Leadership is action, not position

Leadership is action, not position (a wise man once said, Donald McGannon, I think). Leaders must lead ALL including those who would not follow willingly. The good leader, or maybe just better leaders, do this fairly gracefully. These folks learn how to demand respect by behaving in a way that even the most unwilling cannot fault their leaders. Other leaders, perhaps those that perceive any leadership role as power and not responsibility, wield their leadership in such a way that engenders animosity, distrust and a sense of cog-ness. That is to say, that all workers are cogs to be replaced unceremoniously at the whim of their leaders or supervisors.

I have had the opportunity in my professional career to be an informal supervisor as well as a formal supervisor. It is often the case that one person is a sort of a natural leader of colleagues that emerges to steward a project, realignment or just in general keep the team moving forward. It is from these informal experiences that I learned most about leadership. I learned what it takes to rally the troops, organize team work and bring along the unwilling. I try to instill the sense of mutual self-interest whenever possible. Trying to convince all team members of the importance of the goal without a connection to the personal pay off is often a futile exercise. As this kind of leader, I discovered the importance of feeling integral as opposed to trying to get my colleagues to feel like replaceable cogs. I also gained experience building consensus around the idea of mutual self-interest. When everyone feels he/she has a stake in the end result, everyone is more willing to give it his/her all.

I have tried as a supervisor in the more formal setting to keep all of these lessons in mind. Mostly, I believe I have succeeded, however, I am not always proud of my leadership style. Like all people, I have bad days. I am short or impatient or just want to ask for what I want and get it. I can say, however, that I never felt the need to force anyone to quit because I didn't feel I could manage him/her. I took my job as the manager to mean that I was responsible for making my colleagues feel successful in their jobs. Watching others try to force out anyone who may not look favorably on a new manager has been very frustrating and disheartening to me. Why have I tried so hard to learn to be a good supervisor? If all one has to do is get rid of anyone who might not like you, why didn't I learn that lesson? Why do we allow inadequate, ineffective and incompetent people to have power?

Those are rhetorical questions that I hope will illustrate my frustration, but I am willing to listen to your thoughts on why this may be true.

karma, divine intervention, luck or stupidity?

So, a friend and I were talking in a very well-lighted parking lot yesterday evening around 10:20 pm. I see a guy pull in to the parking lot in a large truck. He pulled up to an empty car... you know the way cops pull up to eachother to talk through the window. But, of course, there was no one in the other car, so he must have had some other reason.

I was suspicious. As I talked to my friend, I was watching him. Let's call him Jake. He got out of the truck and walked all around the parking lot. It looked like he was either looking for someone or something. As I have seen an awful lot of broken windows in my neighborhood lately, I was convinced he was looking to break into one of the cars.

Jake got back into the truck and drove out of the parking lot. I continued talking to my friend, and I expressed my concern that Jake (I hadn't named him yet, he was still just "dude in the truck") was casing the parking lot. Not two minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot again; this time he just drove around the parking lot. We were still talking when he pulled into the parking lot one more time. He parked about 100 feet away and got out. As he approached us he said something I didn't hear. When we turned to him, Jake said, "Give me all your money, or I will shoot you." I looked down at the hand in the pocket and knew that he did not have a gun in his pocket.

So, depending on your point of view, stupidly, confidently, obliviously, I said, "I don't have anything with me." Jake said, "Then give me your purse." I had my hands in my pocket, trying to unlock the keypad on my phone and trying to dial 911. I continued with the same coolness, "I don't have a purse." He looked at my friend and said, "Give me your purse then." Perhaps inspired by my responses, or perhaps only because she was unwilling to give up the newly-purchased I-pod in her purse, she said, "Come on, dude, all I have is twenty dollars." Somewhere in this exchange, Jake through in this tidbit in case we had not understood the gravity of the situation: "You guys are going to make me hurt you."

As Jake considered whether or not to negotiate, all three of us noticed a young man walking towards us on the sidewalk. Jake was more interested in the young man than I expected. I was still furiously trying to dial my cell phone inside my jacket pocket. As the young man got closer, Jake turned around and muttered something like, "You guys got lucky." He got back into the truck and drove off.

Truthfully, I could not tell you if he jumped in the truck or which way he drove off. I was too busy getting the phone out of the pocket, trying to memorize his license plate and get into my friend's car at the same time. I am a pretty good multi-tasker, but when you are rattled, it's a little harder to focus. So, we got in the car, I reminded my friend to lock the doors, and we drove off as well. I was on the phone with the 911 dispatcher who was complaining about my cell phone cutting out. That's a whole other story...

So, for some reason, without talking about it, we decided to drive around ... maybe we felt safer moving. I have to admit that I was scared, but more than that, I was pissed. That is my neighborhood dammit. I am not ok with some dumb, and I mean really stupid, jerk accosting me in my neighborhood and demanding my money. I only had twenty bucks for real. It would not have been that big of a deal for me, but I was NOT going to give him shit. So, as we drove around, I was looking for him. I wanted that damn license plate. When I looked up, he was right in front of us while I was still on the phone with the cops. I gave the entire plate to the dispatcher (she did not pass it along to the four cops cars that were in MY neighborhood, but that's part of that other story).

The rest of the story is irrelevant except the attitude of the second cop. I know he wanted to say, and did in so many words, just give guys like that what they want. You never know when someone will have a gun or will hurt you. I tried to express to him that I wasn't interested in Jake being prosecuted for failing to rob my friend and I. I noted Jake's intent to have something that didn't belong to him. I noted that he was stupid but fairly persistent. As we spoke ad infinitum telling our story, Jake was out there casing someone or something... get on it.

So, the karma, divine intervention, luck or stupidity line comes in here... which one do you think it was? I know there will be a lot of votes for stupidity. Obviously Jake was bigger and stronger than me. I do carry a fair amount of anger around with me that I am willing to believe would function in that Incredible Hulk way. In any case, if Jake had been truly interested in hurting my friend and I, he could have tried. But he wasn't. I don't know how I knew, but somehow I did. I worried about how stupid he was and how that might engender a disaster anyway, but not enough to get in the car and drive away before he had returned the third time. Many people, perhaps not those who read my blog (but maybe), would say that we were asking for it by noting his suspicious behavior and staying there. I am sure that is what the cops thought.

The troubling part for me is that this is not the first time I have been in imminent physical danger and stood my ground instead of trying to figure out an escape route. So, do I have an internal danger clock that is instructing me to be righteously indignant rather than terrified and compliant? Is it KARMA? Or is it DIVINE INTERVENTION working to keep me safe from myself?

I have a tenuous relationship with water (Started 12/22/2003)

Sorry... this is clearly unfinished, but this is all there is for now.

Rain has always been part of my mythology. When I was born, my father worked in flood control. That is to say that it was his job to keep the flood drains clear of debris. When it doesn’t rain most of the year, the flood channels have a lot of time to collect branches and trash and anything else that people threw over the fence or into the drain. The river bottom, that’s what we called it because there almost wasn’t ever any water there except when it rained, was the same. The reeds would grow high and the hobos took up residence in the river bottom. That’s what we called the homeless people of my youth maybe because my parents were children of the depression and that’s what they called homeless people. (Hobos were people who wandered because they wanted to not because Ronald Reagan had thrown them out of halfway houses and state hospitals. But hobos were not winos who sat around the park and drank something out of paper bags, wine I guess.)

So my dad had to keep the flood drains clear and the river bottom ready to receive the rain. All year round it was his job to check on the drains, but especially when it rained.

When it starts to rain and not stop, the water takes on a life of its own. It becomes that powerful force we know can become flash floods. The creeks and river beds and drainage ditches get full of those branches and trash that have been sitting around waiting for the rain to start. Those are the days my dad has to go out and stay out cleaning the ditches so the city blocks won’t flood. That’s flood control quite literally. It doesn’t matter if it is Monday or Thursday or Saturday or my mom’s birthday.

Flooding, when it happens, happens in late January, early February. Right around my mom’s birthday. It just so happens my mom went into labor one day in early February when it happened to be raining cats and dogs. My dad was out taking care of flood control day and night. It was before cell phones. So my mom went to the hospital with my grandma. I am not sure how they got there. It was before we were a two car family. I don’t know where my older brother and sister were. (Probably around the corner with my aunt and uncle and cousins.)

All I know is that my birth mythology goes something like this: My mom was in labor and it was her birthday. It was raining cats and dogs so my dad couldn’t be there with her. She suffered through her birthday secretly hoping I would decide to say hello to the world on her special day. Talk about guilt, not just suffering, suffering on your birthday.

Well, part of the mythology is the rain. It rained and rained and rained. Part is that my father was not with my mother when she needed him. And I had the potential to make my mother extremely happy by being born on her birthday, instead, I came one day too late and started on a long career of disappointing her.

Disappointments, little imperceptible disappointments that no one else would call disappointments, but she does. I am not sure if that is mythology or destiny. Still trying to figure it out. Maybe it was just raining and my mom likes to make people feel guilty. Perhaps the lesson was don’t take her complaints so seriously. That’s the hardest lesson to learn by far.

I have a tenuous relationship with water.

I don’t like water on my face especially near my eyes. As a child, my mother let me hold a wash cloth over my eyes when she washed my hair. She did this even though she thought my fear of soap was irrational. She did it even though she thought it was a sign of weakness. Just another in a series of disappointments.

I don’t melt (started 12/22/03)

I was not one of those children who liked to play in the rain. I was not drawn to puddles. I did not revel in catching rain drops in my mouth. I don’t remember disliking rain either. In school I associated rain with the game heads up seven up. We stayed in our classrooms at lunch and it kept us quiet.

I grew up in Southern California, near the ocean, where it really only rained in November and February. Really, it could rain any time between November and February, but it didn’t rain so much that you wanted it to end. I knew that if it rained too late and too much in late January that the strawberries would not be ready in time for my birthday. That meant I would not get fresh strawberries on my waffles at my birthday breakfast. That was about how much thought I gave to rain growing up.

My parents always hoped for rain. People in Southern California check the sky and pray for rain. Then they hope it will come slowly and evenly and not in great down pours. But usually when it rained, it rained. I remember a whole week in November and a whole week in January, usually the last week. Too much rain and it will flood, but not on my street.

If it didn’t rain enough come next September, the fire danger would be greater. Rain meant green mountains in late February and March. And snow on the mountains. If for some reason it rained late in the season, March or April, that meant the fire danger would be even greater. Too much rain meant too much growth.

We wanted the rain in the winter because if it rained on us, it was snowing in the mountains. In California, we store our water as snow on the mountains. The more snow on the mountain the better our water levels. The snow waits to melt until June, so even though it’s not raining, we still have water.

When I lived in New Jersey it rained all the time; indiscriminately, I thought. If it didn’t rain for two weeks they were on TV talking about a drought. We didn’t call it a drought in California unless it hadn’t rained for five years. With so much rain in New Jersey, why didn’t they have anything to show for it? Why didn’t they store their rain as snow on the mountains? I looked around one day after another drought warning had been announced, and I realized they didn’t have any mountains, just some hills. I guess those hills aren’t big enough to store snow.

I didn’t crave rain and playing in puddles, but I didn’t dislike it either. But living in rainy New Jersey, I discovered that I don’t like umbrellas or rain coats. Umbrellas are big and unwieldy and after you use them they are wet. I learned to hate umbrellas in New Jersey. It seemed to never fail to turn my brand new umbrella inside out every time. And people in New Jersey, I guess Princeton really, like really BIG umbrellas. They are big enough to cover four people: the kind that you can turn upside down and make into a boat and float away. Only under each umbrella is only one person and the sidewalk is a sea of orange and black and no room for anyone with a normal size umbrella to walk…and no way someone without an umbrella won’t get her eye poked out.

In Oxnard, we often have that slow, steady rain we love; the kind that soaks slowly into the ground filling up our water table and keeping the sea water at bay. When it’s a serious downpour, you just want to curl up with your pillow and blankie and read a book. It won’t rain for long, so it doesn’t matter if you slow down for one day and enjoy a good book.

Rain makes me feel antsy though. You’re in and you know you don’t want to be out, but then you feel like you can’t go out. Then you’re just upset that the rain is keeping you in, even though five minutes ago you were happy to have an excuse to stay in. I don’t like to be in rain very much, but I dislike worrying about umbrellas more.

I guess it was in New Jersey that I learned how to hate umbrellas and resent the rain. In New Jersey it seems like any day could turn into a rainy day. It rains in the winter, in the fall, in the spring, no surprises, but it rains in the summer! You can’t plan any outdoor event without planning for a rain date. I remember the first question I asked after my first summer in New Jersey, how can you ever have a pick up picnic? Waking up some morning and deciding to go out to the ranch for an impromptu cook-out is one of the best things in the whole world. There’s none of that in New Jersey. In Oxnard you know if it’s not an 80% chance of rain or better, it’s not going to rain. But, I guess like Eskimos with snow, while I lived in New Jersey I also learned to note the different kinds of rain and the signs that rain was coming. There is the hurricane rain. The wind blows and a darkness creeps across the sky. Then as if someone has cut a hole in the sky, the rain falls, really gushes like out of an opened fire hydrant.

I stopped carrying an umbrella while living in New Jersey. I am not sure how many the wind ruined before I realized I didn't need one. I don't melt. I knew for sure I wouldn't melt one September afternoon when hurricane Hugo dropped a ton of rain on Princeton. I was somewhere in the middle of campus when the deluge started. It was warm and windy and I was soaked, but I didn't melt. So, after that, I just trudged out fearlessly. Usually, if it started raining, someone else had an umbrella. I would sidle up and take his arm (whoever he was, I often didn't get a name) and walk with him under the over-sized umbrella as far as I could. Then I would look for another unsuspecting umbrella toter or just get wet.

I finally broke down and bought a rain coat, but I miss making friends with umbrella toters, a little. I don't mind getting wet, and I really enjoy the wind in my hair. It's a little more annoying when I have my glasses on, but wet glasses in need of drying off is just another excuse to make a friend or two.

I especially like announcing, "I don't believe in umbrellas," whenever someone asks me incredulously, "Don't you have an umbrella?" It really ticks people off. "What do you mean you don't believe in umbrellas? They are real, they are not something you can just choose not to believe in like religion." Ah, but they are so wrong, I can or cannot believe in anything I want. That's my free willy as I like to call it and I exercise it at every opportunity!

Finished 2/26/05

Personal Grunts

You know, when you think of something, and a little sound seeps out without thinking about it. It might be a squeal of delight, a laugh out loud (no initials, please) in response to a witty passage, or a bad memory. Mine are usually of the bad memory variety. In my mind's eye, I see myself inserting my foot into my mouth AGAIN and wince. I think I am only wincing on the inside, but, in fact, I am actually making a little noise aloud to go along with the very real outside wince. I have been known to laugh out loud on the bus and cry unashamedly (not usually with too much sound) on the train. Some public spaces are just anonymous enough and so welcoming in a certain way that makes them perfect for public personal grunts.

I have been listening as I walk along the street, ride the bus or the train, generally whenever I am out in the public sphere. I guess I started listening because I know I do it. I started to worry that spending a lot of time alone with my personal monologues that I have just lost touch with the outside world. But, really, I may be wacko, but I am NOT the only one. If I didn't have so much to do, I might carry around a notebook and record all the personal grunts I hear...when they happened, who the grunter was, if I could tell what had precipitated the sound.

Maybe it makes us all part of some giant human community and not wacko at all, but lately I have been voting for wacko.

No Last Names

Perhaps not the most elegant way to start a blog, but then again, I am the person who leaves the first page of every journal blank in order to overcome the fear of discovery. One, such as I, should probably not indulge in the blog. I am not sure how I feel about posting musings for others to see... I understand the political blogs, but I am not sure I understand the strictly personal blogs. These are not quite journals, and not quite bathroom walls. Let me explain... at my undergraduate institution, and I expect at others, there was a tradition of writing musings on the bathroom walls. Unsigned and undated, these messages became threads... others visiting the stalls added, commented, contested, or just affirmed sentiments. I admit that I sometimes just visited to see the latest postings. I hoped for a long time that someone would publish a community newspaper called the Bathroom Wall where people could anonymously post responses to whatever was going on in the world. This was before blogging; this was before chatrooms. Now we have all these opportunities, and yet, I have not started to contribute or even read blogs or participate in chat rooms.

So, one page into the blog, I start with No Last Names. Let me make a case for anonymity. Musings, particularly those of a personal nature, don't need to be specific. One can talk/write/chat about situations, feelings, thoughts and events without implicating the innocent. So, this is both my plea and my plan. (I, I, I ... it overwhelming how self-indulgent this method of communication makes me feel.) I will not name names, places, crimes. If it becomes necessary to use monikers for participants, I will probably use first names, as I don't think that anonymity is a license for deception or deceit. But, I will never use last names. I sincerely hope that none of you will use last names either.

A practical notion as well...
If you use last names, and those adept at internet searching are inclined to know about the person you have named, they will find your postings. They will learn and know things about these people, the innocent, that may not be public knowledge. If those "innocents" desire to live their lives in the fishbowl, as indeed the bloggers have chosen, then they should post that information themselves. I can say or not say whatever I like about myself. It will be difficult for readers to test that information, know if it is true, presented in a factual way or a complete fabrication. I can say embarrassing things about myself or not.

I think that's it for now. Perhaps as I go along, I will become comfortable with this fishbowl and name the blog, although I will continue to not name names. Until then, this is the untitled blog, open for comments.