I bought new running shoes recently. Well, truth be told, I bought a new pair of the exact same shoes (after running in several pairs and taking another one home). But that's another story.
When I was at the store, the guy helping me pointed to a pair of bright orange shoes. "These also might work for you," he said, "but you probably aren't interested in them". Because, of course, they were florescent orange. At the time, I was dressed in my work clothes. I'm guessing it was a grey pants suit. My everyday wardrobe is pretty much grey and black. With a few pairs of jeans and a red shirt or two thrown in. I'm not particularly stylish or adventuresome.
But my running clothes are all various ridiculous shades. I have a white and green visor that Coach Craig and T can't stand. I have an orange headband that Coach Craig once told me he couldn't even look at me in. I have enough hot pink items that our new running buddy, Captain Internet, joked that he needs to buy a pink spandex shirt.
My dad used to always tell me I needed a hobby. He believes it is important to have more than work in one's life, and he is right. Hobbies also let us be someone other than who we usually are. Like a florescent color wearing crazy person. Or a toe-shoe wearing "coach". Or an internet personality spending an hour unplugged.
I've been doing a bunch of interviewing at work over the past few months. Around the end of a second interview, I invariably ask people "what do you do for fun?" I'm trying to get a sense of their personality, and potential fit with our team. But I'm also trying to get a sneak peak into their hobbies. Because our alter egos are part of us, after all. And perhaps a bigger part than we want to admit.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Guest post: NFL Fail?
Hello everyone, it's me, the artist formerly known as JB. I write today
as a conflicted lifetime football fan. My conflicts are many...growing
evidence of brain damage among former players is going to be an
epidemic that will have us all beating our chests for every time we
cheered a knockout hit. The economics of the game are outrageous. And,
of course, my team, the San Diego Chargers, are notorious chokers and
disappoint me to no end. My latest disgust with the NFL, however,
dovetails nicely with this blog, whose author was kind enough to offer
me a guest spot.
The NFL awards one player its "Man of the Year" award each season. This year the award will be presented during the multi-billion dollar spectacle known as the Super Bowl. The process is that each team selects its own nominee, the league picks 3 finalists and during halftime of the Superbowl the winner is announced. The prize money goes like this- each player picks a charity, each team's nominee receives $1000 for his charity, each finalist receives an additional $5000, and the winner receives a check for $20,000 for the charity of his choosing. $20,000 is a sizable donation for an organization to receive, but is a pittance to the NFL. A $1000 check from the NFL is like one of those dividends that comes in the mail from a stock you forgot you own, made out in an amount less than the first class postage they put on the envelope.
Every commercial break now seems to include at least one ad touting the good that this or that corporation is doing. Of course they realize that this makes consumers feel better about buying their products, and I'm OK with that. At the same time, I hope they are spending at least as much on the donation as they did to make their self-congratulatory commercial. The NFL fails miserably here in that regard. StubHub currently lists 4 Super Bowl tickets in the corner of the end zone for $20,000. Every player on the LOSING team will receive a check for $43,000. (I realize the NFL is not writing either of these checks, but the amount of money being thrown around is beyond ridiculous) The economics just don't make sense and for the NFL to try and buy some good PR with this is an insult. They should just let us watch 3 extra minutes of Madonna and the Foo Fighters.
The NFL awards one player its "Man of the Year" award each season. This year the award will be presented during the multi-billion dollar spectacle known as the Super Bowl. The process is that each team selects its own nominee, the league picks 3 finalists and during halftime of the Superbowl the winner is announced. The prize money goes like this- each player picks a charity, each team's nominee receives $1000 for his charity, each finalist receives an additional $5000, and the winner receives a check for $20,000 for the charity of his choosing. $20,000 is a sizable donation for an organization to receive, but is a pittance to the NFL. A $1000 check from the NFL is like one of those dividends that comes in the mail from a stock you forgot you own, made out in an amount less than the first class postage they put on the envelope.
Every commercial break now seems to include at least one ad touting the good that this or that corporation is doing. Of course they realize that this makes consumers feel better about buying their products, and I'm OK with that. At the same time, I hope they are spending at least as much on the donation as they did to make their self-congratulatory commercial. The NFL fails miserably here in that regard. StubHub currently lists 4 Super Bowl tickets in the corner of the end zone for $20,000. Every player on the LOSING team will receive a check for $43,000. (I realize the NFL is not writing either of these checks, but the amount of money being thrown around is beyond ridiculous) The economics just don't make sense and for the NFL to try and buy some good PR with this is an insult. They should just let us watch 3 extra minutes of Madonna and the Foo Fighters.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Run in the Other Direction
I wanted to start the year off with a "long" run. For me, long is: to the park, one loop around, and back home. About 5 miles. That's JB's regular run. It is some people's short run. But this isn't a contest, and for me, that's still a long run.
There's a problem with the long run. A problem I call "the hill." Those of you who run or bike or skate in Prospect Par, Brooklyn know what I am talking about. I hate the hill. Hate it lots. Hate it so much that (at J's suggestion), I once ran up it, down it, and back up again in an attempt to shake my dread.
When I'm with someone, I whine my way up the hill. If I am feeling clever, I ask them a question that takes them the hill to answer and thus distracts me.
But on my long New Year's week run, I was alone. And so, inspired by a conversation the day before between JB and our zippy friend I'll call "Long Legs Steve", I ran in the other direction.
So simple. It's a loop. If you don't want to run up the hill, run the other way. Run DOWN the hill.
(It is true that whatever way you go, you still have to go up. But up the long way is very different than up the short, steep way).
My run in the other direction? It was fun. It was (almost) easy. I enjoyed running "against traffic" and looking at the people that I passed. People of all ages, sizes, and abilities exercise in the park. It's inspiring, and when you run towards them there is no competition about passing them, or them passing you.
The run in the other direction also surprised me. There were parts of the park that I didn't recognize. Things I felt like I had never seen before. A couple of times I looked around and wasn't completely sure where I was.
It's a true cliche about how doing something differently changes your perspective. In 2012, I'm going to try to run in the other direction often. (And up the hill sometimes). I encourage you to try it too. Walk instead of run. Sit on the other side of your desk. Stand on the train if you usually sit. Sit if you usually stand. Do something little to change the way you see the world, and admire how different it looks.
There's a problem with the long run. A problem I call "the hill." Those of you who run or bike or skate in Prospect Par, Brooklyn know what I am talking about. I hate the hill. Hate it lots. Hate it so much that (at J's suggestion), I once ran up it, down it, and back up again in an attempt to shake my dread.
When I'm with someone, I whine my way up the hill. If I am feeling clever, I ask them a question that takes them the hill to answer and thus distracts me.
But on my long New Year's week run, I was alone. And so, inspired by a conversation the day before between JB and our zippy friend I'll call "Long Legs Steve", I ran in the other direction.
So simple. It's a loop. If you don't want to run up the hill, run the other way. Run DOWN the hill.
(It is true that whatever way you go, you still have to go up. But up the long way is very different than up the short, steep way).
My run in the other direction? It was fun. It was (almost) easy. I enjoyed running "against traffic" and looking at the people that I passed. People of all ages, sizes, and abilities exercise in the park. It's inspiring, and when you run towards them there is no competition about passing them, or them passing you.
The run in the other direction also surprised me. There were parts of the park that I didn't recognize. Things I felt like I had never seen before. A couple of times I looked around and wasn't completely sure where I was.
It's a true cliche about how doing something differently changes your perspective. In 2012, I'm going to try to run in the other direction often. (And up the hill sometimes). I encourage you to try it too. Walk instead of run. Sit on the other side of your desk. Stand on the train if you usually sit. Sit if you usually stand. Do something little to change the way you see the world, and admire how different it looks.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Just give
The more we know, the harder it can be to choose. It's hard for the educators I know to choose schools for their children. Doctors are notoriously bad at taking care if their own health issues.
I have this problem with philanthropy. A couple of years ago, when my kids voted to give their tzedakah to help "hungry people", I was overwhelmed with what that meant. And the choices. And the altitude. Should we buy food at a pantry? Should we buy someone a goat from Heifer International? Finally, I went to an expert - a friend who works allocating money in the areas of poverty. She recommended a local NY organization where our couple of hundred of dollars (of change) would make a difference. We made the gift, and indeed, got a lovely personalized thank you note back.
There are several organizations we give to as a family. Like most people, some have to do with our personal interests. Some are in support of friends and their causes. Some come from my professional understanding of the work and desire for impact.
And then some just speak to our heart and guts. This is hard to do as a professional. The non-profit professional in me wants to analyze every gift. Wants to be an investor, not a donor. Wants to give the homeless person on the subway a laminated card of resources along with my dollar. Wants to leverage every dollar we commit.
But at my gut, I'm not a non-profit professional, I'm a person. A person who is very affected by what I see and feel around me. Every year, I re-read and do some version of Jon Carroll's brilliant Untied Way. Just put cash in my pocket and give it to whomever asks. Without thinking or judgement.
The fundraisers I know who work for causes that aren't so, well, sexy, often get frustrated by people's personal commitment to causes that touched them. I get it. I really do. I used to have a lot of the same frustration.
Then one of the strongest people I know, my sister J, lost a baby to SIDS. And an extraordinary organization - First Candle - provided her family with support through the tragedy. Every year, I make a gift in her son's memory. At her oldest son's bar mitzvah a couple of weeks ago, he spoke of his commitment to the organization in tears. Have I ever looked at their 990? Nope. Do I have a full understanding of what they do? Definitely not. Could I tell you that it is the best investment for people who care about infant mortality? Not sure. They were there for my family, though, and I will continue to be there for them.
Sometimes, we just need to give. I encourage you all to do so this holiday season. Don't invest. Just pick something that you believe in and write a check. It'll make you feel good.
I have this problem with philanthropy. A couple of years ago, when my kids voted to give their tzedakah to help "hungry people", I was overwhelmed with what that meant. And the choices. And the altitude. Should we buy food at a pantry? Should we buy someone a goat from Heifer International? Finally, I went to an expert - a friend who works allocating money in the areas of poverty. She recommended a local NY organization where our couple of hundred of dollars (of change) would make a difference. We made the gift, and indeed, got a lovely personalized thank you note back.
There are several organizations we give to as a family. Like most people, some have to do with our personal interests. Some are in support of friends and their causes. Some come from my professional understanding of the work and desire for impact.
And then some just speak to our heart and guts. This is hard to do as a professional. The non-profit professional in me wants to analyze every gift. Wants to be an investor, not a donor. Wants to give the homeless person on the subway a laminated card of resources along with my dollar. Wants to leverage every dollar we commit.
But at my gut, I'm not a non-profit professional, I'm a person. A person who is very affected by what I see and feel around me. Every year, I re-read and do some version of Jon Carroll's brilliant Untied Way. Just put cash in my pocket and give it to whomever asks. Without thinking or judgement.
The fundraisers I know who work for causes that aren't so, well, sexy, often get frustrated by people's personal commitment to causes that touched them. I get it. I really do. I used to have a lot of the same frustration.
Then one of the strongest people I know, my sister J, lost a baby to SIDS. And an extraordinary organization - First Candle - provided her family with support through the tragedy. Every year, I make a gift in her son's memory. At her oldest son's bar mitzvah a couple of weeks ago, he spoke of his commitment to the organization in tears. Have I ever looked at their 990? Nope. Do I have a full understanding of what they do? Definitely not. Could I tell you that it is the best investment for people who care about infant mortality? Not sure. They were there for my family, though, and I will continue to be there for them.
Sometimes, we just need to give. I encourage you all to do so this holiday season. Don't invest. Just pick something that you believe in and write a check. It'll make you feel good.
Friday, December 2, 2011
White space
I've started reading the running pundits. It was inevitable, given my life-long obsession with periodicals and my new-found interest in running. Like much press, there are recurring themes. You know - short skirts are in, short skirts are out. The running press seems to have great admiration for the "easy run". The easy run is defined but what it isn't: it's not timed, not paced, not tracked, not fast, not hard. It is a put-on-your-shoes-and-just-run-until-you-are-done run.
I don't have fancy gear, but I like running gear. I like running distractions in general. As I have said, my first preference is to have my friends, Coach Craig and T the Terrific, with me. But if not, I want my ipod. And I like my ipod chip that tells me (sort of) how fast I am going and how long I have gone. Some day, I might even invest in the Garmin. If it didn't involve dealing with the chest strap, I'd probably get a heart rate monitor.
We were in the warmth over Thanksgiving. One day, I ran with JB. Running with JB is somewhere in between running with friends and running with music. He'll talk, but I have to initiate conversation.
But another day, I ran not with, but like, JB. It was an accident; I stepped outside to realize my ipod was completely dead. So I just ran. No music. No technology. No indicators of whether I was running fast or slow. Nothing to distract the thoughts in my head. And while I didn't love it, I survived it. I even had a brainstorm or two along the way. It's the way JB both runs and operates in general, a un-distracted approach towards life that is one of our major differences.
I've learned from the visual people and graphic designers in my work-life that people need white space. Too many words on the page distract us. As my sisters keep pointing out, I haven't been blogging much the past few weeks. It's unfortunately true. My new job, which I love, is occupying pretty much all of my mental space these days, filling every page with many, many words.
The run made me realize I need more white space. In my calendar, and in my life. I've started with my calendar - blocking a morning and an afternoon a week. For time to think, to write, to have the pop-in meetings about ideas. Maybe even to sit and just think for a minute, or ten.
Hopefully blogging a little more will be a side effect. I've got some things to say. Next up: the bar mitzvah of my oldest nephew and how we emotionally connect to charity.
In the meantime: Shabbat. The original, ordained white space. And probably a blog on that to come. Wishing you all a day, or an hour, or a moment, of rest.
I don't have fancy gear, but I like running gear. I like running distractions in general. As I have said, my first preference is to have my friends, Coach Craig and T the Terrific, with me. But if not, I want my ipod. And I like my ipod chip that tells me (sort of) how fast I am going and how long I have gone. Some day, I might even invest in the Garmin. If it didn't involve dealing with the chest strap, I'd probably get a heart rate monitor.
We were in the warmth over Thanksgiving. One day, I ran with JB. Running with JB is somewhere in between running with friends and running with music. He'll talk, but I have to initiate conversation.
But another day, I ran not with, but like, JB. It was an accident; I stepped outside to realize my ipod was completely dead. So I just ran. No music. No technology. No indicators of whether I was running fast or slow. Nothing to distract the thoughts in my head. And while I didn't love it, I survived it. I even had a brainstorm or two along the way. It's the way JB both runs and operates in general, a un-distracted approach towards life that is one of our major differences.
I've learned from the visual people and graphic designers in my work-life that people need white space. Too many words on the page distract us. As my sisters keep pointing out, I haven't been blogging much the past few weeks. It's unfortunately true. My new job, which I love, is occupying pretty much all of my mental space these days, filling every page with many, many words.
The run made me realize I need more white space. In my calendar, and in my life. I've started with my calendar - blocking a morning and an afternoon a week. For time to think, to write, to have the pop-in meetings about ideas. Maybe even to sit and just think for a minute, or ten.
Hopefully blogging a little more will be a side effect. I've got some things to say. Next up: the bar mitzvah of my oldest nephew and how we emotionally connect to charity.
In the meantime: Shabbat. The original, ordained white space. And probably a blog on that to come. Wishing you all a day, or an hour, or a moment, of rest.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Coach Craig
I have two running buddies: T, who was the inspiration for me to start running in the first place, and a friend of ours we like to call Anonymous Craig. T likes to say that AC and I are kind of like the devil and the angel on her shoulders. It's a little true. I'm the one who encourages stopping, nursing injuries, slowing down. AC? He's the one who pushes us, makes us run instead of walk, tries to beat the red lights.
Which is why I call him Coach Craig. He's my running coach. Calls me a whiner. Gives us the post-run fist bump. Is pushing us to do the Brooklyn half (for the record, it's not happening). Makes fun of my visor (wait, they both do that).
I never had a coach before. I was never an athlete, never played a team or individual sport. They didn't really have reading coaches for nerdy kids like me.
Yet, earlier this year, I had two. I did a few months executive coaching with an extraordinary professional. I can truly say it completely shifted my perspective on my career.
When I started interviewing coaches, one of the questions that I asked was what they saw as the differences between coaching and therapy. They had different answers, and it was a question that remained in my head as I (somewhat skeptically) began working with my coach.
Here's what I learned: coaching moves us forward. Therapy helps us understand where we are and how we got there. (That understanding is also key to moving us forward, of course). Coaching says: okay - you've got issues, we all do. OK, the people around you have issues - so what? What are you going to do about your life?
Coaches push us. They make us set goals and stick to them. They do it in a nice way or in a not-so-nice way depending on what we need. They help us make sure that tomorrow is different than today.
I run faster because of Coach Craig. Sure, there are days when I would rather walk, but his friendly combination of teasing and just continuing to run if we stop works for me. (So much so that I keep telling him he should have a personal training business on the side). If you don't have a coach (or two, or three) in your life, find one. Doesn't have to be someone you pay. Just has to me someone whose role it is to keep you moving forward. Even if he or she does it while wearing the ridiculous toe shoes.
Friday, October 28, 2011
What are you amazing at?
In a meeting this week, someone asked me "What are you amazing at? Like, truly amazing?" The question threw me off, mostly because of the setting - it wasn't the sort of meeting in which I would have expected that question.
(For what it's worth, and in case any of you readers might have been in that meeting, I'm happy that I was asked.)
Frankly, I stumbled through my answer. Even after several recent interviews for a new position during which I spoke a lot about myself. And after working on articulating my story and my skills and my core competencies and all of those branding things which I have learned (somewhat reluctantly) to work on.
I can tell you what I'm good at. I can tell you what I'm bad at. But amazing? To highlight one thing? That's more difficult.
But so very crucial. For ourselves, and for our organizations.
We need to be able to articulate quickly what is at the very top of our skill pyramids. It's quicker, and sharper, than an elevator speech. It becomes both more complicated and more important as the entire nonprofit world becomes more networked and more about working collaboratively with partners. That very connectedness forces us to be able to pinpoint exactly what makes us stand out.
In Judaism this week, we read the story of Noah. Most of us from western religious traditions know it. Noah does one thing, right? He builds that ark. He doesn't, as this video suggests, go help his neighbors. He doesn't try to stop the rain. He listens, measures, and builds.
Maybe Noah should have done more. Probably, even. But even if he had, we might likely still remember him for that one thing. That ark. If someone asked him what he was amazing at, he could tell you. Me, I haven't quite found my ark, but I'm having fun defining it, for myself, and for the amazing organization I have the privilege to work for.
(For what it's worth, and in case any of you readers might have been in that meeting, I'm happy that I was asked.)
Frankly, I stumbled through my answer. Even after several recent interviews for a new position during which I spoke a lot about myself. And after working on articulating my story and my skills and my core competencies and all of those branding things which I have learned (somewhat reluctantly) to work on.
I can tell you what I'm good at. I can tell you what I'm bad at. But amazing? To highlight one thing? That's more difficult.
But so very crucial. For ourselves, and for our organizations.
We need to be able to articulate quickly what is at the very top of our skill pyramids. It's quicker, and sharper, than an elevator speech. It becomes both more complicated and more important as the entire nonprofit world becomes more networked and more about working collaboratively with partners. That very connectedness forces us to be able to pinpoint exactly what makes us stand out.
In Judaism this week, we read the story of Noah. Most of us from western religious traditions know it. Noah does one thing, right? He builds that ark. He doesn't, as this video suggests, go help his neighbors. He doesn't try to stop the rain. He listens, measures, and builds.
Maybe Noah should have done more. Probably, even. But even if he had, we might likely still remember him for that one thing. That ark. If someone asked him what he was amazing at, he could tell you. Me, I haven't quite found my ark, but I'm having fun defining it, for myself, and for the amazing organization I have the privilege to work for.
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