Blah! Blah! Blah! It seems to go on incessantly. We hear the polarizing commentary from pundits on TV and our internet social streams repeated by friends and coworkers. The arguments begin soon after and the posts, filled with vitriol and hate from many sides, fill our social media streams as the non-conversation breaks down into the grownup equivalent of “I know you are but what am I” and “You’re a meanie head.”

It seems everyone is great at gathering “like-minded” people and repeating the same chatter back to themselves, reinforcing their own beliefs whether rooted in fact or fiction. We have become a nation, a world of people who only want to talk and agree with people who talk about and agree with our own views. I know that sounds circular, but it is, in fact, the result of the echo chambers we find ourselves inhabiting in today’s social world. This incessant echo is beginning to rip apart the very foundation of our society and reduce us to class vs. class, gender vs. gender, red vs. blue, belief vs. belief vs. belief. It seems that issues that divide outnumber those that unite, and the desire to separate ourselves into smaller and smaller groups of “Us” and “Them” propagates everything from politics and religion to sports teams and whether a good book has been ruined because the author was a bigoted jerk. This separation in our social framework is rooted in the echo chamber, the gathering of like-minded people who repeat their ideals to one another and vilify those with opposing views to the point where there is a gulf that cannot be crossed lest we infect ourselves with the “sickness” that infects the other side.

The pre-Internet world had the same problem, but seemingly not at the epidemic levels we see today.(Yes, this curmudgeon is old enough to remember days before easily accessed message boards or social sites where people can spout inanities at their leisure. ) Before the days where you could share your ideals in 140 characters or less, it was harder to build echo chambers but they could still exist. Remember, there were always people who claimed the moon landings were faked, or that Kennedy was killed by LBJ and the Mafia with help from ET. Even without the internet, people would gather and share these ideas and would reinforce these beliefs with others who believed similar theories and help them “Keep the Faith” in the face of ridicule and opposition. No, echo chambers have always been with us, but what is happening today could only have escalated to its current chronic condition with the very invention that has grown our knowledge and connection; the access to instantaneous communication with people from almost anywhere, at any time, and on any topic our heart desires.

Here is an absurd example. If you believe that vanilla ice cream is the only real ice cream, and that all other ice cream is an abomination to the lactosian rulers of the multiverse, and, given enough tweets, Facebook posts, and other social media outlet messages espousing your “pure” ice cream dogma, you will find and/or convert enough to your cause to reinforce your own beliefs and in turn reinforce your new-found friend’s beliefs. You will help each other formulate arguments against those heathens who believe chocolate is the best flavor of ice cream, and how to argue against those who claim that vanilla is only a flavor and that real ice cream has no attachment to the flavor itself and that everyone should be able to choose their own particular flavor regardless of the base.Lines will be drawn, posts made, forums taken over by proponents of each view and in these, each side will continue to enforce their own beliefs, building straw man arguments and making fun of those who are clueless to the true flavor of ice cream.

This would be silly enough on its own but it doesn’t stop there. Someone in the vanilla only camp will vilify those who use sprinkles, as we all know, pure ice cream must stay pure, no additives , preservatives, or sprinkles. This will cause a schism in the vanilla camp that is a mirror of a similar breakup in the chocolate camp and the “any flavor” anarchists that are out there. This splintering effect will continue to further divide the group until there are multiple variations and even a few “enlightened” ice cream eaters who’ve opened there arms to any flavors, toppings, and even <GASP> mix-ins to your heart content. Each group continues to grow and spread their ideals, while at the same time, increasing their list of enemies to include those who oppose them. even if they forget why they made a distinction between white and rainbow-colored sprinkles.

Before we go any further, I know some of you are thinking that my example is too silly and absurd. In answer to that, replace ice cream with any topic that separates us today, from religion, to gender equality, to race, and almost anything else and you might find yourself a bit surprised. BIG NOTE HERE- I am NOT comparing any of these topics to ice cream and I know beyond any doubt that my example is an extreme oversimplification of the issues, BUT, stop and think about the fact that we’ve had people arguing over bathrooms and splitting hairs over what people are born with and what they now have and I don’t think I’m too far off base.

So, this is generally the part where the author details an awesome plan for a solution and call to action, and while I wish I could solve these issues in a single post, I am not crazy enough to think that I have the one and only answer to the problem and can dictate a solution to anyone. I only know that we all have to take steps to bridge the divide and stop yelling AT one another and start listening to those whom we have learned to call “them”. We must expose ourselves to ideals that frighten and even upset us, if for no other reason than to understand why there is a difference in the first place. We must focus on the common ground wherever we can and remember that the person on the other side of the tweet, Facebook post, or message board rant is another human with frailties, fears, loves, hates, and failings.

In the end, I can only truly control my own actions and voice, and that only with a great effort. That’s why I pledge to listen, think, and reply with dignity and respect when I disagree. I pledge to respect another’s point of view, even if I cannot see or even understand it, and I pledge to disagree without dehumanizing those with opposing views, even if they attempt to dehumanize me. I will listen before blindly speaking and refuse to fall into the trap of Us and Them.

Oh, and one more thing, I’ll even respect you people who eat pistachio ice cream with rainbow sprinkles, even though everyone knows you’re insane.

Life in the Echo Chamber was originally published in Green Eggs and Spam on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

With the spread of Covid-19, many of us are facing this melacholy of being alone. We are like those ships at sea, with no other ships on the horizon and the land a distant and fleeting memory. It can feel very lonely on the open sea. This is why we must continue to connect, even in this new age of social isolation. We cannot allow our fear of the other and the unknown prevent us from pursuing relationships and friends.

Now, more than ever before, we need to be connected to others and help each other as we pass through the night.

There is a song, one of my favorites, called Ships. I like this version by Barry Manilow, but to each his own.

The song is specifically about a father and son, two ships that passed in the night, mourning a closeness lost, and the wish for all to return to the days of closeness that were once shared. It is a melancholy song which fit my mood today.

As I listened to the song, and sat and let my mind wander, it struck me that many of our relationships, or friends, and even family are like those ships, passing in the night. Some of these ships are great vessels, massive and strong, almost drowning others in their wake. Others are small, almost hidden by the swells of the sea. Some of these ships are coated with barnacles, leak, smell, or even have hastily patched holes from damage gained in a storm they’ve passed through. All shapes, all sizes, but all sailing the sea, trying to reach their destinations.

We are close to many of these ships for a time, even sailing the same direction and seemingly toward the same destination, only to separate and lose sight of each other over the horizons of work, distance, time constraints, family, old hurts, perceived wrongs, and at times, even selfishness. We wave at each other as we pass off into the distance, never to see some of these “ships” again in this life.

These ships sail on to their destinations and sometimes we hear from them, or about their sinking. I am not naïve enough to believe or wish that all the friends and acquaintances were never lost to time, or distance. I know that when some ships sail away, others sail closer, willing to talk across the ocean that separates us all. There are a few though, for which I find myself mourning. Wondering what I should or could have done differently. Some that parted with hurt and sadness I wish I could take back. Some that over time, have stayed just over the horizon, a few pushed there by me that have been content to stay there lest they lose sight of me. Others pushed me away, but sit just beyond the edge of view, perhaps wondering the same things I do about them.

Sometimes we are lucky to find another ship that not only sails for the same destination but binds their ship to yours, making a, hopefully, stronger vessel that is able to stay whole and complete, no matter the storms. I have been lucky in this for close to 24 years, but I see others whose ships were lashed together, but for whatever reason, the bindings frayed and the knots loosened. The two ships, together for a while, now break apart. Sometimes messily, sometimes amicably, but never without damage to both ships as they pull away. It saddens me when I see it, knowing that regardless of my empathy, there is nothing I can do but be there for the crying and help as I can with the healing

I think about the sea, sometimes a placid place of peace and comfort that can give way to gales and waves hundreds of feet high in the blink of an eye. Storms that blow for days, weeks, seemingly years, tossing our ships about and challenging us to stay afloat and fight our way through to the calm. It is said that calm precedes a storm, but I find that the calm after the storm is the most restive, the most restorative. Knowing you fought through and the storm did not defeat you allows you that moment of rest knowing you succeed in some mall way.

This metaphor, like all others, breaks down under too much scrutiny. We are not ships over the horizon and in this age of modern technology, no one is ever truly out of reach. I know these things but I still sit and wonder, looking out over my life, toward those “ships” I have passed, those people I have touched, or whom have touched me. I wonder if I made the difference I could have in their lives. Did I do as I should, or was I so focused on my own sails that I missed someone struggling, sinking, drowning in the sea of life. To dwell in the past, especially a past that was not perceived is dangerous, but still I look back, realizing that I cannot focus to tightly on my ship, as doing this will cause me to miss those I can help, should they need and allow it.

If our ships happen to pass, know that my eyes will now be up, looking around, and I hope to see you as we sail this great ocean of life together.

Like Two Ships That Pass In The Night… was originally published in Green Eggs and Spam on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

If you read an old post and notice it’s missing an image, I’m working to replace them, but it quickly hits a point of diminishing returns. (anything earlier than 2011, I’m looking at you) In any case, Welcome to the “updated” Green Eggs and Spam.

Clearing Away the Dust was originally published in Green Eggs and Spam on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Hopefully, you’ll indulge a bit of nostalgia for just a bit. A part of my “geeky” world has always been comic books. The fantasy world that the comic book brings has always held a certain fascination for me. One of my favorites, of course, was Superman and I can remember sneaking a look at the comics every time I went into a store, hoping to see the latest tragedy and see the hero always find a way to win. I loved the X-Men as well, because I sort of identified with the “mutant” feeling. Being a smart kid that didn’t go do all the things the other kids did set me apart and I felt that “difference” deeply.The list of characters can go on and on as I loved the mythos that surrounded all the story lines, from the super soldier, Captain America and his “awakening” to the gritty Sandman series (pun actually intended that time) and all the genres in between. I still have a moderate collection, primarily of Superman from the time around the “Death of Superman” story line and a year or so after that story ended.

Imagine my delight, when about eight years ago, a new video game hit the market called, City of Heroes.

City of Heroes was a game that allowed you to play the superhero. You could design your own character, choose their power set and play in story lines that were almost like playing a comic book on the computer. Over time, the company behind the game added more stories and plot lines and even added an expansion that would allow you to play as a Villain. Then they added a system that would allow you to take your hero “rogue” or even turn them evil and at the same time villains could “redeem” themselves and become good guys.

I played for a while and created a character I really enjoyed. His name was Red Star of Freedom, Red for short. That’s his picture at the top of the post as well as a slightly different view here. In chats, I’d sometime be called “BigRed” because my Character was a giant a man compared to most others. He is an”invincible” tank of a hero that charges in to do direct battle with the bad guys. The game designers encouraged people to make a back story for their character and with my love of comics and Sci-Fi, i couldn’t help myself. In brief, Red was originally a young man, named Alexei Dmitriev in the evil Soviet Union in 1959. He was conscripted from his farm in harsh Siberia. There’s more potential back story there, but I don’t want this to turn into a novel so fast forward to 1963. The US had embarrassed Nikita Khrushchev in October of 1962 by forcing him to blink and Nikita was determined to have the last word. He initiated the Red Star program. This program was to create process that would make the soldiers of the Soviet Army invincible. (Yes, I know it sounds like Captain America, but not entirely as you’ll see.) In early 1964, the Soviet Scientist discovered what they thought was the secret formula that would give the Premier what he desired. A massive dose of radiation coupled with an injection of genetic material would presumably increase the abilities of the recipient 100 fold. Fast forward the story to where Alexei and his best friend Peter Dragoravich were the only survivors of the experiment and the outcome nowhere near as potent as promised. (BTW, in my story, this is the real reason Khrushchev was ousted in late 1964)

Alexei and his Peter eventually left the Army and they separated as friends. Alexei returned to his family farm to care for his mother and young wife, his father having died a few years earlier. A bit later in the story, we discover the formula actually worked and just took time to make the changes that effected the person. Peter and Alexei became enemies of course, resulting in the deaths of everyone Alexei loved. The story progresses to an final showdown between the big men with Peter, now calling himself “The Dragon” finding redemption at the last moment and sacrificing himself to save others (or so it seems…)

Alexei is recalled by the military and he takes on the name of the program that created him “Red Star.” There is more of the story from there, but I won’t get into it other than to say that he gained the “of Freedom” in his name by defecting to the US while Reagan was President and was the real reason for the fall of the Soviet Union a few years later.

That’s a lot of story for an online character, but like I said, it was a dream come true for me to play as a superhero. I trailed off in my play for a while, but I rediscovered the game a year or so ago and revived Big Red from his slumber. Then just a few short months ago, the announcement was made that the game, City of Heroes, would be shutting down November 30, 2012, forever. There was an outcry from the dedicated players, but overall, the game is slipping quietly into the night as the people recognize the end is near. For me, it means the Hero I created is exiting from active service, but I am left with the fun and memories of playing a character, at least for a while, that let me live my childhood fantasy of being a Superhero. There is hope that the game will somehow live on, but for me at least, the story will live as long as I remember Red and the fun I had pummeling the bad guys.

Thanks for reading this bit of nostalgia and if there’s enough interest, I may just write the full back story for Red Star and post it for you to read.

Exit the Hero was originally published in Green Eggs and Spam on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

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I just read an AWESOME essay by Brian Doyle, editor of Portland Magazine at the University of Portland. The post is on The American Scholar website. You can read the complete article here.

Go read it and then come back. I’ll wait…

Welcome back and tearing up is ok. It’s thought-provoking and heart-wrenching at the same time isn’t it? I think the following statement is so true, yet so hard to understand…

We open windows to each but we live alone in the house of the heart. Perhaps we must. Perhaps we could not bear to be so naked, for fear of a constantly harrowed heart. When young we think there will come one person who will savor and sustain us always; when we are older we know this is the dream of a child, that all hearts finally are bruised and scarred, scored and torn, repaired by time and will, patched by force of character, yet fragile and rickety forevermore, no matter how ferocious the defense and how many bricks you bring to the wall.

I won’t gush on and on this and ruin Brian’s great work by attempting to add to much to it, but I do feel the need to share this one thought.

When you find someone with whom you can really open your heart and let them see you as you really are and discover they love you the more for it and want to share themselves the same way with you, grab hold and never let them go. They are rare and if you are as lucky as I am to have found that kind of mate, one who fits you like a key fits a lock, no matter how rusty and balky, then you have found a treasure greater than any precious metal or gem on the planet. If you had that mate and let them slip away, or worse, drove them away, as long as there is breath, there is hope. You will find a mate, of this I am certain. And if you have lost that mate to death’s cruel grasp, while I cannot know the pain, I can begin to imagine it and my heart grieves with you and for you, but rest in the memory of what was and be strengthened by the love that you shared.

And I close with a special message for that Mate of Mine that loves me in spite of myself: Lynn — SHMILY! :)

All about Heart was originally published in Green Eggs and Spam on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

These windows were the type that opened by swinging in and not going up and down and were famous for sticking because of their age. I remember closing my assigned window and then I watched as the girl beside me struggled to close hers. Other students were walking past her, some giggling, as she pushed and struggled against a window that wouldn’t budge. The girl look flustered and almost in tears as the class started leaving around her and she couldn’t get her window closed. The teacher was busy trying to bring order to the chaos of elementary students in a fire drill and did not see her struggling with the window. I cannot answer the question “why?,” but I walked over to help her. I definitely wasn’t interested in girls at the time (cooties, ew) but my heart acted and before I knew it, I was standing beside her and telling her it was OK and we’d do it together. We both reached up, and put our fingers on the frame of the window and pushed to close it. Whatever had jammed the arm holding it opened released and the window started closing. But then suddenly, the window jammed again. My hand, which at this point had slipped to the glass kept going, through the window and out the other side. The girl squealed in fright and I thought, as any sensible kid would, “Oh No, I am in BIG trouble!” The girl looked at my hand and I saw her face go white as she started yelling. The teacher came over and it was at that moment that my hand get wet. I looked and saw the result of putting my hand through a window. I got stitches in my palm and I have the scar in my hand to remind me of that event.

What did that frightful story have to do with leadership you may be asking at this point? Well, for me, as I reflect back, that event in my life marks the first event I can remember where I acted as a leader because it was “the right thing to do.” I can look back at other events where I stepped into a leadership role, or I shepherded a group of people through trying times, and in each case, that same understanding of “doing the right thing” was present. I don’t claim to be a “natural” leader. I wasn’t born to it, but I know that the individual actions and events in my life has worked to shape me into the leader I am today.

As I have matured, as a person and a leader, I have come to the startling conclusion that I was not given the opportunity to lead because I was already a solid leader. I was given the opportunity to lead by other leaders who saw in me the spark of leadership. They gave me the responsibility, coaching, and the occasional discipline as needed to help me grow into a true leader. I thought I was an awesome leader at the time, though I now cringe at some of my blundering attempts to motivate and coach others.

Being honest about my failings as a leader isn’t embarrassing; as I have seen the same cycle repeated in other young leaders I have mentored and coached. This is the real lesson and legacy of a leader. A successful leader empowers other leaders. If I truly wish to be a good leader, then it is my goal, my mission, to offer opportunities for other leaders to learn and grow.

The Lesson of a Scar was originally published in Green Eggs and Spam on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

“Wow”, you may say, “you’ve been a leader for a long time.” To which I would answer and say No, I haven’t. I have been a manager or supervisor for a long time. I have been a “Leader” for only the last five to ten years.

What is the difference? A manager, even a good manager, basically works the job he is given. His power over his subordinates is based on his position and he interacts with them on a transactional basis. In other words, the manager tells his subordinates what to do and uses his positional power to reward them (pay, promotion, accolades) or punish them (termination, lack of advancement) into obeying his direction. A manager is satisfied with the status quo and doesn’t like his boat to be rocked too much. When something fails, the manager looks for a person to blame, because somebody is responsible. They also don’t mind taking the credit when things go right either.

A leader, however, doesn’t have subordinates, he has followers. People respond to him, not necessarily because of a reward, but because the leader is able to convince them it is needed and necessary. A leader isn’t focused on the “job.” They are focused on the people who do the job. The leader works with those people to help them become the best at what they do. When things go badly, the leader will step up and at least share, if not take the blame, while the success of the team or individual belongs to them, and not the leader. A leader will even give others credit for their own ideas, usually stating that it was the team that took the idea and made it real.

There are other differences, but I think you get the picture.

I have been a manager for most of my career, and that is not a bad thing, as it helped me prepare for becoming a true leader. I can look back of the last eight to ten years and see the change that occurred as I grew into being a leader. Some people try to say “Leaders are born to it.” but I don’t believe that for a minute. Leadership is a learned skill, some people just learn earlier and faster than others. If we hold to the fact that leaders are “born to it,” then those of us who are ordinary can never aspire to become leaders. I wasn’t born to it, but I know that the individual actions and events in my life has worked to shape me into the leader I am today. We must remember and reflect on these events and histories to understand the type of leader we have and will become to those around us.

I’m thinking a lot in this path at the moment, so I’ll probably write some more on leadership as we go.

Personal Reflections on Leadership was originally published in Green Eggs and Spam on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Pruning is an important and necessary thing in the life of a tree or other plant. The tree will not grow to the shape the owner desires or will not produce the right amount of fruit without proper pruning. If the tree is faced with a dead or diseased section, pruning may be needed to save its life. Pruning plays an important role, but have we really thought about it from the point of view of the tree?

I never stopped to consider how traumatic an event pruning could be for a tree. If you stop to consider what is actually happening, the pruning event is the removal of matter in a very violent way from the tree, at least from the its point of view. Imagine, standing around and minding your own business only to have someone walk up and chop off a part of you, all the while telling you it is “for your own good.” Can you imagine the pain and shock this would cause? If I were the tree, I don’t think I’d care a whit about what “good” would come from the pruning in the future. I’d be more concerned with the pain and afraid of and angry with the “monster” that just cut off a part of me.

If done correctly however, with patience and care, the pruning can take a tree that is headed for disease or death and breathe new life into its limbs. It takes time for the pruning to have its full effect and sometimes the immediate results look horrific, but given the necessary time, a healthier, more vibrant, more fruitful tree is the result of the effort. If I were the tree, I’d be able to look back on the pruning with understanding, knowing the pain in the process is what lead to the results I am experiencing. However, the important thing to remember is that at the time of the pruning, the pain of the event can overshadow and hide the knowledge of why the pruning is needed and the expected results.

How does this relate to our every day lives? We each go through our own personal state of pruning. We begin delving into those areas of our lives that need exposure to the light. We begin digging out the packed away baggage and dusting off those things that have been hidden internally for years. We are faced with cutting remarks and negative evaluations of ourselves, our abilities, or our performance and we realize the negative evaluation is mostly true. In each of these circumstances we are faced with pruning. It is a painful process of reordering our lives and coming to an understanding of who we are as a person. It is a time for preparation for growth and change. We may know that the goal of this self-discovery and reflection is growth and change, but it is easy to lose sight of the goal in the pain that comes with a good pruning. It takes an effort to look past the pain and see the healthier, more vibrant, more fruitful person you will become in this life.

Pruning is a violent, painful, and difficult process. However Pruning MUST happen for us to grow and be fruitful in our daily lives. One day we will look back through the pain and see the good the pruning brings, but as it is occurring, keep hope and faith in the process and realize the pain is present but passing. The future will bring healing and wholeness if we do as the trees do and allow the pruning to work its magic in us.

Pruning was originally published in Green Eggs and Spam on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.