Proceed Until Apprehended

It appears I had a different sort of experience than many of my friends and colleagues through the Vancouver Olympics.

I enjoyed the competition, I definitely enjoyed the stories of triumph and tragedy, but I’m not left feeling I’m better off after I had this intense blitz of melodramatic reality broadcast to me.

I keep hearing that the Olympics are a treasured experience for my fellow Canadians. That the gold medal count, the hockey victory and the splendid performance of the City of Vancouver were a fantastic, even memorable experience for them.

I’m sitting here wondering how the Olympic viewing experience is anything more than a brief break from reality. Cynical, no?

Like many of us, I’ve given in to the allure of a large bag of  potato chips in just one sitting, or a second bowl of ice cream when one would suffice. I’ve honked my horn or shook an angry fist at a fellow driver and I’ve said something hurtful to a friend so that I’d feel better. All of these actions share a common thread – they offer a respite from my own hurt or sadness. They give reprieve, just for a moment.

After each of these events, I think you’re quite likely going to experience a hard landing back to reality. Those reprieves don’t last forever, and when they end, you’re actually a step back from where you started.

I’m trying not to make a negative post here, and I know I’m failing. I’m trying to say that “vacations” from reality don’t help us, they momentarily sidetrack us. They trick us into sitting on the couch for two weeks or gaining weight instead of losing. They withdraw deposits from the emotional bank account or they coax us into engaging with a road-rager in a no-win situation.

One of the things I’m personally working on is not wasting time in front of the TV. If I am in front of it, it’s programming I’ve carefully selected with the commercials removed.

My clear-headed, relentless pursuit of this objective was sidetracked by the Olympics. I sat in front of the TV indiscriminately. I didn’t know what was coming next. There was lots of interesting stuff, but I also watched uninteresting, unfulfilling blather and watched more commercials in that two week period than I do in an entire year. Those two weeks of excessive couch potato-ing were a backslide.

Damn you, Olympics and your heartwarming stories.

In the 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, Dr. Stephen Covey illustrates the role of a leader with the Jungle Analogy.  He talks about a group, an organization, committed to swathing a path through the jungle.  In this organization, he identifies three roles – the machete-wielding worker, the manager and the leader.

While the worker is cutting down the undergrowth, the manager is behind the action making sure the worker is well supported – sharpening machetes, providing training, nutrition, strength building, you could even imagine this manager providing supportive words of encouragement… “Great slash! A couple more like that and you’ll be up for hacker of the year!”

The leader is perched atop a tall tree ensuring direction, and if necessary, yelling “Wrong jungle!”

The lesson Dr. Covey is conveying is about the importance of having someone that is at the highest of high levels thinking about purpose and direction. Another great example he uses is talking about climbing a ladder and the importance of having the ladder up against the correct wall. I’m in wholehearted agreement with the sentiment.

I really like this jungle analogy. When I talk about it, I always attribute more lessons to it than Dr. Covey did. I think this analogy is fantastic for helping us understand our organizations. It simplifies the playing field and allows for a very direct examination and discussion about roles in the workplace.

Here’s my addition to the analogy. I think the Manager feels tremendously inadequate in their role. They’re on the field. They’re in a position to assess and actually provide criticism on the actions of others, however they don’t cut. They don’t participate in the direct purpose of the organization. Seen from the perspective of a hotshot machete worker, they’re a gofer. A waterboy.

For managers, that can weigh heavy, especially since most of them used to be hotshot machete workers. I think these managers have a tremendous internal pressure to pick up a machete and impressively lead the way. Especially consider when one of their machete workers pleadingly looks back at them. “This is a very difficult patch,” they say. What manager could resist the opportunity to show their skill at getting the job done? It’s a moment that allows them to be a hero, is it not?

The moment a manager puts down their clipboard and starts hacking, the organization is gravely injured. When a manager takes on that role on the front lines, all other machete workers are without support. It’s so simple to see in the analogy, so seemingly difficult to see in the office. In the manager’s (selfish) effort to show their ability and see immediate progress, they reduce the capability of everyone else. I’m not sure that’s even the worse part, though. They also teach one machete wielder a very unhelpful lesson – if you find yourself in a challenging spot, look backwards. Rather than taking the time to figure it out, you can count on someone else to do the really hard stuff.

If a manager does their very difficult, emotionally demanding job of not jumping in, they build capability of staff.  They build a more sustainable and healthy organization.

Here’s the assignment. Don’t look for validation through the social mirror, look for it in your own principles. The majority of your colleagues likely won’t be with you, but that’s not the objective. You’re looking for personal satisfaction for a job effectively done. For what it’s worth, I will also be celebrating your courageous choice.

I’ve been a sellout many times in my life. For definition, let’s say that sellouts are when you apply your ability and talent to something that isn’t for your purpose in life, it’s for somebody else’s. The theory of the sellout is that they happen because selling out is practical, it’s prudent and it seems like a good, secure, long-term choice. However, they’re called sellouts because they go against your very fibre. You give up (sell) a piece of your soul for comfort. You pursue someone else’s interest in return for compensation.

I’d like to take a look at some of my sellouts, in the order that they have happened:

* I trusted the educational system with too much of my maturation and development of knowledge and pursued all manner of academic success in highschool. I devoted excessive time that could have been spent pursuing my own interests to learning how to differentiate between chemical oxidation and reduction, a sonnet and iambic pentameter and a circle’s radius versus its diameter.
* I chose to take Commerce (business school) in University, not because of some overwhelming passion for business, but because it was the path to secure, well-paid employment.
* I accepted positions of employment because of title and pay, not because of my personal affinity for the topic.
* I engaged, interacted and gave respect to undeserving individuals who held influence. I shared ideas not for innovation and effectiveness, but to impress.

A couple of weak defenses of my actions might help me feel better here. First is the fact that this is what I was advised to do. I followed the path that was laid out for me. That’s weak, because I was sentient when all these sellouts took place. I always had a choice… I just didn’t acknowledge it. My second defense – I could have done more selling out, or I could have done it for an entire career. I think it could easily be argued that I continue to sell out, but I’m happy to say I’ve recognized it and am taking steps to repair the damage.

The damage, however, is quite interesting and hard to repair. To start with, sellouts aren’t exactly natural, so they’re hard to sustain. When we’re doing something contrary to our being routinely each day, we’re ultimately stealing days we won’t get back that could be happier. That’s a hard pill to swallow.

There’s the damage of how being a sellout seems to tie our hands, too. It comes in the shape of established levels of comfort and expectation that are extremely hard to dismiss. They come in the form of a mortgage that was accepted in headier times and a lifestyle best described as a hedonic treadmill.

The damage is a reluctance to try new things, to depart from this game’s “winning strategy” even as the rules of the game are changing.

The damage is a fear of the actions that could address our mistakes but haven’t received acceptance from family, parents, peers, friends, teachers or bosses.

The damage is the fear of ending up living in a van down by the river.

All that is strong, but it doesn’t quite overpower the knowledge that there are ways to add value and be true to your passion. Even when all the comforts of being a sellout are calling me to stop, relax and be enveloped in their charms, I can’t help but remember that those sellout actions aren’t my agenda. They’re just the choices I’ve made.

I guess I’m saying that the one thing more powerful than all the comforts of the life of the sellout is the peace that comes with pursuing my own agenda.