Musings at Altitude

I’m at the airport again, and as I walked toward the security check line I quickly noticed (if I noticed, it must have been some sight) that lots of adults were hanging out on the ropes and lots of teenagers were in the security check line.  As I got closer, I heard many of the adults talking and then shouting to kids as they moved through the lines and got closer to the “No one without a ticket beyond this point” zone.  It was actually pretty funny watching the kids roll their eyes and some even say, “Mom that’s enough”.  The guy behind me was curious enough to ask one of the obviously nervous parents what was up, and that parent informed him that 195 recently graduated, just left high school teenagers were heading to the Grand Caymans with 5 chaperones all on the same flight.

Now I’m a pretty trusting soul, but I can’t imagine liking or approving of my 18 or 19 year old, just out of high school son or daughter joining 194 of their closest partying friends for a trip out of the country, even less so with only 5 chaperones.  One mother said, “I lectured her the entire 2 hours here”.  Another mother kept saying, “don’t hold your passport, and make sure you put it up where you know where to find it.”  Another mother said, “come give me one more kiss”. 

My wife and I are pretty trusting people though we worry a lot even today when our kids go on just short trips.  We’ve suffered through cross country road trips and school trips to major cities, but we haven’t had the privilege of listening to one of our children say they wanted to leave the country with 194 other kids to celebrate a graduation.  My wife still gets worried when our married daughter gets home late at night to an empty house or when our 14 year old has to walk to the bus stop by herself.  I can’t imagine what she would do if one of our three popped in one day and said they were heading overseas with a plane full of partying friends.

I’ll say a quick prayer for the 195 kids, definitely for the 5 chaperones, and certainly for the 195 sets of parents left behind…what a nightmare.

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My 13 hours at home are now over and I’m back at the airport heading off on my next trip.  Those 13 hours were priceless; it’s impossible to put value on the very intense, but high quality time with the family.  Several things of note:

— When we pulled into the driveway, my now 14 year old comes bouncing up to the car window and quickly asks, “notice anything different about me”?  Every father knows that you better come up with an answer quick, and fortunately she had her hair brushed a different way leading me to see that her hair was shorter than normal.  I recognized the hair cut because of her question and the different way of brushing, so I was the good father that let her know I liked the way her hair looked.  Like most guys though, if she hadn’t prodded me with the question, she would have been really disappointed when I didn’t notice!

— About an hour later, my oldest daughter and her husband joined us for dinner, and she waddled in seemingly so much larger than 3 weeks ago when I left on my trip and obviously showing the child growing in her belly.  I’d be lying if I said she had the “glow of motherhood” that comes for some with pregnancy, but she definitely is a beautiful young mother-to-be demonstrating the maturity and strength of character that she’s always had and that I know is soon to be passed on to her daughter (of course, she’ll have to overcome the incredible spoiling that comes from her really cool grandmother and grandfather).

— At dinner I also had the chance to talk with my 20 year old son who just completed his first year of college and is focused on becoming a journalist.  I talked with him about doing some form of internship with the the local newspaper this summer, and of course, that’s a bad idea because that would be work and it’s obviously not time to work yet.  I talked with him about needing to write if he wants to be a writer, and in an answer no different than me when I was his age, he indicated that you either can or can’t write and he feels he already knows how to write so he doesn’t need to practice.

— And I got to spend time with Denise, talking about the schedule for the next 2 weeks which I’m not allowed to miss and catching up on the 3 weeks of missed activities.  We’ve learned over the last 25 years how to maximize the limited amount of time we are together – this time was no different.

My wife gave me the title of this one when this morning she popped off with “welcome home, good bye” as we headed out the door together.  One of the things I can always count on is her being at the airport when I come up the escalator in Denver – that’s a welcome that’s impossible to explain if you haven’t become custom to it, and it’s one that never is taken for granted.  I’ll be gone only a couple of days this trip and I’m already looking forward to coming up that escalator and seeing her once again.

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I stand in awe of the answers to prayers that have occurred over the last few weeks.  In one particular instance, I knew there was absolutely no way that anything good could happen, and after fervent and incessant prayer, everything turned out ok.  The very next day under the intensity of yet another burden and the pending collapse of so many things that had been worked on for so long, I turned to the only thing I could in such a situation – I prayed – and once again that prayer was answered and everthing turned out ok.

After this second divine intervention, I called the wisest man I know and my personal counselor, My Dad, and I told him how worried I was and how I felt this sense of pending doom.  I also told him about the miracles that occurred to prevent catastrophe those two previous times, but quickly pointed out how I knew the real tests were yet to come and I was deeply worried about the bad outcome that was sure to arrive.

In the simple words that can only come from an experienced father who had been there and done that, he gently said, “if a miracle occurred when it shouldn’t, why are you worried now – if God answered your first prayer why don’t you believe he’ll answer that next one”?

Following that conversation, I spent 3 weeks in prayer and those prayers were answered time and time again.  I can’t count the things that happened that had to be miracles – there is no other explanation.

I’m at altitude now and as I think back on these three weeks I realize how big the arms of our Father in Heaven must be.  We gave him so many reasons to teach us lessons and have the bad outcomes that we definitely deserved, and yet, in so many examples of love that can’t be explained and definitely wasn’t warranted, we came out the other side of that dark tunnel with a sense of awe and gratitude that only happens when you realize that the success that was achieved was divinely ordained and heavenly blessed.

I’ve never understood why good things happen when we provide so many reasons that they shouldn’t, and I certainly can’t explain why blessing come in some situations and intense pain and despair come in others.  But i do know that many times in my life I’ve been in a desperate state of worry, but through prayer the peace comes and in answers to those prayers it all works out for the good of the one that has that master plan.

That is what happened these last three weeks.  There is no other explanation.  Too many coincidences for this to be by accident and way too many small miracles that when bundled together created an incredible success when defeat was just moments away.

I stand in awe of the one who promised to be there when we sink into the shadows and walk through the valleys because through fervent prayer and answers to those prayers, He brought light to the darkness and led us to the top of that hill to see His glory.

I do believe in miracles.

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Is there anything better than going home, especially after an extended trip with tough challenges?  I’m not sure there is.  And I’m heading home…19 days on the road; numerous challenges overcome; tremendous smiles as a result; and great satisfaction from the client…I guess in a way it’s what I live for…the rush that comes from finishing a job and overcoming the difficulties that occur in route to that successful conclusion.

But back to the homecoming.  I’ll be home this time for just 13 hours (when excluding travel time to and from the airport) and I already have each and every minute filled up.  You get used to this when you’re a heavy traveler – optimizing the limited time you are at home to maximize the interactions with each member of your family.  Part of the excitement comes from knowing that each and every minute is precious; part of the excitement is also knowing that with such a limited amount of time, each conversation, each meal, and each moment shared together will be part of the memory carried forward during that next trip which then sets the stage for that next homecoming.

In our more than 25 years of marriage, my wife and I have been together for certainly no more than half of that…I seem to thrive in heavy travel required jobs.  Some have joked that it’s the separation that keeps us together; others have joked that it’s the homecomings that keep us together.  I can tell you from direct experience that it’s both.   The separations build an incredible bond and yet an incredible unity.  The homecomings create a sense of great excitement and anticipation as well as a great opportunity to renew and refresh our relationship.  I would never presume that intense travel is right for every relationships…some relationships need proximity and the stress of separation may be to much to bear.  But for those of us that can accomodate the separation and look forward to the homecoming, life can be equally if not more special than those with mostly proximity.

I’m looking forward to today’s homecoming, and the excitement of re-connecting with all those I love, even if for only a few hours.  As always, it will be special.  As always, it will set the tone for the next separation and create the excitement for the next homecoming.

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As we’re closing out this client engagement in Baton Rouge, I’ve been thinking about how important each cycle of impression is during all phases of client engagement.  For purposes of this discussion and for simplicity (my mind is just a little bit fried right now), let’s agree that the first impression is up to and through 15% of the project lifecycle; the last impression is the last 15% to include egress from the client site; and that 70% in the middle is the sustained performance impression when the initial risk is overcome, the team has settled down, and the bulk of the project work is being done.  Arguably, the last phase is the most important phase, and that’s what I want to muse about today.

Over the last 10 years in several different countries in numerous different client engagements, I’ve personally experienced the pains and the huge burdens of a bad start to a contract.  Sometimes it’s because the requirements and expectations weren’t defined early enough to be effective at the start.  Other times it’s because we have the wrong person matched with a particular client causing immediate friction between our team and that client team.  Every now and then its also because the team supporting a given client does something strange or bizarre causing the relationship to kick off on a very sour note.  And then some times its because of poor logistics or some bad form of coordination that causes delays or awkward last minute knee jerking to get the client engagement on track.

A bad first impression can be overcome as long as the client gives you a chance to get started after the bad impression occurs.  If the first impression is so severe that the relationship has been torpedoed, you probably can’t ever overcome – though I’d be the foolish one to try.  More realistically, since its so late in the game and the client may not have other choices, you’ll get a chance to overcome that bad first impression, and if the engagement far exceeds expectations from that point forward, the recovery could be complete.

During the sustained performance impression period, all players get into a routine – the servicing staff, the staff being serviced, the clients/customers of the company being serviced, and the supporting staff to the servicing staff.  All folks get into a fairly visible and habitual process that guides the team through that 70% of the work that goes from exciting to fairly boring, and from a rapid recovery mode to a methodical client service engagement.  This is definitely not my favorite phase because it becomes tedious and predictable most of the time, but this is the phase where most of your learning and leading can take place.

The final phase is the close out, and this is when that final shift must occur, required deliverables must be delivered, and the final discussions with the client, the prime (if the sub) and the team must get underway.  If the first and middle phases go well, the final phase could be a breeze.  If there are any complicating circumstances up to the start of the final phase, the final phase could be a real bear as the entire team works hard to recover from those mis-steps and to deliver on time and hopefully on budget in spite of whatever challenges were created from those earlier phases.  Even if the first two phases went swimmingly, the final phase could be tough as new challenges pop up thus causing a mad scramble to cross the finish line.

As I think about these three phases and my own personal experiences in each phase, here are some semi-random thoughts about impressions:

(1) you can overcome a bad first impression with incredible work during the sustained performance impression and the last impression phase

(2) you can mute a positive first impression with mundane performance in the sustained performance phase

(3) you can overcome a bad first impression and a mundane sustained performance impression (assuming you still are on the job after both of those two) if you have miracles occur during the last impression phase

(4) you can ruin everything accomplished with a bad or even mundane last impression

Arguably, in some contracting environments, even a mundane performance could be better than someone else’s poor performance, but that’s probably not something we should shoot for.  Being slightly better than some other bad performance is not a sustainable model.  The nirvanic client engagement is one that kicks off on schedule and as expected, and the project then comes in ahead of schedule and under budget with rave reviews coming from the client.  Both the first and last impressions are phenomenal, and the sustained performance phase comes off without a hitch. 

But is that real?  It sure doesn’t happen much like that for me.  God has a wonderful way of teaching me lessons in almost every engagement, and in those lessons, I closely watch the impressions.  If I got to chose the timing of the lessons I would learn, I’d take a bad first impression over a bad last impression every time.  I’d take a crisis during the first or last impression phase over a mundane sustained performance phase any time.  Regardless of what happens in any of the phases, how we respond will also be remembered even moreso than the event that caused the impression to begin with.

 

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I’ve been completely consumed by a client engagement over the last 2 weeks and as a result, I haven’t had my weekly dose of altitude.  On Wednesday though, I finally took a day trip from Baton Rouge to Houston and got up to 22,000 for a 40 minute flight.  I was so looking forward to some mental freedom and liberating thoughts, but it wasn’t meant to be.  Instead, I slept.  Both ways.  Worn out from the pressures on the ground and mentally fried because of the tenacious assault on the issues of the moment. 

I operate best when I get to break away – it’s been 16 days since I’ve been able to do that.  I operate best when the pressures of the world are miles below me and the beauty of God’s creation is so visible from so high.  I operate best when my peers, my friends, and my family provide a constant couch to lean back on and bear my soul from, thus allowing me to momentarily sense a shared burden in any responsibility and a complete empathy from those listening, nodding and smiling in knowing that any such burden will be resolved in a meaningful way.

These past two weeks, I’ve been able to break away for only minutes at any one time and for hours only rarely.  It’s incredibly stimulating from the point of being back in mission operations, but it’s also somewhat debilitating when the fatigue prevents the musing and the mission challenges prevent the necessary distractions.

I’m hoping to get back into a normal musing flow by the middle of next week…if not, I’m going to hang a “blog under construction” sign on the home page so those of you that find some enjoyment and amusement from these postings won’t continue to come if I can’t break away and muse.

Thanks for caring enough to keep coming back…and thanks for the encouragement and support through your emails.

 

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I’ve been incredibly frustrated over the last 10 days, emotionally and mentally (but not spiritually)withering under the burden of things not going right and feeling the pressure that can only be understood by those who have responded to a customer opportunity and then felt the wrath of that client when things didn’t go in accordance with plan.  Fortunately, you can overcome early challenges as you rebuild faith and trust, but you always have that nagging worry about what next may go wrong.  That’s the exact state I’ve been in for the last 10 days or so.

I’m blessed to have great friends and a great family though, and they, through their comments and brilliant one liners, provide me with some perspective and give me some relief from the intense concern.  But in the past few days I’ve found another great way to gain perspective too – laundry.  Seriously.  Doing laundry.  I’m not talking about doing my laundry, but feeling a sense of servitude and doing the laundry of others who are working so hard to make things right.  In our case, we have 80-90 people who are laboring in 90 degree or more heat with heavy coveralls for at least 12 hours a day.  When they come back to their rooms, drenched in sweat and dirt, the last thing they want to do is clean their coveralls.  So those of us not allowed, able, or honored to get that dirty are washing the coveralls of those that do.  And it’s brought perspective to me as we wash, dry, fold and hand out those coveralls each day now and see smiles from them as one of their burdens have been removed and as they are encouraged to focus on work instead of their grossly soiled work clothes.

I’m reminded constantly that we are placed here on this Earth to serve.  I’m also constantly reminded that most folks still act incredibly surprised when anyone in some simple act provides service that is unexpected.  Doing the laundry was an unexpected act of servitude returned by those not expecting that act with a smile.

That gives me perspective.  That gives me a smile.

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On this very special day, I want to first pause in thanks to all the special women I know who have one or many people calling them Mom.  Judging by the enormous talents and phenomenal love demonstrated by your children and knowing the time required and the passion you bring to your job as Mom, I have the utmost respect and love for each of you.  And to my Mom, who I hope does indeed read my blog and get some smiles every now and then, I love you!

On a more personal note though, I wanted to spend just a moment talking about what it means from my perspective to be a Mom, and use as an example the Mom I share a bed with, the mother of my children – my tremendously beautiful and wonderfully talented wife.  To talk about her as a Mom, I’d like to go back to a couple specific events in our lives together that so vividly show her skill, her love, and her astute understanding of the psychology of children and her roll as a Mom to prepare them for adulthood. 

First, when we moved out to Los Angeles in 1988, our oldest daughter was only three years old and our son had just learned to walk.  One evening at home, our adventurous son decided it was time for him to check out the kitchen counter tops, so he climbed up on his small table and somehow heaved himself up onto the kitchen counter.  When his Mom entered the kitchen and saw her little baby boy walking on the counter, she reacted in fear, not that he might fall, but that she might not have time to get to her camera and get a picture before he got off the counter.  Weighing the time she figured she’d have with the personnel in the house to accomplish her task, she adroitly asked her three year old daughter to watch her brother while she ran for the camera.  Alas, all was well, and her just learning to walk son grew into an adventurous young man fully capable of handling himself in just about any environment.  I’m only guessing, but I’m pretty sure it traces back to that very moment (or maybe to a moment a couple years later when I let him carry his own hot soup when he was only about 3 years old – that was pretty stupid of me but once again a moment in life that allowed him to mature pretty darn quick).

Second, when our oldest daughter was only about 6 or 7 years old, she wanted to pour her own milk (can’t remember if in a glass or on her cereal) – one of those enormously important challenges and signs of growing up.  I was excited for her and proud of her Mom for letting her do it.  As she began to pour, with an incredibly serious focus in her face, her Mom waited patiently and then right when the milk left the carton, her Mom pearcingly screamed at my daughter causing milk to fly all over the kitchen, causing our daughter to break out in tears and causing me and her Mom to roll on the floor (figuratively) laughing.   As our daughter cried and as we laughed, we tried to clean up a huge mess in our kitchen, and after a couple of high fives (I vaugely remember) we tried to calm down our daughter.  All was well after those few minutes of tears and laughter, but that set the stage for years of each of us trying to scare the other…but it all seems to have traced back to that one incredible moment.

We have thousands more of these types of incidents, but I think both of these events were key triggers in the personality development of our kids.  Both of these kids are now young adults and both seem to be very stable – at least whenever I’m around.  I can’t help but believe their personalities and their maturity today were somehow shaped by these types of events throughout their lives.

To their mother, I wish you a magnificent Mother’s Day.  Thanks for the smiles, the laughter, the adventure, and the love!  We’re all better because of you!

 

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I’ve been busy in a contract environment since I last wrote, and when things are tense and focus is extreme, it’s hard to mentally disconnect and muse.  I also haven’t been on an airplane for a week and a half, so my mind has not been freed from the burdens here on the ground.  But today, on Mother’s Day and my daughter’s 14th birthday (no more “Life With a 13 Year Old”), I’ve been given a brief respite from the chaos and the tension, and I have time to catch up, reflect, and refresh.

The least important thing I have to say but the most urgent thing I want to write about is a follow up to my last posting about losing my comb.  I went 6 days without a comb.  By day 6, I found I no longer had any anxiety in the morning when I got done with my shower and needed to fix my hair – I just used my fingers like my family always said I should.  For the first few days, I would wonder if folks could tell I hadn’t combed it.  By the 4th or 5th day, I realized they didn’t care even if they did realize it or know it.  And by day 6, I can honestly say that my addiction to a comb had ended.

And then a friend of mine did the worst thing he could possibly do for me – he gave me a new 69 cent comb.  I was first disturbed that he spent that much, and then frustrated that he had once again awakened the passions of my addiction.  But in time, I took that comb out of its box and slipped it into my back pocket and all seemed at peace again.  I haven’t used the comb yet, but I find comfort that its close by in case I do need it.

I want to thank all of those who suffered through this with me during every phase of the withdrawal from my addictive behavior…first, the years of anxiously seeking a comb when I evidently really never needed it; second, the withdrawals and thus the irritability I experienced and exhibited during that period without a comb; third, the doubting and incredible disbelief I portrayed when my loving family would tell me I really didn’t need a comb; fourth, the love and compassion exhibited by my close friends and family throughout this crisis; and fifth, the peace I now feel with a comb once again nestled snuggly in my back pocket.

Life is good once again.

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I have an increasingly decreasing amount of hair – or so it seems.  The hairline’s heading back, the top of the head is thinning rapidly, and hair is appearing in other locations to make up for the loss of it in the normal and appreciated locations.  For many years, my daughter has asked me “why do you comb your hair since it doesn’t move”?  I beg to differ, because I feel like it looks very different after combing than it did before combing.  But this week I’ve learned something that wrenches me at the core – I lost my comb four days ago, haven’t had one since, and my hair looks exactly the same every day as it did when I combed it every day and multiple times a day.  I’m crushed.  In fact, I’m more than crushed.  I’m down right suffering from the realization that she’s been right all along and I’ve been living a lie.  I don’t need a comb.  My fingers comb my hair now.  Although I’m going to save quite a bit of money (because I buy one comb about every 3 years, so I’ll probably save about 50 cents every three years – if I buy the top end comb), this must be the beginning of the end.  I must be on that downward spiral of life after cresting the top of that hill with a head of hair that needed a comb.  My real struggle now is in thinking back to the time where the comb wasn’t needed because that must have been the peak of my life…then I crested that peak and started the accelerating path of decline.

I must apologize to my daughter and my whole family for my insistence that my precious comb made a difference.  I’m hoping someone in Baton Rouge can use that comb to their advantage – that’s where I lost it.  I certainly won’t look for it anymore…it hurts too much…and if I stay off the comb for 27 days apparently it becomes a habit that may not be broken.

 

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