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I really despise this image.
Do a Google image search for "leadership", and half the images are of chess sets. This is terrible. Is that really the best analogy for leadership: a king and his pawns?
This blog post will be a book review (!) of sorts. I just finished three books by Orson Scott Card (Ender's Game, Speaker for the Dead, Ender's Shadow), and am in the middle of a book by Frances Hodgson Burnett (The Lost Prince).
They all have a common thread. Leadership. They're also inspiring reads.
Ender Wiggin is a boy whose destiny is to save the planet Earth from an alien civilization known as the Buggers. He's manipulated, pushed, and flat-out lied to by the adults in his life, while expected to earn the trust, respect, and loyalty of his fellow boy commanders.
His strength is his ability to be the invisible man--eliminating distractions and removing obstacles from those in his charge. He's an enabler, a teacher, a catalyst. He's uncompromising in his expectations of others, but this very characteristic forces them to be the very best they can be. He loves those serving under him, and they love him fiercely in return.
Ender Wiggin is a leader.
Not a delegator.
Not a manager.
A leader.
Stefan Loristan is another leader. He treats everyone with respect. When he talks to you, you feel that you're the center of the Universe. You're treated as an equal, whether you're his 12-year old son, a street urchin named "Rat", or a dire enemy. A leader looks you in the eye, tells you what you need to know, and listens to you.
A leader doesn't let circumstances affect how he treats those who depend on him. A leader always does the right thing. There's no oxymoron so strong as an undependable leader.
I want to be a leader.
Not a king of pawns.
Not a master of servants.
Not a manager of employees.
A leader.
Until next time,
- Daniel
What do you get when you take Portland, multiply its population by four, and stick it next to the Pacific Ocean?
You get San Francisco.
It truly feels like Portland. Not just in look, but in culture. I'm at a conference at the University of California for the week. Not being a particularly strong socialite or bar monger, I've been roaming the city and soaking in the sights instead.
Oh, and the coolest thing? My hotel is only five miles from the Golden Gate Bridge. Built in 1937, and at a length of 4,200 feet, it's the second longest suspension bridge in the U.S. and arguably the most beautiful. It's also one of the most-photographed bridges in the world.
But how many people get to walk it... at night? I'm planning to do that very thing tomorrow at 5am. It may be more like a run, since I need to get back by 7:30am, but with the fog and the lights from the bridge, it's likely to be a ghostly experience.
All that said, San Francisco feels like a lonely place. Despite the enviable climate, sweeping bay, and ocean-front view, the rank and file of the poor, destitute, and homeless is deeper than back home. The city is dirtier and--outside the tourist spots--more run down than I expected.
I hope I never get so distracted by the highlights of the world around me that I neglect to see the lowlights. Such is the daily challenge of an optimist.
Did I just call myself an optimist?
...
AHHH!!! WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME!!!
...
Until next time,
- Daniel
Some people say that long runs are very "Zen", whatever that means. This amuses me. For background, Zen is a major school of Buddhism, originating in 12th century China, and emphasizes enlightenment through meditation and insight.
This is bizarre. Truly. The only enlightenment you'll get during a long run is through pain and self-flagellation. At least--that's the conclusion I came to during my 20-mile run yesterday. And honestly, the enlightenment you glean has nothing to do with a higher spiritual plane. It has everything to do with your nervous system.
Some define running as the love of pain. This is disingenuous. There are two types of pain. First, there's the this-is-broken type pain and then there's the this-will-break-if-you-keep-it-up-much-longer type of pain.
Long runs belong to that second school of thought. They're an arm-wrestling match between self-preservation and a desire for betterment. These two ideals are at war, and--unfortunately--you have to listen to both of them. If you let the betterment side win, you'll end up in a ditch at the side of the road. If you let the self-preservation side win, a whole lot of bathroom scales (and potato chips) are gonna die.
If this sounds like a hard balancing act to pull off, you're right. Essentially, whenever the war gets a little lopsided, you have to allow the losing team to call in a complimentary A-10 strike. After my long runs, I typically give my self-preservation team an all-expense-paid vacation to Disneyland. It has the same effect.
I don't care if you're on speaking terms with your body. Even the best body has the right to know why you're subjecting it to torture. If you don't reply, it'll take your nervous system hostage and kill it one neuron at a time.
And even if you do reply, there's no guarantee that it won't try to kill you. The second tier of defense is pacification. Dry socks, moleskin, and gatorade are all excellent olive branches. But even this approach has failed me in the past.
The final tactic is the A-10 strike I mentioned earlier. Even if the cost of a massage or triple-scoop ice cream cone isn't normally something you'd absorb... let me assure you... when you're in the middle of that final training run before your marathon, you'll promise yourself things that you wouldn't normally promise yourself.
The good thing is that over time, your body trusts you more. It allows you to do things that--just starting out--would have been grounds for a firing squad or being buried alive in a termite mound. Don't abuse that trust, and you'll end up a faster, fitter human being.
Viva la vida!
Until next time,
- Daniel
Some say that athleticism and coordination go hand in hand. I disagree.
It's anecdotal, of course, but a couple months ago, I went for a 12 mile run on the Eagle Creek Trail near Bonneville Dam. About 8 miles in, I slipped and split my right knee open on a rock. No permanent damage, but the image of a wild-eyed, wild-haired man streaking down a trail with blood streaming down his leg must have mentally scarred numerous hikers that day.
Today, to celebrate Labor Day, I went for a 12 mile hike at Silver Star Mountain near Washougal, WA. And--not to be outdone--I slipped and bloodied my left knee after the first quarter mile.
Gifted. Definitely gifted.
But hey, at least I've got matching scars. Booyah.
Athleticism can be trained. Clumsiness is hereditary and/or age-dependent. Which means you may learn to run like a gazelle, climb like a monkey, or throw like a gorilla. But, if you're the type to give your fingertips a thrill whenever you wield a kitchen knife, there's not much hope.
So, some people fall more than others. That's a given. From here on out, it's all about style, as Buzz Lightyear so astutely noted.
A few pro tips when you find yourself in mid-stumble:
- Tuck your head in and do a roll.
Not only does it look awesome, it looks totally intentional--albeit impromptu.
- Use it as a plot device when you're mid-conversation.
"Hey, have you ever tried peach ice..."
:slips:
:segues into barrel roll, taking out a few thistles in the process:
:gets up:
"...cream? It makes me want to do acrobatics just thinking about it."
- Pretend like you've been shot.
Best. Practical. Joke. Ever.
From one klutz to another. Best of luck. Not that it was ever on our side, but optimism is all we've got. Now go forth and do some awesome spontaneous stunts.
Until next time,
- Daniel
Humans respond well to extremes. That's why movies are constantly pushing the envelope of what's culturally acceptable. The goal of a movie is to stay at the front of your mind, grab your emotions, and do whatever's necessary to make itself unforgettable.
This is both good and bad. Good in the sense that we're built to pay attention to our moral compasses. Bad in the sense that this curiosity can result in greater and greater violations of the boundaries of that compass.
It's not just movies, of course. Pick an example of music you enjoy. Chances are, it's about something you align with strongly--probably in an extreme or idealistic sense. For example, music that idolizes the one you love is attractive because it mirrors an idealistic extreme many people want. People looking to marry want to marry the perfect person for them--it's impossible, of course, but it plays to our emotions. In the same vein, music that's patriotic is attractive because we want to feel idealistic about our country. Still--such music is often one-sided, a blatantly biased view of a country's good side.
I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with extremes. However, the more you expose yourself to extreme thinking, the more desensitized you become to real genuine thinking. Instead of trying to find the perfect person to marry, try to find the right person. Instead of watching dramatizations of Nazi violence, watch documentaries that tell the story without trying to polarize viewers with extreme closeups of blood and gore.
Some might respond by saying that Jesus was extreme.
No. At least, not in the sense I'm defining extreme here. He told the truth like it was, without spin, without bias. He didn't try to polarize his audience by only telling them things they aligned with. He wasn't a politician. Many people were repulsed by his teaching. Many turned back to the extremes they were pursuing before: absolute wealth, bottomless sin, or earthly perfection. Some crucified him.
If Jesus composed music or directed films, they wouldn't be critically acclaimed. They would be shunned by many and ignored by more. They probably wouldn't even be profitable or successful by worldly standards
I'm not advocating censorship by any means. But, next time you hear a song about kicking Satan in the teeth or decide to watch reruns of The Brady Bunch, consider whether your attraction is to an idealistic theme or the truth as it really is.
Until next time,
- Daniel
