in the hat" and 10 people are randomly chosen to tell their stories.  You may or may not get called.  The audiences vary by venue, but are usually a couple of hundred people, mostly white, upper class, and over age 30.  A standard public radio crowd.

Having taken a few memoir writing classes, I was looking for something different to do.  I noticed a storytelling workshop being offered and signed up.  In the class we developed stories each week around a theme and then spent a few weeks polishing one story to perform at the student showcase.  But, our instructor also encouraged us to attend other events and tell stories.  I took her up on the challenge and went to my first Moth event, put my name in the hat, and was called.

I was terrified.  My story was okay, not great, but average for the night. It felt good to push myself, but also, I won't lie, to hear applause!  Here's a link to that first story...
 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wzlc7ITvm9k&t=17s

Afterwards, I was talking to my instructor and mentioned that one of the hardest moments was walking onto the stage and having the bright lights shine directly in my eyes. I was blinded and unable to see any faces in the crowd. I told her, "I wasn't prepared for that."  Her reply was perfect, "But, next time you won't be surprised."

Next time--her assumption that there will be a next time, that I will do this again, but also, the matter- of-fact acceptance that some things may come as surprises, but you learn from those experiences and are ready for them when they happen again. There is no shame in not being prepared for everything, no harm in not knowing exactly what will happen.  Now you know more than you did before.

Many times in the year since that first storytelling I've thought back to that statement...next time you won't be surprised.  It is a reassurance that I can still learn something new and that learning sometimes is a bit scary and requires some mistake making along the way. But each of those experiences prepares me for another "next time."

Emptying the empty nest

I'm about to get rid of one of the last tangible pieces of evidence in my house associated with my children, the marimba.  

Both of my sons played mallet percussion throughout school.  They were really good, winning awards and honors, and playing in select bands and orchestras.  For several years we were allowed to keep one of the school's marimbas in our house for them to use to practice (sparingly....).  Then, another student who was about to graduate asked if we would be interested in buying his wooden, custom made, practice marimba.  Yes!  Soon we had this beautiful piece of musical furniture in our living room.  For about five or six years, until my youngest son graduated from high school, it was a permanent fixture. The boys learned duets and medleys and often they would pass by, pick up the mallets, and play a few bars of some piece before moving on.  Our whole living room was arranged around the placement of the piano and the marimba.

When I moved to Chicago there was nowhere for the marimba to go but with me.  There was a perfect nook in my condo where it was installed and has sat, mainly unused, for the past three years.  Whenever a boy was in the house, though, there would be music. Just as before, they would be drawn to the mallets, pick up the sticks, and play a snippet of some tune.  The plan had always been for the marimba to move to my older son's home, once he had one, and I anticipated the relief I would feel without it.

Well, now he does have a home with room and it is time to disassemble the instrument and move it.  And, I'm unexpectedly sad to see it go.  I don't play it. I barely dust it. It is large and limits my furniture arrangements.  But, with my younger son moved into his own place it is one of the last real tangible pieces of evidence I have of my children. There are no more piles of shoes by the door, backpacks and jackets strewn in the entry, Legos or HotWheels cars underfoot.  Kids don't live here anymore.

I'm guessing, like the bittersweet sending of a child off to college, that once it is gone I'll happily sweep and dust that corner, move some furniture around, and smile at my newfound space.

       (not my house, not my marimba!)

Norway, Part 3

I brought home the most wonderful souvenir from my trip to Norway. The funny thing is, it is something I took with me....my rain jacket.

It rained nearly every day of my trip.  There were long stretches of beautiful blue skies, bright sunshine, and clear views.  But, there was also rain.  Our guides said that the daily forecast for Norway always mentions rain, and I read in a guidebook that Bergen averages 260 days of rain a year.  So, packing rain gear was highly recommended. Our instructions for the first day were to meet at the Voss train station with rain gear in our daypacks, an instruction repeated every day afterwards.

I purchased a new rain jacket for the trip.  I had not owned one before and thought it would be a worthwhile purchase.  I tested it a few times, wearing it to work on a drizzly day, wearing it to the gym 5 blocks away on a rainy evening. It seemed to work well and I was happy.  Water beaded up and rolled off.  

The first really rainy day of the trip was the second day of hiking. We were walking a fairly level path along a narrow fjord, an old postal road.  About half hour into the 3 hour hike I realized my coat was not quite as waterproof as I expected.  I could fee water seeping through my upper back under my backpack, I could feel water seeping through on my arms.  Luckily, it wasn't too cold and I didn't mind the dampness.  

I had other occasions to wear the jacket that week.  It served as a windbreaker on a clear day, an outer shell over a fleece on the glacier, an evening jacket on a walk to dinner.  My jacket failed me on the waterproof front, but every day I packed in my day pack for the day's hike.  It was my constant companion.

Now at home, I put the jacket on the other day and immediately felt myself back In Norway.  Memories of the trip floodedback and instead of walking down a city block I was standing beside a fjord.  Wearing it now feels like a magical transport to a foreign land.  The magic may fade with time, but for now I'll enjoy the feeling.

Strategic planning

In my adult life I've probably been through a half dozen strategic planning sessions, for a non-profit organization, a church, and several universities, academic departments, or colleges.  I have yet to experience one where I thought something was actually accomplished.  Many people have commented that "the process" is as important as the outcome.  That may be so, but could we come up with "a process" that is more fun???

I think this word cloud pretty much sums up my feelings about strategic planning....a jumble of jargon.

 

In every strategic planning meeting I've been part of a considerable amount of time is spent defining, and arguing about, terms.  What's the difference between our vision and our mission?  Is this a strategy or a goal?  Is this internal or external?

Most sessions start with a friendly SWOT analysis--strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats.  This is usually a 2x2 box.  (EVERYTHING seems to be reduced to a 2x2 box lately.)

These discussions go pretty well until the arguments about where to put things that are both strengths and weaknesses.  For instance, my institution is located in Chicago.  A strength because we can draw on the resources of the city.  A weakness because Chicago is one of the most segregated cities in the country with a high rate of gun violence.  Can we put something in both places?  What about internal threats, where do they go?

Flipcharts, colored markers, voting dots, and sticky notes seem to be integral components of strategic planning.  I've never been to a session without at least 3 of those items. 

  

Why is this guy smiling??!!

Maybe these props are needed to make people willing to sit through the session!

The ultimate goal is usually to develop mission and vision statements, goals that align with those, and strategies to achieve the goals.  Sometimes we get as far as plans to implement the strategies!  In the end, what usually happens, in my experience, is that there is one thing that comes out of the meeting, one project that actually gets accomplished.  In one case, the end result was having a tag line to put on a billboard.  

I want to believe in the process, I really do.  I want someone to tell me it has worked.  Just once in my life, I want to be part of planning process that actually seems to be useful and lead to growth and change.  So, next time you are doing strategic planning, drop me a line and I'll sit in.

Being here means not being there

One of the factors that made my move to Chicago an attractive choice was the chance to be closer to my family.  Having spent most of my adult life living a 10-12 hour drive away, the thought of being able to pop over to my father's or sisters' houses for an afternoon was appealing.  My dad is 88 and doing well, but it is comforting to be able to see him more frequently than I could living in the east.

But, moving closer to my family meant moving further away from others i care about. I've missed being able to meet my dearest friends for dinner or lunch, meeting monthly with my book group friends, and seeing familiar faces around town.

One of the people I found the hardest to leave behind was my colleague, Bill. But, while it was hard for me, it made no real difference to him.  Bill had dementia and by the time I left Syracuse he no longer recognized me or remembered that we had worked together.My absence would go unnoticed by him.

For four years, Bill and I had lunch together nearly every week.  At first, it was a way to help him transition to his new role of professor emeritus, to his retirement.  People were concerned about how he was adjusting, but it turned out his problems weren't the result of retirement, they were the result of forgetting.  For a year or so, Bill came into his office nearly every day, but the day came when it wasn't safe for him to drive or safe for him to be alone.  So, I started meeting Bill at his home.

Our relationship was not conventional.  We had not really been friends before his retirement and we didn't have much in common.  But, Bill came into my life at a time I was becoming enamored with the power of stories, the fragility of memory, and the value of listening.  We forged a friendship based solely on the present and what Bill could remember of his childhood--summers spent at the Jersey shore, his beloved grandmother, working with his father as a tree surgeon.  After some time listening to these stories, I suggested we write them down and Bill enthusiastically agreed.  We started our work on Bill's life story.  Bill would sit and tell me stories and I would record them.  Later, when his memory deteriorated, we would sometimes read the story together and he would marvel at the similarities of this fictional "Bill" to his own life.

When Bill died recently I struggled with the decision to make the trip to his services. It was going to be quite difficult and expensive to get back to Syracuse.   It was when I came face to face with the simple reality of my move--to be closer to some, I needed to be further from others.  In the end I didn't go, but the memories we recorded together became an integral part of his eulogy and a treasured gift to his family. 

In the end, I was there through his stories, but more importantly, Bill's voice was there. His life, his memories, his stories. I promised Bill I wouldn't forget him and I never will.

Norway, Part 2

I'm home from the most wonderful vacation ever.  Norway completely lived up to my expectations, even exceeded them.  The scenery is breathtaking. I tried to narrow down the pictures I would include here, but it is very difficult.  And, the pictures don't really capture the effect, not to mention the sounds, smells, and feelings.

Meeting the group was easy and our first stop was Stalheim Hotel with this view...

I knew I was in the right place! 

I thought a lot about why this trip felt so important.  In the end, I think it is pretty simple.  It was, simply, something I wanted, something I was doing only for myself.  I didn't have to worry about what other people on the trip were doing or if they were having fun.  If I wanted to walk alone, I did. If I wanted to walk with others, I did.  If I wanted to swim in the fjord, I did.  If I wanted to curl up in my room and read, I did.  All of the logistics and decisions were being made by someone else. I was told what time to show up in the morning and what time to show up for dinner.  I often didn't even have to decide what food to order!

I loved being immersed in the landscape, not just viewing it from a boat. I even loved the rain (well, liked the rain.)  The physical challenge felt just right. There were two days with more challenging hikes that I passed on.  The first time I did that I felt a little disappointed in myself for a bit, was I underestimating my abilities?  But, then I thought, "what am I trying to prove?" I went to Norway to enjoy myself, not to prove anything.  After that realization, I felt better about my decision and when we ended up in this meadow, I was happy.

It was an amazing trip and I am so glad I was able to realize this dream.