Learning is Change

I feel like I am wearing a fleshy overcoat.

My belly that has never been a problem for me is now hanging uncomfortably over my belt. I see myself in the mirror and I wonder who where the 30 inch waist I had in college went to. And then I remember, I no longer stand up and walk around the room all day and talk with students as my job. I remember that having children is not as much of a workout as actually working out. I remember that sitting down in a chair and writing for an hour doesn’t really have the same sweat producing power that a run in the park.

Behind me is a treadmill and a TV that I could use at any time in the day now that I work from this chair much of the time. I have incredible flexibility to be active. I have the ability to take meetings from anywhere and produce ideas as I think of them, in mid-stride.

The problem is, I haven’t committed myself to it. I haven’t dedicated 365 days to being healthy. Somehow, I have persisted in the myth that eventually I will just stop being quite as hungry for the things that I have eaten with relish since I gave up vegetarianism in 2006. At some point I think that my interest in exercise is going to pick up back to the point it was when I walked with my wife every afternoon. This isn’t based upon any evidence, but merely the wish for me to stop sitting here at some point and feel like moving my feat faster than a jog for more than time it takes me to run across a parking lot.

The love handles and pot belly are not grotesque and they do not make it so I cannot do any of the things I want to do. They do, unfortunately, make me feel old and not in a good way. They make me feel like I did in middle school before I decided that running a mile a day would be the easiest way for me to feel in control of something other than my computer.

I tell myself that it is a lack of time, but I make time for everything that I care about. I tell myself it is a lack of interest, but I like the reflective aspect of exercise. I even tell myself that I have only changed 2 waist sizes in 6 years, but I know that is a pretty hollow victory.

We should exercise when we know that we will get something out of it other than a few sore muscles. We should do it when the commitment is as tangible as the ones we make to our families to always be there for them. We should do it when the alternative is avoiding the reality of getting older and perpetuating a belief in invincibility that we have held since we were teenagers.

I have run out of excuses and I’m ready to take off this overcoat.

For some an inheritance of recipes is the most tangible transfer of knowledge from one generation to another. These are the recipes that are whispered in hushed tones when others are around. They are the ones that get made every year for special occasions, the signature dishes that are given as gifts or only made for a particular event. They are the ones that are written down once and used until the piece of paper with the ingredients on it disintegrates into almost nothing in the cupboard. And they are never, never told to those outside of the family. Those outsiders can taste but never know the secret. They can covet the product, but never be in on the process.

And frankly, this process is becoming more and more ludicrous. It is the last vestige of a information scarce society. With the ability to simply call up shopping lists for creating gourmet meals, the entire aspect of keeping a good recipe secret is improbable. Still, the tradition persists. Even with 14 different versions of pudding cookies at the click of a button, the one that was given to my wife is the only one we will ever use. We make it for others, but others do no make it for themselves.

It makes me think that there is something to holding on to these tiny secrets. Like we are protecting something bigger than the small lines of code deciphered by adept cooks in the family kitchen. It is as if we are working on crafting a form of commerce that is more important than the flood of information that we can get on the internet. We are holding on to secret recipes not because information is scarce anymore but because the relationship between the two transferring parties is more important than the information being shared. The value isn’t in the recipe, but in keeping a secret. This act requires two or more willing parties and if anyone breaks the silence, all of the relational data of the secret (who got it from whom) is completely lost.

The social networks that we are a part of have mostly lost this aspect of secret keeping. They have taken the relationship and made it so it is only a connection for the purpose of sharing information. There is no secret in the act of “friending” or in “following.” The best recipes are not shared on a wall post. It isn’t that it lacks exclusivity. You can always be choosier in who you follow or friend, but that doesn’t mean that it feels safe enough to transfer the kind of value that a secret recipe commands.

That is why I think we need secret spaces. We need private spots for “need to know” information, and we need to be able to create them on the fly. We need to be able to share institutional data as a part of a relationship and not as a part of a broadcast. I am not describing email here, either. Email can be forwarded and bcc’d. It is only as closed as the long tail of quoted text can be.

Here is what I want in order to keep secret recipes:

• I want a space that lets me create messages that actually self destruct. I want the contents to be available once and then be deleted (really deleted, not archived for later use).
• I want to be able to share a document that can only be opened by printing it (2d or 3d). I understand how counterintuitive it is (and how the environment would suffer if this happened a lot. But, I want to be able to share something virtually that is actually a physical object and it can only be accessed as such.
• I want a space where the membership is entirely fluid. I want everyone that is invited to renew their commitment to the relationship of everyone else in the group. I want the space to ask each member to share personal reflection and stories before gaining access to the “information” of the space, much in the way that any family gathering requires sharing before receiving.

I don’t think it should be too hard to make those things happen. Sharing secret recipes is important, if only for continuing to make sure that I get pudding cookies every year.

Conference calls are nightmares.

The bond between caller and callee is totally broken when everyone dials in to a third party. In reality, it is no one’s call. We are all held hostage by the lack of body language and overabundance of ambient noise. The phone is a technology that we all understand, almost intuitively. But, we somehow lose all sense of etiquette when more than one person is on the other line.

We talk over one another and we interrupt. We sit back and have no contributions until we are specifically addressed. We lurk on a telephone call, something that we could never pull off if we were asked to pull our own weight on one side of a conversation. It is as if everything we say is being converted into a mass media tool on the spot and brainstorming is rarely the same thing as broadcasting.

Without the aid of copious notes, there is really very little piecing together of cause and affect or even what should come next. We all end up sitting in a vaccum with one end of a can with strings tied to four other cans, and we only catch every other word said through the other cans. So, we can piece together a partial picture of what is going on but never the entire thing.

Conference calls are never about getting things done, they are about status updates and grandstanding. They are about veiled insults and odd turns of phrase that leave everyone wondering about intentions. They are the workarounds of working together.

And yet, they are essential. We cannot even pretend to get on the same page without hearing one another’s voice every once in a while. We can’t wait until they are over, but we know that if they got canceled we would all be missing a part of the dialogue. We would all have only the single moments with one another and we would never just check in and ask how each of us is doing. Without everyone talking at one time, we would never really know that we are all really passionate about making things great. It is the fact that we want to convey as much information about what we are working on that lets us know we are all working hard. We want to hear about the successes of other parts of the team and we want to know how things are going at home.

We don’t do this on our own.

When one person talks at a time, relationships are built and strengthened.

When more that one person talks at a time, we test those relationships.

When only one person is speaking, the bias is disguised.

When we all speak, our instincts are laid bare.

When a single person holds a single conversation, it can be about nothing.

When we all join in a conversation, no matter how dysfunctional, it is always to the point (without nuance and finesse). We are always afraid of wasting one another’s time. We want to prove our worth continually since the last call.

And we do prove it by opening our mouths. All. At. Once.

My entire family has booming footsteps.

The first time that my wife stayed over at my parents house during the holidays, she thought that a band of warrior giants had taken over the entire first floor. She believed that there was something drastically wrong with my family. I explained that we all just walk with purpose (not that there wasn’t something drastically wrong, though.)

Such purpose cannot be achieved without the intense pounding of feet on the floor when walking from one destination to another. The exact sound should be something in-between a gunshot with every footfall and a pounding on the front door with every step. I don’t know when I developed this need to walk with purpose or why my entire family has figured out the same source of pleasure from waking everyone up with nothing but moving forward, but I don’t want to ever walk another way. I don’t want to tip toe or roll my steps to avoid the inevitable.

I want to know where I am walking and why I have chosen this path to get there. I want to always hear myself coming and going, to know that I have taken these steps in my own shoes and under my own power. Whether it sounds like a stampede or a shelling of a modern city, I want each small step for mankind to be mine.

It is a countdown to whatever comes next. I don’t want to walk backwards or skip steps that I should be taking.

I once played the Big Bad Wolf in the musical Into The Woods. I had a number of Wolf-ettes that danced around me as I sang the one and only song I had in the show. Their steps were graceful and mine were ravenous. Their jumps were elegant and mine were bounding, hoping to devour something with each one. I wasn’t going to give up that sweet reward to anyone because I knew how the high notes felt in my feet, and I knew how to stand and support the low and rumbling notes. I remember giving the preview to the whole school because we were the one song that was polished long before the others. The whole show heard us coming. We figured out the steps and we did them without hesitation.

Walking loudly requires a certain amount of confidence and a certain amount of denial. We are confident in that we will not fall when we plan our foot down and we are in denial of just how disruptive we can be. We deny that our footsteps will wake up our children. We deny that they are more purposeful than they need to be. We deny that they are going to get us in trouble. And it is through this denial that we come through so easily. We are traveling in the pursuit of being heard.

Hear us. Hear us walk.

When we have impending due dates that seem to be getting closer and closer.

When we have dozens of unwatched television shows on the DVR.

When climb up and down the stairs to try and put our children to bed a dozen times and we can’t hold a consistent thought in our heads.

When we know that everything is moving too fast and we can’t do anything to slow it down.

When we fight to keep our eyes open just so that we can prove we were thinking about doing work.

We should veg anytime that it seems as though resting our fingers on the home keys is just about as much energy as we can muster.

We learn just how disposable magazines are.

We learn that networking knows no bounds and people will find even the loosest connections in order to start a conversation.

We learn that there is no substitute for clean silverware.

We learn that skyping in-flight is not a good idea.

We learn that suggestions to leave home are powerful and homesickness is even more so.

We learn that being ready to leave doesn’t matter to anyone but yourself.

We learn that work pressure isn’t quite so acute as guilt for your wife having to deal with two “accidents” as your two year old tries to watch a move at the theater.

We learn that no matter which city you happen to be in, more sleep is never good enough if you can’t share the bed with the woman you love.

Carmen Sandeago had no idea what was really important, even if she did see the world.

A lot of things are done for me.

Other people give me soda on an airplane. Entire institutions hold onto my money until I need it. Lighted objects direct my traffic. I don’t have to worry about the logistics of getting up in the morning. My children see to that. Most of my events are at the very least co-created or suggested by others. I just have to show up and create something new and interesting.

It makes me think that there isn’t much to logistics.

Here are the rules:

1. Keep records of everything including contact information, meeting notes, and brainstorming sessions.
2. Put all events on the calendar, even if they are tentative.
3. Confirmation codes, registration, and reservation information are better than physical keys, boarding passes and access cards. So long as you have the first step, people will help you do the others.

It is hard for me to think of much else. So long as I follow those three rules I don’t have to worry about being productive or getting where I need to go. It is all laid out in front of me like a poem that is writing itself. Taking divergent paths comes naturally when I can actually see what needs to be done. If I plan it out too much or worry what it is going to be like, my life is no longer tangible.

Figuring it out when I get there means that I am one big IF-THEN statement. IF this meeting happens THEN I will work on the next version of that presentation. IF I have lunch with my wife when she asks me THEN I will be happy and fulfilled for hours afterward. IF the Elf on the Shelf moves from one spot in the house to another THEN my children will be filled with wonder and amazement at this small piece of holiday magic.

So long as I don’t make things more complicated than that, I generally get to be passionate about learning and collaboration all day. I don’t have to do things that are uninteresting for too long because there is always an equation that is just waiting to balance out. I just have to wait until I get to the other side of the IF-THEN statement and I will have reached my next step.

We will figure it out when we get there. I know because I make a habit of asking really good what IFs.

Like this:

What IF I create a community that all teachers and students want to be a part of?

What IF I spend as much time as is humanly possible with my children before they grow up?

What IF I learn something new every day?

What IF I write a book?