On being ...

On being ... duped?

2009-06-15T10:47:00.000-04:00

By Ingrid Sapona

The title of this column is courtesy of my friend Barb (who I hope doesn’t mind me attributing it to her). She offered it up as we were leaving the opening night of a free, three-day grand finale of Luminato, an arts and culture festival. The finale featured Canada’s world-famous Cirque du Soleil in an event created exclusively for the festival. The media was abuzz about the event, but details were scant.

Festival organizers described the Cirque performance as involving two mythical communities of performers -- one representing the untamed, natural world and the other representing man-made urbanization. Members of the two communities would start at different ends of the waterfront and make their way toward the centre where they’d converge later in the weekend. Given this, I had the impression Cirque performers would be roaming around the waterfront, interacting with people. A newspaper article on Thursday, however, described two distinct points on the waterfront where the Cirque had set up stages of some sort.

Barb and I were curious about the event, but neither of us had any set expectations about the performance. If anything, we both were a bit skeptical, given all the hype. But, it was a lovely evening and we ventured down to the waterfront with open minds.

When we got to the first location the Cirque had set something up, we were surprised at how elaborate the stage was. The area, which is used for ice skating in the winter, had been transformed into a marsh, complete with whimsical trees and cattails and dreamy Cirque music was playing in the background. It was nearly 7 o’clock and quite a crowd had gathered. We understood the performance was from 7 – 9 p.m., so we joined the crowd.

After about 15 minutes of waiting with no sign of even a single performer, much less any performance beginning, we headed toward the other end of the waterfront to see what might be going on there. It was almost 8 o’clock by the time we made our way to the other whimsical Cirque stage. There too, Cirque music was playing and a large crowd had gathered. Once again, we joined the crowd and waited. After a few minutes I asked a couple folks whether they’d seen anything so far and they said no.

There was a garden nearby that I’d never walked through, so we decided to head there before it got dark. We figured that by the time we returned to the Cirque stage area, the performance would probably be underway. As we were making our way toward the garden we noticed a few Cirque performers headed toward us. Some were on stilts, one was dressed as a horseman, complete with an elaborate wooden-framed horse, and another was some sort of nymph. After that, we were on the look-out for other performers. We soon saw some that looked like a rag-tag street gang. Though it was fun watching them meander through the crowd, the interactions were pretty much what you get with normal street buskers.

We ended up back at the skating rink turned marsh (the first Cirque stage we saw that night) by about 8:45 p.m. The crowd had grown, but we still couldn’t see any performers there. I asked some people what we’d missed and the answer was: nothing. The performance, which was scheduled to end in just 15 minutes, hadn’t started -- or at least it hadn’t made its way there yet.

Barb and I loitered there for a few minutes – mainly to check out peoples’ reaction as they waited. To our surprise, most seemed un-phased by the wait. Maybe they were just happy to be by the lake on a beautiful evening, or maybe showing restlessness (much less irritation) just isn’t part of the Canadian temperament. I did see one couple briskly walking away and I heard the guy telling people who passed him that the performance was over. When I asked him if it had even begun, he looked me straight in the eye and said, “Well, I guess that’s the question, isn’t it?”

Not interested in waiting around any longer, we left. Though we had had a nice evening (it was a pleasure to walk around the harbourfront), we agreed it was unbelievable, not to mention rude, that the Cirque kept the crowd waiting like that. We laughed at the thought that maybe the joke was on Toronto – and Torontonians. Perhaps the Cirque folks were using Luminato to bring to life PT Barnum’s famous comment about fooling people!

We also talked about the fact that even though neither of us went with any real expectations about the Cirque’s performance, somehow we felt disappointed. That’s when the idea of an On being… about expectations came to me.

Pleased that I had an idea for On being…, I reassured Barb that the evening wasn’t a total bust because it gave me an idea for the column. To this, Barb very drolly said, “Let me guess: On being … duped?” I had to laugh. I told her I was thinking of something a bit more philosophical, but she did have a point. In thinking about Barb’s title I realized that, in fact, we did have an expectation going into the evening: we expected not to end up feeling like fools for waiting around for a show that, as far as we could tell, never really materialized.

As a post script I should tell you that according to the Toronto Star, apparently there was some kind of performance that evening -- we just didn’t stay long enough to see it. I don’t feel too bad about missing it, however. According to the newspaper, because the show was so late getting started it was “cut short and seemed underwhelming”. Underwhelming indeed…

© 2009 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... tricks of the trade

2009-05-30T15:56:00.001-04:00

By Ingrid Sapona

As a kid, I was more inclined to spend time doing crafts than reading a book or playing sports. I don’t know if it’s because I liked working with my hands or not, but I also always liked learning about how things were made. So, I was more likely to watch shows like This Old House than the Brady Bunch.

This Old House made a lasting impression on me in a couple ways. First, I was amazed by the fact that there were specialized tools for all sorts of things. I mean, a miter box for cutting right angles – how clever is that! And then there’s the router. To this day, I think routers have to be one of the most fascinating tools. Hell, even the dictionary definition of router makes them sound cool: a machine with a revolving vertical spindle and cutter for milling out the surface of wood or metal (according to Merriam-Webster.com).

The other thing that left a big impression on me was the idea that every trade has its own tricks – those little extras the lay person simply doesn’t know to do, or doesn’t think would make a difference in the finished product. Tricks of the trade don’t necessarily make things easier. In fact, often they’re additional steps – things you can skip without causing any real problems. But, doing them always pays off because the finished product looks better and more professional.

Though I’ll never be converting an old farmhouse into a stylish inn (like the folks always seemed to be doing on This Old House), the show left me with an appreciation for the little tricks and techniques that elevate competent handiwork to the level of craftsmanship and gave me a thirst for learning about such tricks with regard to projects I undertake. For example, in high school I used to do a lot of needlepoint. I reached a level of skill that many admired and that I was pleased with, but I was always striving to make my work more professional looking.

One day I was showing a project I was working on to a woman who made a living selling her needlework. She commented on the fact that I used black to outline part of the design. She then suggested I try dark brown, explaining that black draws the eye in and therefore de-emphasizes the rest of the design. Dark brown, she said, offers the contrast necessary for the outline effect, but it doesn’t create a visual distraction. That afternoon I bought some dark brown wool and tried it. I was astounded by the difference. It was a simple trick, but one I’d never heard, or read, about and would never have come up with on my own.

It’s been a long time since I’ve done any projects with my hands, but this spring I needed to repair some gashes on my boat’s hull that happened last fall during haul out. I was nervous about doing the work because the last time I did such work was during the first season I had the boat. Back then, not knowing anything about fiberglass, much less about the “gel coat” finish, I asked around and learned as much as I could about how to do the repair. I did an ok job, especially when viewed from a distance, but every spring when I’m washing and waxing the hull, my handiwork mocks me. And, given the location of the gashes, I worried that if I didn’t refine my gel coating technique, the boat might end up looking like something only a mother could love.

So, over the winter I took a fiberglass repair course. It was great because it demystified the processes and helped me get over my fear of the chemicals involved. The hands-on work was also useful because it helped me get a good feel for using the materials. Of course, I was well aware that practicing on a horizontal flat surface in a temperature-controlled setting (the classroom) was very different from working on a vertical curved surface (the side of a boat sitting in a cradle) outside in early March.

Because the course was only four weeks, we didn’t have time for more than the basics in terms of practicing finishing techniques, but the instructor was enthusiastic and eagerly shared his knowledge and experience. As we were working away, he shared many tricks of the trade. We didn’t have time to try most of them in the classroom, but he suggested we try them on our own boats.

One trick he mentioned was to polish the finished surface with a particular brass polish. When he suggested it, many who were familiar with the product were skeptical because they thought doing so might leave a yellowish tint. Though I was familiar with the polish he mentioned, I didn’t have any at home. But, when I was out buying all the stuff I’d need to do my boat repairs, I also picked up a can of the polish, figuring I may as well give his suggestion a try.

Well, you probably know where I’m going with this. I diligently followed all the steps we learned and I applied every trick he mentioned – including using the brass polish – and I’m thrilled to report that the gel coat work turned out terrific. Besides being proud of my workmanship, I’m grateful for having had a tremendously skilled instructor who graciously shared so many tricks of the trade.

I know some may think that my fascination with learning tricks of the trade is a manifestation of a somewhat unhealthy striving toward perfection. Or perhaps it’s a reflection of an abnormal fear of remaining a jack of all trades, master of none. Could be… or maybe it’s just an appreciation for detail and for a job well done.

© 2009 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... nickeled-and-dimed

2009-05-15T14:40:00.000-04:00

By Ingrid Sapona

I use the same company for my phone, internet, and digital t.v. service I pay a flat fee and I save (if you can call paying about $150/month saving) because I get “bundling” discounts. When my March bill arrived I noticed it was a bit higher than normal. On closer examination, I saw that the internet service charge was $5 more than it had been. I phoned and, after numerous questions and being put on hold for quite awhile, the customer service rep said there was a billing error and somehow that month I didn’t get all the bundling discounts I should have. He told me they’d credit me $5 on my April bill but that I should pay the current bill in full.

When I got the April bill there was no $5 credit, so I phoned to complain. After 20+ minutes on the phone, the customer service rep once again assured me I’d be credited next month. After hanging up I was very irritated, in part because between last month and this month I spent at least an hour (time digging out previous bills and time on the phone to straighten it out) dealing with this $5 error.

Compounding my irritation was the thought that maybe I should have just paid the $5 and let it go because, clearly, my time’s worth more than $5. But, truth be told, I also knew that part of what was nagging at me was the thought that maybe my knee-jerk reaction to fight such overcharges comes from worrying I’m not as financially as secure as I’d like to be or, worse yet, that such disputes are a manifestation of being a penny pincher.

After calming down, I realized I’d be a happier person if I didn’t let things like this bother me, so I began thinking of techniques I might try to cultivate more of a sense of equanimity. One idea I came up with is to set a dollar amount below which I wouldn’t quibble. In other words, borrowing a concept from my accounting friends, I’d set a personal “materiality threshold” and I’d only spend time on issues involving amounts over that threshold. But what amount should I choose? I decided to ruminate on that question for a few days.

As it happens, the very next day I got a parking ticket. They’re doing repairs to my condominium’s garage and the management company arranged with the City for residents to park on the street overnight, so long as we displayed special permits. Despite the fact that I prominently displayed the permit on my dashboard, I got a $40 ticket! I was livid.

No sooner did I sit down to write a letter about the ticket than I thought of my materiality threshold question. Though I hadn’t yet settled on an amount, it took me less than three seconds to decide it certainly was something less than $40. Besides, I’m a fast typist and it wouldn’t take me long to write the condo management company telling them I expected them to deal with the ticket.

The following day’s mail brought yet another opportunity for me to either practice developing equanimity, or to narrow in on a personal materiality threshold. This opportunity came in the form of a $29 late fee applied to my April Chase Visa bill. In March, Chase had returned a $53 cheque I wrote on a U.S. dollar account I have with my Canadian bank. In the past, they’ve accepted payment from this account. I phoned Chase immediately to find out what the problem was.

It’s a long story but it has something to do with the fact that my Canadian bank recently issued me new cheques that apparently can no longer be cleared under the U.S.’s clearing system. The upshot of that 45+ minute conversation was that I had to get a U.S. money order to pay Chase. Getting the money order and mailing it with a letter explaining that the problem wasn’t my fault took two more hours.

Fast forward to the other day and my April bill with the $29 late fee. Naturally, I phoned Chase for an explanation. They said the fee was because the March payment was late. I couldn’t believe any late fee was charged, much less $29 on a $53 bill! I again explained it wasn’t my fault that they returned the cheque and I asked them to waive the fee because I’ve always paid in full and on time. After 55+ minutes on the phone, it was clear Chase wouldn’t budge. (I’ve already cut up the Chase card but I can’t afford to jeopardize my credit rating by simply ignoring the $29 fee, regardless of whether I think it’s fair or appropriate.) They suggested I ask my Canadian bank to reimburse me the $29 since it was their change to the cheques that caused the problem.

So, what to do? I’d already spent nearly an hour on the phone with Chase about this damned $29 (not to mention the time I spent on the phone with them in March). Do I take up the matter with my bank or do I bite the bullet and forget about it?

Well, I’m sorry to report that equanimity didn’t triumph, but I am getting closer to nailing down my materiality threshold. (Clearly it’s something under $29!) I took it up with my bank and, thankfully, it took less than an hour of my time and my bank reimbursed me the $29.

To be honest, I don’t know if setting a materiality threshold is the answer, but the way things are going lately, I worry that if I don’t, I may end up being nickeled-and-dimed to death.

© 2009 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... August 8th

2009-04-30T20:25:00.000-04:00

By Ingrid Sapona

Spring officially arrived over a month ago, but it’s barely begun showing here. The daffodils are at their peak this week, but 90% of the trees and bushes have only the smallest buds and lilac trees are at least a month from even thinking of blooming. So, from this perspective, August 8th, which will be mid-to-late summer, seems far, far away.

But, on the other hand, many yacht clubs launched boats this past weekend, racing starts in two weeks, and by the time I find the wire brush for the grill it’ll probably be the 4th of July (or at least Canada Day, which is July 1). So, from that perspective, I know the time will fly and it’ll be August 8th before I realize.

You’re probably wondering about the significance of August 8th. Well, it’s 100 days from today. If my Dad were around to read this, he’d say, “big whoop”. To be honest, I agree -- 100 days doesn’t seem particularly significant. Sure, it’s a nice round number, and especially appealing to those on the metric system (it certainly sounds more impressive than 14.28 weeks), but in the scheme of things -- I can’t think of too many reasons folks would normally take note of 100 days.

And yet, if you happened to catch any U.S. news yesterday, you’d have heard lots of folks clamoring about the 100th day of the Obama presidency. Apparently the press have been grading presidents’ first 100 days since FDR’s time. Some in Obama’s administration tried to downplay it by calling it a “Hallmark card” moment, which certainly sounds cleverer than what Dad would have said, but all the same, much fanfare was made of the event. (I like coincidence as much as the next person, but even I don’t think the fact that Obama held a prime-time press conference on his 100th day is a coincidence.)

I was thinking about what it would feel like to have my last 100 days graded by others and I have to say, I’m not sure I would appreciate it. In fact, if you’d have been on the receiving end of the reaction I got from a sail club member who asked me at launch what was new and whether I’d been anywhere of late, you’d probably be feeling a bit sensitive giving account too. This gentleman -- a well-off retiree who had spent a month in Florida, six weeks skiing in Colorado and some time in Spain or Portugal, I can’t remember which -- laughed in my face when I humbly said that I recently had a delightful long weekend in Cleveland. Honestly, he laughed in my face. On seeing my look of shock at his rudeness, he tried to backtrack by saying it just sounded funny, like a movie title or something. What can I say -- I guess I’ll just chalk it up to my deadpan delivery or something.

But seriously, this idea of grading what you’ve done over 100 days probably isn’t a bad idea. In fact, I’m sure life coaches are all for it, for example, as it really is just a logical extension of the much touted idea of setting goals with definite target dates and measurable objectives. And, the good thing is that -- unlike in school where someone else decides what you’re graded on AND assigns the grade -- in this case, you get to choose what you’re graded on and you’re the primary grader. (Friends and family may offer input, but your grade is what really counts.)

So, I think I’ll give this 100 day report card idea a go. I’ve always been a good student and what’s the worst that can happen? Sure, at the end of the 100 days someone might laugh in my face when I tell them what I’ve been up to, but who cares! What’s important is that I set an agenda and I do my best.

Of course, my agenda won’t be quite as ambitious as Obama’s -- for starters, the only auto industry folks I plan on being in touch with between now and August 8th are the guys who I take my car to for an oil change, and my interaction with banks is pretty much guaranteed to be to be limited to ATMs. But, like his, my agenda will have a mix of fiscal stimulus items and matters with a social impact. On the economic front I’ll be beating the bushes trying to find new clients and trying to get more work from existing clients, and on the social front I’ll be sailing, visiting with friends and family, maybe taking a long weekend here or there, and doing some volunteer work. So, with all that on my plate, I’m sure the next 100 days will fly by. But I’m up for it, and I plan on getting high marks on everything!

What about you? When grades come down on August 8th, what will you be marked on and how will you fare?

© 2009 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... asked

2009-04-16T06:40:00.006-04:00

By Ingrid Sapona

I have two sisters and we live far apart from each other and from my mother. Mom and I live the closest – she’s about 100 miles away. We all see each other pretty regularly, but because of schedules and what have you, our visits tend to be one-on-one rather than as a group.

When my sister Regina told me she was planning to visit Mom for a long weekend over Easter, Mom suggested they drive up to visit me. I loved the idea and suggested they stay over and that we celebrate Easter here. They agreed and it was set.

In the meanwhile, I thought it would be fun if all of us got together and I mentioned to Regina that I’d ask my other sister (Sonia) if she might be able to join us to surprise Mom. (Sonia, I hope you’ll forgive me for using your name. I know you live in fear of being written about in On being … but I can’t tell this story without mentioning you and using your name seems better than referring to you as Sister #2.)

Regina thought the idea was crazy because Sonia works for an airline and her schedule is anything but nine-to-five. When weather and mechanical problems are factored in, it’s easy to understand how difficult it is for Sonia to make plans. As well, she often picks up additional trips, so she has little free time for social visits, especially ones that come up on short notice.

Though I realized Sonia might not be able to get the time off, I saw no harm in asking her. Sonia’s initial response was non-committal. To be honest, that’s pretty much what I expected -- but it was clear to me that she’d at least think about it and would probably see what she could do.

A few days later Regina called me and was quite excited. Sonia had e-mailed her to let her know she managed to re-arrange her schedule to come for Easter dinner. Naturally, I was pleased, but also a bit surprised by Regina’s utter amazement that Sonia would join us. When I commented on her reaction, Regina admitted that she wouldn’t have even asked Sonia, given how unlikely it seemed she’d be able to come.

Regina’s reaction got me thinking about why I wasn’t as surprised that Sonia went out of her way to make our get-together happen. Besides the fact that I saw little down-side to asking her, I guess I subconsciously thought Sonia might try especially hard to rearrange her schedule because she would appreciate that we asked her to join us.

You see, the past few years I’ve found that when someone goes out of their way to specifically ask me to do something or to join them in doing something, chances are good I’ll say yes. (I suppose I might feel different if I was one of the many who have a hard time saying no, but that’s usually not a problem for me.) Since realizing this about myself, I’ve tried to figure out why I’m so much more inclined to say yes in such circumstances -- and I’ve noticed that the same is often true of others.

Here’s what I’ve come up with about what I call: “the power of being personally asked or invited”. When you think about all the social, family, work, and community things we all participate in, many of them we do either because we think we should or simply out of habit. For example, we go to a networking event because we feel we “should go”, or we go to our aunt’s Labour Day barbeque simply because we always have.

While there’s nothing particularly wrong with doing things that fall into those categories (and doing them can certainly be fulfilling), our participation in them is often pretty impersonal. Though everyone might be genuinely glad to see you at the event, your lack of attendance wouldn’t necessarily be noticed (unless they were expecting you and you stood them up or something). And, of course, when people start to simply expect you to participate, you can end up feeling taken for granted and therefore resentful, which in not healthy.

So, when someone personally asks me to join them or do something with them, I take notice. First off, their asking shows they thought of me individually, and the fact that they took the time out of their busy schedule to do so is also important to me. And, assuming an underlying genuineness on their part, the fact that they risked being rejected or disappointed also is significant to me.

Though it’s a bit of a stretch to say being personally asked has some kind of magic power over me – it definitely never hurts and, when choosing how to spend my time, I’d certainly rather spend it with someone who’s made me feel wanted and welcome. My guess is that Sonia feels the same, which is why she went out of her way to join us on Easter.

Who knows, maybe after reading this Regina and others will be more inclined to reach out and extend personal invitations, especially if they realize that -- for some -- being asked makes all the difference.

© 2009 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... a useful analogy

2009-03-31T05:30:00.000-04:00

By Ingrid Sapona

I generally like analogies and I often find them to be a handy tool for analyzing things. Indeed, a good analogy can be useful when trying to help someone understand something that they don’t seem to be getting.

Late last fall, when the Wall Street bailouts first started happening (or, more accurately, when the first Wall Street bailouts started happening), I was watching NBC’s Today Show and they had on Erin Burnett, a reporter with CNBC. As you now doubt know, CNBC is dedicated to reporting on Wall Street.

I don’t recall the exact event they were talking about that morning, but I think it must have related to some bonus or severance payment that some Wall Street mogul had been paid or had approved -- or maybe it was about John Thain’s (Merrill Lynch’s (then) CEO) $1.2 million office redecoration. In any event, the amount they were talking about was controversial at the time (the recent “fuss” over AIG bonuses is just the latest episode, after all). Ms. Burnett, trying to put the figure in perspective for the lowly viewer like me, commented that to Wall Street types, the amount was akin to a “rounding error”. Ah yes… a mere seven figure rounding error -- anyone who’s ever tried to balance their chequing account can no doubt relate to that!

Not only did I not find Ms. Burnett’s analogy to a rounding error helpful, I was absolutely incensed by it! Though I don’t believe it was just a case of a poor choice of words spoken in haste -- even if it was -- I think it betrays just how out of touch people who work on Wall Street, and those making big bucks at CNBC reporting on Wall Street, are with the economic reality of the vast majority of Americans (not to mention the rest of the world).

Had CNBC been around to report in pre-revolutionary France, I can’t help wonder if, to help the simple-minded peasants understand comments like “Let them eat cake”, Ms. Burnett would have done a remote broadcast from outside a bakery. Imagine all the trouble that could have been avoided if those darned peasants had just grasped the reality of the situation better…

More recently I’ve been angered and insulted by commentators who have said that the public outcry over the AIG bonuses is misplaced anxiety and that the bonuses are just something concrete that the public can grasp. It’s true, there’s more than enough anxiety to go around these days and the clamor about the bonuses is likely a symptom of that. But how dare commentators demean the public and try to gloss over payouts in the hundreds of millions when that’s more than what many people in America will make over the course of their lifetime. (And NO, it’s not that we object to bonuses being paid despite the fact that the companies have lost billions of dollars -- it’s the inequity of such amounts, period.)

Given the depth of the trouble we’re in, I imagine that for some time to come folks will be offering up many more analogies and maybe some good old fashioned sayings to help us come to grips with the economic mess. I’m not sure how many more platitudes I can take, but to prepare, I’ve thought of a few myself that might be helpful.

For example, maybe one way to explain how companies justify paying astronomical salaries to Wall Street managers and execs is simply to see them as having gotten caught up in a corporate version of “monkey see, monkey do”. Of course, boards wouldn’t dare use such a juvenile analogy -- but, as they bought into the compensation consultants’ arguments that such amounts are “the norm in the industry” and that they had to pony up if they hoped to attract the best and brightest -- the resemblance to monkey see, monkey do is striking. (Especially since -- like monkeys -- it’s clear no one questioned the moral scruples of the supposed best and brightest. Hell, no one ever even stopped to objectively assess whether those folks really were the best and the brightest! But why should they -- that’s not how the game is played, after all.)

Actually, it occurs to me that maybe folks like Ms. Burnett should consider switching their focus from trying to make the average person understand things, to trying to make Wall Street types understand how their behaviour got us into this mess. So, in the spirit of being helpful, to those who might find the public outcry over obscene bonuses -- or the idea of a 90% tax on such amounts -- hard to comprehend, perhaps a bit of reflection on one of my favourite sayings might help them understand: pigs get fat, hogs get slaughtered.

© 2009 Ingrid Sapona

On being … my hero

2009-03-16T05:50:00.000-04:00

By Ingrid Sapona

As a kid growing up, I never had a hero. Not having one didn’t bother me or anything -- I’m just saying, I never had one. During adolescence I became more aware of the fact that I didn’t have one -- but that’s just because I heard people express concern that girls, in general, were at a disadvantage because they didn’t have as many role models or heroes. As I made my way into adulthood, the topic came up occasionally, but pretty much only as a philosophical question over a second or third drink -- and it always seemed to be men that asked. Given all this, at some point, I guess I just figured heroes are a guy thing.

Well, I’ll be darned. After all these years -- I now have a hero. I’ll be honest -- before I sat down to right this, I did a bit of gut checking, soul searching and, of course, I looked up the word to make sure I’m not fooling myself about this. I’m not.

So, I say without hesitation or reservation: Jon Stewart is my hero. I know some women may feel I’m letting down the sisterhood by having a male as a hero -- but to them I say nonsense! As far as I’m concerned, Stewart should be the hero of all who believe no one is telling it like it is when it comes to the economy and who have felt, as I have, unheard in all of this.

You’ve no doubt heard about Stewart’s interview of CNBC’s Jim Cramer last week. The interview was the culmination of a week that started with Stewart’s show (The Daily Show on Comedy Central) ridiculing CNBC’s coverage of Wall Street. Jim Cramer took particular umbrage at the clips the Daily Show ran of his CNBC show “Mad Money” and so, over the course of the week, Cramer popped up on a number of other programs to talk about the economy and to defend himself. Finally, on the 12th, Cramer agreed to be on The Daily Show.

I had mixed feelings about the Stewart/Cramer interview. It had received a lot of hype and I thought it would end up playing out as a manufactured brouhaha -- the verbal equivalent of a World Wresting Federation match. From the moment the interview began, however, it was clear my concerns were unfounded. Stewart was friendly to Cramer, but he was clearly in a serious mood.

Stewart was tremendously well prepared and he proved to be masterful at cross-examination. Early on, after getting Cramer to blow is own horn about the fact that he was a hedge fund manager for many years, Stewart ran a clip of Cramer explaining how easy it is to make money short selling. When the clip was finished, Stewart asked him to explain what that means. Cramer then launched into an impressive sounding explanation that also included him claiming he didn’t short sell. Stewart interrupted and said it sounded like he did. Cramer then said that if it sounded that way, it’s because he was inarticulate. Well -- if you’re a fan of Perry Mason -- you know what’s coming next… Stewart says “roll 210” -- and you guessed it, 210 is a tape of Cramer saying that, in fact, he did short sell.

I’ll admit, I’m not a fan of Cramer -- he’s always struck me as more bluster than substance. That evening he was Mr. Humble, however, admitting again and again that he should have done better but that he tried. One of the most interesting things about Cramer’s performance was that he kept referring to “the shenanigans” that were “going on”. Shenanigans? Shenanigans? Referring to all the abuses and schemes that various companies have carried out the past few years and that have led us into this financial crisis as shenanigans is either incredibly condescending to us or betrays a lack of understanding of what really was going on, either of which is reprehensible.

Stewart then paraphrased one of my favorite concepts from law school, arguing that the financial news industry is not just guilty of a sin of omission -- it was guilty of the sin of commission and that the industry was in bed with Wall Street. Cramer argued they weren’t in bed together and whined that there was nothing he could do because people lied to him. Stewart wouldn’t hear of it, saying the idea CNBC could have on guys from Bear Sterns and Merrill who leveraged 35 to 1 and then blame mortgage holders is insane and he objected to Cramer trying to play the doe-eyed innocent.

Then came the part of the interview that made me want to sing out, “Thank you Mr. Stewart” for giving voice to what many of us feel. After yet another clip, Stewart said, “I gotta tell you -- I understand you want to make finance entertaining, but it’s not a f---ing game … When I watch that … I can’t tell you how angry that makes me because what it tells me is (at this point his voice goes from angry to quietly indignant): You all know. You all know what’s going on…”.

But what really nailed down for me Stewart’s title as my hero was something he said that, though difficult to admit, contains a lesson for us all: “… any time you sell people the idea you don’t have to do anything … that you can sit back and you’ll get 10 to 20% on your money… that’s a lie. Our wealth is work … we’re workers … and selling this idea of ‘hey man, I’ll teach you how to be rich’” is really just an infomercial. Hear, hear, Mr. Stewart.

So there you have it -- a hero is born.

P.S. If you haven’t seen the show and are interested, those in the U.S. can watch it on the Internet at: www.thedailyshow.com; those in Canada can watch it at on CTV's web site.

© 2009 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... a good luck charm

2009-03-01T09:00:00.000-05:00

By Ingrid Sapona

I’m a bit superstitious -- but in a positive way. In other words, I’m not inclined to think bad things will happen as a result of some random event (like seven years bad luck if you break a mirror). Instead, my brand of superstition is based on the idea that certain things can bring good luck.

A prime example of my positive superstitiousness (to coin a phrase) is my belief that I’m a parking good luck charm. I was reminded of it again just the other evening when a friend and I were headed to a bar we’d never been to before. We had a pretty good idea where it was on this popular, busy street, but we weren’t certain of the exact location.

Just after my friend pointed out the place, I spotted an easy-to-pull-into parking space directly across the street from the front door. It was a very cold evening, so we were especially grateful to have found such a close spot. As I pulled into it, my friend mumbled something about my being lucky. I couldn’t help myself -- I blurted out, “Well, I’m a parking good luck charm”. She didn’t say anything in response, but I’m pretty sure she shot me a “whatever” look.

I first began thinking of myself as a parking good luck charm in my 20s. This one friend and I used to go out at all hours and no matter where we went, we always ended up finding great parking. At some point he commented on the fact that whenever he was with me, he never had a problem finding parking. (Apparently he didn’t have such good fortune normally.)

Then I started noticing that I seem to find primo parking spots even when I’m driving and have someone with me. Eventually I concluded it was happening far too regularly to be a fluke, so since then, if I’m in a car with someone and we’re looking for parking, I confidently announce I’m sure we’ll find a spot because I’m a parking good luck charm.

When I say that, those who don’t know me too well usually react with a pretty cynical, “Yeah, well, I hope you’re right”. Often, just as they finish muttering that, I point out an open space and little more is said about the matter. And then there’s the reaction I get from inveterate disbelievers. One guy I went out with, for example, always used to mock me by saying, “Oh that’s right – a parking good luck charm -- not a bridge fairy.” (His comment was a reference to the Canada/U.S. border crossings at Niagara Falls. Depending on the economic and political climate, the wait to get through Customs on the bridges can be from minutes to hours.)

I’ve thought about why I seem endowed with this luck when it comes to parking. The answer, of course, simple: being a parking good luck charm is nothing more than being confident you’ll find a space and then focusing your attention on your surroundings as soon as you arrive where you’re looking to park. Really, you could call it “parking conscious”. You’d be surprised at how many people aren’t parking conscious.

My belief in my parking luck is very much like a good luck ritual that worked for me in law school. Right before I left for an exam I always played Kenny Loggins’ “This is It”. The title refers to the fact that the present moment is the time for action. I felt that if I left the house singing it, I’d do ok. Looking back, it seems clear the luck I ascribed to the song came from the fact that singing the phrase -- This is It! -- helped me focus on the reality that the moment of the exam was the time for action -- the time to call forth all I’d learned and crammed into my little brain! I guess you could say the song helped make me “exam conscious”.

The great thing about good luck charms is they help you feel lucky and that boosts your confidence, which is bound to make whatever it is you’re up to go more smoothly. The best thing about being a parking good luck charm isn’t that you find great parking -- that’s just an added bonus. The real benefit is that if you feel you’ve been lucky with parking, you end up in a more positive frame of mind, which can help carry you through whatever you’re doing next.

Regardless of whether you believe there’s any such thing as a good luck charm, I hope these examples convince you that you can create your own luck with a positive attitude and by focusing your awareness on the immediate task at hand. So, next time you’re in search of parking, try being your own parking good luck charm -- all it takes is belief and focus. Go on -- give it a try. What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll bet you end up in some pretty sweet spots.

© 2009 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... bullied

2009-02-16T08:00:00.000-05:00

By Ingrid Sapona

One of my consulting services is creating seminars. A professional association recently hired me to create one on fraud. My client knows full-well that I’m not an expert on fraud but, based on our discussions, they clearly have confidence that I’m capable of learning about it and that I have the experience and skill to create a seminar on it.

This week I set out to start my research for the seminar. When I’m working on a topic I have little knowledge of, I prefer more research to less. I immerse myself in the subject and then distill the information down to create the seminar materials.

My client had offered to help me gather information, or put me in touch with experts they work with, and I took them up on the offer. One of their suggestions was that I contact another association that deals with fraud (let’s call it Association #2) and they gave me a specific name of someone there (let’s call him Mr. Charming).

The woman I spoke with at Association #2 was very nice. When I told her what I’m working on and the information I’m looking for, she confirmed that Mr. Charming would be a good resource and she gave me his number. She also mentioned that Association #3, which I had not heard of before, may have useful information. I wrote down her suggestion and thanked her for her help.

Then I phoned Mr. Charming. I briefly introduced myself and, before launching into my spiel, asked if it was an ok time to talk. He said it was, so I explained that I’m putting together a fraud seminar for Association #1. He immediately asked when the seminar is being given. I explained that I don’t know, but that my work is due at the end of March.

He then told me Association #2 is presenting a panel on fraud at its conference in September and he complained that Association #1 makes lots of money on its seminars and that the seminar I’m working on had better not be competing with Association #2’s September conference. Hoping to allay his concerns, I explained that what I’m working on is for Association #1’s members only and, as far as I know, it’s not meant to compete with anything Association #2 does or is doing. (I mean, really -- if my client was planning something that would step on Association #2’s toes, why would they suggest I contact Association #2 for help? Of course, I bit my tongue.)

I then tried a different tack, explaining that what I’m working on is a seminar, with lectures and group exercises, which is quite different from a session at a conference. Then, quite argumentatively, he told me that the topic “doesn’t work as a seminar”. We seemed to go around and around, with him simply contradicting everything I said. Because I felt I was representing Association #1, I took great care to remain polite.

At one point he mentioned two other sources of information (one of them was Association #3) and asked if I’ve looked at what they’ve done. I innocently -- and honestly -- said I hadn’t because I wasn’t aware of them before that morning, but that I certainly would check them out. He then ripped into me, saying, “You’re clearly not qualified to be working on this if you haven’t even heard of those sources!”

But his tirade didn’t stop there. He then said, “You know – in my business I deal with fraudsters all the time and I think you’re one. My call display says ‘I Sapona’, but that means nothing to me and the fact that you obviously know nothing about this subject is highly suspicious. I think you’re a fraud.”

What do you say when someone says that to you? I paused and then suggested he look at my web site and I began spelling the URL. But before I could finish he said, “I’m not interested in looking at any web site – I want the name of someone I can call at whatever place it is you claim to be working for!”

So, I calmly repeated my client’s name (which you’d think he’d remember, having expressed his concern that Association #1 is trying to muscle in on Association #2’s turf) and gave him the direct dial number of the executive director, as she was the one who hired me. He repeated a few digits of the number, as though he was writing it down, but I doubt he’d ever phone – it was all just part of his bullying me. I politely thanked him for his time and hung up.

When I finally calmed down, I thought about what a miserable guy he must be to behave that way. It reminded me of folks I worked for as a temp one summer. The group I did secretarial worked for did collections on auto loans. When they weren’t out in the field doing repossessions, they were on the phone talking to “deadbeats” (as they generally referred to them) and they were all very aggressive and nasty. They were some of the most miserably unhappy, negative people I had ever met. I always wondered whether it was their job that made them that way, or whether that type of work attracted that type of person. I couldn’t help wonder the same about Mr. Charming.

Thankfully, I’ve got On being… to help me deal with incidents like my run-in with Mr. Charming. And, having written this, I do feel a bit better. But you know what really makes me feel better? The realization that Mr. Charming’s bullying is just his way of compensating for his really small … mind.

© 2009 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... an experience

2009-01-31T07:34:00.000-05:00

On being … an experience

By Ingrid Sapona

It’s funny, the things you remember and what makes an impression on you. I’ll never forget a school trip we took in third grade to the Ontario Science Centre. It was a big deal for a lot of reasons, including the fact that the Science Centre was some new-fangled museum that was getting rave reviews and it was a long trip (about two hours each way) to a foreign country. (I went to school outside Buffalo and the Science Centre was outside Toronto.)

By far the most memorable thing to me about the Science Centre was a demonstration that involved a big silver ball that looked like something from a sci-fi movie. (I now know it was a Van de Graaf generator.) The demonstration was about static electricity. At the end of the presentation the scientist asked a girl to come up and put her hand on the ball. When she did, her long hair stood straight out! Naturally, we all wanted to touch the ball to see if our hair would do the same, which, of course, it did. To this day, every time I get a static electric shock (which happens quite regularly to me, despite my recent addition of a humidifier), I think of that demonstration.

Though it was a wonderful field trip, it had a definite down-side: after that, going to a museum and seeing something sitting in a display case just didn’t cut it. Since then, every time I go to an exhibit, I pay attention to whether they’ve done anything to make it interesting. “Interactive” and “hands on” seem to be the buzz words used to describe what museums are trying to be, but so often that translates into little more than pushing a button or flipping a switch that starts a video or illuminates a display. My experience at the Science Centre was so much richer than that -- yet, for the longest time, I couldn’t explain exactly why.

Well, this week I think I finally realized why that field trip stands out for me for all these years. It has to do with the fact that when I put my hand on that Van de Graaf generator I experienced – first hand – what had just been explained to us about static electricity. In other words, that experience made the information come alive in ways a mere description couldn’t.

This past weekend I participated in something billed: the “Intense Icewine Weekend”, at one of the loveliest wineries in Ontario. I was there to write about it for a magazine. The marketing materials explained that we’d learn about how icewine is made, taste how the winery’s chef (one of the best known in the region) incorporates icewine into various dishes and how it matches with different foods. (Oh, and we’d be drinking lots of icewine!)

During the orientation our host said that in creating the weekend, it was their intention to have us “experience” the winery. Since I was “on assignment”, I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes at what sounded like meaningless marketing speak. But, as the weekend unfolded, I began to understand what they meant by that.

The weekend started with the winemaker explaining the process and science of making icewine – everything from the sugar content required by regulation before the frozen grapes qualify for picking, to the pressing and blending process. Then, to give us a sense of what it’s like to pick in sub-zero temperatures, we were all given a pair of shears and we headed into the vineyard for a lesson on vine pruning. We were then each assigned vines to prune and we went at it, despite the -12C temperature.

Later in the weekend we went to the (unheated) pressing house to get up close and personal with the picking and pressing equipment. While there we got the chance to taste unfermented, recently pressed icewine juice, as well as icewine juice at various stages of fermentation.

The food side of the weekend was equally interesting. During the multi-course lunches and dinners the chef explained what we were eating and the different cooking techniques involved. And, to help reinforce what we were learning, throughout the weekend we engaged in fun competitions (with prizes that included – you guess it – icewine).

The weekend was wonderful -- and so much more than I expected. Driving home I was thinking about why. I had gone expecting to drink some icewine and eat some delicious food -- and I certainly did both. But, the weekend was so special because, in fact, they had succeeded in what they set out to do: have us experience the winery and all that goes into making icewine.

So, though it’s been nearly 40 years since that hair-raisingly memorable experience at the Science Centre, this weekend reminded me that you don’t have to be a kid to experience the wonder of having information come alive.

© 2009 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... gifted

2009-01-16T05:20:00.000-05:00

By Ingrid Sapona

With Christmas safely behind us, I thought I’d risk talking about gift giving. Unfortunately, in our society, gift giving has almost been reduced to an act of social ritual, rather like the “norm” of tipping the hair dresser, doorman, or cab driver. (I hate that. I’d much rather we had laws that ensure people are paid a living wage than to be expected to tip someone for the job they were hired to do in the first place. Tipping someone in recognition of extraordinary service is something altogether different.)

Some of the situations where gift giving is expected I don’t have a problem with. Gifts for weddings and the birth of a baby generally fall into that category. After all, those occasions are such extraordinary events and celebrations that a gift of congratulations seems in order. (I know, not everyone would agree these are extraordinary events -- but to a single woman with no children -- they certainly are!)

In any event, you can always argue that giving gifts to people embarking on marriage and parenthood is at least grounded in practicality, as usually (at least historically) there are lots of things such folks need as they face big changes in their life. Of course, that begs the question when it’s the second, third, fourth, fifth, etc., wedding or child! (Surely I’m not the only one who wanted to gag hearing about the gifts Liza Minnelli got for her last wedding.)

But beyond first weddings and first babies (ok -- and gifts to children -- I have no qualms about gifts to children any time -- it’s worth it just to see their reaction), I do object to gifts given simply because of social expectation. If you’re not sure what I’m talking about, think of all the people you “exchange” gifts with and think about why you do so. If your rationale is: because she always gives me one, or because he’s a relative, or because it’s just something we do -- then I’d argue the action is more like a transaction than a gift.

Even if you don’t have a moral objection to such exchanges, there’s a very practical problem inherent in such giving: after awhile you just run out of ideas. I mean -- how else can you explain the fact that my sister – who has been seen in a t-shirt that reads: “No one ever died from my cooking” and who is the first to admit that she has a cooking disability -- got an apron this Christmas from one of her oldest friends, Belinda. (Not her real name, by the way. But in any event, don’t worry, she doesn’t read On being...) Oh, it was a lovely apron -- Belinda made it herself. (She’s a very talented seamstress.) But talk about a waste of time and effort!

When my sister showed it to me, we both had a laugh, especially when she told me that at least it was a nice change of pace. You see, for the past five Christmases, Belinda has given my sister a beret. (Yes, a beret.) I guess Belinda must think my sister just keeps loosing them or something -- after all, what else could explain the fact that she’s never seen my sister wear one!

But, enough grumbling. What I really want to do is celebrate the art of giving gifts. If you’ve ever received a gift that has surprised, delighted, or moved you – I’m sure you’ll agree there’s an art to gift giving. Another thing that I think makes it clear that it’s an art is the fact that the feeling you get from a heart-felt, thoughtful gift has little to do with the cost of it. Looking back, I’m sure you can think of gifts you particularly loved and valued, and I’ll bet few of them would fetch much on e-Bay.

One of my all-time favourite gifts, for example, was a pair of oven mitts a girlfriend gave me. For a time, we regularly ended up chatting the night away at my place over a dinner of quiche and salad. One Christmas, among other things, she gave me oven mitts. I couldn’t believe it. They were something I really needed and had been too lazy to pick up for myself. But how did she know? I was sure I’d never mentioned that I needed new ones. When I asked her about it, she said she had heard me mumble about them as I practically burned myself every time I took a quiche from the oven. So, not only were the mitts useful, they where her way of showing that she truly listened to everything I said. Everything.

There are few things that give me as much joy as thinking of what to give someone. Of course, it can be quite a challenge, especially when you don’t know the person too well. But even then, I find it fun trying to come up with something. Whether it’s figuring out something they might need, or something they wouldn’t get for themselves, or just something they’d enjoy.

I used to think that all there was to coming up with a special gift was putting yourself in the recipient’s shoes. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to the conclusion that the real trick to giving someone the perfect gift is to realize how lucky you are to have that person in your life. Once you see that, giving them a piece of your heart is only natural. And, if you do that, you’ll find that it really doesn’t matter what physical token your love happens to come wrapped with -- they’ll cherish it.

© 2009 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... reset

2008-12-31T11:00:00.001-05:00

By Ingrid Sapona

I’ve been pretty amazed at how often the economy has come up in my everyday social conversations the past couple of months. And all these conversations are pretty similar: they usually start with someone mentioning a new factoid that they’ve heard or read about the economy, then someone else jumps in with some other fact or new (uncomfortably big) number for something (unemployment, dollars their portfolio has dropped, number of pensions that are under-funded, etc.), the next person chimes in with another disturbing statistic, and so on. Invariably the discussions are peppered with lots of “it’s unbelievable”, “how is that possible?”, and “I just don’t understand”.

The other common feature of the conversations is that they seem to focus on the uncertainty about what lies ahead -- for the economy as a whole and for individuals. Proof of the heightened anxiety can be found in the simplest things, like toasts for 2009. Though wishing someone good health and prosperity for the New Year is traditional, I’ve noticed many toasts have been more specific, direct, and heartfelt -- with wishes for good health, good economic fortune, continued employment, and even wishes for the ability to withstand the economic storm that’s brewing.

The other day I heard what I think is the most insightful comment about the economic situation we’re facing. Jeff Immelt, CEO of GE, was quoted as saying: “This economic crisis … doesn’t represent a cycle. It represents a reset.”

When I first heard that statement, I didn’t know in what context it was made or how Immelt meant it – but on its face, it makes perfect sense to me. Indeed, it succinctly addresses my main source of uneasiness: the fact that I don’t think that this is just a phase the economy is going through and that if we can just ride it out long enough, things will go back to the way they were before. It’s not just that I think the problems are so fundamental, profound, and widespread that solutions that worked in the past won’t work. It’s more that I think that we should not expect -- or want -- things to return to the way they were.

When terrorism reared its head in the west and governments took steps to enhance their country’s physical security, people learned to adapt to “the new normal”. I’ll bet the likes of Jules Vern wouldn’t have imagined that one day you wouldn’t be able to board a plane without taking off your shoes first. And, though we may not like it, we have come to accept some loss of freedom and more government gathering of information about us. Even though these changes to our lifestyle have been made in the name of the war on terror – I think most people realize it’s not a war where there’ll eventually be a winner and after which life will return to the way things were. To put it another way: in the name of collective security, our view of the level of unfettered freedom we’re entitled to has certainly been reset.

If we simply accept that the economy has a natural cycle and therefore we draw comparisons and do things (like implement stimulus packages, works programs, tax cuts, etc.) that worked in the past in hopes of eventually recovering much of the ground that we’ve lost, then we’ve also got to accept the fact that eventually we’ll go through this again. I know, if my house were in foreclosure, or I lost my job, or the fixed income I live on dropped precipitously, I might not be so open to the idea of taking time to reflect on the fundamental changes that might be needed, much less time to let certain things play themselves out. But deep down I think most people, if given the choice, would willingly trade the highs and lows of what amounts to a feast or famine rollercoaster ride for a steadier, more level one, even if it is at a lower, more down-to-earth level.

After hearing about Immelt’s comment, I was curious to hear what else he might have said. Interestingly, in that same speech, Immelt went on to predict that those who understand that the crisis represents a reset rather than just a phase in a cycle will prosper and that those who don’t will get left behind. Though the speech was delivered at a conference on corporate social responsibility to an audience of corporate leaders, the comments seem equally relevant to individuals.

I realize mere talk about the economy is stressful to many these days and that the idea that we might have to accept many fundamental changes to the way we carry on may be difficult. But, I also see this time as offering a tremendous opportunity to re-define success and aim for a prosperity that is both sustainable and universal. If we do this both individually and collectively, the discomfort and suffering we will go through will be well worth it.

So, as this is the last column for the year, my wish for you all in 2009 is good health and prosperity -- but not necessarily the type of prosperity we’ve coveted in the past.

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... a time to pause

2008-12-16T10:31:00.000-05:00

By Ingrid Sapona

I pay pretty close attention to the business news -- and even if I didn’t -- it’s kind of hard to miss headlines about plunging stock markets, credit crises, growing unemployment, Wall Street bailouts, and government debt measured in trillions. In the initial weeks of the crisis I tried valiantly to keep up with all that was going on (or going wrong).

As I struggled with concepts like sub-prime mortgages and credit swaps, however, I started feeling stupid. But after awhile I began to realize I’m not the only one who doesn’t understand it all (or even much of it). Seems to me lots of people in high places aren’t much better versed in the whole thing than yours truly. (Though many of them have pay grades that would make you think they should understand it a whole lot better.)

Not too long after the economy went into a tailspin came headlines about the need to fix what’s broken. Only thing is -- the problems are so wide-spread, there are no obvious fixes. At first I was impressed with all the weekend-long crisis meetings going on. (Think back to those marathon weekend sessions where -- apparently -- the U.S. financial system was saved from the brink of collapse because firms like AIG were rescued.)

Then there was news about the U.S. automakers’ near collapse. Never fear, however, Congress is on top of it, so we were led to believe. Hearings were held and lawmakers made a big show of reprimanding the Detroit execs for their bad decisions (including their choice of transportation to the hearings) and telling them to go away and not come back until they got their facts and figures straight. Eventually, just when it looked like everyone was ready to play Let’s Make a Deal, the negotiation ended because someone -- the UAW or the Senate -- left the table in a huff.

Next thing we know, Congress adjourned until the New Year – leaving many wondering how they could do that when -- up till then -- they had been acting like there were fires all over that had to be put out. At first I was astounded that Congress recessed. How could they do that when there’s so much to be done, I thought. (I won’t go into details but we had a “constitutional crisis” of sorts here in Canada -- the long and short of it is that our members of Parliament went home too in early December and they won’t resume sitting until late January -- not coincidentally -- just after Obama is sworn in.) But lately I’ve reconsidered and I actually think it’s a good thing that the lawmakers are on hiatus.

It’s not that I think the crisis has subsided or even that we’ve hit bottom and so things have got to be going up. It’s just that I think talk of crisis breeds further crisis -- everyone remembers the frenzy Chicken Little caused running around yelling that the sky’s falling. (I’m not saying the economic situation is a mere acorn -- though, in the grand scheme of things -- who knows, it may be…)

Interestingly, the story of Chicken Little apparently has different endings. In some versions Foxy Loxy, who offers to help Chicken Little, ends up eating her; in other versions another animal warns Chicken Little that the fox is up to no good and she escapes uneaten. I learned the one where Chicken Little gets eaten, which is why I took the moral of the fable to be: don’t overreact and don’t trust everyone who says they’ll help! Given this, I guess you can understand why I think the hiatus our leaders are on might provide an opportunity to curb the frenzy that their behaviour had contributed to, not to mention it may buy us some time to help ensure we don’t rush head-long toward “help” that ends up being harmful (if not fatal).

I can’t help think that with fewer distractions from people in Washington and Ottawa the rest of us may be more inclined to reflect on our own situation, as well as on our families, our communities, and even our faith. We can also use this lull in government action as a time to start taking matters into our own hands to help ourselves better weather the storm -- whether that means taking a cold hard look at our own finances, or reining in our spending, or maybe just starting an honest dialog with other family members to make sure they understand their role in the family’s financial picture.

I know that for many, the economic downturn means the holidays will not be what they’re used to -- or perhaps what they had hoped. But this time of year is a time for blessings -- and even if you don’t do anything else while we’re waiting for our leaders to return to work -- I urge you to pause and count your blessings. If we all do this, I know we’ll find that we’re really not as bad off as it might seem.

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... stalked by the thought police

2008-12-01T07:20:00.000-05:00

By Ingrid Sapona

Apparently Torontonians use about 460 million plastic bags a year. I think you’ll agree-- that’s a shockingly big number. Of course, anything in the mere hundreds of millions might seem passé by comparison to the hundreds of billions (or as my father used to always take time to point out: “that’s billions with a B”) that we’ve gotten used to hearing about vis-à-vis corporate bailouts. But even so, 460,000,000 is a hell of a lot of bags.

The number of plastic bags we use was in the news earlier in the week because the City decided to meet with major supermarkets to figure out a way to “encourage” shoppers to use fewer such bags. The initial proposal was that grocers would give shoppers 10¢ for every bag of their own that they use. When I heard this, I thought it’s a good idea. Indeed, my favourite grocery chain has been doing something similar for years now (but instead of cash you get extra points in their loyalty program when you bring your own bag).

A few days later I heard on the radio that the plastic bag proposal had changed. Apparently, instead of us being paid for every bag we bring, under the latest plan stores will charged 5¢ for every bag they provide. (It wasn’t until much later that I heard retailers don’t have to remit this nickel fee to the City or agree to put the revenue toward any recycling programs or anything. That doesn’t seem fair, but what can you do?) Though it’s a much sweeter deal for the retailers than for shoppers, I’m ok with the idea because I think the ultimate goal is worthwhile and because I do think it’ll have at least some impact. (After all, I know I try extra hard to remember to bring my reusable bags just for those few loyalty program points my favourite grocer gives.)

Anyway, later that day, as I was walking past a grocery store I remembered a few items I needed. I was on my way back from a client meeting so I didn’t have a bag with me. Though I knew I had a cloth bag in the trunk, I was parked at a meter a few blocks away and I thought it would take too long to go get it. So, I ran into the store empty handed.

As I was checking out I noticed a crew from one of the local t.v. stations heading into the store. I realized immediately they were there to get shoppers’ reactions to the plastic bag proposal. After the clerk handed me my change, I quickly swept the bag into my oversize purse and headed for the door, dodging the reporter. Just as I was breathing a sigh of relief I was accosted by another reporter and camera crew who had set up outside the store. Praying they wouldn’t see the bag in my purse, I smiled and said I was in a hurry (which was true, the meter was running) and I didn’t stop.

As I headed to the car I was overcome with a strange combination of fear and guilt. Fear that I might have been caught on film whisking my plastic shopping bag out of sight into my purse, and guilt that I was just the sort of person for whom the “bag tax” was meant: people who’re socially conscious when it’s convenient (like when they happen to remember to bring their bags), but not so virtuous at other times. For shame, I thought…

For the rest of the day, I couldn’t get my mind off the self-consciousness and guilt I felt when I saw the news crew. It’s no exaggeration to say that I found myself on a roller-coater ride, one minute soothing myself with affirmations that I’m pretty good about bringing my own bags and that I’m pretty conscientious about recycling, then engaging in self-flagellation for being a wasteful, selfish, garbage-creating consumer. My crisis of conscience simmered well beyond the time the proposal was a hot topic in the news.

Then, yesterday, a headline in the newspaper caught my eye: “Guilt trips on the road and in the lavatory”. The headline was on a column I’d never noticed before -- one called Ethically Speaking. Apparently readers write in for guidance regarding their moral dilemmas. I read on with interest.

One woman asked whether it’s wrong to drive in a high occupancy vehicle (HOV) lane reserved for cars with two or more occupants when the other person with her is her infant. She said she feels guilty doing so because she believes HOV lanes are for carpooling and, obviously, she and her daughter are not carpooling. The columnist’s response was simple: so long as there are two people in the car she can use the lane. Though I agree with the conclusion, I felt the columnist was a bit dismissive of the writer’s concern for the greater good. Though he agreed with her that the law was to encourage carpooling, the columnist’s rationale was based strictly on the fact that it would be too difficult to enforce a law that turned on characteristics of the occupants, like age or size.

The second letter was from a woman who prefers her church’s handicapped washroom because it’s cleaner and more private, but feels guilty about using it. Absolving her of her guilt, the columnist rationalized that unlike handicapped parking spaces, handicapped washrooms are not reserved for the disabled -- they’re merely designed to be suitable for handicapped. Subtle but good point, I thought.

I don’t mind admitting that I was quite relieved when I read the column -- and not simply because my conclusions aligned with the columnist’s. The main reason for my relief is the fact that, clearly, I’m not the only one who sometimes feels stalked by her own, internal thought police!

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being … a rhetorical question

2008-10-31T06:36:00.000-04:00

By Ingrid Sapona

Talk about a no brainer. I mean, really. Trick or treat? Who chooses trick?

Though Halloween isn’t until tomorrow -- Halloween candy has been in the stores since Labour Day, so I’m sure you have yours by now. I’m told we don’t get kids coming to the door here, so I didn’t buy any. The fact that I “helped” my mother pick out what she’d be handing out -- you know, just in case there are leftovers that I might have to “help” her get rid of the next time I’m home -- doesn’t really count.

Every year there are two things that surprise me about Halloween candy: how early it appears on the store shelves, and the tremendous variety produced. I suppose I should be embarrassed to admit this, but over the last month I’ve spent more than a few minutes perusing the Halloween candy aisles. I love checking out what variations of the old standards they’ve come up with. This year, for example, I noticed Mint 3 Musketeers and Dark Chocolate Rocky Road Snickers. What will they think of next?

The process of choosing what Halloween treats to hand out is interesting. I couldn’t believe my mother was indifferent to what she gave out. She grew up in Europe so she never developed a taste for Snickers bars, Reese cups, M&Ms, or any of the other North American favourites. But even so, I couldn’t believe she didn’t care what she handed out.

My approach to choosing Halloween candy is very much like my approach to gift giving: if you know the recipient really well, by all means, give them something that is to their liking. But, if you don’t know the recipient well (and of course, anonymous ghouls and goblins knocking on your door generally fit in this category), I’ve always believed you should give something you’d like to receive.

I’m not sure when or how I developed that philosophy, but it’s been the rationale behind my giving for some time. (As I write this, I can’t help wonder how many of you have just mumbled, “well, that explains why she gave me -- (fill in the blank)!”) Anyway, regardless of what you think of that philosophy, vis-à-vis Halloween candy there’s little down side to it applying it – and a potential up side if there’s any left over.

My recent forays into Halloween candy land got me thinking about what I consider a treat. Like many, for me there are certain foods that always constitute a treat. As odd as it may sound, the first thing that comes to mind in this category is fresh figs. To me, there’s something divine about them. I often wonder whether part of the reason they’re such a treat for me is because I don’t live in a fig-growing climate, which means they’re relatively rare here… In any event, without a doubt, if I’m somewhere and figs are available (whether for sale, or on a menu, or whatever), I’m a happy woman.

But treats aren’t limited to food items. There are many non-food things that qualify as treats to me. Something as simple as a shower after a weekend on the boat, or a mid-afternoon nap, can also be wonderful treats. Interestingly, the extent to which I appreciate something as a treat has nothing to do with the cost -- it’s about how it makes me feel.

I don’t remember when I realized this, but once I did -- it didn’t take long for me to figure out that -- unlike when we you are a child -- as an adult, you don’t have to rely on anyone else to provide you with treats. Indeed, one of the great things about growing up is the fact that raising your spirits is often as easy as treating yourself to a little something. Doing so is empowering on many levels.

Of course, there’s no denying that there’s something extra special about being treated to something by someone else. But even in this regard, my appreciation of what constitutes a treat has evolved. As I get older, the types of treats I appreciate most from others usually don’t involve an object or anything that costs money. Instead, the best treats have to do with the person spending time with me, or doing something for me that I may not like doing.

Well, there you have it -- my two cents on treats. Not only do treats can come in all shapes, sizes, and flavours, they can take the form of an act or action. The key is that their effect is as a little pick-me-up that helps reminds us of how sweet life can be. So clearly, as between a trick or a treat -- the choice is obvious.

That said, I have one last word of advice on the topic. On Halloween, if someone dressed kind of funny asks you: “Trick or treat?” don’t bother with a lengthy answer -- they’re asking it in a strictly rhetorical sense. Instead, give them some candy and they’ll be gone. Trust me.

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... attached

2008-10-16T07:56:00.000-04:00

By Ingrid Sapona

I get attached to things and I have a hard time parting with things I’m attached to. I’m not talking about pack rat things, like magazine clippings or old love letters (as if…), or even things that normally folks are sentimental about, like photos. I’m talking about things I use regularly and that still serve their purpose, but that are not quite as good as new or that might even be described by some (one sister in particular) as worn out.

My couch is a prime example. I love my couch. I inherited it from my parents in 1989. Yes, that’s almost 20 years ago – and, if you must know, the couch was about 15 years old when I got it. It’s long (a grand 90 inches) with three cushions on the bottom and three along the back. One of the things I like best about it is how well it doubles as a bed: just remove the back cushions and tuck a sheet over the bottom cushions – and voila – it’s more comfortable than a pull out couch any day!

Recently, when I was rotating the couch cushions, I noticed a hole developing on the corner of one of them. My heart sank, knowing that was a telltale sign of the inevitable: the need to get a new couch. (Reupholstering it is not in the cards. Four or five years ago I looked into having it done and it was going to cost from $2,000 to $2,500! Friends and family persuaded me a new couch would be a better investment.)

My desk (actually a computer armoire) is another item that has seen better days. I bought it in 1996, when I started my business. Given that my dining room doubled as my office, it was important that I have an armoire, and it took me a long while to find. Though I still love the functionality of it, the veneer is peeling (badly) and now that I have a proper office, the need to hide everything behind armoire doors is less urgent.

So, I’ve started thinking about replacing the armoire. But, the prospect leaves me weak – not just because it’ll be difficult to duplicate all the features I love (there’s space for a printer, shelves for books and supplies, a drawer for pens and such, and a keyboard platform that’s at the perfect height) – but also because it’s seen me through so much, it’s really been like a partner in my business.

My realization that it’s time to replace my couch and desk is forcing me to face the fact that I get inordinately attached to things. I’ve thought a lot about why it is so hard for me to replace things and I don’t think there’s a single explanation. First off, it’s not the money. I wouldn’t even consider replacing these items if I didn’t think I could afford to.

Though it may sound odd, part of my anxiety relates to the fact that I don’t enjoy shopping. I tend to find shopping frustrating because I rarely find a particular item with all the features I’m looking for. So then you have to compromise, trying to visualize how different items might fit, and thinking about whether the differences will matter, etc. If you combine this with the fact that I’m not the type to grow tired of things, you can understand why most times what I’d really like to find is just an unworn version of what I already have!

I also think part of my trepidation comes from feeling a bit self-conscious buying big ticket items. Replacing something that’s old and worn out may not qualify as conspicuous consumption (at least not by North American standards), but the fact that many others make do with much less does cross my mind. So does the old adage: waste not, want not.

Of course, over the years I’ve come up with coping mechanisms that have helped me let go of stuff. For example, there are the tried-and-true bromides, like the idea that these items don’t owe me anything. They’ve served me long and well, so replacing them isn’t wasteful or frivolous. I should note, however, that not all such platitudes work for me. One of my sisters often blithely justifies her getting rid of things that still seem perfectly useful to me by saying she’s simply “setting them free”. Despite my attachment to inanimate objects – given that we’re not talking about Elsa, the lion cub – I find the idea of “setting things free” simply ludicrous.

If the item isn’t embarrassingly worn, another way I cope is by trying to find it a new home, for example, by donating it. Of course, there’s always the issue of, “if it’s not good enough for me, why would anyone else want it?” Well, beside the fact that you never know who else might want, or need, it – there’s always the fact that charities can sometimes sell things for scrap, making a bit of money on it even if it isn’t put to its original use. (Clothing is a prime example: it’s often sold by the pound and it can end up as stuffing in futons, etc.)

I suppose you may be thinking the real way I come to grips with things like overcoming attachments is by writing about them. But that’s not the case. The truth is, by the time something ends up in On being …, I’ve pretty much worked through it. Proof of this is the fact that last month I took the plunge and ordered a new couch – it should be here a few weeks. Mind you, I’ve cleared space in my office for the old couch. But, there’s method to my madness. You see, I’m sure that, before long, the clutter in my office will get to me, which will accelerate my desire to find a new desk and redesign the office and, no doubt, a huge (old) couch won’t fit in with the new look.

All the same… did I mention it’s a great couch???

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... urgent

2008-10-01T07:14:00.000-04:00

By Ingrid Sapona

It’s just after 10 a.m. on September 30, 2008. That means the New York Stock Exchange (NYSE) has been open for a little over half an hour. At this moment, according to the NYSE’s web site, the Dow is up 195. It’s anybody’s guess what the markets will be when I finish writing this, but I’ll let you know.

Oh, before I forget – Happy New Year! Yes, it’s the Jewish New Year. A time for celebration, for reflecting on the past year, for making resolutions, etc. It’s also an opportunity for the U.S. Congress to take a few days to chill out, regroup, or whatever, after defeating the financial bailout package yesterday.

Now, I know this will shock you, but I’m kind of relieved that Congress defeated the bill. It’s not that I’m against the bailout – it really isn’t. The simple truth is, I don’t know enough about the whole financial mess – or the proposal that was defeated – to be in favour or against it at this point. (Sadly, I don’t have much faith that even a handful of the 433 members of the House or Representatives do either, but that’s another story.)

The reason I’m relieved about the outcome of the vote is because I’m not in favour of rushing into things (especially things with price tags with an extraordinary number of zeros on them!). This fiscal crisis – and I do believe it is a crisis – is (fill in your descriptor(s) of choice) worrisome, troubling, and frightening – but panicking won’t help, nor will non-stop warning of dire consequences, or artificial deadlines for negotiating deals or passing legislation.

All the news the past few weeks about the pending collapse of this or that institution and the need for the government to act swiftly have gotten me thinking about the nature of “urgency”. Before I go on (no, I’m not going to update you on the stock market again!), I have to tell you that I’m a firm believer that there are some things in life that are urgent. I think it’s important to say this up front because my belief in the idea of immediate action has informed various important actions I’ve taken in my life.

Put another way, I believe that swift action can be the difference between life and death. The best examples I can give relate to getting my father to the hospital on a number of occasions in the last few years of his life. Unlike my father, who didn’t seem to believe it mattered whether someone got medical help within the first few hours of an apparent heart attack or stroke, I have always believed that, in certain circumstances, every second counts. So, there were a handful of times those last few years where I took the “do not pass Go” route directly to emerg with Dad.

I can also think of urgent situations that humans can prepare for, but not really control. Giving birth is a good example. When those contractions start you’ll want to try to get to the hospital as quickly as possible (or at least get the midwife over), but it’s going to pretty much happen when it happens. The same thing is true with certain natural disasters, like hurricanes. We might know they’re coming and so swift action (whether it’s boarding up the windows or getting out of town) can help, but the storm will come regardless.

It seems to me that man-made crises – like the financial turmoil we’re in – are different, and so is the nature of the “urgency”. In this case, while complete inaction might prove fatal, taking a few extra days (or maybe even weeks) will not result in irreparable harm. The fact that someone set a deadline and that deadline has come and gone with no solution is not the end of the world. Indeed, given the complexity of the problem, maybe we should all be thanking our lucky stars for the defeat, as it gives people time to analyze the problem and try to come up with a well-reasoned, appropriate, workable solution – one that we won’t have to spend years trying to unravel!

It’s just after 3 p.m. – less than an hour before the market closes. FYI, the Dow is up 365. Does that make you feel better? Me either, because I know it can swing back and forth so many times before the close of the day, I get dizzy just thinking about it.

And finally, for those who are swept up in the idea that the most urgent problem facing the world right now is the financial crisis, I say look around at all those suffering through war, famine, and disease. Kind of makes our financial woes seem less urgent, doesn’t it?

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... a student

2008-09-16T06:30:00.000-04:00

By Ingrid Sapona

Last week I was thinking about the fact that this is the first year I didn’t feel that old “back to school” pang that used to kick in just before Labour Day. (You know, that feeling that was a strange combination of anxiety and excitement.) I know it sounds odd that I even remember that pang (given that I’ve not been to school in September since 1984), much less that I miss it – but I do. Not feeling it made me feel old.

I chalked up the fact that I didn’t feel the pang to a combination of things. It could have been the fact that our summer was so soggy it barely seemed started, so it couldn’t be over (which is always the case when school started). It could also have been the fact that I didn’t see or hear any back to school sale ads. (I guess Staples’ right to the Andy Williams version of “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” has run out.) Or maybe it’s that I no longer live across the street from an elementary school.

Anyway, a few days after lamenting that I no longer feel like a student (for better or worse), a couple incidents reminded me of an old Buddhist proverb about learning. The first incident had to do with something I read. A friend recently gave me a book entitled, “The Secret of Successful Failing”*. (I know, I could read all sorts of things into what a friend giving me a book about dealing with failure says, but I’ll leave that for a future column!)

From the title, I figured the book would be about learning from your mistakes. Hardly a new idea, I know, but believing there’s no harm in being reminded of good advice, I started reading. I plowed through the first chapter quickly, not finding anything new or surprising. But I kept reading – and I’m glad I did. Fairly early in Chapter Two I read something that struck a chord: failure … is not a judgment that proves our inadequacy.

I re-read it a number of times and thought about it for a long while before I realized that I’ve pretty much always emotionally connected failure and inadequacy, but I never really saw the judgment aspect. Indeed, though I’ve always taken to heart the idea that there’s lots to be learned from failure, I’ve never been able to see failure as simply something you learn from. (The author puts it quite plainly, saying that failure is just feedback.)

Now, having read and understood her point, I realize the reason I’ve probably not learned quite as much as I could have from past failures is because I’ve always had failure served with a heaping portion of judgment of inadequacy. To maximize the lesson from failure, clearly I’ll have to learn to disconnect it from my feelings of inadequacy. Anyway, this column isn’t about failure (honestly) – it’s about the fact that that author’s putting it in those words helped me see things in a way I hadn’t before and helped me learn.

The other incident relates to something my nutritionist said – in passing – in a voice mail. A number of years ago I went to her to help me lose some weight. I still see her quarterly because I’m keen to not re-gain. I was fairly indulgent this summer and I put on a couple pounds and so I promised myself that come Labour Day I’d better begin dieting. I had an appointment coming up in mid-September, but I decided to move it back a few weeks. (Lest her scale prove too revealing of my recent indulgences.)

So, I left her a message seeking to reschedule on a particular date a few weeks later. She then left me a voice mail saying the day I chose wasn’t good because she doesn’t see clients who are “on maintenance” that day of the week. I was struck by her use of the word “maintenance”. I remembered she had used that word before, but I never thought about what it means in terms of me.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that’s precisely what my continuing to see her is about: it’s about maintaining the weight I want to be at – it’s not about still being “on a diet”, which is how I had always seen it. Looking at it this new way isn’t just a refreshing twist on words, it’s a completely different motivation. Not a bad revelation from a voice mail!

Anyway, as for why I hadn’t before viewed watching what I eat as maintenance, or why I hadn’t before realized that failure doesn’t equal inadequacy, well, I think the answer lies in the proverb I referred to earlier. It goes something like this: when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. I guess I was simply ready to learn these things now…

Oh, there’s one other wonderful thing these two incidents reminded me about: just because you’re not going back to school doesn’t mean you can’t be a student – you just have to be open to letting the teachers appear!

*”The Secret of Successful Failing”, by Gina Mollicone-Long

On being ... maybe

2008-08-31T17:47:00.001-04:00

By Ingrid Sapona

Fish, or cut bait. That’s an expression my contracts professor in law school used to use.

The first time he used that expression, I’m sure mine wasn’t the only confused look he got. His explanation for what it meant was something like this: when you’re a kid into fishing (or, more accurately, a boy growing up in the south who’s into fishing) you learn early on that on any given summer day you have to decide whether you’re going to go fishing that day, or whether you’re going to cut bait. You couldn’t do both because one was an on-water activity and one you did on land.

I imagine that for a kid, the decision was sometimes hard, as it depended on a lot of factors. You had to consider the weather and the water conditions, you had to figure out whether you’d have enough bait to last you the day without cutting more, not to mention thinking about what you really felt like doing and, if other kids were involved, what they wanted to do probably came into play too. But the bottom line was if you didn’t decide, you’d end up squandering the day.

The older I get, the more I dislike the word “maybe”. I know, to many, the concept of “maybe” represents hope. After all, it (literally) reminds us of all that “may be”. Indeed, as a child, “maybe” was often music to my ears. Maybe we’ll stop for ice cream on the way home. Maybe if you’re good, we’ll go to the movies. Maybe there’ll be so much snow on your birthday, you’ll have no school. (Being a February child growing up in Buffalo, that last one was an annual “maybe” I particularly relished.)

But even as a child, I realized that “maybe” also carries with it the possibility of disappointment. Maybe we won’t have time to stop for an ice cream. Maybe your parents said that to bribe you. Maybe you should have seen through that…

For me, “maybe” has lost whatever charm it once had. I realize there are times when “maybe” is an appropriate, or necessary, response. For example, you may have to check your calendar to confirm whether a particular day or time is open. Or you may have to check on something or check with someone else before you can commit one way or another. Or you may just want time to think about it – you know, mull it over – before making a decision.

But, in many cases, I think people hide behind “maybe” because it’s easier to say than “no”. People I’ve spoken to about this have told me they think saying “maybe” is more polite than simply saying “no”. I honestly don’t understand how a “maybe” is more polite than an outright “no”, especially when you have no intention of saying “yes” (Of course, like anything – politeness is as much about how you say it, but there are polite ways of saying “no”.)

As a response, “maybe” holds the possibility of a “yes”, and the possibility of a “no”. But if you have no genuine intention of saying “yes”, or of finding a way to say “yes”, how is it more polite to mislead someone with a “maybe”? Sure, being on the receiving end of “no” can be disappointing – but at least you know where you stand and you can then plan accordingly. “Maybe” keeps hope alive and when others are involved, it keeps them dangling.

I find it equally odd when someone says “maybe” when they have every intention of saying “yes” – after all, “maybe” is not the same as “yes”. “Maybe” is a hedge that provides the person saying it with a way out, but it leaves the person on the receiving end wondering whether the ultimate decision might rest on a change of circumstance or change of desire. (Are they waiting to see if something better comes along before they commit to my invitation?) Again, it leaves the person on the receiving end hanging.

If you intend to say “yes”, you should. Everyone knows that occasionally, things come up that require a change in plans – but by saying “yes” instead of “maybe”, your commitment to keeping your word will often help dictate how you handle any unforeseen issue that might interfere with whatever you said “yes” to.

Lately I’ve also come to see “maybe” as detrimental to the person saying it. I’ve seen friends tormented by the uncertainty inherent in “maybe”. When I ask them why they choose “maybe”, invariably they say they’re trying to keep their options open. But, as they’re weighing their options – or waiting for something that will be the deciding factor – they aren’t moving forward (or in any direction, for that matter). And often, in the interim, they miss out on other opportunities because of a pending “maybe”. Indeed, in such cases, more often than not, “maybe” ends up being neither.

I understand the desire to keep one’s options open. Many of us work hard to create a life where we have options – and I’m all for that. But the mere availability of options doesn’t make for happiness. It’s not all the “maybes” that you had in your life that will be your fondest memories – it’s the things that went from a “maybe” to a definite that you’ll remember.

So, I urge you – next time you’re tempted to respond with “maybe”, think of my professor instead and decide which it’ll be: fish, or cut bait?

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... a positive force

2008-08-16T07:15:00.000-04:00

By Ingrid Sapona

I had two e-mail interactions this week that got me thinking. They weren’t related and neither was noteworthy when considered on its own, but the contrast between the way they left me feeling was rather startling.

The first interaction was with someone I work with on a volunteer committee. His e-mail (to everyone on the committee, not just me) was about the wording of some by-laws we had been working on. A few of us had gone back-and-forth about the wording, finalizing it while he was away on vacation. I hadn’t heard anything more about it until his e-mail this week.

He started his e-mail with: “I’m not a lawyer and I don’t play one on t.v, but….” and he went on to explain that someone had pointed out to him a potential source of confusion in the wording and he suggested alternative language. I realized right away that his opening was a variation on a line from ‘80s t.v. commercial for cough syrup that featured an actor who played a doctor on a soap opera. In the commercial the guy says, “I’m not an actor, but I play one on t.v. …” and he goes on to endorse the product. (I guess the line was meant as a disclaimer in case any viewers thought he was a real doctor.)

I know people jokingly throw that line around, but when I read it in his e-mail it struck a nerve. I couldn’t help think that it was a barb aimed at me since, as far as I know, I’m the only lawyer in the group that had worked on the by-laws. I realize I might have been misinterpreting the comment. He could have just been trying to be funny, or it could even have been a reflection of some insecurity on his part (if he was self-conscious about recommending different wording).

I resisted the urge to ask what he meant by the comment and, after I regained my composure, I considered the issue he raised. There was an ambiguity so I proposed new wording. Those on the committee who bothered to weigh in agreed with the fix I proposed but he wouldn’t let the matter rest until he and I went over the rationale for every single word and he was satisfied. The interchange was par for the course, as most of my dealings with him have left me frustrated and zapped of energy. (The interchange was useful, however, because it reaffirmed my desire to wind-down my involvement on this committee.)

The other e-mail exchange was with my friend Pam. Another friend had asked me if I could recommend a consultant to help her with something. I didn’t know anyone in that field but I thought Pam would know someone. Unfortunately, Pam is away (taking in the Olympics in Beijing), so I explained to my friend that I’d get back to her as soon as I could.

As luck would have it, later that day I was in touch with a colleague of Pam’s and I mentioned I planned on asking Pam for a recommendation for a consultant. Though I didn’t intend for her to, Pam’s colleague e-mailed Pam my question and the next morning I had an e-mail from Pam.

Pam’s response made me smile -- and not just because I thought it was thoughtful of her to take time to respond while on vacation halfway around the world. She gave me two names, adding, for emphasis: “both are very good”. The response was vintage Pam -- she always goes out of her way to describe people in positive terms. (She could just as easily have given me the names and not commented about them -- the fact she was recommending them would have been praise enough because I know she has high standards and is quite discerning -- but it’s not her style to mention someone without singing their praise.) Pam and I ended up exchanging a few brief e-mails about it and though her entire response was only four short sentences, as I passed on her recommendations and comment to my friend, I realized how my interchange with Pam left me feeling really positive.

Immediately after realizing how energized I felt after dealing with Pam, the sharp contrast between that and the previous day’s interchange came to mind and got me thinking. First, I felt gratitude that I have people in my life that exude positive energy, like Pam. Indeed, I thought about how blessed I am because I’ve got more energy-giving people in my life than energy zappers.

Then I wondered why that is -- and more importantly -- how to keep it that way. I think one reason I don’t have many negative people in my life is because I tend to distance myself from them. (My decision to tail off my involvement on the committee is a case in point.) But there has to be more to it than that. So I thought more about Pam and why -- or how -- it seems that everyone she knows is, as she would undoubtedly describe them: talented, outgoing, energetic, and positive.

That’s when I realized it -- it’s the law of attraction. Pam attracts high energy, positive people because she is energetic and positive. Now, don’t misunderstand. I’m not implying that just because I’m a friend of hers, I’m nearly as positive as Pam is (if I were, I probably wouldn’t have taken that comment about playing a lawyer personally). But I daresay I’m more positive than some (certainly more positive than my fellow committee member) and now that I realize that I’ve witnessed, first-hand, the law of attraction, it sure makes me want to work hard at being a positive force myself, in hopes of surrounding myself with others like Pam.

On being ... inspirational

2008-07-31T08:50:00.000-04:00

By Ingrid Sapona

I used to be active in an international law group. One of the most interesting people I met through that group was a Mexican lawyer named Eduardo. To be honest, I don’t remember how or why we got to know each other, in particular. What I do remember, however, is that one day, more than a dozen years ago, I got an invitation from Eduardo’s wife to a surprise party for his 40^th birthday. I was quite surprised I was invited, because I didn’t know him that well. But, I was intrigued (the party was in Mexico) and I went.

The three-day event was more like a wedding than a birthday party, with a couple hundred guests. It was easily the most magical celebration I’ve ever attended, with a bull fight, a parade, multiple mariachi bands, and even fireworks. I could go on-and-on about it, but that party is peripheral to this column.

Having had such a wonderful time in Mexico, I was tickled when I got an invitation the next year to a surprise party for Eduardo’s wife’s birthday. The invitation was in Italian and was adorned with a wooden coin featuring the profile of what looked like a Roman goddess. Though my Italian was minimal, I figured out that it was an invitation to a toga party at a villa on the Appian Way. So, a few months later I packed my toga and sandals (I knew Eduardo well enough to know that it was a costume affair) and off I went to Rome. At the party I found out that the profile on the coin was of Eduardo’s wife – yes, he had them specially made!

In the years since, I’ve gotten many other invitations to parties hosted by Eduardo. Every time I see his name in the return address on an envelope, I catch my breath in anticipation. Besides choosing locations that engage one’s sense of adventure, the invitations themselves are creative and inspiring.

The parties always have an underlying theme -- like celebrations of love (that was a trip to India, featuring a visit to the Taj Mahal), friendship, family, and spiritual journeys. The themes are always elaborately addressed in words, poetry, pictures, and even music. The Africa trip, for example, was called a Journey to Neverland. The idea behind that celebration was a reawakening of your soul and the invitation was on a DVD wrapped in a leopard-print fabric.

Though I haven’t been to one of Eduardo’s parties for some time, we’ve stayed in touch. Over the years I’ve realized that Eduardo has a rare talent for connecting with people and once you’ve made a connection -- it’s for life. He has a generous spirit and he shares his life, his zest for living, and his spirituality with everyone he meets.

A couple weeks ago I got an e-mail from Eduardo with a subject line that simply read: Incredible! On first reading, I had a hard time understanding it. He said he felt compelled to share with me an e-mail that someone sent to him because -- given that I’m in Toronto -- the thought somehow I was “partly responsible”. Not having a clue what he was talking about, I scrolled down and read an e-mail from a woman in Toronto.

Apparently, at a garage sale last summer that woman bought a DVD -- Eduardo’s “Journey to Neverland” from 2006. She went on to tell a moving story about how Eduardo’s heart-felt writing inspired her to resurrect her childhood dream of going to Kenya. She also mentioned how the timing of her “finding” the DVD was particularly significant to her, as she had lost her mother recently. She tracked Eduardo down and e-mailed him to thank him for inspiring her and touching her heart.

In reading that e-mail, I was intrigued but I didn’t think it had anything to do with me because, until this year, I had never sold anything at a garage sale. Not only that, I was pretty sure I had saved Eduardo’s DVD, so it couldn’t have been mine she bought. To prove it to myself, I went to find my copy of it.

I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find it. When my search turned up the leopard-print fabric it came wrapped in but no DVD, I realized that in the spring of 2007 I had probably thrown the DVD away when I was packing in anticipation of moving later that year. But, she said she bought the DVD at a garage sale. So, the only explanation is that someone pulled my copy out of the trash and sold it. I know it sounds far-fetched, but given that in my old building we put our trash in a shed at the back of the building, not a dumpster, it’s quite possible someone garbage picked it. So, Eduardo’s assessment of the whole being incredible is not just apt, it’s an understatement.

Clearly, there were a number of things I could have titled this column, starting with On being … unbelievable, because, as Eduardo said, the story certainly is. It could also be On being … interconnected, because it shows how technology is bringing the world together (given that Eduardo’s inspiration to that woman was transmitted via DVD and given that she tracked him down and thanked him via e-mail).

Ultimately, however, I decided on the title I did because I agree with Eduardo’s assessment that this story shows how in everything we do we have the power to change, impact, and move the world -- and I find that thought pretty inspiring!

On being ... diplomatic

2008-07-16T08:43:00.000-04:00

by Ingrid Sapona

As a rule, I don’t tell friends the title of On being … as I work on it -- I like it to be a surprise. The rule isn’t carved in stone, however, so the other day when a friend asked, I told him today’s column would be: On being … diplomatic. Without skipping a beat he said, “but you aren’t”. About all I could muster in response to that was, “Gee, thanks”. (In thinking about it later I took comfort from the fact that, clearly, I’m not the only one sometimes lacking in the diplomacy department.)

Undaunted (as I’m sure all my friend would agree I am -- even if some don’t agree about my diplomatic skills), I’ve stuck with it as my topic because it’s been on my mind as a result of recent of situations where I’ve struggled with the issue of what it takes to be diplomatic.

For a long time I thought that to be diplomatic you have to get along with everyone. It also seemed that an almost dispassionate approach helps, as well as a tremendous amount of tact. Based on these parameters, I’ve sometimes felt I come up a tad short on the diplomatic front. For starters, in terms of likability, I realized long ago that the simple truth is some people like me and some people don’t.

And, because I rarely get involved with things I don’t feel passionate about, I find it hard to even feign dispassion. Worse still, I suspect that my passion and enthusiasm are sometimes misperceived. For example, after a certain amount of discussion and planning on a project, I’m keen to start the ball rolling. I think this sometimes leads people to believe that I’m wedded to a particular method or goal. This often isn’t the case at all -- it’s just that I’m more willing than most to try to do something to break free of the inertia that often weighs a project or group down.

As for tact, it’s not that I completely lack it -- it’s just that my first (private) reaction sometimes isn’t particularly tactful. (I’ve often thought that one of the best things about working alone is that there’s no one to hear me mumble “you’ve got to be kidding”, or “Pa-LEEEEEZ” in response to a particularly stupid or irritating idea.) Fortunately, I’ve learned to count to ten -- or higher -- before even considering how to respond publicly.

Given that I’m not a natural diplomat, I’ve developed a technique that seems to compensate for some of my weaknesses. I’ve tried this in a number of situations where I’ve been annoyed as all get out but where merely showing my annoyance will not do -- both because I’d look like a jerk if I did so and because it’s clear that saner minds (and actions) must prevail.

Perhaps the best way to explain my technique is to give an example of how I use it. Right now I’m involved with a group that’s trying to start a local chapter of a bigger organization. Though I genuinely like all the people, there’ve been a number of times when people have floated ideas that I found so ridiculous I figured no response was required. To my amazement, however, others took the ideas seriously. So, despite my fear of forever being branded the naysayer, I’ve sometimes felt compelled to respond, lest the group go off in a ridiculous direction.

When this happens, I wait until I’ve calmed down and then I figure out all the reasons the idea is dumb or unworkable. (Did you ever notice that most dumb ideas are dumb on many, many levels?) Then I come up with rational-sounding reasons that rebut every aspect of the idea (without ever saying what I’d really like to, which is usually: “It’s just a dumb idea!”).

Though this approach of explaining chapter and verse about why an idea is unworkable is somewhat painstaking (and often overkill), I think it works because – even though you’re refuting the idea -- by offering a very detailed response, you’re giving credence to the idea. (So long as no one perceives any sarcasm in your words – which is why I say hallelujah for e-mail!)

I can’t tell you how many times -- especially with this group -- within minutes of sending out an e-mail outlining my reasons against something, others have responded with simple, straightforward e-mails agreeing with some or all of the points I made. Indeed, my approach even seems appreciated because others who might also have thought the original idea was stupid don’t have to try to craft a polite response, and they sound agreeable and supportive of someone else in the group (yours truly).

Despite my interest in the greater goals of this group, I’ve grown tired of worrying about not offending anyone and of being perceived as a contrarian, so I’ve decided to become less involved. Though I didn’t intend to raise this with anyone, when asked, I did tell one person that I plan on withdrawing for these reasons and I was floored by his response. He sent the most thoughtful e-mail encouraging me to stay because, in his words, “there have been many occasions when you have made a comment that brought us back to reality”.

So, this brings me back to my friend’s comment -- kidding or not -- about my not being diplomatic. After much analysis, I do think that others (perhaps people that don’t know me too well?) find my input useful and presented with enough tact to at least make me seem diplomatic. That said, I do think it’s best that -- early on -- I vetoed the idea of applying for a job in the diplomatic corps, and that I carefully pick and choose the situations I get involved in that may require diplomacy.

On being ... in a jazz mode

2008-07-01T13:30:00.000-04:00

By Ingrid Sapona

A girlfriend who’s a jazz lover invited me to a show at the Toronto Jazz Festival this week. The concert was at the main stage, a huge tent set up on the plaza of City Hall. It was general admission seating, but my friend had been to a performance there earlier in the week so she knew both the lay of the land (or tent, in this case) and “the drill” (when they start letting people in, etc.).

She wanted to get there early for good seats and she knew that once we had seats we could leave to find something to eat. Not being much of a fan of street meat (hot dogs) and other delicacies available from street vendors, I offered to bring a bit of a picnic. Since most concert venues don’t allow you to bring in food (other than whatever they may be selling on site), I packed things we could try smuggling in and that we wouldn’t feel to bad parting with, if confiscated at the door.

I was surprised at how much was going on at City Hall. I hadn’t been to the jazz festival in years and boy has it grown. Besides the main tent there was a huge sound stage with free performances, and lots of kiosks and booths selling everything from CDs and souvenirs, to arts and crafts. There was a decent variety of foods available too. (Oh well, who’d have guessed.) One of the most surprising things was that people were walking around the plaza drinking beer – usually that’s only allowed in cordoned-off, “beer garden” areas. Though the plaza was crowded with people enjoying a warm summer evening, the atmosphere was very relaxed.

While we were waiting in line to get in, festival volunteers came around to tear our tickets and stamp our hands so that we could come and go from the tent. I’ve never been to an event where the ticket-takers come to you in line! This system worked great because when they let us in, the line moved exceptionally quickly since our hands were already stamped. Another noteworthy difference between this and other ticketed events I’ve been to the past few years is that no one was checking purses, knapsacks, etc. Clearly, you could bring in whatever you wanted, so our picnic was safe.

The seats were just plastic bistro chairs, but the rows were nicely spaced and the aisles were wide, so navigating through the tent was easy. Bars were set up at the far ends of the tent and once we found seats, I went to get us something to drink. The selection was decent and the prices were reasonable -- none of the extortionist prices you pay at movies and ball parks. I got us some beverages and headed back to our seats only to notice that I could have saved myself a trip because waitresses were coming around taking orders! How civilized …

During the concert folks sat and enjoyed the music, admiring the skill of the musicians as they took turns riffing off each other. The tent sat 1000, so it wasn’t small, but it felt quite intimate. There were no big screens or fancy light shows to distract you. Looking around it seemed that most everyone was watching the hands of the guitar players, admiring their technique and the speed their fingers moved.

Every now and then a hand would rise above the crowd, periscope-like, as someone took a picture with their cell phone, but they were quick and unobtrusive. A few were braver, scurrying up the aisle to take a quick photo. Unlike at rock concerts where such action might trigger a quick response from a bouncer or security guard -- or at the opera where you aren’t even allowed to take a photo of the inside of the theatre during intermission -- here, no one minded.

Though we were in a tent, the sound was as good as at any stadium or outdoor amphitheatre. And for $30 we sure got a lot of music -- there were three groups that evening and each played for a solid hour and at the end a few of them jammed together for a couple songs.

On the way home I was thinking about how long it’s been since I had such a nice time at an event like this. It’s been a LONG time. I tried to figure out what it was that made it so relaxing and enjoyable. (It wasn’t as simple as having enjoyed the music -- I did, but not all of it. In fact, the last group wasn’t my cup of tea at all, but even that didn’t put a damper on my enjoyment of the evening.)

I think what made the jazz festival so enjoyable was that, for a change, security and commercial concerns didn’t trump the audience’s right to enjoy the evening. I’m sure there was security -- after all, we were at City Hall -- but we didn’t have to suffer through airport-like scrutiny as you usually do at big events. And, though there were a wide variety of corporate sponsors, the festival didn’t have an exclusive food vendor, which meant there was a variety of foods to choose from, not to mention the freedom to bring your own. And there seemed to be a happy medium struck regarding liquor -- it was readily available but not pushed on you (like it is in bars that feature live bands) and if you did imbibe, you weren’t restricted to certain areas.

I don’t know if it was intentional or not, but I think by simply letting folks be, festival organizers put us all in an the easy-going, free-flowing jazz mode. How cool is that?

On being ... taken with a grain of salt

2008-06-16T09:20:00.000-04:00

By Ingrid Sapona

One of my sisters is particularly rule bound. If someone tells her she can’t do X, she doesn’t do it. I, on the other hand, am not particularly rule bound. Indeed, this difference has become a running joke between us: behaviour I rationalize as fulfilling the spirit of particular rules she’s more likely to see as simply breaking the rules. That said, if I agree to do something, or to join some organization, my inclination to follow the rules fairly strictly is much stronger.

Recently a business contact invited me to her business networking group. The group meets weekly over lunch. Though I’m not fond of support-type groups, her casual “come on, everyone eats lunch, so why not join us one week?” seemed reasonable, so I agreed to go.

Shortly after I arrived, I realized the group was a chapter of an organization I had been completely turned off by a few years ago. Since I couldn’t very well leave, I decided to make the best of it. The meeting had some of the flavour of the previous session I had attended (for example, we all had to stand up and describe our business in 60 seconds or less), but the demographics of the people and their businesses was much more aligned with me and my business than that other group was.

As the lunch unfolded, I was impressed with how results-oriented the group and the individuals were. The stated purposes of the group are to provide business referrals to other members (at each meeting, each member is expected to stand up and tell of the referrals they made or received that week) and to provide moral support for each other. All the members seemed self-motivated, yet they also seemed to relish the support and encouragement of the others. As importantly, they seemed collegial, open, and non-competitive with each other.

After the meeting I was given an application, but there was no pressure put on me, and no sales job. All the way home my head was spinning, thinking of the pros and cons of joining. I found the idea daunting because I’ve never been big on setting specific monetary or growth targets for my business. I also wondered whether, and to what extent, I’d be able to make referrals to the others. At the same time, I felt that if I’m open to it, I could probably learn a thing or two from them.

A couple things on the application gave me particular pause. I was especially concerned by questions about what I’d be able to contribute to the group, and whether I could commit to attending every week and to finding a substitute to attend in my absence. As well, the fee for joining is rather high. Clearly, if I were to join, I’d have to rationalize it as an investment in my business.

I also went on-line to learn more about the organization. As I thought, members are expected to adopt various business and marketing strategies it has developed. The methods are, no doubt, tried and true, but, historically, I’ve always shied away from such approaches. That said, I couldn’t help but think that maybe it’s time I try a more formalized approach to building my business. I also had to be honest with myself and consider whether I’m truly willing to commit the time and energy it will take to learn and apply their methodologies. (After all, I do believe there’s a direct relationship between the energy you put into things and what you get out of them.)

A few days later I spoke with the woman who had invited me. I told her of my concerns about the commitment to make referrals and about finding people to sub for me. During our conversation she casually mentioned she wasn’t able to go to the next meeting. On hearing this, I blurted out that I’d be happy to go in her place.

She accepted my offer and thanked me. I was surprised that she hadn’t already found someone else, and that made me wonder about how seriously they take the commitment to finding a sub. At the next meeting I paid attention to whether others had sent subs. Though it was noted that one member not attending hadn’t sent a sub, I was a bit relieved when no further comment was made regarding the apparent breach of that rule.

My previous impressions were reinforced at that second meeting, and after a bit more thought, I decided to apply. I figure there’s a 50/50 chance they’ll accept me into the group. When I submitted my application I was anxious, but excited. I was nervous about the commitments I was agreeing to regarding the group, and about the commitment I was making to myself regarding adopting the organization’s approach.

The application made it clear they’d check my references (trying to determine, I guess, whether my business is as established as I claim) and it also said the membership committee would notify prospective members of their acceptance or non-acceptance before the group’s next meeting. Fair enough, I thought.

Well, it’s been almost four weeks since I applied, and I’ve not heard anything. Out of curiosity, last week I phoned my references to see whether they’ve been contacted, and they haven’t been. Hmmm… so much for their rules, procedures, and commitments!

This little lapse in procedure has left me feeling conflicted. Part of me thinks I should withdraw my application because clearly they don’t do as they say. For now, however, I’ve decided to hold steady. As I see it, if they reject me, that’s life. If they take me, I’ll do my best to live up to what I’ve committed to, but I won’t worry too much if I fall a bit short on some of the rules some of the time. After all, as I’ve often said to my sister, some rules are meant to be taken with a grain of salt…

On being ... enough already!

2008-05-31T12:06:00.000-04:00

By Ingrid Sapona

I went to the National Ballet of Canada’s production of Cinderella the other night and when a friend asked me the how it was, I told him it was good, but that there was a little too much dancing. He laughed and asked what time I got home. I explained that it wasn’t that I got home late -- it’s just that some dances went on a bit too long.

For example, at one point a dozen ballerinas came out (on their toes, of course) and they were sort of flitting about, waving little fans. In fairly short order I figured out that they were fairies and they were casting a magic spell that would transform the mice into coachmen to take Cinderella to the ball. In terms of staging, I thought the ballerinas with their fans were an inspired way of portraying this action. After about three minutes of their flitting about, however, I was ready for the story to advance. But the fairies kept flitting and flitting. Granted, maybe it took others in the audience a bit longer to get the idea, but at one point I just felt like shouting, “enough already!”

Actually, dances or arias that go on too long are one thing (after all, I realize the directors and choreographers want to give the performers a chance to show off their talents), but curtain calls are a whole other matter. It’s not that I object to showing appreciation for the performance and performers -- I truly am in awe of their talents (that’s why I paid as much as I did to get in) and I certainly believe in showing my admiration by offering a rousing round of applause, or even a standing ovation when especially moved by a performance.

But, I’ve always thought that curtain calls should be reserved for those times when the audience just can’t get enough of the cast or particular performers. More-and-more it seems, however, that even when the applause has subsided and people are starting to put on their coats, up comes the curtain again, obliging the audience to continue (or, in some cases resume) the applause. Why is it that the person in charge of the houselights never seems to have the same sense of “enough already” that the audience has?

But it’s not just the ballet and opera that I find often go on too long. Chase scenes in movies are another common culprit. They often go well past the point of entertaining and into the realm of “I can only suspend my disbelief so long people!!” I mean really, the idea of 007 hanging off a chopper with one arm for five minutes is a bit much -- 30 seconds maybe, but more than that presses my “enough already” button big time. And I’m sure you’ve sat through comedy routines that go on to the point that they’re no longer funny.

It happens in non-entertainment contexts too. I was in a seminar the other day when someone from the audience asked a question and they kept reiterating the point they were making. I just kept wishing that the speaker would politely interrupt and answer. From the squirming and sighing of others around me, I know I wasn’t the only one who thought, “enough already … get on with it!” And the network news does it all the time -- they glom onto a story and repeat it and repeat it and repeat it. But at least with t.v., when the “enough already” point comes, you can change the channel or turn it off.

In all these situations where I have the urge to yell out “enough already”, I realize the common denominator is me. So, I’ve spent a fair bit of time thinking about whether it’s just me. I’ve considered, for example, whether I’m just more impatient than most directors, producers, stage managers, speakers, etc.? I don’t think I am. After all, in this Google age all of us have been conditioned to measure time in nanoseconds, not just me. And yet, when some people have other peoples’ attention they seem to lose all sense of time (and timing).

Could the all-too-frequent triggering of my “enough already” sense be the result of a particularly short attention span? Or maybe I bore particularly easily. I don’t think I suffer from either of these conditions. Indeed, I think my friends and family would attest to the fact that I have more staying power than most. (It’s a product of the never-give-up gene that I seem to have been born with.)

I also considered whether my “enough already” reaction might be some sort of misdirected anger stemming from an underlying feeling that I’ve got better things to do, or out of unspoken resentment that I’m attending something under duress. I can honestly say that neither of these seem to apply because I’ve been blessed with a charmed life and there are few (if any) places I go, or things I see or do, other than by choice.

After due consideration, I’ve concluded that the problem is that there are people who just don’t have a sense of when enough’s enough and those people never seem to ask the rest of us for our opinion on the matter.

Anyway, I’m sure you get my point so I’ll end this before anyone starts muttering, “enough already!”