One Day in Singapore

OK. Actually, I was here seven days but six of them involved working a global conference, mostly meeting rooms, elevators, and group meals from buffet lines. Ah, but yesterday I was liberated and had a bit of time to see the sights. Main observation: a clever mix of business, art and native peoples. Lovely place if you can take humidty and spontaneous sideways rain. (Only 85 miles north of the Equator so we shouldn't be surprised.)

Incredible structures abound. But nothing to rival the mind wrenching Sky Park. It appears that 7 of the worlds largest airplanes have been digested by Tim Burton and spit out, landing on top of three hotel buildings each 57 stories high.

History too. Had drinks at The Raffles Hotel, watched friends hammer Singapore Slings while I stuck with V&T. Ceiling had fans flowing in unison. Guess the cost of labor made automating a necessity.

And Chinatown. We're convinced we were in the spot that Top Chef did its finale last year. Food stalls, farmer's market with large green melons and fish from a Jules Verne nightmare. Overcome by the chanting in the nearby Buddhist Temple. Sounded like my yoga class on steroids.

This whole adventure was scaffolded in luxury. Singapore Air (like the commercials, only better -and if you still love an airline after an 18 hour flight, that says something) and the loveliest Ritz Carlton in the universe, staffed with people like Isaac a server in the breakfast buffet. Hundreds of people there every day and somehow he noticed that I liked a certain whole grain toast and presented it to me while I waited for the egg to sizzle. A bit of magic, a surprise, a civilized intelligence just like this great destination.

Do Not Be Afraid to Interrupt

These words, from former Secretary of State Madeline Albright, were delivered to her students when coaching them that in business and in life, sometimes silence was not an option.  If you are lucky enough to see the exhibit or get your hands on the book, Read My Pins, you will be inspired by her intelligence and force of will. Imagine if you could wear a pin to signify your starting point in a negotiation with your recalcitrant child, clueless boss or somewhat imperfect significant other. 
What would you choose - butterfly, dragon, a turtle?  Would it  be a spider for one of those "rare days when I feel devious" or - one of my personal favorites - a Stetson hat signifying a bad hair day?
What spirit needs to be conjured up for a successful negotiation? Let's take a lesson from Madeline and please, don't be afraid to interrupt if the conversation is going nowhwere.

The Hand That Maketh The Snowman

It's been awhile, in case you haven't noticed. (Oh, I could dazzle you with a million reasons why including my very strong resistance to being even remotely methodical, something you kind of need to be if you're going to call yourself a blogger. So, ok, let's agree - I'm not a blogger.)

As the year ends, I was seeking a soundbyte of wisdom I might pass on gleaned from 365 days of real life involving clients, kids, my so-called writing life, my small bits at trying to make a difference somehow, and my unrealized gameplan to eat mostly plants, like Michael Pollan told us to, and reject anything with preservatives in it. Confession: I have slept peacefully on more than one night knowing I had 481 unopened e-mails napping on a server somewhere. So where was this wisdom going to come from?

And then a week or so back I came upon this funky snowchick in Central Park and I felt myself snickering at the universe. And the snicker led to something like a prayer: May we all follow the impulse to create in the new year. Whether our work is tromped on, overlooked or melts in the heat of day, the hand that maketh the snowman is true. (And not the least of it - after the snowman is done with, there's hot chocolate.)

Calamari, Raisin Bran and a Red Washer

I'm on the other side of the largest downsizing since W left the White House and moved into a traditional suburban home, sort of like the one we just moved out of.

When you move, everything seizes up: bodily functions including the ability to process food, ideas and enough neural connectivity to remember where you put the box that said "Important - Do Not Let Out of Sight." All of the basic wattage of your biochemistry becomes unavailable when, it could certainly be argued, you need your juices the most.

I'm alive. I keep reminding myself.

One night, we were too tired to go out or dial for takeout. We made a dinner out of old calamari the realtor dropped off on our first night here (thank you, Judy - it really was very tasty way back when...) and finished it off with heaping bowls of raisin bran. It was more substantial than you think. But there are rewards for people who haul up their anchor and heave ho into the world. It's called a brand new front loading red washer and dryer. Here's a picture of mine.

Photo credit: Alan S. with his very clever new camera

A Mentor We Can Believe In

How much better would our lives be if we had an on the spot mentor - someone who gave us real time feedback in a kind and gentle way even while suggesting "pull yourself together somehow. I want you to save yourself."

There are people who get a regular dose of such coaching, the kind you can't get in the office or even from your best girlfriend, maybe, because it might not be easy for her to say "I just don't get it" when she studies your latest creation. The contestants on Project Runway have all the luck. They've got Tim Gunn, arguably the poster child for authentic, supportive feedback and enthusiastic goal setting. In other words, we need more managers like Tim Gunn. Forget the corporate leadership development and the books from Jack Welch. Set your DVR and learn something from a true master.

The Other J & J

By that I mean, not me and Joanne, my business partner at VisionFirst. We are known by our clients as J & J - or sometimes even as "The Js" as in "Call the Js and see if they can help us figure out how to do something innovative around here." No, not those Js. Here, I'm talking about Julie and Julia - two great foodies, one great movie, and a knock it out of the park performance from Meryl Streep. (Is there anything this woman cannot do???)

See the movie and then invite a friend over and make baked cucumbers and potato leek soup as I did with my friend Jane (another J!) a few years back after we read Julie Powell's memoir on cooking 524 recipes of Julia Child's in 365 days. You'll trip over the lessons here:

1. Start now. Whatever passion is percolating inside, give it a shot. Julia was 50 when "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" was published, arguably the beginning of her career.


2. Seek collaboration. Whether it's with your business partner, friends or significant other. Nothing worth doing can be done alone.


3. Press on. Failure and rejection were day to day experiences here. Did you know, for example, that Julia failed her first exam at Le Cordon Bleu because it was...too simple?
   
4. Don't temper your enthusiasm. No hiding your light under a bushel.


5. Eat butter. Enough said.

Got Carousel?

I had the occasion to ride a carousel a few days ago with my adventurous friend, Roseann. We messed up at first sitting on the horses that don't go up and down. We quickly calibrated and got side by side stallions of rather magnificent proportions. The cheesy carousel music played and round and round we went, up and down, up and down. It wasn't tedious like beating a three year old at Candyland can be. It was downright fun. Exhilirating even. (And the backdrop of Central Park didn't hurt either.)

I'm no evolutionary biologist, but I'll just bet there's some biochemical thing that happens when you find yourself doing that thing you did as a half-awake kid, you know, your version of Proust's madeleines. Don't let the summer get away from you before you fly a kite, play hopscotch with a bored first grader, or read Nancy Drew and see if you can figure out the Hidden Staircase thing before she does.

$107 of Bliss

What to do with all that life history - you know, the file on the fundraiser, the notebook you organized for the big project, every performance review ever written about you (especially by people who did not appreciate your unique charms). I have a compressed experience of personal joy that I'd like to recommend: Get a shredder truck to your house and let it all go.

Let go of the work files with confidential revenue plans that never worked out and spiffy organization charts designed to transform your workplace into a fast-moving idea machine. (Good luck with that.) That poetry prompted by your difficult relationship with your mother? Shred it so your own sired ones don't get any ideas. Do you really need the phone numbers of every parent in your child's third grade class? I had to think about that one for a moment but since my son's 21 now, I think The Law of Improbable Connections to your Children's Friend's Parents is officialy sunset, effective today.

Today I shredded 880 pounds of such stuff. Go ahead, I dare you to do more.

http://www.njshred.com/

Coffee with Coconut Oil, Please

Ok. So times are tough all around. Get it.

But there are some things that are just not neogtiable - having some form of a milk product for your coffee is one.

I found myself in a theme park earlier this week (Picture legions of cranky children sporting ears and young girls in pink, yellow and aqua princess dresses.) The only product served with coffee is a non-dairy creamer. Not at that stand, not in that particular land but in the entire theme park - from main street to the frontier - there is no such thing as coffee with cream, half and half, or milk of any kind.

Might I get some from you, kind server, you who hails originally from Akron, Ohio? I see that you have some behind the counter there.
No.

Really, I can only get coconut oil for my coffee? That's the best you can do?
Oh, wait. Yes. You can buy a carton of milk from me for your coffee. That will be $2.14.

To have milk in my cofffee will cost me 2 additional bucks?
Actually, $2.14 to be exact.

But don't you think it's reasonable to expect that a dairy product would be available to me? Hey, even skim milk. Just something from a cow.

Jeremy arrived. He is the area manager and he listened to me without flinching, blinking or laughing out loud. (BTW, thank you Jeremy.)
That's right. This is what we serve with coffee everywhere.

Is there no one of the thousands who flood this park every hour who shares my outrage that we cannot have a dairy product with our coffee should we choose to? We are not all vegans, not that there's anything wrong with that. Nor are we stockholders in your entertainment conglomerate driven to wring shareholder value out of every transaction.
I'll put it in my end of day report.

Thank you Jeremy. And a shout out for your hand held trash picker - the one you used to pick up the sugar packet I dropped when you asked the server originally from Akron, OH to give me a small amount of milk in a cup.

As a mouse expects cheese, so do people want coffee with cream, please.

We Begin

Today I wove.

And you should too.

Why?

Because it forces you to use a part of your brain rusting since you put down your crayolas. For those of us who lack hand eye coordination, small motor skills and an affinity for detail - the skills you need to, say, clean the dark spaces between your keyboard rows with a toothpick every few years - it's a tango lesson for that part of the brain.

When you're done with your session, just two hours later, you have something to show for it that's original and can be used in real life. I am now using my thingie as a covering on my Zen bench.

And there's the sacred soothingness about being in a room filled with colored yarn and thread of every possible hue with your feet on the pedals of a primitive machine, going through the motions - literally - of ancient generations.

Consider doing it with friends. I did it with two mad genius women, Marta and Jane, and they were lightyears ahead of me in every possible way including helping me to feel good about my feeble creation. They made me feel especially clever about incorporating strands of random sequins in the warp - or is it weft?

As soon as I figure out how to use my digital camera, I will take a picture of it and paste it here.
In the meantime, think about visiting http://www.loopoftheloom.com/