Science teaches us
unlike this placemat,
earth is round.
Tonight we explore
space and time
in tiny bites.
Disbelief is suspended
as friends gather
and evidence mounts.
All of us
once left somewhere
to come here.
If not you,
surely your ancestors.
Outsiders they came.
Spices from faraway
carrying grandmother’s scent
float and fill our kitchen.
We are reminded again:
people are people.
Food is love.
Noise-cancelling headphones will not cut it.
I had earplugs wedged in deep PLUS the headphones.
And still, I could hear the guy word for word.
Along with every soul in the fuselage.
It was like Glengarry Glen Ross, but worse.
Even the church lady in 43C was thinking,
“Sir. Please.
SHUT THE FUCK UP.
Please. Thank you.”
Maybe he bumped his head as a kid
on the day the teacher explained Inside Voices.
It’s possible.
Or maybe his ears were always infected
so he couldn’t hear his mom rant about
not airing out dirty laundry in front of strangers.
The poor guy probably didn’t even have a mom.
And now he’s hard of hearing from so many infections.
Now I’m feeling sorry for the guy.
Somewhere around cruising altitude, I decide
it’s because he’s a couple thousand hugs short.
I bet 25 hugs a day for a year would do the trick.
Lots of hugs.
And maybe a really hard punch to the face.
But just one. Then tons and tons of hugs.
I memorized this Rudyard Kipling poem as a kid. It has stuck with me my entire life. When facing a challenge, especially one with a looming deadline, a quick read of this self-paraphrased version usually does me good. Maybe it can help you today. You can read Kipling’s poem, here, via the Poetry Foundation.
Here is my paraphrased version, cooked down to a punch list, for my diagnosed (and undiagnosed) friends living with ADHD, depression, anxiety, or any physical, mental or emotional disability:
stay calm
trust yourself
be patient
tell the truth
always be kind
stay modest
be bold
expect good and bad times
keep moving forward
take big risks
be resilient
remain positive
be courageous in fear
take a stand
treat everyone the same
take care of yourself
learn from your mistakes
show up
always forgive
Jack Roberts has mastered the art of being a friend and loving on people.
While friends debate the pros/cons of imbedding artificial intelligence into everything around us, my mind drifts to AI-proof professions. A world run by robots and algorithms? Maybe. But I know this:
If you have a graduate about to launch out into the cold, hard universe, (or out of your house!) share this glimmer of hope.
I recently retired. I feel like I know way too much and still, not nearly enough. Let me explain.
If I could load my wagon with hand-picked thoughts, knowledge, and memories, and drop them all off into a bin at my neighborhood Goodwill, I would.
Everything I learned about competitive analysis, I would trade for fluency in French.
Here’s an epic trade: all I know about politics, in exchange for more time in nature.
What I would give to switch religious dogma for techniques in using a telescope like a boss.
Databases and search engines? Delete. While spreadsheets helped with my learning disability, I’d replace many of my tech abilities for skills spinning a potter’s wheel.
In two seconds flat, I would give up all the minutes I listened to gossip, to write one memorable song.
For every meaningless app I downloaded, I’d know how to bake croissants that melt your face.
All the negative self-talk? I’d free up space to learn to play, “three chords and the truth.”
After all these years, I collected so much mental stuff. TOO MUCH stuff. The young scholars I coach or teach, I want to inspire to see their minds as a greenhouse full of of life-giving things that are REAL … not a database stuffed with content, or a dusty basement crammed with shoe boxes of receipts.
If you don’t know where to begin, take action with small steps you can easily repeat. Things that help you feel grounded in things that are real.
I love to read. So anything about the natural world that sparks my imagination, challenges my assumptions, or makes me bust out laughing (or cry my face off.)
Here’s a weird one that worked for me: I deleted Door Dash and started learning the names of people who produce the food I cook for my family.
For many, being “real” means dealing with pain. Know this: grief and loss will always be with us. And the best way to kill pain is by serving others. So show love to everyone who crosses your path.
A child psychologist once told me we get to choose how we suffer. For me, even in tough times, I still want to bring color and spice into my corner of the world, literally and metaphorically. Hone skills that bring joy, peace-of-mind, and security to others.
Today, I listened to “Let Me Take You for a Walk,” by Rikard From. Rikard is a happy Swede who plays the piano like someone who knows the blues. I had it on repeat all day and I ended up writing the best poem I’ve written in my life.
I wonder if Rikard knew the song he was creating would bring light into my life … and that light created more light in me?
I found out this dude didn’t start writing music until just a few years ago. He’s already hit 26-millions streams on Spotify.
The lesson here? We can convey hope in every drop of what we produce.
Just because I am retired from business, it doesn’t mean I am no longer relevant. Quite the opposite.
(Now it’s your turn to pass this back to your parents. My guess, they have mental things they could offload in order to make space for things that bring them joy.)
No doubt, the journey ahead will be strange and beautiful, surprising and uncertain. But the peace you will acquire along the way will be equal to the love and dignity you sow into the communities where you put down roots.
Take it to the bank, friend.
if people are words
and sentences life’s happenings
in paragraphs we limp and dance
the book isn’t ours
nor the pages we appear
but the letters are ours to arrange
what am i to you
as we stain paper with lines and dots
curly tails on g’s and y’s
we hope for chapters
a memorable phrase
or two at least
as sunlight fades
on snowy crowns of sleepy trees
i bask in your sacred script
never will you be a laundry list
you are and will always be
my favorite poem
My career could be reduced to seven words: I helped people communicate with other people.
I crafted messages intended to inspire, convince, or persuade audiences to embrace new ways of thinking. When writing about the future, I often drew inspiration from old books and ancient writings.
If you’re reading this, do your best to remove any religious or spiritual filters. Process this as a simple way to learn how to become a better communicator.
Commonly referred to as, “The Lord’s Prayer,” millions of people have uttered these words billions of times. It’s found in the Gospel of Matthew. Depending on the translation, it works out to be around 65 words.
The speaker, Jesus of Nazareth, is teaching his followers how to pray. Said another way, he was teaching mere mortals how to communicate directly—and on a personal level—with the Creator of the Universe.
The following translation is from the New International Version, Readers Edition:
Our Father in heaven,
may your name be honored.
May your kingdom come.
May what you want to happen be done
on earth as it is done in heaven.
Give us today our daily bread.
And forgive us our sins,
just as we also have forgiven those who sin against us.
Keep us from sinning when we are tempted. Save us from the evil one.
May my words come to be.
That’s it. Nothing more. Eight sentences, written in the present tense.
The most common words: “us” and “our.” Used eight times. Roughly 10% of the words used. “You” and “your” were included four times, combined.
Before suggesting we ask for anything, acknowledgement and admiration is encouraged.
When it’s time for, “the ask,” it’s capped at three things: basic needs, forgiveness, and protection, in that order.
The communication ends on a note of confidence. When you ask someone for something, you should believe you will receive it.
If this prayer was distilled and paraphrased into a list of instructions, it might read like this:
Call on the name of God.
Express your admiration for God.
Acknowledge God is at work in the universe.
Invite God to where you are.
Keep your request simple.
Ask for forgiveness; commit to forgiving.
Ask God to protect you.
Believe what you ask of God will come.
After reading, reciting and observing this scripture for years, it fascinates me, still.
On a spiritual level, it’s beautiful and outrageous to think the Creator of the Universe is reachable by billions of living beings, at any moment in time. To top it off, it can be done effectively, under a minute.
Unlike other faith traditions, this idea promotes reaching directly out to the source to create a direct connection … as opposed to waiting your turn, which could mean a lifetime of disciplined training, focus, and meditation in order to achieve a transcendental state of enlightenment.
In business terms, I made a career of finding who the “Elvis in the building” was—the decision-maker, the center-of-influence—and getting in front of them. It didn’t matter how famous or powerful or hard-to-reach they might be. I believed I could get a meeting with anyone, and ideally, under favorable circumstances. Most of the time, it worked. When it didn’t, it resulted in a framed rejection letter, as future motivation.
When I think about my failed attempts, I relied too heavily on my research and used too many words. For the times I succeeded, my thoughts and words were refined and my message could be summed up in just a few sentences or pages. Intellectual Property attorneys call this the “Pencil Rule”. When writing a patent, it should be shorter than the length of a pencil. If it isn’t, you risk having it reversed engineered.
Today, as I read this prayer again, the words that stick with me are those on forgiveness. If met by a genie in a bottle and given three wishes … would we really ask to master the art of forgiveness?
In my life, forgiveness has proven to be the most reliable prerequisite to peace. It dissipates bitterness. It offloads burdensome thoughts of fear, obligation and guilt. We can’t conquer shame without forgiveness.
I doubt I will ever stop thinking about this passage. And not just about the words that were included. I cannot help but think of the words intentionally left out. Pertinent negatives, if you will. Words are powerful. Spoken and unspoken.
I love you.
I believe in you.
I forgive you.
My hope is for a world with fewer words and more acts of loving kindness.
That’s my prayer.
I missed my friend’s funeral.
The service was three blocks away. It was a lovely spring day. I could have walked.
Two phrases kept replaying in my mind:
“He was younger than me.”
And,
“Let the dead bury the dead.”
I sat there frozen. Unable to move. Unable to cry.
What the hell is happening to me right now?
Am I afraid of dying young?
Possibly.
Should I go see a therapist?
Probably.
Is this intense energy I’m feeling real … or is it the two honeybuns I choked down in a trance-like state?
Yes.
By the time I looked at my watch, the funeral was nearly over.
I decided in that moment how I would honor my friend and the friends I’ve lost:
I will choose to continue to pour love into others. Today, and tomorrow, if it comes.
Repeating this on the regular feels like the kind of peace that’s suppose to pass all understanding. I think Doug Turner would agree.
Thank you for all those little drinks of love, Dougie Fresh. All the miles on the trail together. The road trips. Most of all, the laughs. I can still see and hear you laughing. Please tell me you’re playing dunk ball with T-Dub like we did when we were kids. Love and miss you, DT.
Poem posted by David Noah on Thursday, 5 January 2023, from Tulsa, Oklahoma, USA
FOR 32 YEARS OF DEDICATED SERVICE
my wrist would read in ALL CAPS
that’s if I got one
my dad got one
my dad’s dad got one
turns out millennials don’t hand 'them out
throwing myself a party
i know exactly who’ll invite
who I won’t
turtle on a fence post
that’s what i am
kind souls afforded my perch
surprisingly no dread
regrets for sure
free is what I feel most
recovering capitalist
burgeoning activist
support groups abound
thank you bob, and mike
and crupi, elana, brenner and emeka
amjad and kazi and the sisters in juba
thank you glenda and james
clean hands, even you zenbu
but most of all reggie
you added adventure
color and spice
bitter-busting truth telling
turns out
to exit stage left
is where all the fun is
Must read: If you enjoy this post, pick up a copy of the book, His Very Best, by @jonathanalter
If you have a teen in your house, surely you’ve heard GOAT this and GOAT that. This “greatest of all time” acronym is being used as a verb. Goated. I kid you, not. (Insert face palm emoji here.)
When it comes to determining who among us is the greatest of all the greatest, we are certain to never agree. And yet, many of us can agree most Americans today seem incapable of agreeing on anything.
Let’s go one step further and agree that most Americans have a difficult time seeing positive attributes of anyone who opposes our political or religious worldview.
Are we still aligned? Ok, let’s proceed.
I’m old enough to say that as a kid reared in a religious and patriotic middle-class household, I was taught to never disrespect the President of the United States. No exceptions. My parents disagreed with Jimmy Carter on most things but there was no room for peanut jokes.
We could also agree things have changed for the worse but let’s not. This makes us sound crusty and bitter. Instead, let’s follow the advice of the brilliant theoretical physicist, David Bohm, and “suspend our assumptions” for a brief moment and see each other not as good or bad.
Imagine if someone told you one day your daughter will grow up to become President of the United States. Not only that, she would change the world for the better in a measured way. She would lead while holding on to her spiritual convictions while honoring the myriad of beliefs and religions held by millions of fellow Americans.
While president, she would hire more women and people of color than any other president. She would double the size of the National Park Service. You’d be proud right? Would you be proud that she was the first president to embrace the unharnessed energy of the sun? Not only that, she would normalize relations with China and help more than a million people in that country crawl out of poverty. That would be something, right?
What if they told you she would negotiate peace between two countries that would last for 50 years? And after she left office, she would go on to help build one-million houses for families without homes. In her retirement, she would help oversee free and fair elections in 80 countries, while running an organization that offers medicine and medical expertise to eradicate at least two preventible diseases that have plagued tens of millions of people for ages.
Surely we would all be proud of such a person. So why don’t we celebrate the life of James Earl Carter, Jr., like we do other presidents? Here are 30 reasons why we should.
Of course, I remember the long lines at gas stations, high interest rates, and the images of 52 blindfolded American hostages in Iran. The same hostages he negotiated a successful release, bringing every single one of them home without a single ounce of credit.
Many of the people who still invest their energy in mocking Jimmy Carter have never served their nation in the Armed Forces like he did, let alone possess the intelligence and courage to work on a nuclear submarine.
It’s time for America to celebrate a peanut farmer from Plains, Georgia. Jimmy Carter is an American treasure, a Nobel laureate, and one of the most worthy recipients of the Presidential Medal of Freedom. More than this, we have one of the best cases ever for honoring this particular human being—and his incredible wife and partner for 75 years, Rosalynn Carter—as one of the best examples of a human life ever lived.
The GOAT of GOATs, if you will.
Did you know that 246 years since the Declaration of Independence, the United States has only enjoyed 16 years of full peace? A quarter of those years with no hostilities came when Jimmy Carter led our country.
Thank you, President Carter.
You have waged peace in 140+ countries. It’s not enough to say you have had the most successful post-presidency career. You were a good and decent President. You were my President.
For anyone who disagrees, please try and get accepted to the Naval Academy. Run a family farm and then run for Governor and win. After that, run for President of the United States. Win that. Then try your best. Fail and succeed on your own terms. And while you are at it, try to earn the reputation for always telling your fellow countrymen the truth for as long as you occupy the Oval Office. Go for it. You’ll get my vote.
Happy Birthday, Oscar Penn. A.H.A.W.
Scott Raffe and his beloved Billy
he was a strange and beautiful bird
that entered into the corner of my eye
while gazing on something important
so important I can barely recall it now
only the bird
ten years ago today independence day
he flew away as fast as he first appeared
all of that light and beauty erased
and with it a small part of me
i never thought to declare missing
i try to honor my boys by being
what they would want
a friend told me yesterday
happy and remembering the good times
it works just not all the time he said
in a moment a switch flipped
my declaration of lost and found
of course a part of me died
but a new bud appeared too
while you took flight love remained
as it is written your life is but a mist
but your mist cooled my overheated life
giving love to three kids and newfound friends
i carry your memory as your work of art
and i never ignore birds weird or otherwise
Unfiltered image from Black Mesa, Oklahoma. Captured by the one-and-only, Travis Hall.
I realized something profound on Monday that shut me down. Something that has been brewing for some time, way down deep in the inner labyrinth of a data center that is my inner-self:
God exists.
God loves me.
My pain and desires may never warrant his immediate attention or response.
This proclamation will offend my religious friends and surprise the agnostics and atheists in my life. (One of them last week said, “You actually believe this stuff!”, after observing an open Bible on my desk.)
I’m one of those weirdos that believes in God and science. Even weirder, I’m a Christian Democrat. Yes, Catholics are Christians, and yes, many Christians aren’t Republicans.
And so as Monday came and went, this realization lingered. It stayed with me all day Tuesday. Today is Wednesday and here I am writing again to see if I can get back to dreaming and doing.
Billions of people with much bigger problems have called and continue to call on God. Many, to no avail. Does it mean God doesn’t love us or hear us? Or does it simply mean God has accepted our fate and maybe we should, too?
My inner-Oprah isn’t having it.
She’s reminding me that we design our own lives. Manifest destiny and whatnot. But today, I’m not having that either. It’s a full-on existential crisis in the center of a global meltdown.
When I get stuck in a place like this, I have to dig deep and determine if I’m willing to weather one more day of freezing wind and rain out on the open sea that is my life as an explorer and entrepreneur. And it’s when I go to a place like this, there’s nothing else that makes me feel so alone in the universe.
Are we alone in the universe? I can’t say.
Do I feel alone in my mental/emotional/spiritual universe? Yes. I do.
So many people my age (50!) have acquired massive stockpiles of wisdom and experience and creativity. And yet, the world appears to be so overwhelmed with the chaos of modern life that it seldom indicates it either wants or needs what we have to offer. There are newer, shinier, cheaper options! All disposable, of course.
This overwhelming form of rejection creates a certain dilemma for dreamers like me:
Do I check out (or get forced out) and “spend more time with family”?
Do I hunt and fish and golf or play tennis or whatever the fuck business veterans are suppose to do once they’ve reached a certain age or milestone?
Or do I simply disappear to Wyoming or escape into gardening, or travel as AARP would suggest?
I say, “No!”, to all the above. No way in hell will I spend the remainder of my life allowing anyone—individually, corporately, or culturally—to determine my path, purpose, or worth.
And while I have no idea what this next chapter of my life will look like, or feel like …
“Will I experience love again?”
“Will I make another discovery that saves a life or reverses the destruction of our planet?”
… I will lay my head on my pillow tonight, Wednesday night, and accept this one certain truth:
The world needs me as much as I need it. And with this, I shall befriend myself, another day, and be me.
My life is filled with extremely colorful characters. (I’m looking at you, father-of-six that still rocks red jeans and hip-hop icon-turned museum curator.) It was the latter, Danny Boy O’Connor, that gave me one of the best business metaphors I’ve ever heard.
He was accurately describing what I had done—spending a small-fortune of cash—and years of my life—working on a project that simply existed because of a single idea I thought I needed to turn into something special.
This particular “doorknob” isn’t the subject here. It’s the process I want to discuss.
For starters, I’m not talking about a product or service we build companies around. No, I’m referring to those situations every entrepreneurs finds themselves in when they’ve run out of time and money.
“What do we have to work with?”
“Do we have anything we can sell?”
“Oh shit! What about [fill in the blank] … that cool thing we came up with last summer?!”
This is where we get into trouble. Instead of stepping back and taking a big, sweeping view of the situation, we panic and ditch our original calling or idea.
I know … there’s a decent list of great companies that came out of total disasters. We’re not talking about those rare gems. Yes, they happen. And no, this doorknob of yours isn’t like going to be the next gem on that list.
Here’s a few basic questions you can ask yourself to determine if you have a doorknob, a gem, or a fossilized turd in your hand:
Why am I thinking about this thing any way?
If it’s because it’s impossible for you to NOT think about it … it’s not a doorknob. It could be next great project or venture.
Is this a distraction from what I really want or need to be doing?
If your thinking about it because you’ve been criticized, rejected, or you’re simply out-of-gas, it could very well be a doorknob. Quitting to focus on a shiny, new object or less demanding opportunity is how most rookie entrepreneurs stop being entrepreneurs.
Have I completely exhausted every possible option on what I’ve been doing?
If you think you have, you most definitely haven’t. Please listen to me … I’m coming to you from the future: there’s almost always someone or something willing to help you, as long as (a) your idea solves a real problem and has the potential to create tons of customers, (b) you have the courage to talk to people with the experience and resources to help you, (c) you are brutally honest with yourself and these people about your current dilemma, and, (d) you aren’t a complete dick (i.e., you are coachable and are open to honest criticism and feedback.)
Don’t be embarrassed if you realize you have a house (or an entire apartment building) growing around your doorknob. Just don’t spend another minute or dollar on it until you can step back and evaluate whether or not it’s keeping you from pursuing the very thing that you promised yourself or others that you’d do.
The simple actions of a sweet 10-year-old kid brought tears of joy to her neighbors.
I’m going to share an idea without using a single word related to this universal weirdness every single one of my friends around the world is going through simultaneously. Then I’m going to ask you to do it with me.
Before this global cluster unraveled a few months ago, we were all so busy. Too busy. On top of the obvious obligations and commitments, we filled our schedules with things as if time was something we could control.
In all of this busyness, there was one thing hardly any of us were doing: talking to or spending time with a neighbor. I’m talking about actual neighbors. Not in the, “love your neighbor” sense Jesus talked about.
The old lady that lives across from you with tin-foil on her windows. The young couple with the new baby next door. The grumpy dude on the other side still chaffed your dog pooped in his yard that one time.
I bet you don’t know their names. If you do, I’m certain you don’t know shit about them. Don’t beat yourself up. I don’t either.
That wasn’t my childhood. I knew just about everyone on my street and they damn-sure knew me. Honestly, I was a great kid. My older brother? He was a good kid. And a total shit. More like flaming bags of dog shit. Is Ding Dong Ditch still a thing? I digress.
It wasn’t that long ago when we had to know each other, really. Where else would we get our news? Borrowing a couple eggs or a stick of butter was a real thing. So was shoveling a neighbors driveway.
Then came the Personal Computer. God help us, the Internet soon followed. A million other distractions later, next door neighbors, for most of us, became an after-thought. Actually, no. Worse than an after-thought.
So here we are. Every neighbor at home, and not by choice. I laughed out loud on a recent walk when I tried to say hello to a neighbor. First, they crossed the street. That’s fair. But no eye contact? No response? As if words are the latest addition to the list of banned public conventions.
That’s when I decided to get weird.
I’m going to introduce myself to the neighbors that live across from me, beside me, and behind me.
When times were simpler, and I’m talking about two months ago, I could have baked some cookies. I could have offered to take their trash cans to the curb on trash day. No, I’m talking about something more basic.
Put a note on their door. Keep it straight-to-the-point. Let them know who you are. Most importantly, let them know you see them.
Something like this:
Hello, neighbor … my name is Noah. I live next door, just to the south. I wanted to introduce myself and see how my neighbors are doing. If you need help with an errand or anything, let me know. I or one of my kids are able to help.
How hard was that? Oh, you’re worried your neighbor will think you’re strange? Hah! They already do. We all think our neighbors are weird. Get over it. Score a point for humanity and suck it up. Be a neighbor.
I’m not on Facebook. But you probably are. Want to get super weird? List the first names of five of your neighbors and ask your friends to do the same. Together, let’s put the “Neigh” or “near” back in neighbor.
Oh yeah: double points if you know your neighbor’s name and their pet’s name. Let me know how it goes. I’ll update the blog soon with our results.
Let the weirdness commence.
John “Pappy” Newman of the Iron Butts Gang
Today, on the last Saturday of March, one of those rare sunny and cool Oklahoma mornings, my hero quietly disappeared into the great beyond. Think of it as his ultimate flight … his greatest road trip.
John “Pappy” Newman was a man’s man. By “man’s man,” I mean he was as bold, and strong and adventurous as he was gentle and kind. It was easy to overlook his faults. Even easier to be his friend.
Pappy packed two lifetimes into one. I think that’s what happens when someone gets shot down—let alone twice—trying to evacuate and save comrades under fire in the hell that was the Vietnam War.
In a few days time, many beautiful words will pour out and cascade over his final resting place. This steady stream of memories will surely turn into a torrent … just like the flash floods up in Black Mesa.
Adventurous boy. Brave sailor and pilot. Loving husband and father. Hard worker. Ingenious mechanic. Hunting partner. Tireless farmer. Animal lover. Respectful caretaker. Selfless volunteer. Favorite friend.
And like a pinch of salt added to a perfect meal, these sweet and true words will be flavored with the most colorful (albeit, highly inappropriate) comments and quips only Pappy could get away with.
Never one to mince words or vacillate on what to do next, Pappy had one speed: living on the edge. He held that speed until 9 o’clock this morning when he glided peacefully up, up, and away.
Pappy was—and is—my hero for many reasons. To keep it “short, sweet, and full of meat,” as he was known to do, I can best chalk up the uniqueness of his character and qualities this way: Pappy lived.
Deliberately. Simply. Unapologetically.
Do you ever remember him not smiling? Not making you laugh? Not making you feel right at home?
Always quick to act and slow to bitch, Pappy got things done and left everything around him better.
He could take a city slicker like me and teach me how to do something without making me feel like a worthless idiot. He made me appreciate the little things … free things … things that don’t last forever.
Like riding a motorcycle without killing yourself or someone else. Like using a tool so you can teach someone else how to use it, too. Like making a feast for others with whatever’s still left in the icebox.
Most of all, I look at the sky more. I stop what I’m doing when I see a wild animal. I thank a farmer when I meet one. I enjoy getting my hands and boots dirty. I laugh at the absurdity that is modern life.
I am 50 now. I’ll say it again: I want to be John Newman when I grow up. I want to stop wasting time on things that don’t matter and those people who don’t give a damn about the world around them.
I love you Pappy. I always will. Have fun and ride safe. Until I see you again out on the edge. \\ n
Meet the Pastais de Belém.
I am often asked to help other entrepreneurs put together new teams and partnerships. I immediately go back to the words my father taught me right after I graduated from college:
My financial future is completely up to me. No one else is responsible for my economic freedom.
Before I can expect to be paid, I must first deliver exceptional value by solving someone’s problem or meeting a particular unmet need.
Prospective partners admire and respect one another. They are often like-minded. Many times, they are friends. They’re attracted to one another. For this conversation, I’m going to limit my thoughts to those budding relationships that are based on genuine attraction and not selfish intent.
Before you create a new team, form an organization, or structure a formal partnership, before you add new seats on the bus or invite people on to your bus … everyone involved needs to understand two things:
Each individual must bring a set of skills or qualities that you need and do not already possess.
Each individual can demonstrably fulfill their role better than everyone else on the bus in the same role.
This is another way I define adding “exceptional value”.
Here’s another way of explaining what I mean. Let’s say you’ve been working on a venture for weeks, months, even years. You’re worn out. You’re frustrated. You’re lonely. You want to share the journey you’re on. The ups, the unknowns, the downs.
You have a chef. You!
You probably have cooks. Employees, consultants, volunteers, friends, your mom!
You have a kitchen. It could be the trunk of you car. It could be an office or warehouse.
You have ingredients. This is your “Cost of Goods Sold” that makes up your offering.
So what’s missing? You need a winning recipe.
If you are a better chef than me, I’ll gladly allow you to become the chef.
If you love to cook and can do something better than us and you’d enjoy working in our kitchen, whether it be fancy or a dive, you’re welcome to become a cook.
Do you have a better kitchen? We will gladly move into your kitchen.
And if you have better ingredients, I would love to substitute some or all of my ingredients for yours.
As for the winning recipe, if you have something special, a true secret sauce, yes … we should adopt your recipe.
As an entrepreneur, you’re going to find yourself providing all the above. This is obviously time-consuming, exhausting and eventually, futile. This is why from the onset, you must be eager to find contributors that can take what you’re doing and take it to the next level ... and hopefully, do it even better than you originally imagined.
Be direct with your prospective partners. Ask them to help you understand precisely how they can contribute:
Find the best talent and contributors
Secure the resources you need
Tell the very best story
Attract millions of participants
Produce positive outcomes that benefit other people and our shared planet
And when you succeed, don’t be stingy. Share your recipes. Share your ingredients. Share your kitchen. Promote your cooks. Celebrate your chefs.
We feed others because we understand we exist because someone else fed us.
I am and will always be insatiably curious. Call it my profession and hobby. I don’t golf. I don’t collect things. I think. Friends tell me I think too much. It’s not something I can turn off. The best I can do, like the great line from the movie, “A Beautiful Mind,” is “put my mind on a diet.”
Now, whether I’m thinking or not thinking, I’m listening to music. Nothing has influenced my thoughts, mood, or feelings about anything or anyone more. Not prescriptions. Not caffeine, nicotine, or alcohol. Not even cheeseburgers.
If I love a song, I want to hear every song that artist ever recorded. No matter how old, or bad, or experimental. Years ago, a musician-friend looked me in the eye and said something I’ve never forgotten:
“Music is the language of God.”
I believe this. The right song can transcend all human understanding. The right song can make enemies into best friends. The right song can rescue a long-lost memory or dream.
Few things give me more joy than discovering new music. Not newly released music. I’m talking about when the sound waves of a melody hit my ears for the first time and cause my brain to snap a sensory image so I’ll never forget where I was and what I was doing at that precise moment.
“Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head,” by B.J. Thomas. I was two and happy. This song still makes me smile every time I hear it.
Nat King Cole’s album, “Love Is The Thing,” on my Dad’s High fidelity stereo for the first time.
Being 18 and scared shitless sleeping outside in a sketchy public park in then-Communist Budapest, Hungary. Hearing the faint echo of Peter Gabriel’s, “In Your Eyes,” playing from a car radio nearby.
Stuck in a hotel on a rainy night in Georgetown in 1998 watching David Gray’s “Babylon” MTV video.
Standing next to three buddies on the front row at Madison Square Garden when “Wake Up” by Arcade Fire blasted from the PA system just before U2 took the stage.
Not all of these moments are magical. Some are sad. Like last summer when I heard a Jeff Tweedy song also from 1998. I had no idea he had made a record in a band called, Golden Smog? And the song?
Oh, the song: “Until You Came Along”.
How could I love a song so much … and not know about it for 20 fucking years!
Such is life. (There’s a lesson in here for us, friends.)
No doubt, this song would have given me so much comfort over the past two decades had I known it. But guess what? I found it. It’s still with me. And it will always be with me.
Whether you believe, “everything happens for a reason,” or we’re all just spinning out of control in a cosmic mass of nothingness, it’s never too late for you to discover good things. Things that bring joy and meaning to you and *hopefully* to others.
A few days ago, I discovered a different kind of song. This beautiful tune had actually been with me all along. Instead of lamenting all of the possible what-ifs, I’m celebrating my discovery and all the new and good things and possibilities that it’s giving me.
So keep digging. Never stop asking questions. Dust off an old record. Read any poem by Billy Collins. There’s no shortage of goodness. But here’s the deal: it ain’t gonna discover itself.
In less than a blink, Jack David turned 18 and started a thrilling new chapter of life. I was too much of a cry baby to watch him drive off so I pulled out at the same time he did. Driving away, a trickle of thoughts (and tears) soon became a torrent and I found myself swimming in all the things I didn't do or should have done.
I didn't teach him how to change a flat. Or check his tire pressure.
I never made a backup copy of his car key for when he loses it ... which he will.
I forgot to get him a new suit. The kid's going to need a suit.
This kid will go to college having never listened to Bread or America. What was I thinking.
And then, like a soft, sweet, cool breeze in a blazing Tulsa summer, grace and mercy arrived just in time to provide a respite from all this second-guessing and self-doubt.
I loved him. Daily and deeply.
I taught him that nothing comes easy and that there's no substitute for hard work and sacrifice.
I taught him how to choose his friends wisely. And most importantly, how to be a great friend.
I taught him how to pack and how to travel.
I taught him how to love himself so that he could one day learn to love everybody, even people blinded with ignorance and hate.
I taught him how to respect women.
I taught him how to take calculated risks.
I even taught him how to fail.
I taught Jack how to think for himself. And I taught him science and faith are not mutually exclusive. Seek knowledge. Pursue wisdom. Gain understanding. In all things.
I guess I taught him a lot things. But there's so much I missed.
I've already started a to-do list for the things we need to get done for when he comes back to visit. The truth is, though, I'll never have enough time to convey everything he's going to need to make it on his own entirely. Because he never will. We need other people as much as they need us.
I have to trust the village now. Just like the coaches, teachers and youth ministers that poured so deeply into his childhood, there are people out there that will help me and his mother finish the job. Heck ... they're already at it. Jack's mom just called to say the old gas station attendant at our neighborhood filling station just taught the kid how to change that flat.
I have a feeling we're all probably going to make it. Especially the 18-year-old, young-man heading east on Highway 51 right now.
Godspeed, Jackie. I love you! A.H.A.W.
Dad
Ask anyone who has spent a good deal of time with people who have built successful companies. The best business leaders share one or more of the following attributes:
As intelligent or passionate as they may be, they remain coachable.
They surround themselves with people smarter and stronger than themselves.
Down deep, they maintain a permanent need to be constantly learning.
The most disturbing scenario is when a person in leadership believes they have all the facts and isn't open to seeking or accepting advice from informed, intelligent people. Worse, they are surrounded by managers too afraid to speak their mind.
Business, just as life itself, is always changing and ever evolving. So it makes sense that the healthiest organizations are led by people that are eternally curious and open to new accurate, relevant and timely information.
If you're reading this, here's my challenge for you:
Seek out people that look, act, talk, and think different than you.
Read EVERYTHING ... not just the books, articles and links like-minded peers send you.
Ask the people who work closest to you what three things they'd do differently if they had to take over your job today.
Tragically, genuine humility isn't something that's being taught or on display these days in business. My guess is, if you're not perceived to be a humble leader, you wouldn't know it. Most people are too afraid to lose their job or be demoted for simply telling the truth.
As I've shared before, always lead with your ears. Truly, you don't know what your missing.
Call it my protest song. My "Message in a Bottle", like Sting belted through the radio in 1979.
I'm not completely checking out or going off the grid. On the other hand, I'm not taking a break either.
For 10 years, along with hundreds of millions of others, and you, I quietly slid into the Upside Down that exists in the tiny little screens on our mobile devices. The first/last things we see and touch every day.
As seconds turn into minutes and minutes stack into hours, I lament all the days I've wasted allowing billions of light-emitting diodes to pass through my retinas in the form of news, information, entertainment and status updates. All the while, I've become less and less social and more and more discontent.
It's time for me to trade Facebook for faces and books ... Instagram posts for a camera and stamps. I understand this may seem a bit extreme. Then again, so is detox. So is chemotherapy.
Soon I will ride over the Andes with friend-friends, all the way down through Patagonia. All the memories will be captured in my mind, not on my phone. Colorful images to be shared using only words over tables of homemade dishes and bottles of wine from Chile and Argentina ... fire pits and cups of coffee.
I remain convinced you may want a way out, too. Like most, you just can't seem to swim against the undertow. Go into Best Buy and ask for a dumb phone. Use a map on your next road trip. You'll soon find out what I mean.
Over the next year or so, I'll check in from time to time and let you know what I discover untethered.
If you're my friend, you know how and where to find me. If you'd like to be my friend ... well, you will likely need to find me on foot.
Aqua Man/Plastic Bottle by Jake Beeson \\ http://jakebeeson.com/
I graze among a growing number of herbivores and carnivores that want to know the who/what/where/how/why of the food presented to us on a daily basis. Tulsa, with its deepening and broadening roots in the farm-to-table movement, is committed to all-things-local. This especially applies to juices, coffee, microbrews, whiskey and wine.
And yet, most of us do not know where our drinking water comes from. (No, it's not the Arkansas River.)
As an entrepreneur, it's fun to watch locals declare war against the empire. Armed with pick axes and hoes―literally―they are gaining ground all over town ... stealing market share from national and global food brands that more committed to promoting organic Cheetos than locally grown food.
Thanks to a small army of farmers, restaurant owners, and a bourgeoning flock of stone-cold foodies, Tulsa is evolving into a vibrant, sustainable slow food market that is slowing beginning to reject convenience. Because like grandma used to say, "Convenience my dear, is bullshit".
She didn't say that. But she would have if she saw the mess we've made.
Slow Food
Slow Food is the grassroots organization founded in Italy back in 1986 by Carlo Petrini. As the story goes, Carlo tried to prevent McDonald's from setting up shop in Rome. The movement spread worldwide promoting an alternative to fast food and advocates today still subscribe to the idea of preserving traditional and regional cuisine and encouraging the farming of plants, seeds, and livestock characteristic of local ecosystems.
As for Tulsa, Slow food is alive and well. One trip to the Cherry Street Farmers Market on a Saturday morning in July is all the proof you need.
Tulsa Tap
Since you're now wondering where Tulsa gets its drinking water, it comes from three area lakes: Spavinaw, Eucha (pronounced "You-chee", rhymes with "Hoochie"!), and Oologah. This surface water flows hundreds of miles to water processing plants across Tulsa before it eventually arrives at your tap. Ranked as one the best large cities in the country for municipal water, it still rankles all kinds of people (for all kinds of reasons) because municipal leaders elected to use fluoride and chloramines to "clean" our water.
Here's the deal: most Tulsans (and most Americans), are conditioned to drink filtered water over tap water. Think about it. We've consumed truck loads of bottled water for the past two decades. So whether your a tap water OG who thinks the rest of us are pansies for drinking filtered water ... OR ... if you love the taste or feel of "natural" spring water (which by the way, requires tons of fossil fuels just to bottle and ship to you for your 20 minutes of "natural" enjoyment and hydration) ... this fact remains:
Filtered local city water is the cleanest, least expensive, and most sustainable water we have to drink.
Slow Water
I have a simple idea that tree huggers, health nuts, tightwads, and yes, even the strictest right wingers in town can agree upon. And it won't require most of us to change our behavior. Much.
That's it. That's the idea.
If we all had access to clean drinking water, and we all carried reusable bottles, why would need to keep consuming expensive, heavy, inconvenient, pain-in-the-ass loads of bottled water?
Has it ever crossed your mind that the single-serve water bottle you last purchased at the convenience store was sold at the rate of $13/gallon? That's six-times the price of a gallon of gasoline. Does this sound drunk to you? It does to me.
And according to multiple government and environmental research sources, an estimated 500 million plastic straws are disposed of daily in the United States. That's more than 182 billion plastic pieces of solid waste littering our streets, clogging our landfills, and choking our streams, rivers, lakes and coastlines. So why we're at it, can we all start refusing plastic straws, too?
Reusable food-grade stainless steel and glass straws are easily accessible and affordable ... as are reusable cups and grocery bags. And please, for the love of beautiful and ugly children alike, do not get me started on Styrofoam. These cups, plates and food packaging in Tulsa needs to go away. Right now. And I and other entrepreneurs are working on a perfect, sustainable alternative in the works to replace it.
So ... Slow Water. Can you feel it?
About the Edible Tulsa contributor: Noah is the Founder and Chief Bottle Washer at The Water Co, located at the Boxyard. He is on a mission to improve Tulsa's health and habitat, one reusable bottle of clean water at a time.