Problem solving – Page 5 – Chrysanthemum Marketing

Stay Curious Despite the Shutdown: Try edX

“We’re looking for the international space station,” my elderly neighbors said as they looked up at the night sky.

“What does it look like?” I asked.

The night sky on Oct. 13, 2013 in Austin, Texas. That's Jupiter above the tree. Courtesy Night Sky Network. — The night sky on Oct. 13, 2013 in Austin, Texas. That’s Jupiter above the tree. Courtesy Night Sky Network.

“We’re not sure, but it’s supposed to be out here someplace.”

We spend a lot of our time looking for things without knowing exactly what we’re looking for. Ideally, there’s a sense of wonder, but also frustration and alas, impatience.

Whether it’s a job, a new client or partner. We know they’re out there, somewhere. But where?

The trick is to stay curious, so curious we keep trying.

To keep my curiosity in tune, I’m trying our edX, specifically Dr. Micheal Webber’s Energy 101 MOOC. I’ve been pleasantly surprised.

The content is terrific, especially the widgets. I find myself sliding over maps of Europe, Africa, India and South America to get a sense of our world — in constant flux. Want to see fracking in action? Stephen Rountree’s 3D infographic is one of the best I’ve seen.

But it’s the sheer scope of the effort that sparks my imagination. Comments and introductions from people all over the world – Iran, Palestine, Iceland.

It’s like the night sky; makes you think anything is possible. (Even this photo, taken by intrepid volunteers on Astronomy Day 2013 by the Night Sky Network, despite the federal shutdown)

Here’s to the Joyful Pivot

It’s not just Ben Bernake; sudden course corrections are the rule of the day. I used to worry about feeling stuck. Then I heard the musician Laurie Anderson say she feels stuck all the time. Now I worry if I don’t feel stuck; I figure if I’m comfortable, I’m not paying attention.

Most of us don’t make tough decisions until there’s a crisis. Detroit didn’t pivot — if that’s what it was — until it was broke. We lose a client (or worse, a friend), an elderly parent falls and breaks a hip, we lose our job.

Writing in Forbes, Martin Zwilling defines (the over-used term) pivot as a quick change in direction that keeps an organization grounded in what’s been learned. “(Startups that pivot) keep one foot in the past and place one foot in a new possible future.”

Nothing is more reassuring than the scent of possibility.

The trick is to separate setback from failure and train our eyes on the possible. I’m reminded of an anecdote the marvelous Laurie Anderson told during her recent visit here: It became clear that a collaboration with Brian Eno wasn’t working. Eno clapped his hands and said, “Oh boy, a problem. We can throw everything out and re-think the thing.”

That’s such a large idea: being Joyful when things don’t go as planned. Years ago, I worked with the talented producer Linda Batwin. I’d asked her help with a corporate project that wasn’t going as smoothly (surprise!). I was in a snit, and Linda said to me, not in a preachy way, but as someone working towards mastery: I try to enjoy the process.

So here’s to possibilities — and the process of working towards them with joy, wisdom and hopefully, a little help from our friends.

Over Deliver and Keep ‘Em Coming Back for More

“Do you know anyone in Togo?”

Brand loyalty is built on relationships.

I picked up the call over 20 years ago on a July 4th afternoon. The voice at the other end of the line belonged to an AT&T customer service representative who’d flagged a series of calls from my number to a tiny country on Africa’s Gold Coast. By going beyond her job description (or contract, or scope), she saved me hundreds of dollars and countless hours spent trying to straighten the mess out. She made my life a little easier.

Brand loyalty isn’t always logical, but it has a long memory. AT&T is an entirely different entity than it was then, but I continue to have an emotional connection with the brand. I told this story to an AT&T call center representative once when I was trying to untangle a bill. I’m not sure they got it.

The market has changed, as have my needs. AT&T long ago laid off the people who did what that woman did. I hope she is happily retired — or teaching companies how to bond with customers for life.

I recently moved into a building served by another provider and got a quick refresher on the bare-knuckles world of the consumer broadband industry: bait and swap, if-you don’t-like-it-take-your-business-somewhere-else. No brand loyalty there.

A friend once critiqued a piece of work I did, “Remember, over deliver and keep ’em coming back for more.”

On whatever scale you’re operating, those are words to the wise.

The Boy Who Wants to Be a Scientist

I took the iPod out of my young friend’s ear and suggested he would make a great mayor. “I don’t want to be a mayor, he said. “I want to be a scientist.”

I was impressed.

I have a young friend who wants to be a scientist.

“What kind of scientist?” I asked.

“An engineer,” and then he paused. “I want to be everything.”

My admiration grew. My friend is 10 years old — 11 next month. I met him at the Helping Hand Home for Children, where he’s spent the last couple of years after a rocky experience in the foster care system. Next week, he goes back to the family from which he was removed.

I replaced the earpod and looked at him. My friend is at the intersection of many of the great debates of our time — race, abortion, economic opportunity, multiculturalism. I don’t know why he was taken from his family, but whatever it was, it must have been pretty horrible. To become a scientist, a mayor, or a repairman in a power substation will require super-human work, hope and magic. If he fails to pull it off and becomes homeless, goes to jail or abuses his kids, we’ll be the ones who pay the price. Literally.

Wouldn’t it be great if we could make my friend’s path a little easier?

Solutions to complex problems happen when people begin to talk with one another. A few weeks ago, inspired by an editorial on civil exchange, I signed up for red bench training. The genesis of the idea came from Dr. Betty Sue Flowers, a business consultant, poet, educator and administrator and communicator (who is also a native Texan and former director of LBJ Presidential Library):

I think people don’t feel they have permission to talk about something that makes them as vulnerable as love, so we don’t usually talk about it in public. I once had the idea of having a red bench in every corporation. And the red bench to be an invitation to conversations that matter. So if you sat on the red bench, you were saying, I’m open to having a conversation about love, or a conversation about truth, or something that matters to me. Dr. Betty Sue Flowers

The red bench conversations encourage people to build relationships. (Photo courtesy of Christy Tidwell)

Civil exchange is a prerequisite for collaboration, which is the way most things get done. Note that Dr. Flowers proposed red bench conversations as part of a project she did for Royal Dutch Shell. Here in Austin, Interfaith Action of Central Texas runs a program built around the idea. iACT Executive Director Tom Spencer wrote the editorial that prompted me to act. Check it out in your community.

We may be able to begin a conversation that will help my young friend. He would make a great mayor.

Stand up straight!

I came of age during the dawn of the fashionable slouch. Despite my mother’s admonitions to keep my shoulders back, I conformed to the preferred silhouette: the pelvis forward, knees bent. It has not served me well.

Millennials, take heed. The long-term effects of gravity are not to be denied. If you start slumped, you may end up standing with your nose touching your knees. Be forewarned: Stilettos and brilliant leather bags that weigh as much as a mid-sized dog give home-court advantage to the earth’s pull. Downward. Full disclosure: I did my time tramping about Manhattan in Bruno Magli heels. I’ve reformed: Forget about sex appeal. Opt for good sense.

Bad posture is insidious. It’s formed gradually over hours, days, years hunched over one device or another, a lunch or dinner table, leaning forward, elbows on the table. These are habits — bad habits that constrict our breathing and crumple our digestive tracts. No good will come of it.

Then there’s sitting — and air travel. I recently took a flight to California thinking I was prepared. I’d torn an article out of the New York Times on in-flight yoga poses. The challenge proved to be miniaturizing them for coach class – a physical, spiritual and social exercise. I mastered one — raising my legs. The others are going to require more practice, and less concern about my seat mates. Perhaps they will want to practice alongside me.

It’s taken me eight years of yoga classes and relatively diligent practice to be able to recognize what it feels like to breathe. It happens when you stand on flat feet, weight balanced and your spine reaching upward (new muscles!). While I wish I’d started sooner, I’m grateful to have finally figured it out.

Summer is a good time to not just think about this but to do something. The air is bad. It’s hot. There’s more exposed skin. All good reasons to look the world straight in the eye, take a deep breath and breathe.

Perfectionism as the ultimate fake out

If you feel in need of a good, healthy slap in the face, I recommend Andrew Solomon’s brilliant Far from the Tree, a page turner of a book about those among us who are born different — the deaf, dwarves, homosexuals, children of rape. It’s required reading for the 21st century, especially for people like me who whine when we fall short of (fill in the blank).

Stop worrying and start making yourself and the world around you better. — Stop worrying about being perfect. Start improving.

Solomon’s Tree gives those us blessed to be born in the middle of the bell curve a benchmark with which to measure our own silly self-preoccupations, among which I must say, perfectionism stands out as a colossal waste of energy.

Fortunately, thanks to Brene Brown, population explosion, social media and the first amendment, perfectionism has fallen out of favor. Witness the snarky comments about the talented, drop-dead gorgeous Anne Hathaway. We don’t like to be shown up.

So, quick, while perfection is not trending, let’s try to figure out how to put all the energy we spend worrying about future outcomes into actually trying to make both ourselves and the future better. Case in point: public speaking has never been easy for me. I can suffer insomnia, panic attacks and temporary amnesia prior to giving a talk. Wouldn’t it make more sense to put that effort into preparing? Wouldn’t it be logical to just talk about what I care about rather than trying to sound like I have it all together?

Ever listen to “From the Top,” the radio show about young musicians? These kids spend four and five hours a day practicing their art and seem to thrive on the process. They’re focused, fun and innovative. They don’t whine. I hope they’re the future. Out with suffering artists and tortured, overly competitive achievers!

On a community level, here in Austin, which has always been a high-volunteer/low donation city, “I Live Here, I Give Here” program sponsored Amplify Austin, a day-long donation marathon, sort of like “1,000 Points of Light” meets Kickstarter. The result? $3 million for non-profits. What an improvement over whining!

The point is that making things (and oneself) better takes a lot of work, but not necessarily self-torture. Even moving forward is hard. But consider the alternative.

The other thought is — and this is a separate post — there’s a trick to weaving a story — about oneself, a client or colleague — that makes the process a lot easier — and more fun. It worked for Jane Austen (who doesn’t want to be Elizabeth Bennet?) and Scheherazade. Why not us?

So, let it go. Take a minute and do a little jig. Recite “The Owl and the Pussycat.” Go make something better.

Values and downsizing

I’m downsizing from a 2200 square foot house to a 640 square foot apartment. I always thought I’d be a little old lady in a rambling house with tomatoes and cats, but that may not be the case. I have to admit: it’s painful. I pack a box, then unpack it and add stuff to my Craigslist and Recycled Reads piles.

My mom’s books and Bibles; my dad’s medals and fishing gear. My piano and couches the dog (not me) sits on. Reckoning time: how much can I afford to store? Will I ever again (honestly) have the space to have these things with me?

My eureka moment came when I was staring at an anniversary clock my dad bought when he was stationed in Germany in the 1950’s. There’s no doubt my dad considered the clock valuable. He built a wooden packing box and encased it in straw like a nativity set. He bought extra globes in case of breakage. He shipped it back to the States, then to Turkey and back.

But the clock doesn’t fit anymore. It’s too delicate, and I’m not going to have space to display it. It’s going on Craigslist.

What I want to keep are the character traits the clock represents, the ones my dad drilled in — responsibility, tenacity, honesty, loyalty, hard work, a sense of fairness and punctuality (alas, that one is touch and go).

Luckily (some solace) It’s not just me. We live in a world with more people and fewer resources. Organizations have to be more agile, more collaborative and less tied to the shards of their pasts. A box full of memorabilia from my days at IBM: a hardbound commemorative issue of that grand benchmark of corporate publications, Think, resource binders doled out through continuing education programs and lots of award plaques. I only vaguely remember the projects. But the values I keep: respect for the individual, friendship, collaborative teamwork and innovation.

I’m hoping someone will see the clock on Craigslist and value it for something it represents to them. The past is precious, but there’s a lot more to think about, and I need to move faster to get where I want to go.

Accommodating change — and everybody else

Everything was set up to start spring cleaning, and this little guy stuck his head out of an abandoned sparrow nest nestled between the rear window and an outdoor shade. Okay, so I’m a little late on the cleaning.

It’s an anole lizard, a charming little reptile — sometimes green, sometimes brown — seen darting across rocks, fences and buildings in warm weather (just about all year in Austin).

A reptilian squatter, seen through a (dirty) window.

The little guy (it may be a gal) is homesteading. I can tell it thinks big — it’s taken over the entire foot-long nest. Anolis lizards are fiercely protective. When I pointed the hose, it girded its loins, as the ancients used to say, and made ready for battle.

Nature vs. woman – one of the life’s four basic conflicts. The compromise? Abandon the project and am work out an accommodation. I mean, what if it’s a single mom?

Austin’s kind of like that: thinking big and figuring out how to accommodate record growth. There are lots of out-of-state license plates on packed roads. Housing is getting harder to find. All of which goes hand-in-hand with excitement and energy — and a nexus of talent, energy and resources.

Does growth have to be Darwinian? The anole reminded me to pause and make way. To make room for those of a different stripe and enjoy the expansion.

The disputed territory -- can the anole and I accommodate one another? — The disputed territory — can the anole and I accommodate one another?

Delete that photo!

A friend whose opinion I respect forwarded me a photo taken when I did not — shall we say — look my best. It got me thinking: Does this require action? Should I tighten up my reputation management? Get a makeover? What do geezer rockers do about this sort of thing? Does Robert Plant worry about his hair? Closed eyes?

Can it get any worse? Add wrinkles! — Can it get any worse? Always!

We are well on our way in an era of visual communication. Some people are blessed with telegenic looks and would shine climbing out of a dumpster. Does the way Nigella Lawson looks sell cookbooks? Of course. For the rest of us, it’s luck of the draw (or click). Forget command and control. I once worked with a top-ranking executive who, confronted with an unflattering photo, dispatched his minions to buy up every available copy of the trade mag in which it appeared, a feat that can never be repeated. As for prep, the jury’s out. I recently caught myself reaching over to sort out a no-nonsense entrepreneur’s hair (female). She’d probably been up since 4 that morning. Working. Personally, I think candid photography before 9 a.m. is cruel and unusual punishment.

What does our appearance say about us? My mother, raised a Texas girl, never poured her coffee or opened a newspaper until her lipstick and hair were in place. I can’t remember a time when she didn’t look beautiful. Then again, I remember Hillary Clinton’s eulogy at Gov. Ann Richards’ funeral less for what she said (although it was memorable: she touched on just this subject) than that she looked exhausted — like she’d worked all night and still cared enough to show up and honor someone who’d been important to her.

As for me, I’m leaning in the direction of a well-developed sense of humor. That may be the point.

Sitting is the new smoking

A friend gave me the news: Researchers have discovered there is no way to compensate for sitting. Forget the morning run, yoga, walking the dog, weights. Sitting is the new smoking.

My back and shoulder had warned me. I felt long fingers of gravity pulling me down in the chair, tugging my thoughts and hopes down with them. Down, down, down. A change was in order. A new $500 chair? An iPad? Everything investment is a risk.

So I did what any risk-aware 21st century American would do: I posted my gorgeous Amisco computer desk on Craigslist and waited. I waited and forgot about the desk. Weeks later, two emails popped up, out of the blue. Lo and behold, there was a market for the desk.

What to do? Go with the flow. Linelle pulled out her $65. cash and took the desk away. I think she’ll give it a good home. And when I turned to look at the vacant spot, I had a rush of hope. So many possibilities! I could put a table in the middle of the room to use for cut outs and thinking. I could type standing up (my back had been hurting anyway). I could rethink my entire working life.

So here I am, in my new phase: typing on the top of a tiny old bookcase my mother kept in her bathroom. It’s the right height but a little teetery. I’ll have to look for a larger surface. I’ll have to innovate.

Change is good. It never comes when we expect or even want it. But it’s good.