Throughout the fight, Georges was winning.  When he returned to his corner between two of the later rounds, he indicated to his trainer, Greg Jackson, that he thought he tore a groin muscle. To this, Jackson replied, “I don’t care… Hit him with your groin.”

Best MMA line. Ever.

I think this statement could simply be construed as a statement of “fight through the pain,” which GSP certainly did. When I hear it, however, it has more meaning than that. I hope it was the verbalization of a deeper, more fundamental paradigm – if it’s out of your control, we’re not spending time worrying about it. As you pursue your goal, the external elements that come up are to be used to aid you in your direction or be discarded as irrelevant.

It was an incisive statement of purpose. A painful red herring that had no bearing on Georges’ agenda… and it’s worth watching again.

So, a great lesson, but you and I aren’t in any particular need to know how to successfully dominate a mixed martial arts fight. Let’s take it out of the octagon and consider the underlying paradigm in our day-to-day. Supervisor providing inadequate career counselling? I don’t care. Create your own career plan. Contract not getting signed fast enough? I don’t care. Find a diferent way to deliver.  Chronic illness going to slowly debilitate you? I don’t care. Redefine what creates meaning in your life.

The most powerful position you can take when confronting an obstacle is to presume that it’s entirely your responsiblity to address it. We can acknowledge that the “bulldog” actually had a lot to do with your situation, but don’t let that knowledge hinder you from owning your path out of it.

Ten years ago I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. With the diagnosis, I received my fair share of the sort of the traditionally awkward condolences from those that know me. These condolences could perhaps be broken into two parts. First, none of us really know what to say. We fumble and we search for words. Second, we express remorse. We acknowledge that this is bad luck and the person is not as well off as they were.

I don’t really fault that. Given the reverse role in the situation, it’s what I’ve done, too.

When I received all these “bad luck” acknowledgments, they served to help justify my general apathy and lack of effort to improve things. “Well,” I thought, “I’ve been dealt this hand, so now I’m excused from whatever I was pursuing before.” This is all too typical a reaction for people that are diagnosed with a chronic illness. It seems almost normal that you should take on a bitter demeanor and wear a sign that says I was screwed.

That didn’t last a long time for me, but it was very real. I was diagnosed in the May, and through a combination of medication and lethargy I managed to gain 30 pounds by September.

Feeling sorry for myself, I was simply being a spectator, both literally and figuratively. My wife and I found ourselves watching as the runners of our city’s first ever marathon ran through the park. They were all shapes and sizes, and it began to dawn on me that I shouldn’t feel limited. I still had the ability to do things, lots of things, including run a marathon. If they could do it, I should be able to do it.

It was at this point that a blind man ran by being assisted over the course. That was a watershed moment for me. There was clearly no excuse that legitimized my current behaviour.

Life gives you lots of choices, but one of the fundamental ones is whether you’re going to select the role of victim or owner. This isn’t a one-time choice, by the way. It’s a choice presented to you every day, over and over. You have to choose each and every time.

I still don’t quite know what you’re supposed to say to someone who’s been dealt a bad hand. It’s an emotional moment, and I’m not sure there’s words for it. Given the invitation, though, I tell people recently diagnosed with MS that it can be a gift. They just have to choose that it is.

Yet another group might say I have two clear strengths – I’m persistent and I bring a sense of urgency to my work.

They’re both right, of course. It seems to depend on the context of the situation, and also the paradigm of the person you ask.  One thing’s for sure, though. A big part of my story is my tenaciousness and how hard and fast I push… for better or for worse.

I feel like my acknowledgment of this component of my character is helping me mature as a leader. In the past couple weeks, I’ve been invited to participate in a couple of committees. My answer? Well, I thanked them, first. Then I said, “I’ve never met a committee I didn’t disagree with,” explaining that I’ve learned that I’m not always at my best when I need to coordinate an opinion and an action with a group. Sure, I share their desire for outcomes and positive change, I’ll even work with them, but joining the committee? I’m not sure that helps anyone.

That’s not to say I can’t work with others, but committees put a lot of agendas in a room. To come out of it with agreement there often needs to be compromise. For some problems, a reconciliation of diverse agendas isn’t the answer we need. Sometimes, it just prolongs the time until we can get to the heart of the matter.

I think there’s hubris in that statement, but I’d also like to think there’s also an unwillingness to compromise a vision for the security of a team approach.

I wrote just a little while ago about “Beware the Invitation.” Sometimes, committees are a big, distracting invitation. They offer a venue for you to roll up your sleeves and to “see and be seen” working the issue. If your passion and knowledge of an issue drives you to act, it will likely also generate these invitations to align yourself with others. I’d suggest you need to ask if it is going to help you or hinder you in pursuing your original reason for action.

Sorry committees. I didn’t mean to rail on you. I think I’ve just realized that you’re not always a fit for me and it’s OK to say no.

There’s a lot to be said for having a willingness and a commitment to do things even if they don’t show immediate results. Arguably, that’s a definition for leadership – even if the payoff is so far off as to be unimaginable (and perhaps, impossible), you do the right thing.

I like to picture the bamboo farmer patiently, deliberately, even lovingly watering the spot where the bamboo seed is planted. He knows his investment of care and time will be returned, but there’s more to it. A four year commitment without results is about the journey. It’s about the process of watering and caring, not the resulting tree.

My own bamboo shot up this week. I have accepted a job with iQmetrix. They’re beyond progressive, they’re wildly successful and they’re putting me to work right here in Regina. I’m ecstatic to be joining them in a role that suits me to a T, Manager of Employee Development.

I feel like I do many things that won’t ever pay. I blog, I volunteer for my kid’s school and I tell my bosses things they don’t want to hear. Except these things did pay. They paid when I did them (because it felt like the right thing) and now they’ve paid with a career-changing opportunity.

There’s no doubt my passions and my commitment to honesty played a significant role in my appeal to iQmetrix. Meeting with leadership in my new role, it’s immediately apparent that they actively seek those behaviours, and I naturally fit. No pretending. I’m going to an organization that desires truth, desires honesty and encourages individuals to challenge convention.

I’ve been told many times I’m too much of an idealist. Wait ’til you see me now that I’ve been validated.

I’m reminded of this today as Kerri got a blank stare of non-recognition from a bride we saw get married a month ago. Evidence, perhaps, that size doesn’t denote quality.

There’s a moral here for our daily endeavours, as well. How much we’re taking on isn’t an indication of how much we are doing effectively.

Here’s a statement for your consideration: You have a limited amount of thoughtfulness and quality to offer.

The energy and skills with which we do stuff have finite properties, at least until you undertake a long-term effort to increase them. It’s pretty hard to quantify the quality you offer, but a limit is there. And if it is limited, how should you use it?

When you look at the way you’re using this limited capacity now,

• Are you creating quality connections or multiple relationships?
• Are you communicating with focus or responding to all the inquiries?
• Are you creating effective ideas or solving as many problems as possible?
• Are you pursuing meaning or juggling activities?

While I’ve written them as either/or propositions, they aren’t exclusive. Both options are arguably necessary. I’m simply asking if you and I are spending your time where we should.

Paradoxically, computers, the internet and social media create an environment where your finite thoughtfulness can be multipled and shared many times. We often misinterpret this as an increase to our limited capacity. Not so. All these advances simply offer a better distribution system for what we’re able to create.

This isn’t a comment about limits for your success or a containment of the reach of your brilliance, then. It’s the opposite. Your ideas can go further than ever before.

This post is a comment about an individual’s fixed capacity and the importance of treasuring it. When we acknowledge we have a fairly immovable constant, it can create a healthy sense of urgency… if this is all I have, am I using it right while time ticks away?

I work directly across from our Provincial museum, the Royal Saskatchewan Museum (RSM), and right next door to their annex. They house three collections, a biological collection, a paleontological collection and an Aboriginal artifacts collection. I’ve had the opportunity to tour through the annex, which is not open to the public. It’s more interesting than the museum itself by a factor of ten.

I think this goes for many museums, but I’m picking on the RSM. The museum is, unfortunately, much too static. This is because of money, of course, but it also seems to be because they’re presenting a history of Saskatchewan through mostly physical artifacts, and those don’t change over time. Once you’ve tweaked your presentation, you’re largely into preservation, right?

As you might guess, I don’t agree. I think the RSM should be all about the interpretation. This shouldn’t be too much of a stretch. The tour guides are called interpreters, after all.

Right now, the museum presents the facts, and just the facts. By “interpretation,” I mean that the museum should be in the business of helping me understand what all the history and the worldview they present means for me right now.

The museum offers a picture of reality that is not warped or diluted by other noise. It’s a view of our world that hasn’t been overly polished, manufactured or “defined” by someone else. It’s contact with a reality you can really trust, and that’s exceeding rare in our lives… check that… the lives of people like me, living in the city and going to work each day.

The museum says: These are the environmental regions of our province. This is the bedrock beneath our feet. These creatures once roamed our land. These creatures now roam our land. These people and these cultures defined this province. This vegetation naturally covers our landscape… When I spend all my time outside on paved roads and my indoor time in the air-conditioned comfort in front of a screen, these things can be forgotten.

Somewhere along the way, museums defined their role as protectors of history. They are preservationists to the point that most of the collections are hidden away from public view. The mandate of a museum ends up being, “We protect things that are irreplaceable.”

I think there’s a relevance problem here. Museums need to be challenged to make these collections and this ”real” look at our world relevant to the public. The museum I dream of would be dedicated to helping others understand the world, past and present, so they can make better choices for their future.

Leadership is often understood to be “principle-centred.” You figure out what’s important to you and then you stick to that path. You establish the path that’s integral to you, and even when distractions try and pull you from it, you know what’s important. I see the museum offering a reality-centre. It can be trusted. It can help you buildi an understanding of yourself and your world, offering a solid foundation from which you can develop principles that govern your behaviour. The museum offers an excellent foundation for leadership.

The museum offers bedrock in more ways than one, but we need help using it. It’s not enough just to be there.

Museum, thank you for helping me understand the past, and thank you for helping me understand the present. Please help me plot a path for the future that is grounded in reality.

At the moment, there’s limited transition between “What we know to be true,” and “What we should do now.” I’m inspired by the Human Factors exhibit at the RSM, which connects our human influence to the world’s current state, but it only implicitly invites a tough self-examination. For most, the principles at the centre of their behaviour are  left untouched after a museum visit.

I’d like to see the museum:

• provide examples of leaders who stuck to reality, even when it made them appear unreasonable
• ask me to make a personal commitment to respond to something I learned today
• organize our community to take action on important issues that are largely ignored
• reach out and engage the community in interpreting current events through a scientific and historical lense
• offer orientation for public servants and any organization that’s committed to Saskatchewan
• lead a movement of choice and change based on a trusted understanding of the world
• when I’m physically in the building, engage me in a dialogue. Pull scientists from the back room and focus on engaging with the public.

I’m sure this is easier said than done. There’s undoubtedly a laundry list of items and infrastructure that just need maintenance. Here’s my tradeoff: I’m OK with seeing historical artifacts suffer damage if it means people’s future decisions are more thoughtful, deliberate and grounded in reality. I say that, but I don’t think it would get that far. In truth, becoming more relevant is the first and most important step in getting more funding.

If you’re seeing this, what’s the right response? If we look around us, it’s clear that one of the most common responses is to wait it out for a bit and see if things get better.

Seriously, have any of these things ever gotten better on their own?

More likely – actually, always – this results in a continued ineffective organization. The problems remain undefined, the potential solutions go unexamined and those that are propagating the problems continue their path unabated.

Wishfully thinking the mess will resolve itself is not a realistic strategy. It’s a defense mechanism that keeps you from taking emotional risk. It keeps you safe on the sidelines, smug in your knowledge that it sucks.

But that’s OK. Fair enough. If you don’t want to get in the fray, I think that’s your right. However, this strategy should not be accompanied with your continued frustration with the situation. You don’t get that right. If you are choosing to quietly wait for someone else to lead the way out, you’re making a decision to also endure it until it gets better. You’ve gotta pay that price. By the way, it’s your burden, and yours alone. You don’t need to unload it on an unsuspecting confidant so you can temporarily feel better. Sit with it. Stew on it. Maybe, if it becomes uncomfortable enough, you’ll realize you shouldn’t just wait it out.

If only the wishful thinker would propose a solution, the benefits are tremendous.

• You focus a conversation on a problem that others haven’t seen, or at least have been afraid to acknowledge. Groupthink can drive a wedge between a committee and reality. Diverse perspectives can bring a committee back.
• You introduce an alternative path. This often defines the parameters of future conversations. Everybody gets busy supporting or fighting your plan… others aren’t even considered.
• You make a statement about what kind of participant you are. You are one that bring solutions, not problems. That puts you in a special, rare category.

The cost for all this? Well, as Ghandi said, “First they ignore you, then they ridicule you, then they fight you, then you win.” On the first attempt, in all likelihood, they ignore you. Perhaps you’ll be so fortunate as to get some eye-rolls or scoffs. They at least heard your point. If you keep it up, you’ll have the success of your audience sitting up ramrod straight and telling you all the reasons it can’t be done. That’s when you’ve got them right where you want them. With persistence, I believe you can make a difference.

More plainly, the cost is how it makes you feel. It’s not particularly comfortable in the moment. It’s just right. That’s integrity, and it has the ability to make you feel unsettled and at peace in the same moment.

I’m in a pretty timid organization, a bureaucracy where having eye-to-eye conversations about real issues is to be avoided at all costs. I would LOVE to have more ridicule and more fighting of my ideas. As it stands, I’m pretty sure I could propose the purchase of a beaver to sharpen our pencils and I wouldn’t get a response. You know what, though? I feel a lot better pushing for what’s right and getting nowhere than remaining silent and by default becoming a supporter of what’s wrong.

There’s a certain boost of adrenaline that comes with the phrase, “working without a net.” When the trapeze artist performs without a net, there is no backup if the performer fails. The show gets better for the audience. People straighten up in their seats. The tension goes up. Breath is baited.

There’s the work equivalent, too. It’s working without deniability. What if there’s no fallback if your plan fails? If the initiative doesn’t make your numbers? What if ultimate responsibility lies with you and only you. That would be disastrous, wouldn’t it? Enter deniability, the practice of getting prior approval, consent or direction from someone else. This safety harness allows you to undertake initiatives without fear of reprisal. You’ve got all the CYA you need, so go forth and give it a shot. If it doesn’t work, that’s OK. You were following directions.

Deniability, however, really eats into your ability to create the kinds of change we need. Solutions that would really provide the kind of transformational thinking we need. The process of seeking deniability requires that you first anticipate the interests of the approver and mitigate the scary parts of the initiative by rounding the corners. Essentially, you propose something that’s got the scary parts removed to make it more palatable. The consequences of not doing the scary parts are where the real disastrous consequences sit. Not doing the thoughtful, scary parts is a subtle way of supporting the old model… the one you’re trying to change.

The alternative is to work without deniability, which is to say you would take initiative you think serves interests without checking for the go-ahead, first.

Do you need deniability? Is it all that important? If you fail, do you land in the middle ring of the big top, never to get up? Unlikely. Instead, you sheepishly admit your mistake, you get some amazing life experience and, as an added bonus, the people who really matter take note of the fact that you’re willing and able to work in an environment without deniability.

There’s an excellent audio lecture available right now. So excellent, in fact, I can’t believe it’s free. Seth Godin shares the main concepts of his latest book, Linchpin in a highly engaging presentation. He’s not actually talking about his book, though.  He’s providing advice about work and life that is spot on, relevant and very accessible.  Naturally, it inspired this post. By all means, read the book, but here’s an easy way to get your head around the concepts. Enjoy!

I find myself getting pretty frustrated with the skimming it induces. A full night of superficial snippets can leave me with a lot of trivia and nothing of substance. I find it more important than ever to make sure I pull away from the bells and whistles every once in a while and actually go deep, immersing myself in something that engages my brain.  Deliberately exploring a topic to a new level of understanding makes a lot more meaning for me than the skim.

In fact, if we were to collect all the things we hear and see each day and somehow conduct an audit to figure out what actually made it into our brain, we’d realize we can do without a lot of the barrage that occupies us.

So, why do we often choose to consume so much at a superficial level? I think it’s because choosing to actively ignore information that’s coming at you is like the problem with not buying a  lottery ticket. How can you possibly not buy a ticket? This may be THE ONE.  What if this ticket is the one that makes you rich? What if that next phone call is the President? What if the next big Internet sensation needs my investment immediately? What if a once in a lifetime announcement is just around the corner? All that hope, all those what-ifs… they cause a lot of attention to be directed to areas that rarely, if ever, have a payoff.

Here’s why some can do without lottery tickets: They get the math. They understand that one in 14,000,000 means you’ll typically spend $14,000,000 on tickets before you hit THE ONE. There’s an equivalent logic for understanding the information barrage, too. It may be less tangible, but intuitively, we know it’s there. If you step away from the constant flow and deliberately pursue and immerse yourself in what you want to see, you get more, you learn more. It’s more relevant. It’s more applicable to your life because you have selected, not received.

We’re now in a world where it’s easier for each of us to be our own program director. There’s unlimited information. It’s accessible at the click of a button. It comes on our time and on our terms.

It’s time to break an old habit – technology now allows you near complete control of the firehose. Don’t let others choose the messages for you.

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.