Derek A. Chowen's Blog

Summer nights are my favorite. There are so many more olfactory offerings in the summer than in the sterile atmosphere of winter. This...

Learning is a life long pursuit. At least it should be. Some things are so damn easy and make sense immediately.

2+2=4 Every. Damn. Time.

Water is wet. Ice is cold. Dark chocolate is better than milk chocolate. All are accepted as fact.

Writing, however, is not.

Writing is an evolving activity for me. There have been a couple times where I thought I had absolutely captured the perfect chapter only to find out I was WAY off.

I remember how excited and nervous I was the first time I started to write something truly important. I knew what kind of pen to use. It rolled smoothly across the surface. The story flowed easily from the tip. It would allow for more emphasis if I added pressure, but also could present a fine line of careful intent. Joyful, uproarious laughter as well as the smallest hint of a smile, all easily demonstrated with the same instrument.

The paper required so much more research. Different colors, different sizes, different spaces between the lines, different textures. All important features, all important benefits.

We do our best writing when all of the features we need align with the benefits we crave.

The first time I sat down to write something important, I was sure I had it all figured out. I knew exactly what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it. I had the proper paper and while I had a few struggles with getting the pen to properly express my thoughts, I just knew the chapter would be a masterpiece. The writing was a little erratic at first. I was getting used to a new endeavor. The commitment to this new venture was unlike anything I'd experienced before. It had to be perfect because it was being presented for all the world to see.

It was so easy in the beginning. Maybe a few crossed out words or lines but never a complete rewrite. The combination of pen and paper was as close to perfect as a person could hope for. I thought for sure that the more I wrote, the more I learned about writing, the easier it would get. I could not have been more wrong.

I was losing my touch on how much pressure to apply to the pen. Forcing the words used to work when I was lost but that same force started to betray me. I found more and more crossed out words. More and more crossed out lines. Eventually, more and more crossed out paragraphs. I was losing my creative touch. The harder I tried, the more futile the attempt. I tried to write the words but they just wouldn't appear. Did the paper change? Did the pen run dry?

Eventually I tossed the entire project. Pen, paper, all of it.

Losing all that work and effort, all that good stuff, and all of that progress was more costly than I could have realized. I resigned myself to never write again. I clearly didn't know what I was doing and didn't have the time or the reserves to attempt something like that ever again.

Until YEARS later...

I was wildly inspired again! I was ready to create! I could feel it in my core. It was time to write!

I was amazed at how much I had learned about writing instruments and how to best utilize them. I found a more balanced, more sophisticated pen. So much easier to write with!

My taste for paper had even changed! Smaller lines so I could carefully fit more on each page. Smoother texture so I didn't have to force the stroke as much. Less resistance made the story almost write itself. It was the most beautiful paper I had experienced since finding that new pen. A perfect match. It was a joy to write again, not a chore.

Happy stories. Funny stories. Love stories. All were flowing and all were effortless.

Taking some time away made it so much easier to create. I still wanted to please my audience but I wanted the writing to be authentic and rewarding for myself as well. I was achieving both goals and it felt amazing!

Author and audience were in lock step. It was the connection that every writer seeks but few ever find.

The stories were becoming more and more detailed and the collection of words grew longer. The response from the reader was beautiful and encouraging. THIS is what being a successful author felt like!

The euphoria of connection allowed me to write with oblivious abandon. My Enthusiasm Blindness was unchecked. The writing continued to flow but the audience grew more and more quiet. It took me some time to notice but eventually, I did.

What the hell happened? Did my style change? Was I spelling things wrong? Was my structure off? Were my jokes not funny enough (impossible by the way...)?

Me being me, I couldn't put the pen down this time. I kept writing. I overanalyzed everything for sure and self-stifled my creativity BUT I was not going to lose this audience because I didn't work hard enough. Not this time.

Reality eventually did show up with its leather glove wrapped hand and delivered a rather aggressive slap to my face.

"Stop writing for people that aren't your true audience, dumbass!" Reality speaks loudly and wears leather gloves. Be on the lookout. Friendly advice from the author...

"It's ok to write beautiful chapters. Write them fancifully, romantically, humorously and even lovingly when appropriate. It's ok to write them but it is critically important to wrap them up when they are done. Painting beautiful pictures with your words is a gift. What good does it do you to use that gift for an audience of none? Are you writing pulp fiction with no depth or are you creating stories worthy of the investment of their time? It's a sin to drag the reader through a never-ending tale but what does that wasted effort do to you as a writer?" Reality also has quite a way with words and has the ability to speak softly while not wearing those terrifying gloves.

Forcing a story is a recipe for literary disaster. Closing a chapter is either incredibly easy or incredibly difficult. There is rarely an in between. I have ended some incredibly abruptly and let others drag on. Neither method is good for the reader. It usually isn't great for the author, either.

We need to write how WE write. If we stink at writing, we need to paint how WE paint. If we stink at painting, we need to shoot photographs how WE shoot. If we stink at photography, we need to draw stick figures how WE draw. If we stink at drawing stick figures, we should just probably become Excel experts and live alone...

Find your passion (passion can change daily for those of us with ADD) and act on it. Do your thing for you and your audience will find YOU.

Thanks for taking the time to read this. I was recently inspired to share this. In between Excel classes, of course...

Stay sturdy.

It's mid-September and my new-to-me sailboat is still in the water. The little boat that started off as a disappointment, "consolation prize" boat, has really grown on me throughout the summer. Hell, it was my house for a few days! I love my boat.

I moved back to Alpena for several reasons, some known to me, some not and discovered later. Having my own boat and sailing again was one of the known reasons.

I missed having my own boat. It's a luxury but that's ok. It's a place of solace. Well, it is in between buying new parts, installing said new parts and cleaning places the old parts covered. Some people don't care how their boat looks. I am not some people. I have a TON of work to do to this old girl in the off season. The key part of the previous statement is 'OFF'. My friend Matt said, "Put the tools down and sail!" He tends to be right about such things.

The weather was picture perfect on Saturday. Shorts and t-shirt were all that was required for this sail. Well, flip flops to get to the boat but THEN shorts and t-shirt were all that was required.

The breeze was super light in the morning. Not a cloud in the sky. People were noisily talking as they walked out the breakwall. I wish people understood how far sound travels across water. The voices didn't bother me, more the content of the conversations. I sure hope that couple that didn't start the walk as a couple but were probably going to be a couple after she let him know that she was pregnant find a way to a good life together. The guy that had to talk on speaker phone about one of his two asshole dogs having worms? Yeah, him? Not so much him...

I started the outboard motor to let it warm up. I should say, I pulled on that damn starter rope enough to push the boat WELL out of the marina. It has run flawlessly since I put a new carb on it. Apparently the little outboard thought it was done for the season. I fiddled with it as I cussed (very quietly) at it. It finally let me win the battle of wills. More on that soon...

I rigged the main and took the sail cover off. I untied the sail ties and stashed them below. Port side (left side) just like on all my former boats. Old habits die hard. Almost as hard as little outboard motors roar to life.

The motor was well warmed up. I rigged a makeshift spring line and untied the boat from the dock. There is a procedure that must be followed when sailing solo. It minimizes cusswords of a louder volume and perhaps some crunching of boat fiberglass against dock wood. (The dock always wins, if you were wondering...) All sounds that carry VERY well across the water.

I let the spring line loose and was away. I always figured letting loose of the dock was similar to an astronaut leaving the command module. No tether. No gravity. No Earth beneath your feet. Sailing is my way to leave planet Earth for a short time. It's a surreal feeling that probably won't fade until years after I am too bent up by time to feel.

Reverse. The little-motor-that-could responded by backing my command module out of its slip. The efficiency of a sailboat hull is really quite something. They move effortlessly and coast forever. Safely away from the confines of my slip, I shifted into forward and headed out to sea. Mostly...

People on the breakwall were watching my freshly washed little boat motor its way to the mouth of the harbor. Destination: Thunder Bay. I waved because boat people wave. "Because it's nice." (A Dad quote I included in "The Thawing Man" book.) We were all at the water's edge because it has a draw like no other. It is a common bond that makes waving to a stranger feel as natural as waving to friend.

Waving obligations fulfilled, I goosed the little outboard, asking for a bit more speed. I didn't "give 'er the berries" like we used to say on the way to or from the race course but the saying crossed my mind and I smiled. Until my non-berried motor quit. Dead. The sound of silence is welcome when sails are up and you are making way. NOT when you have rocks on all sides and with little momentum.

Go main. Get the sail up, sail out of the marina and worry about that POS motor when I am WELL out to sea. The main was rigged and ready so up on the halyard. Halyard is the fancy word for "rope that pulls the sail up". Saying "halyard" justifies the cost of the fancy rope. Kind of.

I started pulling on the halyard and up the main sail went. Right until it stopped. Suddenly. And only about half way up. It's a small sail on a small boat. It wasn't helping much but it was helping some. The fancy rope found a way to wrap its fancy ass around a navigation light half way up the mast. I have NEVER had that happen on ANY boat. No big deal. Some forward motion was maintained so back to the little bastard motor. Wait a second...what is that in the cockpit? Dirt? Where did a clump of dirt come from out here? I boarded my boat with bare feet.

Oh...I see now...

It's a mud wasp nest. They seem to be as surprised as me. Perhaps slightly more upset...

Main sail stuck...motor dead...mud wasps waking up...the romantic pursuit of sailing...

I tossed the nest overboard as if it were a live grenade. I suppose it was now that I think about it.

The little useless, stinky, dirty, old, piece of shit motor would...not...f*$#ing start. Amazing how that cute little beauty can change appearance based on its utility. Such is life, right?

I squeezed the primer bulb. Choked and unchoked it. The motor, not the boat owner.

It sputtered. And again! Two sputters is the signal that internal combustion is pending!

A ragged but continually improving sound coughed out of that beautiful little gem of a motor! I gave 'er the berries and got out into the lake. Like OUT into it. The waves were just enough to help me get the main halyard unwrapped from its favorite navigation light and I could finally "go main". Outer space was within reach.

Main up and tied off, I let the breeze take over and the pristine gorgeous-ness of an outboard shut off and take a break. (You better start again you little motherf#@*er...)

It was NOT a standard start to a sail. I've had that thing in and out multiple times. This day was full of tests. I was struggling even as I made my way across the bay in perfect silence. There was dirt all over the boat from those now submariner wasps. I didn't have the lines cleaned up. Things weren't perfect and my snack was down below!!!

After a few minutes of replaying how things went and how they could have gone, I relaxed. I tied the tiller and grabbed my snack and a water. Life was good. I pushed play on my sailing playlist that is oddly bereft of any Jimmy Buffet, and set a course for "over there".

It was a glorious day spent in outer space.

Why on Earth did I share this story with you? Because I haven't shared any of my other sailing adventures with you. I am flattered and humbled by how many people have asked if I have been out sailing or if I went out on such and such day. This year I have become a bit more selfish with my "stuff". My move back to Alpena has been a great experience, but not perfect. Sailing on my boat has been "mine". I shared this story because I thought you all would like it and it would give you a laugh. And because it could be "ours" while I still got to keep some of "mine".

I try to share the things I think might be helpful of entertaining. This summer I've kept some things from you all.

Because sometimes it's just for me...

Stay sturdy.

Who'd a thunk it? Leaving your hometown makes sense. Lots of youngsters "can't wait to get outta here" when it comes to the towns we were born and raised in. I think the wanderlust is part of our DNA.

Seems like a silly question. It isn't.

A few years back I was out sailing with my buddy, Matt. We were just chatting about "stuff". Nothing in particular and no specific topics. They were all topics that clearly needed to be covered, though. Our topics always are.

It was a beautiful day on Lake Michigan. We were sailing from Charlevoix to Harbor Springs in preparation for a weekend regatta. Great breeze, perfect sun, and cold beverages. I am fortunate that my friends have the coolest toys.

We were talking about sail trim and driving. Sailing stuff at first. Matt has an incredible amount of sailing knowledge. I look to him for answers first. Over the years we have become a pretty darn good team. Mostly because he helped me. Without me asking. That asking part ties right back to our discussion.

"So how are things going? For real?", asked Matt.

"Really good. No complaints.", I responded.

"Right..."

Matt knew I was having some struggles but not terrible ones. Not this time. He had seen me through the worst times of my life. Divorce. My life altering lie. Big stuff.

"You can ask for help. Don't go into bunker mode. THAT is how I know things aren't going well. When you disappear, I know you are struggling."

He was right but I didn't have to like it.

I didn't have a problem asking Matt for help when it came to certain sailing things because he is an expert in the field. I was asking for knowledge really so technically I wasn't even asking for help. That's how I justified it anyway.

Asking for help on things I "should" know is painful for me. I'm a grown-up and grown-ups know things. That's the rule.

Help wasn't always so hard for people to ask for. My grandparents were farmers. When it was time to make hay or harvest, the farmers worked together and helped each other. It wasn't a big deal, it was assumed. If each farmer owned a different piece of equipment, they could work together and get more done by helping each other.

When Grandpa and Grandma's house burned down, help was on the way. It wasn't asked for. Neighbors were there immediately helping haul things out of the burning house. They weren't asked to, they just did. The little building that turned into the garage was built in a day. Not fancy but functional. Neighbors pitched in and got it done. Some people are born to help.

As I was growing up, I watched my Mom and Dad help people. It was just assumed that helping was the right and good thing to do. Mom would give you the last scrap of food in the pantry if you needed it. She would because she knew that she would be ok. If we passed a car on the side of the road that had it's hazard lights flashing, you could bet Dad was going to stop and check on them. Mom and Dad were helpers, so my sister and I became helpers. Part of it is genetic and part of it is learned.

One Christmas my daughter and I were headed to my Dad's. It was about a two hour trip. She was young and picking out songs to play in between talking up a storm. We crested a hill and saw an older woman in a beautiful, long red coat walking beside her car. The car was moving along slowly at her pace and what I assumed was her husband was driving. I had to stop. Didn't have a choice. Didn't think twice. I told Sam to lock the doors behind me and went to investigate.

"Merry Christmas! Is everything ok?", I asked as I approached.

"Merry Christmas, young man. Everything is fine. I have to get out and walk sometimes because I just can't sit for long rides anymore. Thank you for stopping to check.", she replied in her smiley, grandma voice.

Samantha unlocked the door and let me in. She was grinning from ear to ear.

"What did she say???"

I told her what was going on, that everybody was ok and that they were happy that we stopped.

"I like that", she grinned. Papa heard that story before we got our boots off. It was incredibly cute to watch that interaction. Dad was proud.

Genetic predisposition reinforced by direct observation. Sam is a helper.

So why is it so damn hard to ask for help?!?!

Maybe it is that genetic predisposition. Maybe we want to be like Mom and Dad. Probably some combination of both.

Some of us don't like to ask for help because it isn't our role. We are the helpers, not the helped. It gives us a sense of satisfaction being able to help. It completes the happiness circuit in our brains.

We don't like to ask for help because we fear being let down. That might be part of the reason we are so compelled to help. We know what it's like to feel helpless or needy and don't want others to feel that way. The empathetic helper.

We don't like to ask for help because we don't want to appear weak or inadequate. We are smart/strong enough to do it by ourselves. Go help someone that needs it.

Is it ok to ask for help on your calculus homework? Absolutely. Nobody understands that stuff.

Is it ok to ask someone for help figuring out why you have the blues and can't shake them? Absolutely not. You are a grown up and should know better by now.

One of those two statements is false...

Not only is it ok to ask for help, it is the right thing to do. Suffering in silence doesn't do anybody any good. We build each other up.

I've come to the conclusion that it is courageous and selfless to ask for help. It allows others the chance to participate in that happiness circuit. Lending a hand to someone that never reaches out is a beautiful thing. Accepting the lent hand is even more so.

If you are a helper, keep helping. Don't forget to allow others the opportunity to do the same for you. If we all participate, we all become better.

Let's do the next right thing. Stay sturdy.

What did you expect? Were you satisfied or disappointed? Was the satisfaction or disappointment based on actual outcome or on your expectations?

How many of you out there are as spectacular at managing your expectations as I am? I am so sorry to hear that...kidding!!!

I am "below average" at managing expectations and need to "apply myself". Reverting back to some lingo imprints from report cards. I think my teachers needed to manage their own expectations...

One of the challenges I face on a daily basis is managing expectations. I hate it. I just want everything to go perfectly with no hiccups and exactly as I have it planned out in my mind. I feel like I'm not asking for much so my plan should be easily executed, right?

That is how I expect everything around me to happen. I also expect people to give me a little leeway when I mess up or don't quite live up to THEIR expectations. I figure that if I am doing my best, I deserve a little grace and everybody else's best should be perfection. Fair is fair!

I am exaggerating a bit of course but not completely. Not on my bad days. Not on my days where my center-of-the-universe-itis flares up. I'm in remission but flare-ups happen.

Time for an example.

Today is Thursday the 9th of February. I was supposed to receive a very cool surprise from my family out in Colorado on Wednesday, February 8th. It was shipped to the proper address, they paid extra to ship it Priority Mail, tracking showed arrival by February 8th. That was yesterday. YESTERDAY!!! I get it. Things are different now. This is the new normal. I managed to be lightly disappointed yesterday but not angry like in the bad old days. Stuff happens. It was a surprise anyway, not something I planned on or needed to do my job. Life didn't change because it didn't show up when we all thought it would. I checked tracking this morning during coffee. My surprise that arrived at the Denver CO Distribution center on February 7th at 5:42PM made it all the way to the Denver CO Distribution center on February 8th at 9:16pm. It took 28 hours to move from John's pile of packages to Sally's pile of packages in the same building. I'm looking forward to May when it finally gets here...

That is current state on the surprise arrival saga. Here comes the good part.

Even though the day started with a mild disappointment, I didn't let it scrap the day. I was expecting the tracking to be accurate, but it wasn't. I also now expect tracking to be a "best guess". Disappointed, not devastated. The day unfolded as just another normal day, until the end.

I switched internet providers and yesterday was cutover day. The install was supposed to happen between 5-7pm. I was vacuuming and dusting the rather embarrassing area where the equipment goes when my phone rang. Who the hell DARES to call instead of text??? It was the internet people. They could come at 3:00 instead of 5:00. Doesn't really give me time to clean as much as would have liked but sure, inconvenience me by exceeding expectations...

The guys that did the install were great. One of the gentleman grew up not far from my hometown and knew a ton of the same places I knew. Fantastic story telling. The other guy happened to be the son of one of the kindest, strongest women I have ever met. I have taken several suicide prevention courses from her to augment my coaching skills and she is an amazing human. Her son is equally terrific.

Instead of letting that delivery misfire ruin my day (it could have in the past), I kept on plugging. Had I not managed and adjusted expectations, I would have missed out on chatting with some great people. I would have stayed in my office while they did their thing and lost that opportunity to make two meaningful connections.

Managing expectations is not a finite endeavor.

It isn't all, "Shit happens, no big deal" any more than, "This always happens to me".

We manage by adjusting. It isn't a set it and forget it operation.

If expectations aren't met, we need to look at the whole picture. Were they not met because we were unreasonable or because of extenuating circumstances? Is it devastating or disappointing?

Life happens. We have to be able to live life on life's terms. Once that concept really hits, we are in pretty darn good shape.

Let's do the next right thing. Stay sturdy.

This is a topic I've been thinking about for a long time. The concept and question have become incredibly relevant these past couple weeks. Let's go for a walk...

One of the things I have been more careful with the past few years is people watching. Observing behavior and trying to better understand it and it's root causes. I use these observations to help me become a better human. That's the goal anyway.

Watching how people treat others is an amazing learning tool when applied properly. The two types of people I have really focused in on are the strong, and the powerful. There is a vast difference between the two.

Strength is something one builds with. It is a producer. Strength creates more strength. Strength is born of strength.

Power is something the weak crave. It is a consumer. Power feeds on weakness to survive. Power is born in a vacuum of strength.

Strong people educate and boost those around them.

Powerful people manipulate and coerce those around them.

Strong people welcome differing points of view as a portal for enrichment and learning.

Powerful people shun differing points of view as a detraction and a threat.

Strong people use losing as an opportunity to learn. They look to other strong people for advice on how to get better. They ask for input.

Powerful people use losing as an opportunity to blame. They look down on those they see as "beneath" them and assign fault. They tell people what THEY did wrong.

Strong people are builders. They automatically attract others. They are the true leaders, not because they ask for it, but because they build it.

Powerful people are dividers. They force a following by handing out rewards to their minions. They are the bosses that people loathe.

Strong people are believers in servant leadership. They care about and value the people around them. The people around them easily sense it.

Powerful people are believers in leadership via domination. They see others as a means to an end. The people around them easily sense it.

It's possible that people in a position of leverage or power, see people of strength as weak. It's foreign to them to be encumbered by the impact they have on anyone other than self. They know the strong have to consider their actions and how they will affect others around them.

The strong will take a step back to assess the situation. They will look at what's best for all involved, not just themselves, then act. They aren't willing to sacrifice those in their charge for personal gain or petty revenge. That is true strength.

If a person has to use manipulation, threats and deceit to maintain their position of power, are they truly powerful? I think we all know that answer.

These are some observations I've made in my years on this planet. The examples aren't just from the business world, they are from all walks of life.

The question is: What do we do with these observations?

We continue to lift others up. We continue to learn from those around us and show heartfelt appreciation. We stand in between those in power and those still finding their strength. We continue to share our experience, strength and hope with everyone we can IF it will help them.

We continue to do the next right thing. It's the only way.

Seems like a silly question. It isn't.

A few years back I was out sailing with my buddy, Matt. We were just chatting about "stuff". Nothing in particular and no specific topics. They were all topics that clearly needed to be covered, though. Our topics always are.

It was a beautiful day on Lake Michigan. We were sailing from Charlevoix to Harbor Springs in preparation for a weekend regatta. Great breeze, perfect sun, and cold beverages. I am fortunate that my friends have the coolest toys.

We were talking about sail trim and driving. Sailing stuff at first. Matt has an incredible amount of sailing knowledge. I look to him for answers first. Over the years we have become a pretty darn good team. Mostly because he helped me. Without me asking. That asking part ties right back to our discussion.

"So how are things going? For real?", asked Matt.

"Really good. No complaints.", I responded.

"Right..."

Matt knew I was having some struggles but not terrible ones. Not this time. He had seen me through the worst times of my life. Divorce. My life altering lie. Big stuff.

"You can ask for help. Don't go into bunker mode. THAT is how I know things aren't going well. When you disappear, I know you are struggling."

He was right but I didn't have to like it.

I didn't have a problem asking Matt for help when it came to certain sailing things because he is an expert in the field. I was asking for knowledge really so technically I wasn't even asking for help. That's how I justified it anyway.

Asking for help on things I "should" know is painful for me. I'm a grown-up and grown-ups know things. That's the rule.

Help wasn't always so hard for people to ask for. My grandparents were farmers. When it was time to make hay or harvest, the farmers worked together and helped each other. It wasn't a big deal, it was assumed. If each farmer owned a different piece of equipment, they could work together and get more down by helping each other.

When Grandpa and Grandma's house burned down, help was on the way. It wasn't asked for. Neighbors were there immediately helping haul things out of the burning house. They weren't asked to, they just did. The little building that turned into the garage was built in a day. Not fancy but functional. Neighbors pitched in and got it done. Some people are born to help.

As I was growing up, I watched my Mom and Dad help people. It was just assumed that helping was the right and good thing to do. Mom would give you the last scrap of food in the pantry if you needed it. She would because she knew that she would be ok. If we passed a car on the side of the road that had it's hazard lights flashing, you could bet Dad was going to stop and check on them. Mom and Dad were helpers, so my sister and I became helpers. Part of it is genetic and part of it is learned.

One Christmas my daughter and I were headed to my Dad's. It was about a two hour trip. She was young and picking out songs to play in between talking up a storm. We crested a hill and saw an older woman in a beautiful, long red coat walking beside her car. The car was moving along slowly at her pace and what I assumed was her husband was driving. I had to stop. Didn't have a choice. Didn't think twice. I told Sam to lock the doors behind me and went to investigate.

"Merry Christmas! Is everything ok?", I asked as I approached.

"Merry Christmas, young man. Everything is fine. I have to get out and walk sometimes because I just can't sit for long rides anymore. Thank you for stopping to check.", she replied in her smiley, grandma voice.

Samantha unlocked the door and let me in. She was grinning from ear to ear.

"What did she say???"

I told her what was going on, that everybody was ok and that they were happy that we stopped.

"I like that", she grinned. Papa heard that story before we got our boots off. It was incredibly cute to watch that interaction. Dad was proud.

Genetic predisposition reinforced by direct observation. Sam is a helper.

So why is it so damn hard to ask for help?!?!

Maybe it is that genetic predisposition. Maybe we want to be like Mom and Dad. Probably some combination of both.

Some of us don't like to ask for help because it isn't our role. We are the helpers, not the helped. It gives us a sense of satisfaction being able to help. It completes the happiness circuit in our brains.

We don't like to ask for help because we fear being let down. That might be part of the reason we are so compelled to help. We know what it's like to feel helpless or needy and don't want others to feel that way. The empathetic helper.

We don't like to ask for help because we don't want to appear weak or inadequate. We are smart/strong enough to do it by ourselves. Go help someone that needs it.

Is it ok to ask for help on your calculus homework? Absolutely. Nobody understands that stuff.

Is it ok to ask someone for help figuring out why you have the blues and can't shake them? Absolutely not. You are a grown up and should know better by now.

One of those two statements is false...

Not only is it ok to ask for help, it is the right thing to do. Suffering in silence doesn't do anybody any good. We build each other up.

I've come to the conclusion that it is courageous and selfless to ask for help. It allows others the chance to participate in that happiness circuit. Lending a hand to someone that never reaches out is a beautiful thing. Accepting the lent hand is even more so.

If you are a helper, keep helping. Don't forget to allow others the opportunity to do the same for you. If we all participate, we all become better.

Let's do the next right thing. Keep going.

What did you expect? Were you satisfied or disappointed? Was the satisfaction or disappointment based on actual outcome or on your expectations?

How many of you out there are as spectacular at managing your expectations as I am? I am so sorry to hear that...kidding!!!

I am "below average" at managing expectations and need to "apply myself". Reverting back to some lingo imprints from report cards. I think my teachers needed to manage their own expectations...

One of the challenges I face on a daily basis is managing expectations. I hate it. I just want everything to go perfectly with no hiccups and exactly as I have it planned out in my mind. I feel like I'm not asking for much so my plan should be easily executed, right?

That is how I expect everything around me to happen. I also expect people to give me a little leeway when I mess up or don't quite live up to THEIR expectations. I figure that if I am doing my best, I deserve a little grace and everybody else's best should be perfection. Fair is fair!

I am exaggerating a bit of course but not completely. Not on my bad days. Not on my days where my center-of-the-universe-itis flares up. I'm in remission but flare-ups happen.

Time for an example.

Today is Thursday the 9th of February. I was supposed to receive a very cool surprise from my family out in Colorado on Wednesday, February 8th. It was shipped to the proper address, they paid extra to ship it Priority Mail, tracking showed arrival by February 8th. That was yesterday. YESTERDAY!!! I get it. Things are different now. This is the new normal. I managed to be lightly disappointed yesterday but not angry like in the bad old days. Stuff happens. It was a surprise anyway, not something I planned on or needed to do my job. Life didn't change because it didn't show up when we all thought it would.I checked tracking this morning during coffee. My surprise that arrived at the Denver CO Distribution center on February 7th at 5:42PM made it all the way to the Denver CO Distribution center on February 8th at 9:16pm. It took 28 hours to move from John's pile of packages to Sally's pile of packages in the same building. I'm looking forward to May when it finally gets here...

That is current state on the surprise arrival saga. Here comes the good part.

Even though the day started with a mild disappointment, I didn't let it scrap the day. I was expecting the tracking to be accurate, but it wasn't. I also now expect tracking to be a "best guess". Disappointed, not devastated. The day unfolded as just another normal day, until the end.

I switched internet providers and yesterday was cutover day. The install was supposed to happen between 5-7pm. I was vacuuming and dusting the rather embarrassing area where the equipment goes when my phone rang. Who the hell DARES to call instead of text??? It was the internet people. They could come at 3:00 instead of 5:00. Doesn't really give me time to clean as much as would have liked but sure, inconvenience me by exceeding expectations...

The guys that did the install were great. One of the gentleman grew up not far from my hometown and knew a ton of the same places I knew. Fantastic story telling. The other guy happened to be the son of one of the kindest, strongest women I have ever met. I have taken several suicide prevention courses from her to augment my coaching skills and she is an amazing human. Her son is equally terrific.

Instead of letting that delivery misfire ruin my day (it could have in the past), I kept on plugging. Had I not managed and adjusted expectations, I would have missed out on chatting with some great people. I would have stayed in my office while they did their thing and lost that opportunity to make two meaningful connections.

Managing expectations is not a finite endeavor.

It isn't all, "Shit happens, no big deal" any more than, "This always happens to me".

We manage by adjusting. It isn't a set it and forget it operation.

If expectations aren't met, we need to look at the whole picture. Were they not met because we were unreasonable or because of extenuating circumstances? Is it devastating or disappointing?

Life happens. We have to be able to live life on life's terms. Once that concept really hits, we are in pretty darn good shape.

Let's do the next right thing. Keep going.

February 2, 2023

This is a topic I've been thinking about for a long time. The concept and question have become incredibly relevant these past couple weeks. Let's go for a walk...

One of the things I have been more careful with the past few years is people watching. Observing behavior and trying to better understand it and it's root causes. I use these observations to help me become a better human. That's the goal anyway.

Watching how people treat others is an amazing learning tool when applied properly. The two types of people I have really focused in on are the strong, and the powerful. There is a vast difference between the two.

Strength is something one builds with. It is a producer. Strength creates more strength. Strength is born of strength.

Power is something the weak crave. It is a consumer. Power feeds on weakness to survive. Power is born in a vacuum of strength.

Strong people educate and boost those around them.

Powerful people manipulate and coerce those around them.

Strong people welcome differing points of view as a portal for enrichment and learning.

Powerful people shun differing points of view as a detraction and a threat.

Strong people use losing as an opportunity to learn. They look to other strong people for advice on how to get better. They ask for input.

Powerful people use losing as an opportunity to blame. They look down on those they see as "beneath" them and assign fault. They tell people what THEY did wrong.

Strong people are builders. They automatically attract others. They are the true leaders, not because they ask for it, but because they build it.

Powerful people are dividers. They force a following by handing out rewards to their minions. They are the bosses that people loathe.

Strong people are believers in servant leadership. They care about and value the people around them. The people around them easily sense it.

Powerful people are believers in leadership via domination. They see others as a means to an end. The people around them easily sense it.

It's possible that people in a position of leverage or power, see people of strength as weak. It's foreign to them to be encumbered by the impact they have on anyone other than self. They know the strong have to consider their actions and how they will affect others around them.

The strong will take a step back to assess the situation. They will look at what's best for all involved, not just themselves, then act. They aren't willing to sacrifice those in their charge for personal gain or petty revenge. That is true strength.

If a person has to use manipulation, threats and deceit to maintain their position of power, are they truly powerful? I think we all know that answer.

These are some observations I've made in my years on this planet. The examples aren't just from the business world, they are from all walks of life.

The question is: What do we do with these observations?

We continue to lift others up. We continue to learn from those around us and show heartfelt appreciation. We stand in between those in power and those still finding their strength. We continue to share our experience, strength and hope with everyone we can IF it will help them.

We continue to do the next right thing. It's the only way.