Change

Unfurl.

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On Saturday evening we had the good fortune to get ourselves invited out on a friend's sailboat for an evening cruise. (If you remember only one piece of advice from my entire blog, let it be this: Make friends with someone who owns a sailboat.)

Our hosts created a fantastic spread of appetizers. As we ate and enjoyed a cocktail (or two), we motored out of the harbor and down the shoreline. We watched the houses reflecting the oranges and pinks of the sun setting behind us. 

The lake was calm with rolling waves. A nice breeze was picking up. We all talked and laughed as we cruised along the beach.  

But of course, motoring is not what a sailboat is designed for. A sailboat really wants to glide with the breeze.  As the last bits of light disappeared the rising wind was too much to ignore. We headed into the wind, raised the sails, and we were underway with the air.

At first we weren't going much faster than we were with the motor, and everyone kept talking and laughing. But when our skipper cut the engine, everything changed. We'd all become accustomed to the engine noise and had adjusted our voices accordingly. Suddenly, we could appreciate how beautiful -- and silent -- the night had become. One by one we dropped our voices. Then we stopped talking all together. The wind and water had more than enough to say. There's was nothing we could add to it.

 There are a lot of things in our lives that essentially just add up to an overwhelming amount of engine noise. We adapt and adjust; with each decibel of intrusion we get louder and louder, hoping to outshout the distractions. 

Maybe what we need to do is actually point out how loud the engine has become. And then someone just needs to say, "Let's take a chance and unfurl the sails." Maybe then all the interference will slip away. 

For everyone to see.

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It is Saturday morning and as I write this I'm sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. Saturdays in the summer provide some welcome time to slow down, rest, and recover from the week. I can stop and sit in the kitchen instead of just passing through.

 I look out onto the back deck and see waves of green leaves rising in the trees around me. They move exactly the same way as waves of water, rolling up and back. Highlighted by the morning sun the leaves are more yellow than green; green in my mind, golden in reality.

Our ability to see what is actually in front of us is the subject of a fascinating article by Maria Popova about artist and educator Josef Albers. Albers wrote The Interaction of Color, a classic expansion on the relative nature of color. The Interaction of Color is more than just "an art book" -- it is a treatise on perception and more fundamentally, an invitation for us to open our eyes and look around. 

What really caught me was Popova's quote from several Albers biographers:

Albers believed that in normal seeing, we use our eyes so much because the world is controlled by our vision, but we become so accustomed to it that we take things for granted. And when he talked about visual perception, he meant something much more profound than just the way we look at the world — he would stop and look at the world, look at the smallest object, smallest event, and see through it in a deep kind of way. … He would see magic, he would see something deeper. And he believed that the majority of people just missed the true reality — it was available for everyone to see, but nobody was looking. And that was where his notion of “to open eyes” really comes from.

In my odd mind this reminded me of a line from the modern-day classic Joe Versus the Volcano (well, it's a classic to me, at least!): "Almost the whole world is asleep. Everybody you know. Everybody you see. Everybody you talk to. Only a few people are awake and they live in a state of constant, total amazement."

Open your eyes. Good advice for a Saturday morning. 

Yes, I'm sure you're right...

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This morning I found this gem by Georges Bidault, an active member of the French resistance during World War II and later French prime minister: "The weak have one weapon: the errors of those who think they are strong."

His words reminded me of something we study in martial arts, particularly in takedown moves. Often the best strike is to leverage your opponent's momentum and let him carry himself down to the mat. It literally involves letting your attacker overplay his hand and then guiding him past you towards the ground -- like Wile E. Coyote zooming past Roadrunner over the cliff. 

Have you ever been in a heated debate with someone who is pressing you and pressing you with a point that they are prosecuting with such ferocity that you are getting hammered against the wall with seemingly no option other than to concede? The best response might be to sidestep their argument by saying, "Yes, you actually have some good points." You have now disarmed their case and opened the possibility that you can propose suggestions (and perhaps even refutations) that have a much better chance of being heard. 

Carl Jung famously wrote that "What you resists, persists." The harder you push, the harder the opposing force. In matters of discord pride finds fertile ground. It is hard to slow down, regulate your emotion, and proceed methodically.

But the goal of most disagreements is not victory, it is progress. Often we're better off starting from a place of assumed agreement and letting the other person's hubris create openings for our position. Let them be right and you get what you want. 

Different from the world.

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I'm writing after four days at the Fourth Estate Leadership Summit, the youth leadership conference of Invisible Children. It is hard to describe the amount of concentrated purity and light that filled the auditorium during the final session last night. Suffice it to say that I'm infused with so much residual passion and energy that I'm writing this from the ceiling of my hotel room, where I've been floating for the last 12 hours.

I've made no secret about my admiration and support for Invisible Children, not despite of but because of their willingness to embrace creative, nontraditional, and sometimes plain wacky methods to illustrate the radical idea that we each can make change in the world, and so we each should.

Occasionally when I talk to people about my relationship with Invisible Children there's a pause from the other person and then a veiled criticism: "Oh, yeah, wow they try some different things. That must be interesting." I push the bait aside and rush right into the breach. The fact is, I say, that innovation by definition looks different from the norm, and aren't we filled with gratitude for the innovators among us for showing us a better way? When this comment is lost on the other person I know I can move on in search of more inspired conversation. 

In any case, because of what I do I attend a lot of nonprofit events, and while there are better ones and weaker ones, many events feel like they were designed by someone who assumes the audience understands and cares. What I love about Invisible Children is that they turn this around – they show you why they themselves understand and care, and then they create something inspired and joyful and poignant that invites you into a deeper understanding. In other words, they don't assume you get it. They assume you don't – but also, importantly, assume you will if you are just shown why. 

Their conference had some speeches and break-out sessions like all conferences. In fact, their "traditional" content was some of the best I've ever seen, including the speech from Samantha Power, newly confirmed U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations, pictured above. But the Fourth Estate also had dance and musical performances and dozens of incredibly well-done movies and choreography and audience interaction. I felt engaged and part of the event: a participant, not an attendee. The Fourth Estate was inspiring and engaging and emotional, and more than anything, fun. When was the last time you went to a conference that you described as "fun"?

Reverend John Jenkins, the President of Notre Dame University, said in his inaugural address, "If we are afraid to be different from the world, how can we make a difference in the world?" 

The fact is that all of us are trying to create change, and change by definition means DIFFERENT. It is hard to cure cancer, create literacy, build schools, fight injustice, reclaim green space, or [insert your cause here] by doing the same things that everyone else does. 

The next time you are planning an event or program or initiative and you hear people around you telling you "That's not the way we're supposed to do it," keep pushing, because you might be on to something groundbreaking. Invisible Children is not afraid to be different, and that more than anything is the reason that they are moving the needle of change. More, please!

Will you click here to help Invisible Children in our efforts to end the LRA conflict and create a world free of injustice? 

Killed by cancer.

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Today would have been my friend Bridget's 30th birthday. Bridget was a team member of mine at Event 360. She died several months ago, and I was honored to deliver a eulogy at her funeral.

I have thought about Bridget a lot these last two months because I have been asked to speak about her often. At her funeral, at several conferences, and most recently at the Komen Leadership Conference a few weeks ago. I wanted to share a short experience.

During my presentation, I said something to the effect of “Like my mother, Bridget was killed by cancer.” Through the bright stage lights I could see the first few rows of the audience. Everyone stiffened when I said the word “killed.” I wasn’t going to make much of it but I saw that I had made everyone in the audience uncomfortable, so I paused for a moment.

I said, I use the word “killed” deliberately. I believe language is powerful; that language dictates our actions, and our actions shape the world. When we say someone “died of cancer” we are basically admitting that “dying of cancer” is an acceptable, normal state of affairs. We are saying, in essence, “people die for many reasons, and cancer is one of them.”

I disagree to the core of my soul. Cancer kills people. No one should die of it. If we harnessed enough of our money and technology and talent, we could make it preventable. I do not accept the worldview that it is a natural form of demise, and neither should you, because it isn’t true. 

Thank you Bridget, and thanks Mom, and thanks to my family friend Nick, and thanks to everyone out there who made the ultimate sacrifice to help the rest of us get our priorities in order. Bridget, more than anything, is a reminder to me of the work we have to do. And why it is worth doing.

 

The Way Out

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This article was previously posted on Event 360's blog. Read more here.   

It has been a hectic year at Event 360. We’ve launched three new projects and a new training series – each with its own set of accomplishments and challenges. Further, we have seen this theme of challenge transcend our own company as we’ve partnered with one of our key clients to right-size a major project in response to their changing needs. And most importantly and closest to home, we’ve been tragically reminded of our mission through the loss of one of our team members to cancer.

All in all, it has been one of those quarters that seems to have stretched on for months. Our team is resolute but tired. We’re trying to keep our bearings in a changing landscape.  

Most of us have been through times like these at various points in our lives – times when what we think we know is rapidly replaced by a new order. Some of us are better at recalibrating than others. The ones who can adapt to a new deck of cards are crucial for the team, because they help lead the way for others. At the same time, during periods of intense change it is more important than ever to have people who are still holding onto the old deck; people who remember where we are and how we got there. In times of change we need equal parts respect for the past and willingness to innovate into the future. 

I am a huge fan of quotes and over the years I’ve collected thousands of them. Perhaps it is the poor person’s wisdom; maybe I’m too simple for philosophy and too distracted for genuine literature. Nevertheless, there’s something comforting and inspiring to me about advice that is distilled into a sentence.

One of my favorites is a line from Robert Frost’s A Servant of Servants: “The best way out is always through.” We can worry, and complain, and stress ourselves to pieces. Or we can stick out our chins and keep walking. The way out is just ahead.

It is tempting to think that life is like a video game, or perhaps a television show. Wouldn’t it be great if we could just change the channel? But there isn’t an “off” button for existence. We can all be grateful for that.

We’ve had a hectic quarter, but we’re walking on, and in so doing I’m reminded of why I started walking in the first place.

Over the next few months I look forward to sharing more about what we’ve learned. Some of the themes will be familiar, but I think others will be surprising – and helpful.

Until then, my best to you and yours for a wonderful summer event season.

A great summer.

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A quick post for all parents of teens 14 years or older: If you are trying to help your teen come up with a constructive, positive, career-building, memorable answer to the question "How did you spend your summer?" then look no further than the 4th Estate Leadership Summit, this August in Los Angeles. $495 includes food, lodging, and three days of curriculum from over 30 nonprofits. 

It is going to be fantastic, and a lot more exciting than day camp, intramural softball, or tending the fry cooker. 

More information here.

Increasing share of heart.

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I returned home yesterday from the annual Nonprofit Technology Conference in my usual state: Head and heart full, exhausted but invigorated.​

​Well, something's not right here.

This year's conference sparked a number of thoughts that I'll tackle in the coming weeks, but top of mind is the idea that I shared at my session yesterday: That despite all of our innovation, invention, energy, talent, and passion, the amount of charitable giving as a percentage of overall GDP has remained flat at 2% for the last forty years. I call this percentage our "share of heart."

​On the face this data point seems rather mundane but it is quite striking -- and sobering -- when you stop and think about it. What this tells you is that charitable giving is essentially a function of economic growth. In good times, people give more; in bad times, people give less. This total overall giving is irrespective of the level of need, or the number of nonprofits, or the messages we send, or the hard work you do, or anything really. While certain nonprofits may surge ahead or fall behind, the most important factor to overall generosity does not seem to be generosity at all. It is the inscrutably complex black box called the economy.

The public has a heart, for certain, but only a small share of it goes to the nonprofit space. And over forty years we haven't increased our share of heart at all. As the number of nonprofits grows, the only thing that keeps nonprofits from directly stealing or losing share from one another is economic growth -- growth that, as we've seen over the last five years, might hard to predict, or worse yet, small, or worse still,  actually negative.

To truly realize transformative change we need to come to grips with this mathematical reality and have a hard conversation about why our share of heart has stayed constant. Perhaps we need better salaries, relaxed overhead restrictions, and more advocacy, and all of those might help. But my sense is there's something deeper going on here. Either the general public is hard-hearted and there isn't much share of heart to be had; or what we do isn't perceived as the most effective way to effect social change. Since I do not believe the public's sympathies are tapped out, for my part I've concluded that the impact we're making just isn't compelling enough to elicit more donations. 

And that conclusion led me to my other 2013 NTC sound bite: The fundraising silver bullet is impact. The best fundraising strategy is not to persuade people that we could make a difference. We have to actually show people that we are making a difference. A longer road, to be sure.​

I have a fair idea I'll be talking about this more in the coming weeks, but for some background reading I'd direct you to a few previous posts from the last couple of years here and here and here. ​

​More to come.

​

Your next four years.

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Whether you're waking up happy or sad, satisfied or dissatisfied, it's a good morning to keep things in perspective. No matter if you supported Obama, Romney, or someone else, I can 100% guarantee you that the person who will have the most influence on your next four years is YOURSELF.

Give yourself a vote of support today by setting aside your usual worries, insecurities, and doubts. Instead, spend a bit of time thinking about what you hope to contribute to the world around you. What's your four-year platform?

The State of Event Fundraising

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Thanks to David Hessekiel and the wonderful folks at the Run Walk Ride Fundraising Council, I had a chance yesterday to riff for an hour on "The State of Event Fundraising." An overblown title, to be sure, but when David approached me several months ago about speaking I told him I wanted to steer away from my usual mix of strategy and analytics. Instead, I wanted to speak at a broader level about what I'm observing and thinking about.

In a nutshell, I think the dynamics in the nonprofit space are changing, and I'm not sure that we're reacting fast enough. I don't have many of the answers, and I haven't even articulated all of the right questions. But I know enough to know that I should starting talking it through with other thought leaders in the industry.

My fears of appearing overblown turned to performance anxiety when I learned that over 500 people had registered for the presentation -- a new record for Run Walk Ride. As it turned out, over half of those actually showed up and stayed to listen to my ramblings, which can be found on Slideshare here or at the bottom of this post. The entire hour-long presentation, with audio, can be found at Cause Marketing Forum.

I'm not sure what to take from all of that -- y'all don't have enough to do on Thursday afternoons, apparently . But I think what it means is that many others share my anxiety that the dynamics are changing, and many others share my hope that we can benefit from those changes. 

I look forward to sharing some of the observations, thoughts, cautions, and ideas over the coming weeks. 

Heart on sleeves + shovels in hands.

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Well, despite all good intentions of writing more frequently throughout the summer, here we are in late July with nary one original post in almost a month. Twenty lashes!

Actually, I’ve been quite busy (although we’re not supposed to say that anymore) with a stimulating roster of meetings, client engagements, and conferences. Yesterday was one example: I had a chance to address the rather wonderful staff of the Nonprofit Technology Network during their summer staff meeting. I discussed a tightly-related group of fascinating topics… er, that is, I kind of rambled around about a loosely-connected set of odds and ends. 

One of the common threads of our discussion was the sense of cynicism that seems to increasingly pervade our culture. Even the most optimistic among us are finding it hard to keep our upper lips stiff. When movies become massacres, political half-truths masquerade as informed debate, and economic conditions don’t appear to be particularly well-conditioned, who can blame us for adopting an attitude of resignation? 

Further, what are we to make of the fact that major corporations appear to have grasped onto the ideas of “impact” and “change” as just one more marketing approach? How should we react when we have behemoth institutions promising to help us “Live Better,” empower our potential, and restore the environments they’ve destroyed? We can excuse ourselves our bouts of skepticism. 

And yet, despite all of that, perhaps more optimism is exactly what we need. As a member of the small constituency of sappy, overly sensitive guys out there, let me argue that in a world of choreographed demagogues and overly-inflated blowhards, perhaps we need a few more people who cry at weddings and sing love songs at the piano, at least to restore some sort of cosmic equilibrium. 

The fact is, it has never been easier — and more socially acceptable — to be a skeptic. Hipster coolness, self-righteous apathy, veiled elitism, and detached cynicism are the new cool. We go through life alone together, commenting and criticizing on everything around us, disappointed but not surprised. 

But for those few of you out there who are still reading, I say this: While everyone is sitting on the bleachers complaining about the game, you may have noticed that no one is actually on the field. With so many leadership opportunities and so few taking advantage of them, there’s no easier time to be a world-changer. 

We’ve got “detached cynicism” covered. What we need are a few more hearts on sleeves and shovels in hands. The personal bravery; the whispered hope; the patient dream; the small optimism; the incremental improvement; the tiny change for the better — I will never believe that any are in vain. 

Happy summer.