Living Large

As a classically trained pianist, I understand black and white keys very well.  Through the years, my teachers would stop me if I missed a beat, a rest, or a note. When I became a piano teacher, I too stopped students for incorrect rhythms, missed beats of silence, and missed notes. The prize for playing perfectly is getting the next piece in the repertoire, which will also be practiced into perfection.

Several years ago, I realized a somewhat paralyzing parallel in my life . . . somehow those lessons of learning and memorizing the black and white keys on a piano bled into other aspects of my life. Knowing the “black and white” of living guided my decision-making. Safe.  Rules and regulations. Perfection. As it turns out, that kind of living is a perfect lead into hesitancy in trying anything new . . . anything outside the lines.  Rule followers and perfectionists often ask, “What if I can’t do it?  What if I fail? Someone else will do it better than I will. It’ll be easier if I stick to what I know.”  Afraid of failure? Or is it a fear of success?

Concerts featuring piano are certainly enticing, but have you experienced jazz? Unusual rhythmic patterns, syncopation, blue notes, running bass lines, enharmonic tonalities make for imperfect, but oh, such interesting sounds. There’s no use fighting it. It just happens. Explore it. Appreciate it. Learn from it. Love it. Watch closely for the resolutions and the evolvement of the piece. Jump into the light, playful parts and explore the dark, sad blues. Sultry, mysterious, sad, sexy, fun, swinging, inviting, repelling, improvisational.

Music? Bring on the classical. Life? Try jazzin’ it up.

This past Tuesday I resigned my position as a Corporate Educator with a large healthcare company. Though I was well-paid, I didn’t feel very valuable. A large portion of corporate training nowadays is designed for face-to-screen encounters. Even Basic Life Support classes are offered via computer-based learning, with a short, live skills-assessment component. Therefore, a great deal of corporate educators’ function is administrative.

I am moving into the role of Academic Advisor at a large university. While I can already tell that my skills will be useful and valued, I am taking a large pay cut–about a third of what I was making as a Corporate Educator. The deal is sealed and I am extremely excited about moving into higher education. There’s no turning back–and I’m good with that.

In my excitement and anticipation (the new job begins September 22), I must say that I am a bit worried. Worried in a way, though, that moves me to action . . . worrying wisely. The pay cut is significant, so how will I earn the lost income? I have nights and weekends available. I could teach piano again–something I love passionately. I would love to return to church work on a part-time basis, as long as it was a good match theologically. College ministry, children’s ministry, congregational care . . . Coaching is definitely on the table too. More chaplaincy shifts with another health care system? The Wise Worrying upon which I have embarked is allowing me to think creatively about my financial future.

Wouldn’t it be terrific to have a working Magic Eight Ball? Or, remember the movie “Oh, God!” with George Burns and John Denver? Remember when George Burns’ voice (God) came over the radio telling John Denver’s character the next steps? I don’t know what the future holds–even the parts I have some say-so about. What I do know, though, is that life is short. I might have just committed the dumbest financial move ever. But life is more than financial decisions. Taking a cut in pay (by a third), and being twice as happy in my work seems like good math. No worries.

In a recent coaching encounter, my client expressed her intense disappointment at having lost a valued and respected mentor. I could hear the sadness in her voice as she spoke about the mentor’s passion for her work. As a nursing supervisor, the mentor exhibited compassion for patients and inspired the nurses who reported to her.  She was there one day, and gone the next. My client spoke of this mentor in the past tense, leading me to think that death had come suddenly.  Sudden, yes. Death, no. The beloved mentor had been a casualty of corporate change.

I am familiar with the voice of the griever.  In my years as a chaplain, I learned that there are two paths to death–gentle deaths and violent, traumatic deaths.  Family members grieving for people who die gently (think “hospice”, “old age”) seem to move through the grieving process a bit more systematically and smoothly. The death makes sense.  Family members grieving for people who die suddenly (think “car crash” “heart attack”) take longer to go through the grieving process and sometimes become self-destructive to escape the pain. There are so many things left unsaid; so many “if only. . .” thoughts.

My client spoke with the voice of a griever.  I sensed the sadness . . .  and a hint of resentment.  In fact, since her mentor’s sudden exit, she is now seeking other employment. “I’m not alone,” she said, emphatically. “Freeing up one’s future” is inevitable in business. “Deaths” of the corporate structure affect staff members in the same way death affects individuals.  Remember the last time a beloved team member resigned or retired?  There might have been a party, reception, or a roast. The loss was certainly felt among fellow team members, but the opportunity to say “good bye” eased the difficult change in the corporate structure.  Have you experienced a former teammate’s termination?  Did you watch the person as they were escorted out of the building? Suddenly, everything associated with the person is Unmentionable. The person’s name become Unspoken.

Corporate grief, whether gentle or sudden, deserves to be acknowledged–it’s happening, whether it’s acknowledged or not. I say let’s continue the traditions of saying “good bye” to the gentle exits.  In addition, I strongly recommend personal conversations when the strategic choice is made for more difficult exits–terminations, layoffs, downsizing. When ignored, the staff feels as though they are caught in a giant game of “Whack-a-mole”, wondering if they’re next to get whacked if they raise their head a little above the radar.  When staff are left without answers, the conversations begin, allowing team members an opportunity to fill in the blanks on their own. Corporate obituaries are written by the staff, whether welcomed or not. The only choice corporate leaders have in terms of corporate grief is whether to facilitate it or not.

In Feng Shui, elephants are viewed as objects of luck and good fortune.  “Place an elephant at the front door, facing inward, to welcome good luck.” “Place an elephant on your work desk, facing outward, to symbolize intelligent leadership.” In Feng Shui, elephant placement is big.

With that in mind, it’s kind of funny (ironic funny, not haha funny) to speak of the “elephant in the room” as an unfortunate element of many organizational systems–the big issue that most people are  aware of, but find it difficult to talk about. These indoor pachyderms can cause quite a bit of damage to the interior of a system–from creating a culture of mistrust to settling into apathy.  How, then, can the not-so-graceful presence be gently escorted from the space?

Step One: Acknowledge the elephant. It’s there. You know it. Your colleagues know it.  You talk about it.  Even if you’re not talking about it, it’s likely that other people are. The awareness brings a sense of honesty and transparency to the room.  In acknowledging the elephant, what are your feelings in relation to the elephant?  Are you afraid of it?  Do you think it’s kind of cute?  Do you feel sorry for it? Teasing out your own emotions will help you know how to manage the elephant. What is the fear about? Why have you continued to “feed” the elephant, allowing it to get bigger and bigger?

Step Two: Address the elephant. Addressing the elephant may need to happen in one conversation or in a series of conversations. A sense of calmness, coming from a place of care and concern, is an approach useful in keeping the elephant from becoming enraged (a different metaphor, but think “bull in a china shop”). The elephant doesn’t belong in an enclosed space.  I imagine that if the elephant were to be honest, it feels a bit cramped in the space and is ready to move on too.

Step Three: Lead the elephant Away. Above all, help the elephant out of the room without humiliation and embarrassment (see Step Two). The elephant in the room may well be a behavior of a leader/participant/colleague–not the person–in your organization.  It’s not necessarily beneficial to remove the elephant AND the room in which it sits. Slaying the elephant in the room will just make a big mess to be cleaned up later. Take good care and think strategically in leading the elephant away.

Several years ago I received a tiny glass elephant as a gift from one of my piano students. Its placement on a windowsill in my home invites any good luck that comes my way. With self-reflection and an open invitation to purposeful feedback, may it be the only elephant that lives in my room.

Physics is way out of my league.  Even when I viewed the  googled “simplified string theory” descriptions, I was quickly lost in a vocabulary of “quantum” and “oscillating”.  The one description that caught my eye, though, was the “theory of everything”.  The theory of everything somewhat parallels my personal string theory.

Have you ever seen the back side of a tapestry?  Long strings, short strings, knots, loose ends, frayed strings . . . they’re all there.  To look at the back side of a tapestry, it’s hard to get a complete idea of what the picture is on the flip side.  Usually, though, tapestries are intricate works of art.  The colors and details are often exquisite.  There are patches of darkness and light, shadows and brilliance.

While the physicists’ identification of ‘string theory’ deals with the theory of everything, my string theory relates to the “theory of everybody”.  In my imagination, each person on the planet carries a string through life.  Like the threads of a tapestry, our lives intersect with people every day. There are short relationships and long relationships. Some relationships start, then stop for a while, then resume. There are relationships that are difficult–the ones that entangle us. And certainly, our most brilliant and most difficult days stand out.

I hope choose to live purposefully and authentically so that my life’s string creates places of light and beauty in the ‘tapestry’ of others.