Life is Precious

Life continues to feel frail and precious these days. I learned early Wednesday that a 41-year-old father of three young children had died in the middle of the night; I had met his wife and kids on several occasions through mutual friends. Even before this I was getting a bit jarred by all the recent deaths of younger celebrities--Jacko, Billy Mays, and especially the Steve McNair tragedy--but here was another dad exactly my age in the community where I live, with children bustling with the same energy and hope as my kids. Now they are growing up without their dad.

I've been praying extra tenaciously for my wife and children the past few days. Too often I assume or just take for granted that everything will stay normal and intact. More specifically, I do not focus on the gratitude for this precious window of time with a beautiful wife and two adorable children. Today it feels like the window is smaller than it used to be, that some of the best seasons have gone by...and if I knew then just how incredible those seasons were, I would not have complained so much about this or that or longed to get through certain things or had so many self-centered priorities.

So the big challenge is what I might do differently today, as I sense the window compressing, its glass and panes brittle but tenacious. A season of relational abundance is sprawled out all around me right now, and the highest response to its moments of goodness is to love well and to trust deeply in that which cannot be seen.

Steve McNair and the Reality of Our Own Frailty

The Steve McNair tragedy is troubling for myriads of obvious reasons. But I believe what has me in a particular mental wrestling mode today is my ambivalent feelings about how people are responding to the idea of McNair's alleged behavior leading up to his fatal hour at a Nashville condominium.

Whatever the outcome of the police investigation reveals, one dynamic seems certain. McNair was in the wrong place, where it's always the wrong time. He made choices steeped in whatever brokenness had overtaken him and his marriage. No one ever knows the full extent of a marriage's ups and downs except for the two partners.

But I wonder what the best reaction can be from those of us on the sidelines, trying to Monday Morning Quarterback who Steve McNair truly was and what he should or should not have done. Should the brunt of our dialogue be focused on our shock at the tragedy and our disappointment with the retired athlete, or would it be most fruitful for us to gradually transfer that adrenaline toward examining our own brokenness?

For there but by the grace of God go even those not actively pursuing the grace of God. And those of us who have scratched and clawed for it, at times pushed it aside but always in the end thirsted for it again, know with certain humility that nothing can be taken for granted--including our own potential behavior in the face of temptation.

My blatant need for God in every moment reminds me that I am far better off praying for Steve McNair than judging him, even if I am quite disappointed in his apparent choices.

The Wonder of This Moment

I am having a weird thought while writing a chapter for a book, sitting at my usual Panera Bread in the Cool Springs district of Franklin, Tenn.

Perhaps it is not so much a thought but an enhanced awareness: of my position at the table with my laptop, half-listening to classical music while tapping away and allowing the jumbled vision of words in my mind to flow through my fingers onto a screen with some semblance of order. It is as though I am watching myself full of hope and effort at the table, seeing a live broadcast of a man attempting to write a book. I am both the man and the observer, the two are intertwined.

This is not an "out of body experience," as the Oprah culture would term it, but simply an impression of sorts. And the impression remains with me as I offer this blog entry, and look out the large windows at a gorgeous blue sky.

The impression is something like, "You are alive, and you are writing. For you, to be alive is to write. Writing is a vessel that integrates and makes sense of your life. Here you sit, practicing the art of being alive. Celebrate the wonder of this moment."

I am overtaken now by awe. Awe at how truly wondrous each moment is, and yet so easily overlooked. I must stop writing and simply be.

Reader: What is happening in the present moment for you, right now? What do you see on the live broadcast, that for you depicts your personalized practice of the art of being alive?

Invite Me to "80s Day" at Your Office

The other day at work I was talked into wearing a purple wig and singing parodies to popular 1980s songs such as "Billie Jean," "Who Can It Be Now" and "What I Like About You." I changed the lyrics to reflect T-Mobile USA-related goals while the musical scores blared in the background. I was off key, I was off pitch--but I was in my zone because once again, on the job, I was permitted to connect pop culture to business needs. Sort of like the week back in August 2006 when I wore a Superman costume. Anything for the good of the cause; well, almost anything.


Give me almost any popular songs whose lyrics I know well, and toss me a particular subject from nearly any field (except for, say, astro-physics or molecular biology), and chances are I will promptly give you new lines that relate to the matter at hand. It still surprises me how easy it can feel, and usually entertains the other persons at hand. The vast majority of the time it is just for fun, but you never know when such an obscure, twisted talent can home in handy for a larger purpose.

I wonder how often we overlook the off-beat talent that is latent within the people around us. If we cannot immediately put it to pragmatic use or measure it in some manner, do we quickly dismiss it or fail to even notice? I encourage leaders to cultivate whatever talent rises to the surface in their people, because there is some thread you can tie to a business outcome if you are creative enough in your intent. When we become a community at work that truly celebrates all gifts found within the space, incredible things can happen that delight customers and retain good employees.

The same approach is screamingly relevant to marriages, relationships, raising children and friendships. Celebrate the quirky abilities of someone you care about, and that person's sense of being understood and accepted increases manifold.

Several people already have asked if there was video taken of my 80s romp. Yes, there was. No, you will not see it, unless you happen to work for T-Mobile and have access to our internal network. The rest of you will have to either play the video in your minds, or invite me to perform at your company. As to the latter, don't think I'm not serious!

"Being" vs. "Doing" and the Emerging Economy

"We're human beings, not human 'doings.'"

I heard that quote the other day from a motivational speaker we brought in to address a large group of leaders during an off site retreat. It resonated with a perspective I have held for many years, probably since my seminary days, on how who we are must be valued above what we happen to do.

The message was particularly relevant because of the "doing" nature of the environment in which these particular leaders--and countless others you know--work each day. There seldom is a chance to pause for a minute and remember that the "doing" flows out of the "being," and not the other way around.

One interesting exercise is to intentionally overhear various snippets of conversations at work, at parties, while browsing retail outlets, while hanging out with neighbors, etc. Listen to the nature of the dialogue, and note how much of it is about people attempting to position things they do. Contrast it with how much energy is spent heartily discussing things that matter to them as people.

And then ask yourself, "Am I unwittingly defining myself about things I do or wish I could do (or even pretend to have done)?" The answer will reveal to you just how much you, as my seminary professor Dr. Robert Mulholland would say, have "put on the false self."

Our false selves are characterized by ambition to spin our image to the world and to ourselves along the axis of accomplishments that define us. Our true nature lies masked beyond this unnecessary facade, and is the part of us that responds to genuine love, music, great stories, nature and other wonderful dynamics that make life well worth this arduous journey of uncertainty.

The traditional economic mode in which we have long been immersed depends upon false self thinking, with product and services to offer that enhance our "doing" identity. Our challenge as we move toward authenticity is to shift into developing new economic frameworks that thrive off of human creativity and collaboration, rather than depending on how much more production we can squeeze out of an already-tired soul for yet another day.

Much of What We've Understood About Leadership Is Wrong

Peter Block, in his book Community, challenges the conventional understanding of leadership by emphasizing it as a capacity that can be learned by anyone. What keeps us stuck, Block asserts, is the lingering assumption that leadership must be clustered in the hands of a few and our prevalent behavior of "looking for" leaders beyond ourselves to figure things out and do something.

"If our traditional form of leadership has been studied for so long, written about with such admiration, defined by so many, worshipped by so few, and the cause of so much disappointment, maybe doing more of all that is not productive," Block writes. "The search for great leadership is a prime example of how often we take something that does not work and try harder at it."

I gulped a little when reading how Block describes the typical claims made during most leadership trainings (I facilitate leadership workshops as part of my professional role): Leaders are top and essential, role models who possess unique skills. The task of a leader is to define the destination and the blueprint for how to get there. The leader's work is to bring others on board, to "enroll, align, inspire." Leaders provide and define the oversight, measurement and training needed to reach said destination.

Such beliefs, Block continues, "elevate leaders as an elite group" and have the unintended consequences of creating isolation, entitlement and passivity in our communities.

The real task of a leader, Block puts forth, is to convene a context of engagement where citizens embrace accountability and commitment toward defining destinations and getting there themselves. In Block's way of thinking, then, leadership--the latent quality inherent in each of us that must be developed--is held to three key tasks:

1. Create a context that nurtures an alternative future, one based on gifts, generosity, accountability, and commitment

2. Initiate and convene conversations that shift people's experience, which occurs through the way people are brought together and the nature of the questions used to engage them

3. Listen and pay attention

As I continue to work my way through Community, Block's ideas certainly are transforming my approach to leadership development work; how I put them into action remains to unfold, as I first must make sense of it all so I can explain it to others.

And as I think about the more conventional foundations of leadership and reflect on its application in many spheres of western life, I find it hard not to agree that we must shift the paradigm in order to get different results. Few of us can admit that we are satisfied with how our long-held approach to consolidating leadership in the hands of a few has impacted politics; global relations; religious institutions; many arenas of business; poverty; crime; environmental stewardship; and education. We have long pointed our fingers at leaders who have let us down in each of these categories, but the larger truth is that we have let ourselves down by abdicating the leadership capacity that is rightfully and responsibly ours to develop.

The Unexpected Sacred

Music is an end in and of itself. I have briefly considered this in other contexts, but this gentle truth brushed itself against my heart today while watching my daughter and others perform in a great Williamson County (TN) arts camp called “Kids on Stage.”

One of the classes offered during the camp was African drumming. As I relaxed in a chair within the spacious gymnasium at a public school, I became lost in the rhythm and cadence of the performers. Nothing else mattered for a few minutes; the musicianship had eclipsed everything else. I began to think of what a nice departure this was from my weekdays’ corporate grind, where all that matters is what can be measured and improved and distilled into profits and customer service ratings. The music simply was; it was non-evaluative nor quantitative, but simply a multi-faceted expression of human creativity and a celebration of togetherness.

This epiphany is particularly pronounced in non-vocal performances, such as the drumming I experienced today but notably in jazz and classical music as well (music typically free of the clichés coughed up by the pop culture). Beyond the basics of the price of a download, CD or concert ticket, it is hard to speak of music’s worth in business terms. Business is so much about developing goals, vision, strategies and tactics toward achieving particular economic ends. Music, and authentic arts in general, presents the opportunity to financially bless its most proficient practitioners but is more about becoming someone than producing something. To truly engage the wonder of the notes, instruments, melodies and the players is to change, to grow, to become the means and the end.

Too many of us spend each day toiling toward a measurable, pragmatic end. Music and other great expressions of human creativity allow meaning to become the goal. A meaningful sense of being leads to more creative fuel and focus, which offers the ironic by-product of making us more effective at our measurable, pragmatic work. Win-win.

But typically, we spend almost all of our emotional capital on attacking the pragmatic, and try to “catch up later” on what truly gives us an abiding sense of purpose and peace. It doesn’t usually work out. We’re too burned out to relax or pay attention to what our hearts are telling us when we encounter the unexpected sacred.

What to do, if this is your predicament? “De-tox” now from the prevalent mindset that defines you and everything you do in terms of supply-and-demand, and get away long enough to enact some new disciplines that will enforce healthier, daily habits. Practice spending time doing things and embracing relationships that truly are ends in and of themselves. Listen to the sound of the drumming, the rhythm of the jazz guitar, simply for what they are: something beautiful, archetypes of life’s prevailing beauty once hidden from you but now revealed.