Doug Kreitzberg

Baptism in Lake Superior

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On Saturday I completed my first marathon, Grandma’s Run in Duluth, MN.  My standing joke had been that, given my size, I’d be in the Clydesdale’s weight divison and given my inexperience, I’d be in the back of the Clydesdales making me the horse’s ass of the race.  I certainly did not break any land speed records, but I finished approximately at the time I had been pacing during my training (5:25).  I was in the back of the pack, but when you factor in that about a third of those who started the race did not finish, I’ll take it.
 
Eight months ago, all this seemed improbable.  I had this desire to get back into running, bought a pair of shoes, went out for a two mile jog and walked 1.5 miles of it.  A week or two later, around Thanksgiving, I told my friend I was going to run a 56 miler — the Comrades in South Africa in June (mainly because walking the uphills is encouraged) and he told me I was insane.  And when anyone tells me I’m insane, I start to think there’s some merit to it.  And, even though I won’t make Comrades — this year — I have a tremendous sense of accomplishment and have learned a number of things along the way.  And I believe they apply for anything, whether you are running a business, making sales, trying to retain clients or wishing to pursue your core passion.
 
1,    Think Big.  I am definitely not typecast for running 26.2 miles.  But I was tired of working out.  I needed something bigger than “to lose weight”  or “to relieve stress”.  I needed something almost impossible to shoot for.  What’s the point, if you can’t aspire for something bigger than you are?
 
2.   Get a Plan.  Of course, even if you are shooting for the impossible, it helps to have a plan. And I found this wonderful resource on the interent, Hal Higdon’s Marathon Training program for novices.  It gave me an 18 week plan which told me how many miles to run and which days to run them, as well as a lot of good tips (like, “run slow, the goal of a first-timer is to finish”).  Although there were a few exceptions, I followed this program to the letter. 
 
3.  Talk to People who’ve Been There.  Along the way I was fortunate to get encouragement and tips from those who had run marathons. One friend gave me tips on how to plan the run (such as “don’t run too fast in the beginning or you’ll die before the end”) and  another (who apparently has run quite a lot of marathons) got me to go to a real running store to get shoes to match my gait after I complained of hip and knee pain (both went away with the new shoes). I drew a lot of inspiration from them, which helped me immensely.
 
4.  The Training is the Thing.  It’s amazing to me how little emphasis we place on training, whether at the office, on the field or at home.  We all seem to want to focus on Just Doing It.  But, what is more important is to “Just Practice It”.  Practicing builds confidence, builds mental toughness and perhaps most importantly, builds agility.  During the marathon, between miles 15 and 17, I began running out of steam and I switched to a “run 2 min, walk 1 min” mode which I tried during parts of my last long practice run.  By 17, I got a second wind and moved back into more of a running mode. If I hadn’t trained for contingencies, I might not have finished. Remember, training isn’t just about learning how to do the right thing; it’s also about learning how to adapt when you can’t do the right the thing (which happens more than we care to believe).
 
5.  Learn to love the Long Run.  Every Saturday was my long run day.  It was probably the most important part of the training program, but it also became my favorite.  I enjoyed having “Pasta Night” with the family the night before, getting up to hit the road between 5am or 5:30am, startling the occassional deer, fox or raccoon on the road, waking the sheep up at a passing farm, or witnessing a beautiful spring sunrise.  The long runs became the one time during the week which was all “my time”, to reconnect, to bring clarity to whatever was weighing on me or to just simply breathe.  It is almost as if the Goal of the Marathon became the Training, not the other way around.
 
6. Scout Out the Route before you Run. The day before the race, I took a bus ride along the course.  Despite a boorish tour guide who took one look at me and starting joking about eating chocolate bars and smoking Pall Malls along the way (how did he know my strategy?), I did get a chance to see the course, the hills, the turns and the neighborhoods.  It helped me during the race, when I could visualize what was coming up, which spurred me along.
 
7.  A Marathon is a Team Sport.  Running a long way for a long time is helped greatly by those running with you and with those along the way routing for you or giving you water.  I spent half of the race with a pace group.  The leader did a great job joking and telling stories and help us maintain our pace during the run.  During the last six miles, we ran through town and I marveled at the people still lining the street (remember, when I was running through the race was 4 to 5 hours old at the time) cheering us on.  (Note:  Although I’ve learned that there are three things specators should not say:  “You look great!”  (Everyone running looks like crap); “You’re almost there”  (After a while, any distance seems like a lifetime.); and “This is the last hill” (Which means “this is the last hill before the next hill”.)) There is something about the loneliness of the long distance runner, but it helps to encourage others and be encouraged along the way.
 
8.  In the end, however, it’s up to You.  After the tips, the encouragement and the training, after the Canadien and American National Anthems and the Minnesota National Guard Jet Flyover and the Chariots of Fire music at the gate, there’s basically nothing left but you and your feet.  You, ultimately, are responsible for finishing or not finishing and you can’t make any excuses or blame anyone else.  That’s a somewhat intimidating feeling, but on the other hand, when you do finish, it is ultimately because of what you alone were able to accomplish.
 
After the race, I was talking to a local from Duluth and he asked whether I had jumped into Lake Superior yet.  I told him I had not and he told me that it was important that I at least walk in up to my knees, that the Lake was an important part of the area and I could not leave Duluth without doing it.  The next day, I took a walk alongside the Lake.  It was a beautiful day and there was a nice breeze coming off the water.  At one point, there was a beach like area.  I made my way to the water’s edge, took off my shoes and walked in.  The water was cool, but felt wonderful.  I felt wonderful.  Rejuvenated. And ready to do it all again.
 
That’s what success feels like.

 

Poncho and Lefty

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For the past six months I’ve had a cd by Townes Van Zandt recycling through my car stereo.  I have a few other cds as well, most of which I enjoy but also most of which my wife is tired of hearing over and over.

But I keep come back to Townes who has a simple, earthy directness to his music.

One of the songs is called “Poncho and Lefty”. The song tells the tale of a bandit named Poncho and his blues singing sidekick, Lefty.  Poncho is gunned down by the authorities in a Mexico desert and Lefty leaves for Ohio with a trail of suspicon that he might have tipped the Federales off for money.

When I first started listening to it, I thought it was a nice ballad. Later I thought that the story would make for a good “buddy” movie ala Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid”.

But over the past month, I’ve been thinking that the song is not about two separate people, but two sides of the same person: the adventurous/creative side versus the pragmatic survivor.  The song talks about how many of us are the Judas to our own dreams and passions in return for what we believe to be a life of  security and conformity.

I think about the misalignment of our dreams and actions often, because I do believe that it leads more to chronic stress than anything else. I also believe that it makes it that much more difficult for an organization to align its purpose with the individual. The more an organization can involve employees in ways which inspire their individual passions, then everyone wins.

Of course, work needs to get done.  And not every task may seem to inspire passion in you, but if the bulk of what you are doing seems pointless and lifeless, then why are you doing it? That may not mean that you quit and pursue your dreams elsewhere (although it might) but it might mean thinking real hard about what it is you love to do and see if you can’t craft your job to do more of that – you’d be surprised at easy it might be to pull off; your boss is thirsting for employees who demonstrate initiative.

Townes’ song ends with Lefty growing old in a cheap hotel. But that is not how it needs to end for any of us.  We have the ability to redeem ourselves from ourselves every day, if we choose to.

That’s worth singing about.

On the Hinge

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During last week, I took the family to the Philadelphia Museum of Art.  While the Museum has a lot of interesting work on display, I was particularly interested in one piece which I had read about in a book by Lewis Hyde, entitled Trickster Makes This World.  It is a work by Marcel Duchamp entitled “The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors”, or “The Large Glass”.  It is indeed, a large work between sheets of glass, supported by a metal border and a piece of metal which almost looks like the hinge of a window pane running through the bottom third of the piece.  In the upper panel suspends the bride, the lower contains the bachelors.

According to Hyde, Duchamp wrote that “The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors” was a “delay in glass”.  The Bride still retains an infinite number of possiblities for her life, standing on the hinge between desire and fulfillment.  Fulfillment has its advantages, to be sure, but it also has it’s drawbacks; fulfillment weds us to a choice, and choices both define and place limitations on the future.  Duchamp is not necessarily stating, “never chose”; as Hyde states, “a ‘delay’ both suspends but not suspends activity.”  The action will continue, the choice will be made.  However, Duchamp shares this moment with the viewer as if to say, “we are all brides sitting on the hinge of possibility.”  Regardless of choices we have made, or how we view ourselves — or how others view us — right now, at this moment, we still have infinite possibilities in front of us.

I find that those times I feel at my lowest is when I feel I have no choice, or that something is totally out of my control.  And yet, even during those times, if I take a moment, I do see that I have choices and there are possibilities (even if most of those possibilities simply involve changing how I feel about the situation).  When I sit, like that bride, on the hinge of possibility, eyes not filled with dreamy stars but clear and bright, my fear subsides and I make a decision with calm and confidence.

Every New Year is a time for both reflection and resolution.  Whether you are making resolutions for yourself or for your business, recognize that possibilities before you are perhaps greater than you might initially realize.  Be that bride on a hinge, stay suspended there for a moment and take wonder in the possibilities that are actually available to you.

Give the Ability to Receive this Year

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This is the gift-giving season.  And, as we know, it is better to give than to receive.  If you’re like me, you’ve bought and exchanged gifts (and perhaps had some of those gifts exchanged at the store afterwards) and, maybe, even now Aunt Minnie is wearing one of the sweaters you bought her and nephew Andy is playing the new Wii game you gave.

It feels good to give.  And yet, for me, there’s that nagging sensation of “how long will it last”?  When does the sweater get placed neatly in Aunt Minnie’s dresser rarely to be seen again and when does the “new” Wii game get shuffled to the back of the deck of Wii games?

One thing I’m also trying to give during this season as well as strive to do more of next year is to give the ability to receive; give those I care about — whether my family, friends or business relationships — the time to connect with them, to really hear what they have to say, to engage with them at their level, to set aside the multi-tasking jumble that my brain usually becomes and receive their ideas, passions or idle thoughts.  Even if it’s nothing more than a few minutes a day, it’s at least something.

Because, just perhaps, in these days where we are frantically trying to “stay connected” via e-mail, twitter, facebook, and voice mail, the greatest gift we can give is to push all that aside, empty our minds, reach out to someone and let them become connected to us.

Hisses and Pops

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Two years ago, for reasons I won’t go into here, I bought a turntable.  It was quite accidental,  but now I find myself scouring e-bay and other sources for records.  My wife thinks I’m crazy (or it’s another reason for her to think I’m crazy) but I now am totally into vinyl.  Some say the musical quality is better, but what I really like about it is that playing records actually causes you to pay attention to the music.  You can only listen to one at a time, you have to be ready to flip the record when a side is complete, and you need to be in one place to listen to the music (you can’t throw the turntable in the car or your briefcase or on your back as you’re jogging).  Record handling requires attention which also creates, at least to me,  a sense of increased attention to the music being played.  The used records are especially cool — the rich musty smell of the cardboard cover and the hissing and pops bring you a sense of history and, as you listen to the music, you wonder about who else listened to this same album: were they happy or sad, dancing or contemplative, in love or in angst, sitting in a nice surburban home or partying in a rowhouse.

I know I live in an IPod (or should I now say ‘IPhone’) world. We have so many ways that make it easy to be connected anywhere at anytime.  But I also wonder if the ease of connection sacrifices the quality of that connection.  How often have we dashed off a rash e-mail only to wish seconds later that we could reach into the computer to take it back?  Or have we had a flare-up during a phone call when someone happened to push one of our buttons? Or how often do we decline to say something to someone, because we don’t have the time to really explain what we’re feeling or to really listen to what they’re saying because we have a hundred other things to get to that day?

Now, we can’t go back to the “turntable times” of business and type memos on typewriters or fumble through “While you were out” messages.  But we can focus more on the quality of our interactions.  It’s extremely hard, but it can be done.  If we treat each interaction we have like we’re listening to a record, really listening to what’s being said, really making sure that we are understood, we can be effective and successful.

Imagine that every meeting you’re in, every e-mail you’re reading, every phone call you make, is being done in the living room of your own home.  It is twilight and there’s a soft breeze coming in off the porch. You’ve just turned on a lamp and the light flows into the shadows.  The person (or persons) with whom you are speaking is like an old jazz album which you’ve just placed on the stereo.  Listen to what’s being said, listen to how you’re feeling as the conversation grows, listen to the hisses and pops of that other person’s history and experience and also the hisses and pops of your own history and experience. Pay attention to nothing else.

The average track is 2 minutes and 57 seconds and in that time, the best music can stir our souls, create love, cure heartbreak or change our lives.  Just think what you can do in business if you treat each interaction you have in the same way.

A Stick of Gum

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I was on a flight yesterday from San Antonio to Charlotte.  A woman sat next to me and ahead of us were, it seemed, her parents. As we were taking off, the woman pulled out a pack of gum, offered a stick to each of her parents and turned and offered me one.

It was, as the cliche goes, a random act of kindness, without strings. And it made me think, that’s what a stick of gum is for.  To share.  When people pull out a pack of gum, it triggers some primitive urge to reach out to someone.  The gum doesn’t cost much and the act of sharing doesn’t come saddled with commitments. Yet the small gesture makes both parties grateful, a small ritual of acceptance and recognition that we are human and somehow connected. And it’s all wrapped in minty freshness.

What if we consciously turned every interaction we made into that ritual?  If every time we met someone, or spoke to them on the phone, or sent something in the mail or posted something on the web for them to see, we made them feel like we had offered them a stick of gum, that we said, “I know you”, “I’m just like you” and “You are special.”

I barely spoke to the woman on the plane.  I will never see her again.  Yet, for that one small moment, we shared something and it made me feel good and I won’t long forget it.

I think I’ll carry a pack of gum with me, from now on.

Life on the Fly

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Today’s New York Times has an interesting article about how people visit museums.  The author juxtaposed the pre-technological age habit of “deep-diving” into literature and art versus today’s “smash-n-grab” approach (walk in to a museum, grab a headset, walk through, drop headset, have a latte).

I think that we all feel like we are skimming the surface of our lives, that we’d love to dip below the surface, but that there’s so much to see and so much to do.  Instead, we’re content to find the “top 10” this and the “favorite” that and make choices as if all of life were in a zagat guide.

If we ever gave ourselves pause to think, we might realize that life’s richness requires us to get engaged, and that engagement requires time, focus and attention.  Ironically, time, focus and attention are becoming scare in the internet-dominated world where we can communicate with anyone and be anywhere we want.

On your way to work, think about what you are really passionate about.  Determine to be an expert in that subject. Find people who are equally engaged in what you love.  Try to do it all off the grid.

Grab a pencil, grab a sketchbook.  The rest is up to you.

Time to face your Nightmare

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What keeps you up at night?

What keeps you up at night?

OK, so you’ve ridden out the worst of the this economic storm.  You’re still alive, but your car’s sputtering and running out of gas.  And it’s dark and you’re not sure where exactly you are or going.  It there was a soundtrack to your life, now would be the time when the music raises the hair on the back of your neck.

You wish you had more choices, but you don’t.  To make it through the night, you have to get out, face your worst nightmare and defeat it.

Unfortunately, our own nightmares aren’t as simple to identify as needle-boy above.  Our own nightmares are facing up to things we need to do, but that we hate doing.  Not only do we hate doing them, but we’ll swamp ourselves with busy work just to keep from thinking about doing them.  When times are good, or we feel we can get by on inertia, that may be fine.  But neither is true today.

So, how do you identify your nightmares?  One way is reflect on what are those things that you do that just seem to sap the life energy out of you.  Or that give you a knot in your stomach just thinking about.  For each one of those activities, think about whether they actually help you grow.  Also, think about how you’ll feel once you actually do them.  If the answer to the first is “yes” and the answer to the second, “Great” or at least, “Relieved”, then it’s time to Cowboy Up!

What may be some of these nightmares?

Getting a referral.

Making a cold call.

Giving a presentation.

Launching a new product or marketing campaign that might fail.

Doing anything that everyone, except your gut, tells you won’t work.

Having a tough conversation with a vendor or employee. Or your boss.

Shutting down the product line that got you started, but isn’t selling any more.

Like Dreams, Nightmares are best dealt with in bite-size chunks.  Think about what you need to do today to help you get through this.  Don’t try to get it all done at once.  Just one, small thing.  Setting an appointment, for example.  Getting a phone list.  Asking for a P&L.

Now, that wasn’t hard, was it?

The other thing you need to do is to tell people what you want to do and ask them to support you.  Sometimes, support is in the way of assistance, but in this case, support may feel more like a kick in the pants.  In any event, don’t keep your nightmares (and what you intend to do about them) to yourself.  Share them, tell people why you are facing up to them, tell them how you’ll feel once you actually get through them.  That way, when they do come to kick you in the butt (as they invariably will), they’ll be able to remind you why you’re doing this in the first place.

And remember, facing up to your nightmares does not mean turning away from your dreams.  Most often, you must face the nightmare in order to grasp the dream.

Find Your MacGuffin

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This weekend, I my son and his friend introduced me to the world of guerrilla drive-ins and macguffins.

The guerrilla drive-in is a movie shown in secret outdoor locations.  The one in our area shows movies like “Ghostbusters”, “Back to the Future”, etc from the seat of a 1977 BMW motorcycle sidecar, typically shown on sheets or a few pieces of plywood. The “projectionist” attempts to show the films at locations that mirror some aspect of the film.  As an example, “Ghostbusters” was shown at Fort Mifflin where there have been stories of hauntings, and “Back to the Future” was shown over an old parking garage with a view of a clock tower (which figures in the movie). At the Back to the Future showing, about a hundred people showed up, along with a Delorean collector who showed off his car.

To know where the movies are being shown, you have to find the macguffin, listen for a secret code, take your picture with the macguffin and e-mail the photo and the code to the organizer. You then get on an e-mail list describing dates, times, locations and movie titles of upcoming events.  The macguffin is nothing more than a radio transmitter (in an attractive organge box adorned with a sticker of Che Guevara wearing 3D glasses)  which is hidden in an undisclosed part of town. While there are hints if you scour the web, people typically find out where the macguffin is from friends who have been to one of the movies.  (In our case, John’s friend’s brother.)

Yesterday, we went macguffin hunting.  We found the location, sat in the car, tuned our station to 1700AM and listened for the code.  After a few minutes, we got the code, then went into the store, found the macguffin and took our pictures with it. As a bonus, we found a guy named “Zeke” and got pictures taken with him.  (I’m told that the bonus is you get a “Z” in front of your member number.)

My son and his friend fired off their e-mails with photos and code and hope to hear from the organizer soon.

Now, the movies that are shown are not hard to find, and watching them on in sixteen millimeter on a sheet isn’t the greatest technology.  But the way in which you find out about the events, the method by which they’re staged and the mock-secret way of discovering the macguffin give the shows a sense of community and a sense of fun.  The movie is not the entertainment, becoming part of, and engaging in the community is the entertainment.

Last week, I met up with a client I had known for many years. We talked a little business, then he began to chide me for not keeping in touch. I realized that he wasn’t as interested in the business aspects as the personal aspects. I had gotten too high falutin’, had become all business and had forgotten to pay attention to the friends I’ve made along the way.  I lost my macguffin.

I know business is serious stuff, dealing with serious issues.  But I also know that we sell to people.  And people have emotions and they respond to joy, fear, anger.  I also know that people want to be happy and they to find ways they can engage in activities which make them laugh.  When was the last time you made a customer laugh?  When was the last time you created a marketing campaign that got prospects excited? Listen. You sell the same thing as everyone else.  Perhaps the way to appeal to your market is to engage them in a way no one else has as of yet.  Create a macguffin, make the experience of buying insurance better than root canal, do something different that people will smile when they remember it.  Regardless, just keep in mind what Maya Angelou says: “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

Of Sofas, Living Rooms and Arm Chairs

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I’m in my living room, looking at my sofa and I’m not happy. The sofa is beat — torn up and god knows what else from the animals. In addition, since I took up the last wall of the living room with another bookcase, it’s slung kitty-corner in the room, making a goal-line stand in front of one bookcase containing philosophy and history and another containing fiction and my jazz album collection.

‘This won’t work,’ I think to myself.  Then I pause and add, ‘Wait a minute, what do I need a sofa for, anyway?’

What indeed? The sofa’s main purpose is to bring people together, which is great for newlyweds and teenage groping.  I have no problem with that, but give it a few years and wring out the lovey-dovey and the sofa transforms itself into a sleeper — how many of us come home ready to spend a quite evening in front of the TV in the family room only to find a gangly 17 year old splayed across the sofa like a rorshach test, leaving you to sit in the corner on a wobbly cane chair you trash-picked five years ago? (How many of us rush home to be the first to splay themselves out on the sofa?)

And, when you have folks over, each end of the sofa is staked out first, leaving the third person to sit in the middle, arms vee’d down between their legs looking like they got seat 31E for a twenty-three hour trip home on Air Kazakhstan.

But then….not having a sofa is unAmerican.  No, actually, it’s unhuman.  Everyone has a sofa, right?  How did we get this way?  My guess is that the sofa is the product of evolution. In the beginning was the log astride the fire, then the benches that would flank each side of a dining table to be pulled out for sitting and chatting by the front room fireplace.  Next people added a back to the bench and curved arms. Then the padded seat and after that the padded back and arms and legs.  Then reclining sofas and sectionals.  Like an adaptable species, sofas learned how to survive.

But I’m thinking, Darwin be damned, the sofa is outta here! What’s wrong with a few well-placed arm chairs?  They’re comfortable, they can be moved around and grouped any which way you please, they don’t hog the room like a sofa does.  It’s perfect!

What pieces of useless furniture do you have cluttering up your mind, your view of the world? Every so often, take an inventory of your perceptions, impressions, stereotypes and categories that you use to view the world.  Take a hard look at each one and see if it adds to your sense of self and your community, or it detracts from either.  If it adds value, dust it off and put it back — if not, throw it the dumpster.  Just because you always thought one way in the past doesn’t mean you have to think that way in the future. Take a chance and lighten your load.

In the meantime, wanna buy a sofa?