Life

Cross your bridges.

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We've all learned not to burn our bridges as we make friends, build relationships, pursue our careers, and live our lives.

I've recently learned that this concept goes all the way back to ancient China, and specifically to Miu-King, a soldier and earl, who burnt his boats as he invaded Tsin to ensure the only options for himself (and his relectant troops) were victory or death. We see this concept again in the famous story of Julius Caesar crossing the Rubicon. Caesar led his army over the Rubicon River, and saying "The die is cast," sealed his fate (and again, the fate of those around him) to one of only two options. 

As new languages emerged and people spread across the globe, the allegory evolved, and the old world idea of "burning one's boats" became in America "burning one's bridges." And something else happened, too. Apparently as we've traveled through time we've gotten more willing to hedge our bets, and the idea of burning one's boats has transitioned from a statement of determination to a warning against hemming oneself in to only a few choices.

I've burned my share of bridges, some on purpose and some accidentally, and I have to say I think I've regretted it each time. As you look at the pile of smoldering ash you think, "Well, that could have gone better. Now I'll have to find another way around." And sometimes there's no short way back. Sometimes you've got to tighten up the pack and prepare for a long hike.

At the same time, as I consider my own life and as I talk to people around me I've realized that we often take the advice "not to burn our bridges" as an excuse not to cross any bridges at all.  And without knowing who you are or anything about you, I can tell you that is the wrong advice for you.

I know this to be true: We are presented with opportunities and it is our test in life to take them. The bridge in front of you leads to something different, and possibly harder, but it is worth walking across. You don't have to drop a match once you get to the other side; leave the lighter fluid in your pocket. But you should go ahead and make the crossing. There's something new on the other side of the ravine. You've been on this side long enough.

Quick life advice.

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Here it is:

You may not be the best at anything, but you can do your best at everything.

Nearly everyone learns this at some point, some earlier in life, some much later. And many, like me, learn it the hard way. But once you learn it, an old rigidity falls away and a new world opens.

Give it a try.

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. 

When friendship doesn't matter...

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Oh, this is so cynical to say but one thing I've learned the hard way is that when someone says to me, "I know our friendship matters to you," I start backing slowly away, because what is coming is an attempt at manipulation. Wait, maybe if our friendship mattered to you, you wouldn't try to leverage our friendship by using it as a point of discussion. How about that? 

It is the same thing as someone telling you how trustworthy or charitable or generous or nice or tough or cooperative they are, because would anyone who is really any of those things actually need to tell you they are?

It is sometimes tough for all of us to be kind people when the survival tools we learn hobble the kindest among us. But on the other hand, how wonderful when you meet someone who just exudes character and kindness! And those people never have to mention how wonderful they are.

The red spot in the yard.

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As we grow up we learn how to pick out what's wrong. Which one of these kids is different? Which one doesn't belong?

A few weeks ago I was standing on our deck looking through the trees in our back yard. Our house borders a small plot of land owned by the town. Most days, the town parks its leaf truck on the gravel driveway there. The leaf truck is large and bright red. It is ugly and impossible to miss.

As I looked at the stain parked next door and contemplated a painting commando mission, my daughter walked up to me.

"What are you looking at Daddy?" she asked. 

"The big red thing over there. See it?" I said. 

She looked around for a minute and then lit up. "Oh! Daddy, a cardinal! How pretty!"

I had completely missed the bird a few feet in front of us. 

It is easy to pick out what's wrong. It is harder, and much more valuable, to see what's right. 

A short verse, worth reading.

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I'm reading the wonderful WWII history A Man Called Intrepid by William Stevenson, which details the formation and activities of the British secret service during the war.

Stevenson writes that during the war Eleanor Roosevelt carried in her purse this prayer:

Dear Lord
Lest I continue
My complacent way
Help me to remember
Somewhere out there
A man died for me today
-- As long as there be war
I then must
Ask and answer
Am I worth dying for?

Worthing reflecting on. 

Eulogy for Bridget

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Bridget Spence, a long-time Event 360 team member and committed soldier in the war against cancer, lost her fight late last week. I was incredibly humbled to be ask to speak at her funeral. Several of you have asked that I post my words. Here they are.​

I'm humbled to address you on behalf of the hundreds of team members who worked with Bridget and the thousands of participants who were changed by their relationship with her. 

Danny told us that he thought we might have a unique perspective to offer the family. But we'd venture to guess that we knew the same person that you did. Take the humor and kindness and strength and sass you knew and put it in an event fundraising firm. That was how Bridget lived. She was real. Authentic. She was the same person to us as she was to you, and we mean that as the deepest compliment. 

But we’re sure you’d appreciate more detail than that. So we want to share three main thoughts.

The first is that although Bridget died of cancer, and dedicated her professional life to fighting cancer in all its forms, that is not how she was defined by us nor how we will remember her. Nor will she be remembered for her volunteer work with Susan G. Komen or Dana-Farber.

She will be remembered as a friend with an infectious laugh and a warm, easy way. She will be remembered as a thoughtful speaker and a brilliant writer. She will be remembered as someone willing to challenge her managers and her peers. That is, as a leader. She will be remembered, as Event 360’s Teri Yoder has said, as a wise soul. And we will forever be grateful, as Event 360's Molly Fast has said, that for someone who was given so little time, she chose to spend so much of that time with us. 

The second thing we'd like to share is not what we know about Bridget, but what knowing Bridget has taught us about all of you.

We say in our family that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, so we know Dottie that you are loving and kind, the way Bridget was. We know Billy was caring and committed. We know you both possess a deep reservoir of strength. 

Danny, Patrick, and John, we know you helped shape the person Bridget became, and we know she shaped you. Maybe more than you would have liked! So we know you three are energetic and driven the way that Bridget was. We know you are strong and passionate.

We know Bridget wouldn't have chosen to marry someone who wasn't exceptional in every fiber of his being. And so Alex, we know you are warm and patient, imbued with quiet confidence and resolute fearlessness. 

Finally, as most of you know, Bridget worked primarily on our 3-Day project, a three-day, sixty mile walk that raises money for breast cancer. Some of you have probably participated in the event yourselves. Knowing Bridget, most of you were probably approached to donate to her at some point. 

Like many things in life, walking sixty miles is a lot harder than it sounds. And when you are walking the event there comes a point – usually in the middle of the second day, when your bones are starting to creak, and your feet are fighting back at you, and you realize that you still have more than halfway to go – that you are faced with your biggest obstacle: Your own willpower. 

And at that point, you have a conversation with yourself – about why you didn't make more time to train; about how ashamed you'd really feel if you stopped; about what you'd say to your donors if you quit and took the bus to camp.

And then, you have a choice. You have to decide if you're going to get up and start moving again.

The most important thing we can share about Bridget is that throughout our time with her, Bridget never stopped walking. 

Bridget, you made it to the end of the day. You finished your route; you fought the good fight; you kept the faith. 

Now, the rest of us have a choice. How can we know the way? We can hear you telling us to get up and start walking again. We'll meet you at camp. 

Back and better than ever...

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Well, without meaning to I've let over three weeks slip by without a single post. I figured it was high time I posted an update lest you all think I was trapped under something heavy (When Harry Met Sally reference, yes you're welcome).

2013 is off to a great start for me, and I hope for you. Lots of more detailed posts to come but here are a few tidbits of what has me thinking and wondering:

  • First meeting of the Invisible Children board last week. What this group has done and continues to do is nothing short of amazing to me; more to come in the next weeks and months. I couldn't be more honored to be a board member.
  • Spending time applying non-linear regression models to fundraising data -- oh dear, this is really more interesting than it sounds. Hopefully I'll have some way to illustrate that in coming weeks! Stay with me people...
  • Speaking of fundraising data, I'm presenting at the annual Run-Walk-Ride Conference again this year. It's become an annual ritual I very much look forward to. If you're going to be down in Atlanta March 13-14, drop me a line so we can connect.
  • Speaking of fundraising data again, Chuck Longfield of Target Analytics/Blackbaud presented some helpfully alarming statistics about donor retention last week at the Nonprofit DMA conference that are worth your review. I say "helpfully alarming" because there have been people in the industry (like myself, ahem) trying to highlight the need for better engagement for years. Seems like no one wants to listen to the idea that engagement is hard work. Twitter is great for communicating but it ain't gonna magically create more donors for ya! Trust me on this. I'm hoping Chuck's presentation will rattle some cages. More here.
  • Switching the subject before I fall off my high horse, we've recently launched the 2013 Muckfest MS, a series of 18 obstacle races. Think Wipeout. With mud. And beer. You need it. Give it a look here.
  • Ulrich Schnauss, who has the best name in music, released his new album A Long Way To Fall today. I love everything he does and would recommend it without question.
  • Speaking of music, am I the only one who thinks the new version of iTunes is atrocious?

See, I'm back. :-) More soon.