On Pro; On Patience
A few years ago I was staggered by Stephen King’s memoir/writing-logue, On Writing. Not by its wit, its depth, and its affable tone, but its poise — King is an author who is sure of his talent and unencumbered with critics or the millions of people who don’t read his books or watch the movies and TV shows influenced by his stories (the other millions will have to do).
He’s driven by the work.
I envy his composure, and — invoking his theory on telepathy — I have chosen him as a mentor throughout the years when stuck trying to write a particular character or fighting with emails.¹
Stephen, how would you..?
In honor of King’s On Writing I am titling the next few Thursday letters as “On…”, tackling Work (Pro), Patience (Dad), Presence (Husband), Resilience (Athlete), and Wilderness (Explorer).² The format is a handful of thoughts and stories — the length of each determined by the amount of words necessary to keep them simple and personable. There won’t be any wasted sentences. Like King says, “Kill your darlings.”
ON WORK
Get Batched.
The best job I ever had was guiding customers through Class III & IV rapids on the Ocoee River when I was 21 years old. Not because it was the best paying job (the worst), the job I was best at (thank God no one died), or the most fulfilling. Nor was it because of the excitement, the outdoors, or the Hippie crowd it seems to attract.
Guiding was the best job I ever had because it was perfectly “Batched.”
Batch processing is the grouping of similar tasks that require similar resources in order to streamline their completion.³ Not what you think of when you think of being a whitewater guide at 21. Let me show you.
A day on the river looked like this:
1) Put on board shorts.
2) Read sitting on the dock.
3) Prepare the boats.
4) Give the safety talk.
5) 2 1/2 hours of excitement.
6) Eat lunch.
7) Repeat 3–5
8) Cast a few times off the dock.
9) Go home.
Wednesday-Sunday that was my job; my schedule. I was never out of sorts or lost in my head. I knew what each hour of the day required and I was always ready. It was the perfect balance of calm and storm, and I was able to be present at all times.
Would I ever do it again? Not bad as retirement fun, but, otherwise, no. Do I wish I could harness the ikigai I found on the river? Absolutely.
People respect others who listen well.
What do you need to do to listen well? Put down your phone. Make eye contact, but don’t make a point with it. Take notes. (I had a boss who worked for leadership guru John Maxwell for a number of years, and he said Maxwell always took notes, no matter who was speaking.)
And ask good questions based on what the speaker is saying.
You can wine and dine clients, coworkers, or your bosses from 9 to 5, but nothing conveys respect more than an empathetic ear.
Have a bandit day.
I recently finished The Hunters by James Salter, a classic novel written in 56' about aerial warfare during the Korean War. Salter’s hero, Captain Cleve Connell arrives in Kimpo with a number of expectations and little experience. Within a few weeks Connell is dominated by bad luck, he is rarely on missions that run into MiGs, and on the occasions he sights them in the distance, they are too far away to engage. Soon, his comrades are wishing him luck in his fighter pilot’s quest to experience battle and he spends all of his down time obsessing over battle and valor.
Salter’s book reminded me, legends are born on the front-lines.
While we may opt for an easy week, especially when asked on Monday morning, this doesn’t lead to a satisfied, brew induced sleep on Friday night. The best of us crave the challenge. We want to look over a job well-done and take satisfaction in — not only the completion of the project, but the grit and resolve it took to make it happen. This is a piece of what turns a job into a vocation. This is what makes you a Pro.
Invite the tough problems.
Look for the space between rocks and hard places.
Have a bandit day.
Pleasantly surprised, not rudely awakened.
This is a stoic principle.
I have a knack for reacting poorly, or, if I am able to keep my mouth shut, my facial expression is a dead giveaway. This is why I’ve become a fan of Stoicism. I realize I can’t control the world around me and I lose the upper hand every time I emote all that I’m feeling.
Stoicism encourages you to ask, “Is this helpful? Is this strengthening my resolve and allowing me to stay balanced? Stay in control?
A “stoic hack” to stack the deck in your favor, especially if you’re a passionate communicator like me, is to expect poor or mediocre results. No, this doesn’t mean be a cynic. It doesn’t mean “expect the worse.” You should allow surprise and delight arrive at your desk rather than expecting fireworks and buy-in. (This is a work mindset, I wear my happy, hopeful emotions once I walk through the front door of our home.)
Fathers, remember the machine monitoring contractions while you’re wife was in labor? Remember watching that wavy line, praying for the mountains and canyons to move along? All you wanted was small rises and quick dips, anything to signal less pain and a slight reprieve for your partner in life.
Keeping a stoic mindset at work is the equivalent of taking ahold of that line and refusing to allow it to get away from you.
Stop thinking about shit that ain’t happenin’.³
In 2005, a 14-year old girl was killed by a bull shark in Destin, Florida. Eleven miles down the beach my family and I were in the water. My Grandpa Taylor and I were past the sandbar, he was floating on a $5 Wal-Mart job and I was pogo sticking off the balls of my feet to keep my head above water.
We didn’t hear about the attack until hours later on the news that night. While the news anchor told the story, our lack of situational awareness shot to the front of our minds. We realized all of the conditions that had resulted in the young girl’s attack were the same for us: depth, distance from shore, time of day, area known for bull sharks.
Since that day Grandpa Taylor has never strayed too far into the water, and I, a passionate surf-fisherman, have never been able to shake the idea of a six foot bull shark just behind me when casting out past the first sandbar.
This type of worry — ‘shark attack worry’ — can plague us at work as well. We find reasons to believe rare or unlikely events will take out our knees and hamstring us with fear. Because we can recall a story of someone like us in a similar environment who ran into an unfortunate situation, we feel the need to project that fear onto our job security, talent compared to others, relationships with colleagues, and the happiness of our clients.
We create shadows where there none, and we waste precious energy on fighting mental battles with imaginary sea beasts.
Quit it.
Stop thinkin’ about shit that ain’t happenin’.
Enjoy the Mountains.
During the three years Lindsey and I lived in Colorado she had one consistent prayer, “God please remind me to enjoy the mountains because I know we will leave them one day.” She would pray this every day on her way to teach music, the Sangre de Cristo mountain range towering in front of her. She understood every morning she got to look at those snow-covered peaks on the way to work was a single blessing. In those three years she never took those mountains for granted.
If you have a fantastic job, take the time to notice and enjoy it. Don’t allow yourself to miss the opportunity at hand. Who cares if so-so is being difficult to work with or you know today will be a day spent sending emails. Blessings are meant to be celebrated, enjoyed again and again. It’s up to you.
ON PATIENCE
I’m writing the following as a Dad, but do not think these lessons can’t translate to being a professional, husband, athlete, or explorer. That’s the secret to The Adjectival Man, 90% of what makes you a balanced, intentional leader in one area will translate to another.
600 “rocks”
It takes 600 rocks to put Hudson to sleep between midnight and 5 A.M. How do I know? I’ve counted them for the last two weeks. From back to front to back equals one. You’ll notice it also equals roughly one second (unless you’re an aggressive rocker) which means I’ve got ten solid minutes of rocking.
I started counting as a form of meditation. I needed to do something to prevent myself from thinking about my comfortable bed and scantily-pj’d wife, and to keep from quasi-hating the wide awake humanoid who would turn back into my adorable son in a few hours.
Counting rocks keeps me focused on the moment.
One
Two
Forty-seven
One forty-Seven
Four forty-seven
Its a constant reminder: Every ten minutes has a rhythm to play out. Every ten minutes has its worries and purpose, especially in the world of an infant. He’s on a different track, feeling every second. If I allow myself, I can join him there and we can rock out the rhythm of the moment rather than rushing forward to the next thing on my schedule.
It’s hard to get impatient if you’re sore.
I’ve run or gone to the gym almost every day since Hudson’s birthday. Initially I started pushing myself to work off the nerves that come with the pressures of being a new dad, protect, provide, be a spiritual leader but it’s also given me the strength to chill out (it seems backwards, I know) when Hudson’s not cooperating (how dare he at 6 weeks old).
I’d like to research this more but there’s something to sore muscles and a sweat-cleared mind that lend themselves to patience in small, stressful moments. I don’t feel the need to go anywhere or do anything. My body is screaming, Relax, so I don’t out of shape when the little man or others are saying the same thing.
Be patient until its time to make the moment yours.
Alright, truth: I’m writing this while watching Kobe go off against the Utah Jazz in his last game. He’s played this year, one of the worst in Laker history, with a bunch of young bucks who have stumbled their way through the NBA season.
Tonight Kobe has decided to take over and show them how it’s done.
This is his moment in the midst of a hard time.
There will come a time when Hudson needs his dad to push the limits and help him through the difficult tasks of growing and learning. He’ll need me to be impatient with less and forecast a vision through action. No, we’re not there yet, he’s six weeks old. But a day is coming when he will need me to take over the moment and show him the way forward.
RH
