Learning is Change

Question 282 of 365: Why do we build houses?

One of my favorite songs is called “To build a house” by Lincoln, an
incredibly little know band that only put out one album in 1997. Until
today I wasn’t too sure what it meant because I had never known
someone who actually had built their own home. The lyrics may speak
for themselves, but only if you know the language they are written in:

Brick and mortar, pound a penny nail
Lime, too, water use a shoveling pail
Crowbar, level, turn a drywall screw
It’s a piece of cake if you know what to do

A roll of tar paper and a mason’s bit
A bucket of spackel and a little spit
Plum bob steady pour some carpenter’s glue
It’s as easy as pie if you know what to do
An honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay
You’re bound to get dirty when you’re making hay

Under one roof with your children and spouse
It’s a labor of love when you’re build a house
Under one roof with your children and spouse
It’s a labor of love when you’re build a house

Chalk line powder and a saber tooth saw
Number five pencil and a hammer claw
A ten-foot ladder of of four-by-twoIt’s as easy as one, two, three to do
An honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay
You’re bound to get dirty when you’re making hay

Under one roof with your children and spouse
It’s a labor of love when you’re build a house
Under one roof with your children and spouse
It’s a labor of love when you’re build a house.

One day I will know what those words mean, becuase as I look around
everything is perfect, in both its placement and purpose. The rooms
mean something, as in they are meant for someone. The cutout on the
second floor leading to the blue room is something only a house’s
creator could know.

I want to build a house, even if I have no design skills or
woodworking knowledge. I want to build a house for my family because I
know it is what they deserve.

Posted via email from The Throughput

Question 281 of 365: Who is our away message for?

For the third time in a month I am away for a long weekend. On each of
these occasions, I turned on the away message for email, chat and
voice mail. This is what one does in modern society. We have made a
contract with one another to always be online or available, and if we
intend to break that contract we must let people know about the
breech. Anything longer than a weekend must be written up as a kind of
post mortem for time lost away from your desk.

But I wonder who our away messages are really for.

Are we bragging that we have gotten away from the daily grind long
enough to appreciate the world around us? Or, are we apologizing to
those who wanted to connect with us, but now have to twiddle their
thumbs and wait for our return?

The people that know us and that are informed about our daily events
already know where we are going and they have wished us good luck or
given their condolences depending on the situation. The people that
are mere contacts of ours couldn’t care less about the few days that
we are taking off. Their email wasn’t all that time sensitive or
important to be answered instantly and they know this. It is only
those who wouldn’t otherwise know and would feel hurt by our
transgression of abandoning our post. We want to cause them to be
sympathetic when otherwise they would feel annoyed. In fact, we are
forcing them to be closer friends than they actually are by giving
them information regarding our whereabouts that only those who inquire
would have access to. We are pushing them to travel in our shoes a
moment and see what it would be like if they made similar choices.

We are saying “You too could be off of work, but since you aren’t,
don’t mind if I don’t email you back or respond to your voice mail for
a little while.”

I wonder if I should just state that the next time I’m away. I wonder
if my honesty would be rewarded or punished.

Sometimes, I feel like putting away messages even when I’m in, just so
the expectation of full attention to you and your issues isn’t quite
as high. But, the abuse of such a power, the too consistent breakage
of the working man’s social contract would not pan out. It is the
modern version of the boy who cried wolf. If I am too honest about my
absence, no one will call for me.

Is that a bad thing?

Posted via email from The Throughput

Question 280 of 365: Do we need Man Caves?

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Screenshot from Le Voyage dans la lune (A Trip...
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Call it an office or a tool shed or a garage, but the Man Cave has become something of a mythical figure in daily married life. It is something to aspire to if you don’t have one or escape to if you do. It is decked out with sufficiently Man-friendly objects like big screen TVs, powerful gadgets or tools, and lots of paraphernalia from when this “man” was a bachelor. Somehow, wives and girlfriends are supposed to pay respect to the cave and allow the man to slip into this space as often as he would like. She may complain about this setting to other women, but it is a nonstarter with Man Cave dwellers. The television and movies promote this and we buy in because it let’s the those rooms have a respected purpose other than time sinks and conversation avoidance. The Man Cave is a presence for all who see it or inhabit it. It exists. Accept it.

Except, I don’t have one.

I have never advocated for one or staked out my claim to a particular space in our house. The very nature of a space that separates me from my family is antithetical to my understanding of a home. I want to be with my family.

My “master bathtub” is the one that our kids are bathed in most often.

The reading area is for me to read with my kids.

We have laptops so that we can be with others while we do the work we must.

The only couch we care to sit on is one that fits all of us.

The play room is the play room for everyone.

Yesterday, my daughter told me that “adults don’t have fun.” She further explained that only kids can have fun. I asked her how she knew and she told me that Adults don’t laugh like kids. I asked her about the things that she thought were fun: playdoh, dancing, listening to music, and reading. I told her that I thought they were a lot of fun too. After some discussion, she begrudgingly said that I could have fun, but other adults could not. She agreed that I laughed with her on a regular basis, but she still wanted to see the distinction between adults (and specifically male adults) and children (specifically, little girls named Isabelle).

I wonder if those with Man Caves could convince my daughter that they have fun too. I wonder if they could convince her that both a separate space for Adult Men and small children is warranted in the home. She is pretty smart, and I think even at 4 she would be able to spot the hypocrisy of separation that is required to create a Man Cave.

While there are times that I enjoy being alone and thinking through my passions, I will never exercise a mythical right to a Man Cave. I will never expose my children to the idea that somehow men need to escape from the horrors that is child rearing any more than women.

Ultimately though, the biggest reason that I do not want or need a Man Cave is that it can only be one thing. It can only be a couch and a TV or a tool shed and a set of special wrenches. My spaces can be anything that I want them to be. I can create and recreate the places that I spend my time. I can dress them up and bring anyone I want into them just to have them poke around and enjoy the environment. I don’t have to devalue everyone by possessing them. I can co-create them with my family and outside of that nuclear unit. In short, I bring my Man Cave, My Woman cave, my Child Cave, my Coworker Cave, My Collaborator Cave, and all of the other various caves I need with me everywhere that I go. And because of this, I can look my children in the face and tell them that I have fun, with them.

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Question 279 of 365: Why do we eat at McDonald's?

I used to eat at McDonald’s instead going to church.

I used to sit with one of my best friend’s in the world and talk about just how our lives were turning out in the latter half of high school. We would talk about the books we were reading and the meaning of the homework we underwent. We tried Subway for a little bit, but we always came back to McDonalds. I ate the two cheeseburger meal, and she had nothing most of the time. My friend at various points of her life has been a vegetarian, and she was most certainly one then. We would just sit there and pursue the relationship that seemed so much more important than just about anything else, and she would occasionally snag a fry.

In college though, I stopped eating McDonald’s completely. For years I didn’t go near a cheeseburger from that burger joint or any other. I had become a vegetarian as well, although not because of my high school friend. I was disgusted by what meat did to others, both humans and animals. It was gross that men pursued meat as if it were a woman to be conquered. I couldn’t stomach the processing it took to make those big macs and tube-like french fries. I told people that I would never eat there again. I told people that my kids would never eat there, no matter how tempting the play place was. They would never be lured in by Ronald McDonald and his crew. They would never crave the toy in a happy meal or the sweet ketchup on their salty pickles.

But, I eat it now. I eat it regularly. My children eat it. They know the golden arches and they can ask for it and provide compelling reasons for wanting it. They are persuasive, just as I’m sure I was persuasive with my parents. We are all looking for an easy meal at the end of a long day. I tell myself that it is okay because my children get milk and apple dippers. I tell myself that it is not going against everything I have previously stated and that I deserve the cheeseburgers as much as I did in High School. I might even be able to persuade myself that it is really my wife  who wants it and not me. The honest truth, though, is that I have made the choice to purchase McDonald’s on a regular basis, and no amount of justification is going to change that fact.

My belt is tighter for it, I’m sure.

I hate their advertising and their slogan. I hate that they are everywhere and there is no local flavor in any of their food. I hate that it is so cheep and available. Also, I hate that it is so tasty.

I think that it all just goes back to those moments of sitting over a huge amount of ketchup, talking about what the future really held. I eat McDonald’s because it is the food that I don’t have to think about. I know exactly what I am getting every time. I know what my wife gets and what my kids get. It isn’t a solitary experience like coffee drinking. It isn’t something that we do in the car. We sit and talk or just be together without any pretension.

Because McDonald’s is so put upon by everyone, it can actually move beyond all of the hype or anti-hype and just quietly serve a nation of people (or perhaps the world) the simplest excuse for conversation and sharing possible. The food becomes the conveyance device for the communication to take place. The trading of fries and taking bytes that no one will miss is a kind of concert of greasy exchange.

I probably won’t always make this a habit, but I will not disparage those who do. I will not look down on those who simply are trying to talk with their family without adding the layer of protection that is being waited on. It is the fact that I am so cut off from the production of the food that I am able to help produce the relationships that enjoy it.

I think I will enjoy my family tonight. And I think you know what that means.

Question 278 of 365: What is our four way stop?

There were two man roads that led into my home town: East Washington
and Bell. In the middle of town, they were one block apart but by my
house, which was off of Bell, they were at a distance of about a mile.
They are mostly responsible for making a town triangle instead of a
town square. All along these roads there are a few places that you can
cut through before they eventually intersect in town. If you are a
local, you know all of them. Some of them cut through neighborhoods
and some of them cut through businesses. One of those roads cuts
through almost nothing. It is a very insignificant road that seemingly
was only created to bisect these two important arteries of Chagrin
Falls.

On the Bell side of the road, this intersection creates a perfect
four-way stop. I say that it is perfect because each side is just far
away from one another to not see who is going to go next, but close
enough to know that they should be able to tell. People stop and then
start, while others roll right on through. All rules of the road are
understood, but there is something about this minor cut through
intersecting a major road that throws cars for a loop. Each direction
has been given even weight by the four way stop, but everyone on Bell
is aware of the right of way status that they experience elsewhere on
the road. Why should they have to stop here, when they are so close to
town. Those on East Washington don’t have to stop at the intersection
of the same road, just those on Bell.

My friends and I use to watch this four way stop from up the hill on
my friend’s porch. We would point at those who’s stutter brake across
the intersection. We would laugh at those who blocked out the blinding
afternoon sun with their hands held high. We would wonder at each loud
singer with windows rolled all the way down. And each car that passed
by was a small representation of the power of Bell and the
insignificance of the passthrough. Getting onto Bell was a neccesity,
as was stopping and waiting to see what the other cars were going to
do.

I sometimes feel like I’m on the passthrough, holding at the four-way stop.

I’m watching car after car cross over the street I’m on, continuing on
their way, noticing that I would like to join their road but not
knowing why I am still sitting there.

I know that it is my turn, but I wait as they keep on going past.

Cars come up from behind me and wait for me to go.

They start to honk their horns, but still I wait.

I wait to see what the other cars will do.

How long will they wait?

How long will I?

And as I start to accelerate and turn onto that major road, I think
about all of the apprehention that I have inflicted just by not going
when I was supposed to.

I waited until I wanted to join in.

I am four-way stopping into my future.

Posted via email from The Throughput

Question 277 of 365: Are we on the clock?

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I used to put my hours on a time card. I used to slot it into metal container made especially for that purpose. I didn’t punch in because that would have required too much investment on the machine that actually made the punches. I would just carefully scrawl the time and date of when I started and stopped working. I didn’t guesstimate or fudge the numbers. I just looked over at the clock around the corner and wrote down the time that it said. If I was clocking in, I would put on my fanny pack of money and head out the door to take orders. If I was clocking out, I would grab my cheeseburger with grilled mushrooms and well done cajun fries. It was my first job and I was glad for every hour that I had it.

Now, I write almost nothing down about the time I spend on a given day at work. I arrive when I need to for meetings and to get my accomplishments done. I leave when a late meeting is off site or when it is time to get my children. Some days, I don’t come to the office. I just work from home and listen to music while I type up emails and solve the problems that seem to be most pressing. Most of the time, the clock holds almost no importance to me. I don’t look at it longingly, hoping for it to go faster. I don’t count hours and think about how many more it will take to buy another CD or movie ticket. I don’t even think about it in terms of when my next class will come in and want to learn something that I haven’t fully fleshed out yet.

Recently, I have felt almost no need to justify my time to anyone. My goals are easy enough to set and achieve. Clear out my email. Blog once a day. Meet with the people that want to meet with me. Collaborate on projects that I set in motion. Everything is persisting. My work products are so instantly sharable that I feel valued from those that have no relationship to my accountability. I don’t have daily checkins with anyone and the projects that seem to get the most attention are ones that require tending rather than envisioning or planning.

In some ways, I long for the clock. I long for the simple piece of paper that had all of my ins and outs on it. I wish I could justify all of the time that I am taking to square up with what I want to be doing. I wish that my email checks were all there in black and white showing me just how much time I spend on archiving and filtering and sometimes even replying. And more than that, I wish I could actually dedicate a block of time to creating and doing. When you are on the clock, distractions are not okay. You can’t look into putting linux onto a boot cd just to see if you can boot it up on an old mac, at least not without writing it up on the time card.

I do not envy those working in food service, save this one sacred truism: they know what they are doing.

I sure wish I did, or at least I wish I could know what I have done. As it stands now, I have to reference things like the “the long tail” and community creation as successes. I have to show things like PDF files and Moodle courses as the meaning of my days spent in this chair.

Burgers and fries are easy to quantify; ideas are not. I am working on it, though.

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Question 276 of 365: Are our expectations for breakfast too low?

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American Country Breakfast served around Thank...
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To a large extent, my wife bases her day on how good her breakfast is.
To be sure, she has a weekday regimen of fresh bananas, yogurt and
Puffins (a decently healthy cereal that has the namesake animal on the
front). But, on the weekends, all bets are off. We have chocolate chip
pancakes, Belgian waffles, sausage, bacon and all manner of fruit. And
that is only if we are eating in.If we go out for breakfast, we are prepared to eat enormous omelets
prepared with brie or biscuits and gravy that could put any athlete
in a coma. If things go according to plan, we will be fighting off a
nap at about 10:00 am. If things go badly and the food isn’t quite
right, we can expect a vow to never do it quite like we have this
time. While I love my wife for her insistence on a good breakfast, I
have often questioned her zeal for perfect food. I am of the opinion
that we could pretty much have Denny’s every day and be okay (other
than being severely obese, I suppose).

Lately though, I have started to come around to her way of thinking.
Her standards aren’t really about breakfast or about food. They are
about whether or not it is worth it to waste her time and calories on
such sub-par fare. She isn’t willing to allow the mediocre to dictate
her day. But, I let it happen all of the time.

I let a coffee and a lack of conversation to start me off. I let a
long commute without communication be the impetus for my day. She is
vigilant in making sure that the waffle isn’t soggy and the potatoes
are as good as they can get before she commits to that as a day
starter. I let a granola bar suffice.

And sometimes it shows.

I want to feast on talking with my children.

I want to imbibe the sounds of my wife’s laughter.

I want to lick my lips after thinking out loud with my friends.

Breakfast matters. It is too important to be an afterthought.

Posted via email from The Throughput

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Question 274 of 365: Why do we make it interesting?

I have been asked a number of times in the last few weeks the following question:

“What would make this interesting for you?”

It is such a disingenuous question. It is like asking, “What can I change about what I have just said so that you don’t run out of the door without looking back?” I’m not entirely sure that they even want the answer to the question. They are either asking about money or scope, and neither are all that negotiable. Sure, there is the process of collaborating and co-creation, but that question doesn’t get us where we want to go.

The story is where it’s at. That is what makes it interesting. Tell me a story about how you think it would go. Help me to understand your own interest by telling me just what purpose you have in initiating the progress. The story of what led us here is way more important than any “sweetening the pot” that you might be able to do with the scraps of an idea that you have just thrown at me.

I don’t do well with interesting. I work for engaging and rewarding. I am supporting a family and working on passion. Interesting isn’t going to do either.

One of my favorite things to read about, study or write about is Utopia and Dystopia. I love to see what the logical end of a really great or really terrible idea is. I love to see how characters feel their way along perfect places. I love to see them screw it all up or realize that their utopia has somehow been a sham all along. I once took a course in such things that had a total of 4 other students. It was the most passionate 10 weeks I spent on this topic, and the other students had almost no investment in it. The professor and I were the only ones that really wanted to tackle Plato’s Republic. I’m pretty sure he never taught the course again, but for those 10 weeks I was in heaven. The product of the course was creating my own representation of Utopia in 50 or so pages. I didn’t have to stretch to meet that requirement. I didn’t have to add fluff. I didn’t have to ask for more time. And most importantly, my professor never had to ask me what he could do to make it interesting.

I was pouring myself into the work and the feedback I got along the way was meaningful. I turned in three different versions of that work, each of which were shifted significantly by the words that Professor Abel gave scrawled across the margins. It was a purposeful meeting of our intellects and our words. We created a story out of the conversation that had never existed before. I was proud of what we created, and I think about it frequently as a product of my effort that will never be tainted by someone else trying for “interesting.”

I don’t mean to say that I am not interested in things or that I have to be that passionate about everything that I do. What I do mean is that when you are asking me to spend time that I could dedicate to anything, do not make it interesting for me. Come with me. Show me your story and let me help you write it. Who are the characters and what are the events that we need to encounter? How will this play out and what is the dramatic tension that propels us forward?

Interesting is great for handshakes. It is good for emails and casual meetings.

It is not good enough to be my life’s work. It is not okay to rest on interesting.

I’m telling a story. Don’t help me make it interesting, make it memorable and help give it purpose.

Question 273 of 365: What can I blame on your workflow?

It’s your fault when you don’t answer email.

It’s your fault when you require phone calls in order to advance the conversation.

It’s your fault when you don’t check in with the social networks that collaboration is happening within.

It’s your fault when the people that talk to you don’t talk to anyone else outside of your sphere of influence.

It’s your fault when everyone is taking different notes during the meeting and has separate expectations about what was decided.

It’s your fault when you assume that everyone is against you.

It’s your fault when the most sophisticated communication you can manage are short messages from your cell phone.

It’s your fault when the most current information you have is in a manilla folder.

It’s your fault when every decision has to be made in a meeting of no fewer than 6 people.

Your workflow is your own fault. If you never clean up your email or get beyond your daily schedule, you have no one to blame but yourself. If you cannot filter information and make meaning out of it, your literacies are off.

We live in a plural society, in every sense of the word. Everything is we and ours and us, and any mistaken identity placed in open records acts worries misses the point. Everything is open. All communication is public. As much as deals are dealt in back rooms, progress happens in the open.

Embrace it. Learn to save things in digital formats. Format things for continuous learning. Be aware of the context that we inhabit. Power plays and handouts are short sided. The truly lasting work is found in sharing and archiving and hyperlinking. It is what will be remembered. It is what will outlast these conversations and this time. Pursue that. Be proactive. Live for unearthing what is possible.

Because being busy pales in comparison. Always.