One of my favorite preachers is Mike Breaux, and he describes the “same old life” this way.
“You get up at the same old time, shut off the same old alarm clock, walk in the same old bathroom, look at the same old face in the same old mirror, get in the same old shower, dry off with the same old towel and put on the same old clothes.
Then you walk down to the same old kitchen, get out the same old bowl, pour the same old cereal and eat it with the same old spoon, drink the same old coffee, read the same old paper and kiss the same old wife. After that you get in the same old car, drive the same old way to the same old job, sit at the same old desk and laugh at the same old jokes the same old boss tells the same old way.
You clock out at the same old time, get back in the same old car, drive down the same old street, pull into the same old garage, hug the same old kids, walk back into the same old kitchen and sit down and eat that same old dinner.
Finally, you walk to the same old family room, sit in the same old recliner, watch that same old TV show, fall asleep in that same old chair, get up and go to the same old bed, ask that same old wife that same old question, get that same old answer, then roll over and set that same old alarm clock and get up the next morning and do the same old thing all over again.”
That story makes me laugh but also hits too close home. The “same old same old” mentality is driving me crazy, especially at the Y. We keep doing things the same old programs the same old way expecting different results. Isn’t that the definition of insanity?
IBM recently surveyed over 1500 CEOs. In the interviews, CEOs said that creativity was the leadership quality they valued most. Creativity offers new risks, new ideas, new ways of influencing and communicating. Creative leaders invite innovation and encourage others to move past outdated approaches and take balanced risks. They are open-minded in expanding their management and communication styles, particularly to engage with a new generation of employees, volunteers and members.
The IBM study asks:
• How will you develop the critical capabilities to enhance creativity among your leadership team?
• In what ways can you explore, reward and integrate diverse and unconventional thinking?
• What is your approach to challenge your current business model to get the most from currently untapped opportunities?
• How will you leverage new communication styles, technologies and tools, both to lead a new generation of talent and encourage breakthrough thinking?
After you read this, will you respond the same old way?
June 25, 2010
June 8, 2010
When You Thought I Wasn't Looking - By Mary Korzan
When you thought I wasn't looking,
I saw you hang my first painting on the refrigerator,
and I wanted to paint another one.
When you thought I wasn't looking,
I saw you feed a stray cat,
and I thought it was good to be kind to animals.
When you thought I wasn't looking,
I saw you make my favorite cake for me,
and I knew that little things are special things.
When you thought I wasn't looking,
I heard you say a prayer,
and I believed there is a God I could always talk to.
When you thought I wasn't looking,
I saw tears come from your eyes,
and I learned that sometimes things hurt, but it's all right to cry.
When you thought I wasn't looking,
you smiled,
and it made me want to look that pretty, too.
When you thought I wasn't looking,
I saw that you cared,
and I wanted to be everything that I could be.
When you thought I wasn't looking,
I felt you kiss me goodnight,
and I felt loved.
When you thought I wasn't looking,
I looked,
and wanted to say thanks for all the things I saw
when you thought I wasn't looking.
June 4, 2010
John Wooden is One of My Heroes
John Wooden, legendary college basketball coach, will pass away soon at the age of 99. I am sad because I so enjoy reading his journals, his poems, watching videos of his lectures and speeches. Here are a few excerpts from an article on him that I have kept for a decade.
On the 21st of the month, the best man I know will do what he always does on the 21st of the month. He'll sit down and pen a love letter to his best girl. He'll say how much he misses her and loves her and can't wait to see her again. Then he'll fold it once, slide it in a little envelope, and walk into his bedroom. He'll go to the stack of love letters sitting there on her pillow, untie the yellow ribbon, place the new one on top and tie the ribbon again. The stack will be 180 letters high then because the 21st will be 15 years to the day since Nellie, his beloved wife of 53 years, died.
In her memory, he sleeps only on his half of the bed, only on his pillow, only on top of the sheets, never between; with just the old bedspread they shared to keep him warm! There's never been a finer man in American sports than John Wooden, or a finer coach.
______
Of the 180 players who played for him, Wooden knows the whereabouts of 172. Of course, it's not hard when most of them call, checking on his health, secretly hoping to hear some of his simple life lessons so that they can write them on the lunch bags of their kids, who will roll their eyes.
"Discipline yourself, and others won't need to," Coach would say. "Never lie, never cheat, never steal," and "Earn the right to be proud and confident." If you played for him, you played by his rules: Never score without acknowledging a teammate. One word of profanity and you're done for the day. Treat your opponent with respect. He believed in hopelessly out-of-date stuff that never did anything but win championships. No dribbling behind the back or through the legs. "There's no need," he'd say.
______
It's always too soon when you have to leave the condo and go back out into the real world, where the rules are so much grayer and the teams so much worse. As Wooden shows you to the door, you take one last look around.
The framed report cards of his great-grandkids, the boxes of jellybeans peeking out from under the favorite wooden chair, the dozens of pictures of Nellie.
He's almost 90 now. You think a little more hunched over than last time. Steps a little smaller. You hope it's not the last time you see him. He smiles. "I'm not afraid to die," he says. "Death is my only chance to be with her again."
On the 21st of the month, the best man I know will do what he always does on the 21st of the month. He'll sit down and pen a love letter to his best girl. He'll say how much he misses her and loves her and can't wait to see her again. Then he'll fold it once, slide it in a little envelope, and walk into his bedroom. He'll go to the stack of love letters sitting there on her pillow, untie the yellow ribbon, place the new one on top and tie the ribbon again. The stack will be 180 letters high then because the 21st will be 15 years to the day since Nellie, his beloved wife of 53 years, died.
In her memory, he sleeps only on his half of the bed, only on his pillow, only on top of the sheets, never between; with just the old bedspread they shared to keep him warm! There's never been a finer man in American sports than John Wooden, or a finer coach.
______
Of the 180 players who played for him, Wooden knows the whereabouts of 172. Of course, it's not hard when most of them call, checking on his health, secretly hoping to hear some of his simple life lessons so that they can write them on the lunch bags of their kids, who will roll their eyes.
"Discipline yourself, and others won't need to," Coach would say. "Never lie, never cheat, never steal," and "Earn the right to be proud and confident." If you played for him, you played by his rules: Never score without acknowledging a teammate. One word of profanity and you're done for the day. Treat your opponent with respect. He believed in hopelessly out-of-date stuff that never did anything but win championships. No dribbling behind the back or through the legs. "There's no need," he'd say.
______
It's always too soon when you have to leave the condo and go back out into the real world, where the rules are so much grayer and the teams so much worse. As Wooden shows you to the door, you take one last look around.
The framed report cards of his great-grandkids, the boxes of jellybeans peeking out from under the favorite wooden chair, the dozens of pictures of Nellie.
He's almost 90 now. You think a little more hunched over than last time. Steps a little smaller. You hope it's not the last time you see him. He smiles. "I'm not afraid to die," he says. "Death is my only chance to be with her again."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)