On the one hand, we all like to think of ourselves as special. We have unique talents to offer. We are all above average. Everyone wants to be treated better than …[MORE]]]> I’ve just return from a two-day conference where much of the discussion revolved around leadership. It got me thinking about a curious human characteristic that I’ll call the Leadership Paradox.

On the one hand, we all like to think of ourselves as special. We have unique talents to offer. We are all above average. Everyone wants to be treated better than the rest. There is just something in our nature that makes us rankle at being labeled “normal”.

On the other hand, watch how we behave when there is a call for leadership. That’s when we cringe, when we scrunch down in our chairs and attempt to hide behind the person in front of us. We want to blend in, to disappear in the crowd. As a species, we seem to be reluctant to put ourselves forward as leaders. In this situation, everyone wants to be just an Average Guy.

I’m certainly no different. I’ve often considered myself the best #2 in town. I don’t mind doing the work. I don’t mind passing on the orders. I don’t mind taking the back seat. Just don’t ask me to be #1.

What’s that about?

Leadership certainly has its drawbacks. There’s responsibility. There’s obligation. There’s prominence. There’s accountability. Perhaps scariest of all, there’s the chance that no one will follow. We’re not wrong when we view leadership with apprehension. But when we refuse to rise to the challenge of leadership and take refuge in our anonymity, the dangers are even greater.

When people of character refuse to undertake positions of leadership, they leave a power vacuum that the unscrupulous will rush to fill. Practically any leadership role offers opportunities for corruption, abuse and cronyism, and we are never at a loss for scoundrels seeking a chance to further their own agenda. If we want our leaders to be honest, responsive and productive, to have integrity and to lead us with purpose, then people who possess those qualities will have to step up. No one develops those traits on the job. You have to bring them with you when you apply.

There are many opportunities for leadership in life—in our churches, our schools, our government, our workplaces—and sooner or later most of us get the chance to lead. The choice is simple: you can step up, or you can step aside. But if you step aside, you have no room for complaint when the person who does step up uses the opportunity to increase their own personal wealth or power base. You had your chance and you blew it.

Are you going to settle for following a scoundrel, or will you rise to the challenge of leadership?

Times are tough all around, and many companies have responded to difficult times by tripling their efforts to recruit new customers—by force, if necessary.

I’ve been getting countless robo‑calls, despite being on the no‑call list. I immediately hang up on any recording, but by that time I’ve already …[MORE]]]> Q. How do you avoid unwanted marketing?
A. You can’t. No matter what you do.

Times are tough all around, and many companies have responded to difficult times by tripling their efforts to recruit new customers—by force, if necessary.

I’ve been getting countless robo‑calls, despite being on the no‑call list. I immediately hang up on any recording, but by that time I’ve already put down whatever I was doing, muted the music or television, and answered the phone. The sound of the recorded voice makes me thoroughly annoyed, but I’m only left with the impotent act of slamming down the receiver.

Sigh.

It’s almost a given: the more important the robo‑voice says a call is, the less important it really is. Can you imagine a really important call being delivered in such a fashion? “I’m sorry to report that your biopsy was positive for melanoma. For surgery, press 1. For chemotherapy, press 2. For hospice, press 3.” Absurd.

And it’s not just the robo‑calls. The spam machines are working overtime. The fundraising phone banks hum with activity. I’m getting calls from companies I’ve never done business with, companies I’ve never heard of. I’ve even begun to get door-to-door salespeople. How many decades has it been since anyone rang your doorbell and tried to sell you something other than youth fundraising merchandise?

One of the few blogs I read on a regular basis is Seth Godin’s. His articles are of general interest, but his focus is on marketing. The good kind of marketing. The smart kind of marketing. He recently had an interesting item on this mad frenzy of pointless marketing. Read it here. Unfortunately, his ideas are too reasonable to appeal to the masses, and that’s a shame. If more people like Godin were running the marketing machines of the world, life would be a lot less aggravating. And I would be able to get through my dinner without yet another rude and pointless call from someone (or something) I wouldn’t do business with in a thousand years.

When I was young, my idea of utter affluence was a private library. I wasn’t sure I’d ever have one …[MORE]]]> Whenever I’m in a person’s home or office, I like to get an opportunity to check out the contents of their bookshelves. I think you can tell a lot about a person based on the books they keep on hand.

When I was young, my idea of utter affluence was a private library. I wasn’t sure I’d ever have one and even if I did I knew it was going to take a long time, but that was no reason to wait. I started collecting the books for my library in my teens. For years, I kept pretty much every book I ever got my hands on. Whenever I moved, my boxes of books far outnumbered my boxes of other possessions. I was always in need of more shelf space. I often used stacks of books as makeshift bookends.

Eventually I did begin to judiciously comb through my collection from time to time, and cart off those books that really didn’t mean much to me. Still, I retained hundreds of them. I just couldn’t seem to let go.

So what would you learn about me by browsing my bookshelves?

I’m afraid that the first and lasting impression is clear: nerd. Yes, I’m a nerd. I have my college textbooks. I have my high school annuals. I have collections of crossword puzzles, reference books, anthologies and sets bound in matching covers. I have the complete works of William Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe, Carlos Castaneda and Ray Bradbury. I have three massive volumes of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. I have art books, picture books, how-to books and humor books. I have a large number of hardbacks, but also lots and lots of paperbacks.

Some books are gathered in groups by author, like Stephen King and Marion Zimmer Bradley. Some are grouped loosely by form or genre: true crime, poetry, short story, science fiction. Mostly, though, they are a jumble of haphazard placement and careless combinations. The Satanic Verses sit beside We Have Always Lived in the Castle. Goode’s World Atlas is banked by Our Bodies, Ourselves and a Patricia Cornwell novel. In one stack is The Crying of Lot 49, Leaf Storm, The Lexicon of Stupidity and The Greening of America. Take from that what you will.

In one bookshelf I’ve gathered an eclectic collection of the books that mean the most to me, books that I’ve read again and again, and would never part with under any circumstances. But as for the rest, I’m trying once more to thin out the collection. I’m pulling books to donate and books to resell. No matter how many boxes of books I cart away, however, I’m pretty sure I’ll still have plenty left behind. And the ones that remain will still offer a fairly accurate picture of what I am: dusty, nerdy, wildly varied and oddly put together. But I hope they also give the impression that there’s an interesting story in there somewhere.

I was one of the last of my circle to get in the game. I pointedly resisted for a long time, but finally I caved. There was just too much going on there that I didn’t want to miss out on. Pictures were posted. Events were hyped. …[MORE]]]> After less than a year belonging to Facebook, I’m beginning to regret it.

I was one of the last of my circle to get in the game. I pointedly resisted for a long time, but finally I caved. There was just too much going on there that I didn’t want to miss out on. Pictures were posted. Events were hyped. Old high school chums were lurking. How could I hold out any longer?

Soon I became more attached than I ever imagined I could be. Mostly I just read the posts of others. I never posted a lot myself. I just didn’t see the point in broadcasting the meaningless details of my life. I’ll admit that sometimes I was amused by the meaningless details others would post, but mostly I skimmed right past them. Still, I couldn’t seem to go to bed at night without checking out the day’s musings.

Then the games began: farms, roller coasters, zoos, organized crime and vampires. Don’t these people have things to do? Or is this just the newest alternative to zonking out in front of the television?

But as annoying as the games, gifts, hearts and wishes can be, even worse is the advertising of the things I don’t want to know. If you join the Neo‑Nazis for the Torture of Kittens group, I will be forced to reconsider my opinion of you. I’m not opposed to your freedom to do so, but of you causing me to doubt my ability as a judge of character. There are some things I don’t want to know about my friends and acquaintances. There is much to be said for a modicum of personal reserve.

I try to remain circumspect when I post things myself, but I’m sure I sometimes fail. My circles and networks reach far and wide, containing people of all types, backgrounds and political persuasions. I’ve probably made a few of them shake their heads and wonder if they haven’t misjudged me completely. And I’m sorry about that. I prefer that people draw their own conclusions about me based on our real‑world interactions and not on the silly fact that I find a poodle wearing a tinfoil hat funny.

So the next time you think about becoming a fan of the Spanish Inquisition, think twice. Is that something you want everyone to know? Unless your name is Torquemada, perhaps you should keep that little gem to yourself.

On the first day of class he laid out his plan. We would have regular homework assignments that would be discussed in class; he would give …[MORE]]]> It was an “obstacle” course—one that either earned you your diploma or forced you to change majors. It was offered once each year and taught by only one professor. I signed up.

On the first day of class he laid out his plan. We would have regular homework assignments that would be discussed in class; he would give weekly quizzes; there would be a mid-term exam and a final. Then he delivered the bad news: only the grade on the final exam would count. One test, one shot, one grade. Take it or leave it.

A lot of students left it. The second class meeting was only two-thirds the size of the first, but I was still there. I was determined.

The first homework assignment was daunting. The text was difficult and the assigned problems were quite advanced. The second assignment tripled in difficulty. The text became so inscrutable it may as well have been written in Mandarin. I performed dismally on the first quiz. I began to panic.

The class sessions were no help. Whenever the professor attempted to “help” with a homework problem, he would get bogged down in the minutia of the mathematics, backtracking, erasing, drifting hopelessly from thought to thought. Finally, he would just scratch his head and wander on to another problem, leaving the first unresolved and the class in utter confusion. Was he a moron or were we the idiots? Was he an Einstein who just couldn’t communicate? Why was he even allowed to teach this class?

I knew I was smart. My GPA was high. I was making a sincere effort. Why was I having so much difficulty? I consulted two acquaintances in the class, men I knew to be exceedingly intelligent, whose study habits I knew to be excellent. They were both floundering, too. We made a pact. We would form a study group, just the three of us, and we would master this material. We began to meet weekly.

The rest of the semester continued in much the same way. We struggled with the text. We agonized over the homework. The classes left us frustrated and confused. Our quiz scores remained shameful. Class size dwindled noticeably with every session.

The mid-term exam was terrifying: six pages filled with dozens of long, detailed problems. On at least half of them I didn’t even understand the question, much less know how to begin solving the problem. Despair set in. I began to consider a change of majors.

In the study group, we redoubled our efforts. We lengthened our sessions, tackled even more unassigned problems, quizzed each other constantly, created outlines and flash cards. We stayed up late and got up early. We trembled at the thought of the final exam.

The dreaded day arrived. By that time, I was so numb with effort and anxiety that I had finally achieved a kind of Zen state. I was completely calm. I was resigned to a career in fast food service. It was too late to run. I decided that if I had to crash and burn, at least I would do it with a little grace.

The exams were passed out. The first thing I noticed was that the test consisted of a single page. There were only ten questions, and each one was stated briefly. There were no convoluted word problems, no litany of given conditions, no complex equations or confounding issues. None of the questions bore any resemblance to our homework problems, our quizzes or the mid‑term exam.

The first question was fundamental theory. I answered swiftly and moved on. The second question: again, fundamental theory. And so on, through all ten questions. I completed the final in twenty minutes, feeling fairly certain I’d answered each question correctly.

It was at that point I concluded that I’d gone insane. I’d simply cracked and failed to grasp anything about the test. I began to reread the questions. I reworked every problem. I came up with every answer again, answers that matched my first effort on every question. I was done. Slowly I stood up, vaguely aware that I was the first to do so. I dropped my exam paper on the front desk and left the room, not quite certain whether I’d just made 100% or a zero. At that point, I didn’t even really care. It was over, and that’s all that mattered.

Well I aced that exam and graduated. And I did so in spite of having such a poor teacher.

But was he really so bad?

His hands-off style forced me to work much harder than I would otherwise have worked. He put me in a position of relying only on my own intelligence, persistence and whatever support system I could create for myself. He provided no assistance at all, but in doing so he motivated me so thoroughly that I completely mastered a most difficult subject. Could that have been his plan all along? To this day, I’m not sure. But in the end, what I learned from him has been much more useful than any classroom subject.

He may not have been my best teacher, but he was certainly one of the most effective.

Or do we?

Things are not always what you expect them to be. Take a look at this fabulous video. Conductor Gustavo Dudamel leads a spectacular performance by the Venezuelan …[MORE]]]> Most of us have been to a symphony at some time or other. We all know what it looks like, what it sounds like, how it’s done.

Or do we?

Things are not always what you expect them to be. Take a look at this fabulous video. Conductor Gustavo Dudamel leads a spectacular performance by the Venezuelan symphony orchestra. This is not your grandmother’s symphony.

Venezuelan Orchestra

Nothing is as delightful as discovering anew something you’ve been familiar with all your life.

Make some music today, in any way that works for you. Put a twist on your same old world and give it a new joy.

It was clear from the first roll of the dice that my opponent was a rank amateur. She had trouble …[MORE]]]> I had an interesting backgammon match today and I found in it several lessons I’d like to share. Even if you don’t know the game, hang in there with me. I think you’ll still appreciate the moral to the story.

It was clear from the first roll of the dice that my opponent was a rank amateur. She had trouble discerning which color she was to play, in spite of both a visual and a verbal designation. Her first few moves made it clear that she had no grasp of strategy either.

What she did have going for her was the devil’s own luck. Backgammon is as much a game of chance as of skill, and the dice were definitely rolling her way. She outplayed me through the entire game thanks solely to her good fortune. By the time she reached the “home stretch”, I was a hundred points behind, a position from which it would be virtually impossible to recover. Still, there was that one slight chance I could pull it out and there was no money riding on the game, so I hung in there and waited for my opportunity.

Then my chance came. One disadvantageous roll on her part meant she would have to leave one of her pieces vulnerable to my attack. Now this was no dire situation from her perspective. Even if I’d managed to knock her piece out, only one chance in six, she probably still would have wiped the floor with me. She agonized over her move, clearly not willing to leave a piece open, but she eventually figured out that she had no choice.

And then she conceded the game.

Her unwillingness to play out what was an all‑but‑certain win left me puzzled. I’ve been reading insights into the situation all day.

• Even when you don’t know what you’re doing, things can still work out for you in an astonishing fashion.
• Even when you do know what you’re doing, sometimes the breaks just don’t go your way.
• Unless your losses are too great, don’t give up on an unlikely position. You might still get a chance to come back strong.
• Just because you’re faced with a possible setback, that doesn’t mean the game is lost.
• Good luck will only take you so far. You must understand the game if you really want to win.

You may find other lessons here, too. All I can say is that this was one time I was sorry I wasn’t playing for real money. I could have cleaned up.