When we last left our Abecedarium, with the word Judgment for the letter J, I decided to switch gears a bit.  I hinted that I would find my “K” letter through the help of OpenAI’s ChatGPT.  You probably live under a rock if you have not heard about the emergence of these “large language model” AI (artificial intelligence) programs.  To explain, these LLM’s, as they are called, are programs that have read literally everything on the internet and can return “answers” to your “questions” in common prose.  Your “question” may be a prompt like “explain to me how a human eye works” or “plan a two day vacation in Seattle” or “why might I get a strange rash between my toes”.  The “answer” is developed by the LLM digging into all the text it has consumed and then building a response by predicting what the next word should be based on the previous one(s).  In other words, LLM’s interpolate.  They don’t exterpolate.  Nor do they understand the difference between reliable information and total bullshit (see: question about that rash). 

Right now, people seem most concerned about these LLM’s putting people out of work.  I have no doubt that might happen.  But tech advances have always obsoleted some jobs and yet created many, many more.  The trick, in my opinion, is to figure out how you can use something like an LLM as a tool—not how you can fight it (see:  current WGA strike).  Here’s an example my analytical science friends will understand.  Back in the prehistoric days of chromatography (a technique for separating compounds in a mixture), if you wanted to quantify the amounts of the compounds in a mixture you would do this:  take the spectrum which is drawn by the instrument on a strip chart and cut out the peaks (with scissors!) associated with the different compounds; literally weigh those cutouts; then perform mathematical calculations involving those weights and response factors previously determined.  Now (and by “now” I mean since the 1980’s), a computer program does all that for you, in addition to running the experiment.  Did that put a lot of scientists out of work?  That’s a LOT of labor that went away.  No.  It freed those scientists up to think about what the results meant in the context of why the experiment was run and to dream up more experiments.  Scientific progress sped up dramatically. 

I believe these LLM’s can be similar tools.  Since they currently can only interpolate, they can’t do the really creative stuff.  What they can do is help people like me that hyperventilate at the sight of a blank page.  So.  Let’s have ChatGPT help me write this essay.  There was no obvious “K” noun that occurred to me as I wrapped up last time, so I put in the prompt “Generate a list of five random nouns that begin with the letter K”. The program returned these nouns:  kite, key, kingdom, knife, kaleidoscope.  So far, so good.  Then I asked it to write a 300 word story using those nouns.

I quickly figured out the first new job role that will be created as a result of these LLM’s:  Prompt Writer.  Just as the people who performed, by hand, the laborious calculations to send the first astronauts into space later became the first programmers of computers that would do those calculations, I’m guessing writers will become the first professional Prompt Writers.  My initial observation of ChatGPT’s response to my prompt is that the story was 419 words long.  It’s not that ChatGPT is not that precise with math.  It was that I was not precise with my prompt.  The story did indeed include 300 words.  But I wanted a story NO MORE than 300 words.  Next, I noticed that by requesting a “story,” the tool returned what is likely the most common type of writing associated with that word:  a children’s story.  What followed was 419 awkward words about a faraway kingdom where a special little girl found a box that contained a kite, a key, and—wait for it—a magical knife that granted wishes.  Of all the common objects I could think of that I might expect to grant wishes, a knife would NOT be an intuitive choice—unless the magical wish is to maim someone.  Finally, I see this output as a children’s story that is not entirely different from many children’s stories that are out there—which is probably where it came from since the LLM “learned” from existing stories. 

I tried again: “Write a paragraph no more than 200 words in length that includes the nouns kite, key, knife, kingdom, and kaleidoscope.”  The response was another children’s fantasy story, this time a precise 185 words, but very similar to the previous attempt.  One more time:  “Write a non-fiction paragraph of no more than 200 words that includes the words kite, key, knife, kingdom, and kaleidoscope.”

The response:  “In the world of art and craftsmanship, the creative process often resembles a kaleidoscope, where unique elements come together to form a harmonious masterpiece. Just as a skilled artist wields a paintbrush, a chef wields a knife with precision and finesse. But beyond the realms of traditional arts, creativity also finds its expression in the intricate designs of a lock, waiting to be unlocked with a key. In the field of literature, storytelling is akin to building a kingdom of words, where characters and plotlines weave a rich tapestry of imagination. And just as a kite soars high in the sky, propelled by the wind, ideas take flight in the vast expanse of the writer’s mind, driven by inspiration and passion. Whether it’s painting a vivid picture with words, crafting a delicious culinary creation, unlocking the mysteries of a story, or creating a world with words, these diverse expressions of creativity remind us of the kaleidoscope of possibilities that exist within each of us, waiting to be explored and shared with the world.”

Better, I guess, but sort of a word salad.  A little freaky, though, that the topic it chose was “creativity” when I had just been saying that LLM’s aren’t really creative!  The tool is only as good as the prompt, though.  ChatGPT is trying to give me what I want.  I tried one more scary thing.  I asked it to write said non-fiction paragraph in the style of Sherri Bassner.  It should have sourced all my blog entries, articles for Lab Manager, and scientific articles, then pulled together a short paragraph in the style it assumes is mine. 

Here is the result:  ” In the realm of human experience, creativity flutters like a butterfly, drifting from the vibrant kaleidoscope of one’s mind. It takes a delicate touch, like the feathered stroke of a painter’s brush or the precise slice of a chef’s knife, to unlock the possibilities within. Just as a key fits perfectly into a lock, creativity unlocks the doors to new worlds and uncharted territories. It is in these unexplored realms that we build our own kingdoms, shaping stories that breathe life into our existence. Like a kite soaring through the limitless sky, imagination takes flight, capturing the whimsical essence of our dreams. And just as a kaleidoscope refracts light into a symphony of colors, so too does creativity refract our experiences, transforming them into something extraordinary. It is through the lens of creativity that we transcend the mundane and discover the magic that lies within ourselves and the world around us. With the intertwining threads of the kite, key, knife, kingdom, and kaleidoscope, we unlock the hidden depths of our imagination and create a tapestry that reflects the beauty of the human spirit.”

Ugh.  Please don’t tell me I write like that!  Sure, I like a good metaphor but, really!  Let’s just say I’m not particularly worried about ChatGPT obsoleting my blog.  I also don’t think the Writer’s Guild should be too concerned.  Sure, the LLM’s might take on a lot of the derivative writing.  But the writing that really matters, the writing that means something and will pay well, has to be original—and the LLM’s can’t do that.  Yet. 

When we last left our Abecedarium, we were on the letter “I”.  At the end of that essay on “Intention”, I committed myself to the word Judgmental for this entry.  That was very purposeful.  I have, no kidding, been working on an essay around “Judgment” for more than a year.  I wrote an essay.  Trish panned it, saying it made me come off as a judgmental jerk.  I edited it.  She said, “Yeah, better, but I still wouldn’t publish it.”  We went away to tour the Utah National Parks, where I hoped for inspiration.  I talked about it with our travel friends.  Got lots of inspiration, but not an essay.  I went to my college reunion and discussed it with my college friends.  Excellent thoughts and suggestions (some of which are included here) but still no publishable essay.  The fact that you are reading this means I finally got there.  Or that Trish just gave up trying to edit me to success.  I’ll let you be the, um, judge.

Let’s begin with the first half of the essay, which came out easily and has passed editing rigor before: 

“People who have known me for a long time probably read the title of this essay, snorted a little, and thought, “Well, that’s rich.  Sherri telling US to not judge.”  Let me say right up front that I know I have a righteous streak a mile long and can be super judgmental.  I’m not writing this essay to preach to you or present a “Do as I say, not as I do” checklist on how to not be a judgmental person.  I’m WRITING this essay to better understand why I tend to be so judgmental and to learn how to check myself a bit better going forward.  Now that I am retired, I can really take the time to think through things and learn from my life experiences.  I’m PUBLISHING this essay because it is my sincere hope that some of the lessons I’ve learned can help others who have more time to benefit from them than I do.

“Where to begin?  Let’s start by giving ourselves a little bit of grace.  Everyone judges, and by ‘judges’ I mean that everyone has inappropriate thoughts and makes inappropriate comments about a wide range of people who are somehow different from them.  We all do it.  All the time.  We tend to do it within the safety of our own minds, or with a group of like-minded people who know our true hearts.  Making judgmental and snarky comments is a good part of the basis of comedy.  Let’s admit it:  we crack ourselves up all the time making fun of people and making fun of ourselves.  Self-deprecating humor is indeed judgmental.  I am so glad that I grew up in a time before social media and cell phone cameras.  If even a fraction of the things I’ve said and done over my semi-adult and adult years had been captured for posterity, I would be in deep trouble.  Not that I’m planning on running for public office, but I wouldn’t want others to judge my true self based on some of that behavior!  So, let’s begin with the premise that we all judge, all the time. 

“When I asked Professor Google to define “judgmental” for me, she returned this:  ‘having or displaying an excessively critical point of view’.  Clicking on ‘what it means to be judgmental’ returned this:  ‘Judgmental is a negative word to describe someone who often rushes to judgment without reason. The adjective ‘judgmental’ describes someone who forms lots of opinions — usually harsh or critical ones — about lots of people. Judgmental types are not open-minded or easygoing.’  Ouch!  Why, then, do we do this so frequently and instinctively?”

That’s as far as I got a year or so ago.  In those previous drafts, I ventured into a discussion on why we judge others and why this is a bad thing.  Then I presented some thoughts on how to stop being judgmental.  It just didn’t work.  It was preachy and disingenuous.  So, let’s try a different tack.  We’ll call it the Ted Lasso mindset.  First a disclaimer:  I don’t have Apple TV+ so I’ve never actually watched Ted Lasso.  But I’ve read enough about the show to know this:  one of the mantras of the titular character is to be “People Curious”.  The antidote to being judgmental is to be genuinely curious about people—the whole person, not just the piece that you are judging.  When you see someone as a whole, complex human, you can put that piece that you are judging into a broader context.  Make the conscious effort to see those around you as well-rounded and unique individuals and not reduce them to stereotypes—or at least recognize that you are applying a stereotype and leave room for the thought that you might be wrong about at least that one individual.

Being “People Curious” gets at so many of the concepts I keep drilling in these essays.  It’s about compassion and grace, about humility and humanity.  It’s also about challenging assumptions, another of my big hot buttons.  I have found that asking questions about why someone thinks they way they do has a number of benefits.  First, I always find common ground.  Always.  We are just not as different as we are made to think we are.  The differences usually come down to perspective, and two opposing truths can coexist.  Second, I always learn something.  That’s where humility comes in—remembering that I’m not omniscient.  Finally, it diffuses anxiety (on both sides) by humanizing each other. 

Look, we’re never going to stop judging others.  It’s just how our brains work since making quick judgments was part of staying alive throughout most of history.  The goal is to recognize when you’re doing it, question it a little bit, and give people the benefit of the doubt.  I’m tired of judging and being judged.  It’s just exhausting.  We are all contradictions, all a mixture of good characteristics and bad characteristics.  One statement you disagree with does not make the entire person bad.  In the vast majority of cases, the “good” well outweighs the “bad”.  I choose to focus more on the good in everyone around me and, if I need to focus on a “bad” anywhere, I save that for my own journey. 

And THAT’S where I am going to stop this long, public therapy session.  Time to lighten up a little!  Instead of choose a word that begins with “K” to introduce my next essay, I asked ChatGPT to generate a list of random “K” nouns for me.  I’m going to build my next essay around that!  Stay tuned.

The instructor for our Thursday morning Stretch and Balance class always begins with some breathing exercises.  During these exercises, she asks us to set an intention for the day.  It can be a word or phrase, like “calm” or “peace” or “I feel grounded”.  It’s something you can return to during the class or the rest of the day to bring you back to that sense of focus.  This week, my intention was the word “Intention.”  I’ve been mulling over what prompted me to commit to the word Intention for this essay as I finished up last time writing on Humility.  As I downward-dogged and tree-posed, I thought about what the word Intention evokes in me, and that’s what we are going to discuss today.

The first meaning of the word “intention” is “intention as mindfulness.”  That’s what our Stretch and Balance instructor means when she asks us to sent an intention.  It means being present.  It means clearing the mind of what else you have going on and focusing on the class and on yourself in the class.  This meaning of intention came up in Shabbat services on Saturday when the rabbi minded me of the meaning of kavanah, which also means “intention”.  In this case, it was about being present during prayer that morning and not sitting there thinking about everything I had to do that day.  Mindful living has been a struggle for me for most of my life and I find myself needing regular reminders almost every day.  Like so many people I was stuck in an endless cycle of “I’ll be happy when….”  Sometimes the issue was that I was in an unhappy relationship.  Sometimes I was unhappy at work.  Sometimes I was just unhappy in general.  Instead of doing the often-difficult work of figuring out exactly why I was unhappy, I pointed to some current stressor and said to myself, “You’ll be happy when this stressor has passed.”  There are times, of course, when that was kind of true.  Maybe I was preparing for a big presentation at work or I had a big project at home that had to get done.  Anything that threw me off of my preferred schedule was a stressor and when I got past that stressor, I was indeed happier.  For much of my life, though, that stress relief was only temporary.  The niggling discomfort would bubble up again and I’d do a quick search for the next near-term stressor that I could blame.

There were times, though, that I did dig a little deeper, when I directly faced my unhappiness at work and, much later, the issues that were leading me to make really bad choices in my personal life.  Sometimes I needed professional help to keep me focused on what the real issues were; sometimes I just took a deep breath and made myself face it because I just couldn’t ignore whatever “it” was anymore.  And that’s what brings us to the second meaning of “intention”—“intention” as “purpose”.  When the rabbi discussed kavanah on Saturday, she talked about “intention” as being present and mindful, but also in its sense of “purpose”.  To do something, anything, with intention means to give it your full attention (as above) and to really know why you are doing it.  There is an outcome expected with an activity.  What is it?  And are you moving closer to what you want to achieve by doing that particular thing?  When I’m in Shabbat services, it’s about a purposeful reflection on my life.  Am I living the way I want to live?  Am I embodying the person I want to be?  Am I being the partner I want to be?  How am I doing at meeting my own expectations and where should I be putting in more effort?  This is NOT a performance evaluation.  It’s a gut check and a reset.

Intention as purpose has become way more important now that I’ve retired.  Those approaching or just entering retirement often talk about “what’s my new purpose?”  Part of that angst is driven by decades in the professional world where your efforts are geared toward the goals set out in your annual objectives or bounded by specific deliverables.  Your purpose in retirement can be similar or totally different.  Some people get involved in community work that has similar deadlines and specific deliverables and I bet that feels both comfortable and stressful.  Others focus on family needs, like babysitting grandchildren or caring for an aging parent.  To a certain degree, though, we all start to face one particular sense of purpose:  now that I have the time to really focus on it, how can I become the sort of person I’ve always wanted to be?  How can I live a life of kindness and compassion toward those around me, be they family, friends, or strangers?  What does that look like on a daily basis?  What does “achievement” look like?  Am I doing enough?  What, exactly, should I be doing?  What is my sense of purpose?  I don’t have a lot of guidance on this one, partly because it’s an individual journey but mostly because I’m still grappling with this myself.  I feel like I should be doing “more” but I don’t know what that “more” is nor why I haven’t been able to articulate it.  So, I keep going to Stretch and Balance and, occasionally, synagogue and I try to be mindful and present and purposeful and figure it out.  What I end up doing is writing a lot about grace and compassion toward yourself and others.  And that bring us to the third meaning of “intention”:  intention behind actions and words.

I do not want to wade into the Culture Wars here, but I am going to make some observations on what I see in the world around me.  I think most will agree that we seem to have lost some sense of civility as of late which has only been intensified by fear of the “other”.  These feelings have been exacerbated by the ranting of pearl-clutching of public figures.  It honestly pisses me off that in the name of gaining power and donations, members of both of our main ideological camps try to demonize, dehumanize, and divide us through fear.  That’s why I write so much about grace and compassion, about giving people the benefit of the doubt and assuming a benevolent intention.  I’m not going to give examples here because whatever I choose will be triggering to somebody and, honestly, that’s part of the problem.  Let me just describe what I try to do.  If someone says something that I find offensive or does something that I find inappropriate, I try to first assume a benevolent intention.  I used the example in previous essays about aggressive or distracted driving.  Sometimes someone is being an ass, yes, but most of the time they are not.  In any case, there is usually not anything I can do about it. I can choose to assume a positive intention and move on or I can assume a negative intention and seethe.

I’m not saying we should totally let people off of the hook when they say something inappropriate or even offensive.  I’m saying we should first assume benevolent intent but then do our best to help the person learn from the incident.  If they refuse to accept that they should rethink their behavior, then cancel away! But if their infraction was unintentional and you can help them grow a little, give them that chance.  Assume a positive intention.  Give them a little grace.  And try not to be judgmental.

I had been so excited to write this essay!  I knew I wanted the word Humility for the letter “H” since I started this Abecedarium.  I have felt that I finally “get” the concept of humility, something that had eluded me for much of my adult life.  So why have I struggled these last couple of weeks to figure out how I want to approach the topic?  The irony has not been lost on me that I have become so proud of my obsession with humility.  There is a reason that hubris is one of the seven deadly sins.

I am writing the first draft of this essay on the morning that it is due to publish—that’s how much I have been struggling with this topic.  I decided to do what I often do when the words don’t come easily:  I sat down at the keyboard and started to type, trusting in the process that the words will come.  (Technically, that’s not totally true.  I started The Process in the shower this morning which is where I usually start pulling thoughts together.  Thank goodness I don’t write for a living.  Our water bill would be enormous.)

I wrote before about the importance of humility in an essay entitled The Most Important Leadership Quality.  In that essay, I talked somewhat about my evolution as a leader and what I learned to value in a leader.  Those lessons are just as relevant—if not more so—to our broader evolution as human beings.  I’ve been thinking about all the times in my life that humility has smacked me in the face.  Time and again, I’ve gotten just a little too proud of myself and the Universe “took me down a peg”.  At least, that tends to be how we refer to it:  being taken from a higher level that we thought we were on to a lower level that is more representative of where we are in reality.  When we talk about being “taken down a peg,” this “level” we are thinking of means something along the line of our personal development or achievement.  I remember when I was first promoted to the Director level.  I was so proud of myself!  But what I was proud of was the title, to be honest, and not the effort I put in to get there.  Many thought I hadn’t put in the effort or earned the title.  When I look back now at what that job entailed and my knowledge of what I had to do to be effective in that role, I can tell you “they” were right.  I had no idea what was really required in that role.  I learned as I went, as most people have to do, but that initial hubris came back to bite me.  I learned the hard way that I couldn’t grow until I accepted that there was so much I didn’t know that I didn’t know.  I needed to be humble first to be open to learning what I needed to learn.

Recently, I’ve been thinking about humility a little differently.  Being humbled isn’t about being taken DOWN a peg.  It really is about being boosted UP a peg.  The endpoint is something like enlightenment or true understanding but we’ll never get there.  The goal is to keep moving closer.  To me, being humble is all about remembering that I am a flawed and beautiful human being, surrounded by other flawed and beautiful human beings, and we all need constant grace and understanding.  The visual that I have when I think about being humble is that of a bowed head.  Don’t think that this bowed head is about shame!  If anything, it’s about deferring to a higher power.  It’s recognition that I am not better than anyone else or more enlightened or smarter or anything.  I am just trying every day to be a little bit gentler toward myself, toward other humans, and toward the world.

I had a recent example of humility that I must share in the name of honesty.  My regular readers suffered through months of the ups and downs of our recent home renovations.  The grand finale of that months long process was The Great Bathroom Sink Fiasco.  I put the blame squarely on the builder who, I reasoned, should have not ordered sinks without checking that they would fit in the vanity we had purchased months before the job even started.  In my Corporate Smugness, I suggested that after the job was complete that Trish and I sit down with the builder and project manager and have a “Lessons Learned” discussion like we did after big projects at work.  My hubristic self figured I could teach them something about their work processes because clearly my first time through a project like this trumps their decades of experience.  We discussed the Sink Issue and Brian gently reminded me that he ordered what we had put on our spreadsheet.  OMG, I totally forgot about the spreadsheet!  At the suggestion of Trish’s brother, who has built numerous homes, we used his spreadsheet template to capture the details on the myriad items we picked out for the renovation—everything from light fixtures in the kitchen to flooring to pulls on the cabinets to faucets and, yes, the sinks in the bathroom.  We picked out standard sinks at John’s suggestion.  We never thought to check the specs on the vanity when we bought it.  We had no idea that we even needed to think about that!  Brian just bought what we had spec’d out.  This lovely man STILL shouldered the blame, saying that even though it looked like we had thought through everything, he should have thought to the check the vanity.  I was mortified!  Here I was, all self-righteous in my loading blame on him when it began with what we spec’d out.  The real lesson learned?  Don’t forget to look inward as well as outward.

Even just writing that story makes me flush with embarrassment, but humility is not about embarrassment just as it’s not about shame.  It’s not about “you should have known better.”  It’s about “I’ve learned something.”  Each time you are humbled, ask yourself what you need to learn from the experience.  I am humbled in some small way each day.  If I can manage to learn a little something too, then I am getting closer to that unattainable goal.  It’s all about Intention.  You know I am fond of quoting Brené Brown on this one:  I’m here to GET it right, not BE right.

I have this mental struggle that I go through every weekday morning.  I am a “morning person” but that doesn’t mean I like to get up.  I know, however, that I do my best thinking, my best exercising, my best anything before lunch.  If there is something I want to get done, I need to get myself out of bed and get moving.  But I like being in bed, especially our new comfy bedroom.  So, I have a mental discussion with myself.  Since most days of the week Trish and I go to the Y, this mental discussion usually involves the workout of the day and how much effort I am going to put in.  And the gist of the discussion is that I look to give myself a little grace.  I say to myself, “Self, just go.  You don’t have to push yourself super hard today.  Keep the gear moderate in spin class.  Go for low weight and higher reps in the weight room.  You don’t have to push hard.  Just go.”  Giving myself a little grace lowers that bar of activation.  I get up; go to the Y; and, usually push myself to a decent level of effort.

Giving myself grace has gotten me through the most difficult days of my life.  Any time I’ve felt overwhelmed by what is in front of me, I have found that taking a breath and giving myself permission to just show up and do my best somehow takes the pressure off and gets me moving.  In most cases I ultimately do strive for a higher level of performance, be it in the gym or the meeting room, or the social engagement that I know is going to suck energy out of me.  Giving myself a little grace paradoxically allows me to push forward more easily.

Take writing, for instance.  Writing either flows out of me or it doesn’t.  And by “writing” I mean the act of sitting down at the keyboard and translating my thoughts into coherent prose.  There is no in between, nor is there any forcing it.  Since I do not make my living writing, I have the luxury of writing when it feels right vs. needing to push the craft every day.  However, I still have deadlines.  I wrote the first two paragraphs of this essay and then stopped.  It just wasn’t flowing.  I decided to give myself grace, knowing that I would continue to “write in my head” until it felt right to put words to page.  After playing some games on my iPad, taking a shower, and starting a load of laundry, the rest of the essay flowed out.  I write in my head all the time.  I am constantly observing life around me, thinking about how certain events or interactions can inspire an essay or article.  I’ve been kicking around ideas about “grace” for two weeks.  But it wasn’t until I hit a block this morning, and then more purposely noodled on the topic, that it all came together.  Experience tells me it will come.  I just needed to give myself the space; the time; the grace.

As important as it is to give grace to yourself, it is important to give grace to others.  No where else has that become as issue these days more so than while driving.  Bring up the topic to almost anyone and you’ll hear some version of this:  “People forgot how to drive during the pandemic.”  What most of us mean is that it seems like people are more in a hurry and drive more aggressively and more distracted than they ever have, which makes driving more stressful and dangerous.  (Note that the problem is always other drivers.  Surveys indicate that about 80% of us believe we are above average drivers.  George Carlin said it best: there are only two types of drivers out there—maniacs, those who drive faster and more aggressively than you, and idiots, those who drive slower and more cautiously than you.  You are the only perfect driver.)  Regardless, if you push the question, most people distill the problem to something like this:  “People have forgotten how to be civil to each other” or “People have forgotten how to act around other people.”

I agree with these thoughts and will take it one step further:  people have forgotten how to give each other grace.  That person tailgating me?  Maybe they just got a call from an elderly parent that they’ve fallen and need help, or they are late picking their kid up from an activity and are worried about them waiting alone.  That person staring too long at the green light before moving?  Maybe they are thinking about the bad news a friend just shared with them or they are really tired and zoned out because their newborn kept them up half the night.  The idiot swerving in and out of traffic who just cut you off?  Yes, maybe they are just a maniac or maybe they are trying to get to the hospital because their wife just went into labor.  It doesn’t even have to be anything dramatic.  We all have distractions that challenge our focus for a few seconds or we tend to drive a little too close to someone even if we are not trying to hint to them to speed up.  My point is to don’t automatically jump to the “they are an idiot/maniac who has insulted me and singled me out for aggressive/bad treatment”.  Yes, there are idiots and maniacs out there and there is not a whole lot you can do to affect their behavior.  But maybe they are not.  And giving everyone a little grace and being a little patient improves the chance that we’ll all get home safely.

Of course, lack of civility is a problem exemplified much too often these days.  Because of fear and/or misinformation or poor assumptions we tend to believe the worst in others first.  I think we all need to take a few deep breaths and give everyone a little grace.  Grace is all about forgiveness, compassion, and above all humility.  We can all use a little more of that.

When we last left our Abecedarium, we were discussing how this eons-long house renovation required a lot of endurance from Trish and me.  I left you with a bit of cliffhanger on the letter F—that our ordeal was so difficult because it was an “FFT”.

To explain this essay, I am borrowing shamelessly from (but with direct attribution to) Brené Brown and her decades of research into shame, vulnerability, and the power that comes from living an authentic life.  Hopefully, I will do her work justice and not end up with a “cease and desist” order.  I first heard about the concept of an FFT in the very first episode of her Unlocking Us podcast.  As with most of her concepts, the articulation hit me like a ton of bricks because it helped me wrap words around something that I kind of knew but did know how to describe.  I encourage you to invest the ~40 minutes and listen to the episode here.

An FFT is a “F**king First Time”.  We have all navigated FFT’s throughout our lives.  You can’t avoid them, even if you rarely leave your home.  Neither Trish nor I have ever undertaken any serious home renovation.  We had each contracted for little-ish projects here and there, but this was big.  This was four months of construction that literally and figuratively trashed every room in the house, sent us into exile since there was no way we could stay in the house, and put us on a rollercoaster of excitement, fear, disappointment, ecstasy, and exhaustion.  We didn’t know what we should be doing; we didn’t know if our expectations were realistic or not; we didn’t know when we needed to push the builder and when we needed to nod knowingly and say, “this is what happens, right?”

What makes an FFT so difficult?  Well, as Brené says, it’s the ultimate in vulnerability and no one likes feeling vulnerable.  Being new at something is really hard.  You are afraid of messing up, of being taken advantage of, of looking foolish, of failure, of simply having made a big ole mistake.  An example comes to mind that most of you reading this will probably relate to experiencing:  the first time you used the Uber app and summoned a ride.  My Uber FFT was probably in Atlanta since that is my most common destination in which I don’t either rent a car or have a means of transport.  I needed to get from the airport to my sister’s condo.  I had downloaded the app and “practiced” as much as I could without actually requesting a ride.  I was afraid of what I didn’t know, such as “what happens AFTER I hit the button to request an UberX?”  I was afraid I would do something stupid like not know where to stand or go to get into the wrong car.  I wasn’t sure whether to sit up front or in the back (in the early days, either was acceptable).  How much small talk should I make?  The one thing I wasn’t afraid of was being kidnapped or getting into an accident.  Maybe I should have been, but my fears were dominated by ME doing something stupid, not the driver.  I remember my heart just pounding when I hit that “request” button the first time.  I remember nothing else about that first ride—just my own fear of messing up and looking stupid.

Probably the biggest FFT of my life was when I moved to Mexico.  Scariest thing I’ve ever done.  I moved down there alone, for a job that was ill defined and probably destined to fail, and couldn’t speak more than three words of Spanish.  Poorly.  Upon reflection, I am glad that I didn’t know what I didn’t know.  I had some difficult times, to be sure, but it was also the richest, most wonderful experience of my life.  FFTs are like that.  The scarier it is, the more rewarding the results.  This is why it is actually good, in my opinion, to seek out FFTs.  Of course, sometimes they just choose you.

We all share an example of an FFT that chooses you and this one is a biggy—the COVID-19 pandemic.  None of us have navigated anything like it. (I am assuming that none of my readers were alive and aware of things during the Spanish Flu pandemic in 1918.)  We had no freaking idea what was going on, what we knew and what we didn’t know, whom to trust, even how to truly protect ourselves.  Memories of those early days are probably fading and, since there has (and continues to be) an enormous amount of Monday Morning Quarterbacking over national and local response, we probably have forgotten how scary those first months were to us all.  I’ve glanced back over some of my journal entries from those days and it’s enlightening.  In some ways, I was way overreacting.  In other ways, I was way underreacting.  Regardless, there was a lot of emotion and discomfort and fear.  Classic FFT.

While the example of the pandemic is an extreme one, since there was so much we could not control as individuals, it is really important to push through FFTs when you come up against even a “small” one.  Since “being new is hard,” as Brené says, it’s easy to convince yourself to just not try new things.  But if you stop trying new things, stop pushing yourself outside of your comfort zone, you stop growing and stop living.  You don’t just stay static; your world starts to constrict around you.

Since we all have to tackle FFTs, large and small, it is helpful to have a strategy.  Brené gives us three steps and I encourage you to look up her more in-depth treatment.  First name it and normalize the feeling.  Say to yourself, “OK, this is an FFT.  It’s all right to feel nervous.”  Naming it gives you power.  Second, keep it in perspective:  this isn’t going to last forever.  “I will get through this thing.”  Finally, put a reality check on your expectations.  You won’t be perfect at something new.  You don’t HAVE to be perfect.  Do your best.  If you do it again, you can get better.  But do it.  And give yourself a little grace.

When we last left our Abecedarium, I had discussed my difficulty in deferring to those with greater knowledge and skill than I, ending with committing myself to the word Endurance for this “E” essay.  It’s a little freaky how prophetic my word choices for the next-in-the-series seems to be.  I had better be very careful in choosing an “F” word at the end of this essay!

My very patient long-term readers have been breathlessly following our home renovation saga.  For you newbies, Trish and I decided last spring to redo and expand our kitchen as well as put in a new main bedroom suite above our garage and family room.  Over the spring and summer, we worked with the builder on design; picked out cabinets, granite, appliances, fixtures, and a million other things you need to choose; “locked in” construction to theoretically start in October; and, made plans to move into her sister’s house while she and her husband wintered in Florida.  It was a great plan.  We packed up the kitchen, living room, and garage (into our sun room, basement, and office) and awaited word on when demo would begin!  Thus began a saga that is only now trickling to an end.  We knew that the valley on the other side of the mountain would be worth the climb up the shear cliff in front of us.  We knew there would be unexpected twists and turns.  We just figured we’d be able to handle it all with grace.

As I write this, sitting at the island in our new kitchen, we are really close to being done.  I feel calmer than I have in months.  Trish and I are starting to laugh a bit at some of the difficulties we encountered along the way.  Just a bit, though.  There are still some raw topics.  Getting through this construction has truly been an exercise in endurance and it got me to thinking about the role “learning to endure” has played in my life.

It is true that pushing yourself through difficult times makes you stronger.  I ran track in high school and focused mostly on short distances.  One meet, our state-champion miler was out with an injury and the coach had me run the mile.  Me, the sprinter who normally ran the 440.  (By the way, these references show how old I am.  We did not use metric distances when I was in high school.  By “440” I mean 440 yards, a quarter mile.)  The 440 is a really tough race because it’s too short to pace yourself but too long to be an all-out sprint.  Keeping something in reserve for that last 100 yards while not falling behind the pack was a constant challenge.  When I heard the crack of the starter’s pistol for that mile race, I ran out like I did for a 440, realizing in less than half a lap that that was a big mistake.  I backed off my pace but had no prayer of keeping up with other milers.  I ran hard and lost badly.  After that meet, the coach had me run more distance drills during practices.  I hated every minute of it; however, my 440 time began to steadily drop.  I had more endurance for the last stretch of the race because of the challenge of pushing past my normal limits.

I have an endless list of “endurance” stories in both my personal and professional lives.  Perhaps my most instructive one was when we were negotiating to outsource the department I lead to ownership by another company.  The “we” I’m referring to is myself and the rest of the department leadership team.  This was not something initiated by senior management of the company.  In fact, convincing THEM that this deal was in their best interest was the toughest part of the process.  We started by making inquiries with the target parent company and then began our pitch internally.  We didn’t discuss this with the members of the department because we had no idea if it would go anywhere.  Once it appeared the deal had legs, we made the plan public.  We thought, since there was basic buy-in from both sides, that this process would proceed quickly—a few months.  It took, start to finish, about 18 months—and about a year from when we made the organization aware of the plan.  The twists and turns, the drama and intrigue, the impact of the politics and individual agendas wore us all to a frazzle.  As the head of the organization, I bore the responsibility of the decision and the commitment to make it work out well as a heavy mantle.  It was not easy.  It was not perfect.  I’m sure there are many who would say it was the wrong decision.  But we made it happen and for at least a while it was a positive move on balance.  Getting through the process took a heavy toll yet I came out the other side stronger than I had ever been.  It made me a better leader and a stronger decision maker.

I count this whole renovation among my endurance lessons, as well.  The granite for the bathroom was eventually cut correctly for the sinks the builder ordered, although he ordered the wrong dang sinks!  He ordered square sinks; we wanted round.  Sounds like a small detail, but it was just the last straw.  I was in the airport in Charleston, exhausted after a few fabulous days with my college friends, when I got the call.  Not the call you want to get when you are tired, hung over, and your stomach hurts from eating too much rich food.  I was so angry when I got home that I called the builder and yelled for ten minutes.  I only allowed him to speak when he agreed to pay the balance on what we owed the granite supplier.  Hopefully, over time those square sinks will not dig at us, but for right now, we just hate those sinks.  Now, however, the bathroom is complete.  The granite is beautiful.  The carpet is in (this time with no stains or mold).  The new platform bed frame is awaiting the mattress.  All furniture has been returned to its rightful place.  Now that the dust has settled—and I mean that literally, since dust is EVERYWEHRE—we see how beautiful the valley is on the other side of the mountain.  We have endured.  We are the better for it.  We will never, EVER go through a home renovation again but I’m sure there will be other challenges that we will need to endure.

One valuable lesson I learned throughout this whole process was the need to force myself, literally FORCE myself, to focus at least as much on what was going right as on what was going wrong.  It is easy, of course, to allow yourself to focus on the bad.  It is critical to make the choice to not lose that perspective.  Easier said than done.  So, why was this whole renovation thing so hard and so traumatic?  Because it was an FFT.  We’ll discuss that next time.  (Hint:  Fans of my spirit animal, Brené Brown, already know what that means.)

My model for a good manager and leader throughout most of my career was someone who was in perfect control and had all the answers. There was an expectation at my places of work that “the boss” was always the smartest person in the room. When I first moved into leadership positions, I also modeled that behavior. Everyone seemed to want me to have all the answers, so I pretended I did. I didn’t, of course. No one has ALL the answers, ALL of the time. But that was the macho leadership model I was taught. As I grew older and hopefully a bit wiser, I began to see a different model. The leaders I began to admire and emulate were not the loud, brash ones. In fact, they were often not the most visible people and certainly not the most vocal. They led from out front when they needed to do so, but mostly they deferred to those who had the most expertise in the topic of the day. They were humble (you KNOW that will be my “H” word); they knew that they were NOT necessarily the smartest person in the room and they actively looked to surround themselves with people who were smarter than they were. In some organizations, leaders like that do not advance because the culture of that organization requires a macho leader. However, in good organizations those are exactly the leaders that excel.

Learning to defer to those with greater expertise was hard for me to do.  As we have amply discussed, I am a control freak and us control freaks want things done our way.  It makes me cringe to type this, but the reason I want things done my way is because I believe that my way, my beliefs, my views are the best; that I am the smartest person in the room.  Ouch.  Earlier in my career, admitting I didn’t know something was seen as a real liability.  I remember meeting with someone in engineering and asking for their thoughts on something that they knew a lot about and I knew nothing.  I thought that was a wise thing to do.  I found out later, through a friend, that that senior engineer saw my questioning as a sign of weakness!  I was blown away by that!  Why on earth should he think that a young chemist should know about a complicated engineering problem?!  You can imagine the dampening effect that comment had on my willingness to ask questions.

As my career progressed, I began to learn to ask more questions instead of assuming I had all the answers.  Counterintuitively, this became easier the more senior I got.  For some reason, the senior person in the room was allowed to ask the “stupid questions” because their seniority gave them legitimacy.  I felt free to ask someone to explain what some acronym meant, or what some test meant, or what the assumptions were around some marketing data.  Time and time again, I could see body language in others that told me that I wasn’t the only one who had a given question.  But others were not comfortable asking for fear of being judged.

Pretending you understand can be really dangerous.  Remember the Great Recession of 2009?  Part of what drove the economy into the ground was the collapse of firms holding billions in Collateralized Debt Obligations, wherein financial firms packaged up high risk mortgage loans into “high return” investment vehicles.  As people defaulted on the loans, the financial firms who held those CDO’s lost tons and tons of money overnight; losses snow balled; firms went bankrupt; you know the rest.  That is probably a really wrong explanation because I do not understand CDO’s.  But in Monday Morning Quarterbacking the causes of the Great Recession, much was written about complex financial instruments that people (professional financial managers, not ordinary investors) were buying but that they did not understand.  They did NOT understand the risks!  But they couldn’t admit that they didn’t understand.

What I found, toward the end of my career, is that the more questions I asked and the more I deferred to people smarter than I was on various topics, the smarter I actually became.  I was learning every day.  My skill is in being able to take in new information, tie it to what I already know, and ask questions to make sure I am not making faulty assumptions.  I actually WANT to learn that I have made faulty assumptions because I revel in learning new things.  This is making my retirement a lot of fun!  Add this to the things I wish I had learned earlier.

Let me tell you, then, about the last couple of weeks since I wrote about Control.  When we last left our home renovation saga, the granite people had just found a new slab to hopefully match the granite they had cut incorrectly for the bathroom vanity in the new bedroom, and I was gearing up to watch the Eagles play in the Super Bowl.  After I posted that last essay, I got the reminder about my colonoscopy on Monday.  Yes, I had scheduled a colonoscopy for the morning after my hometown team played in the Super Bowl.  I spent the Super Bowl prepping for the scope.  I reacted badly to the new prep I tried, suffering from severe nausea, chills, and a racing heart.  It barely registered that the Eagles lost.  I did not sleep all night and was comatose the next day after the procedure.  Then, for good measure, my laptop crashed in the middle of a Zoom call with my college friends.  The hard drive died a violent death.  The granite people went radio silent again.  More and more details kept popping up that slowed down the completion of the renovation.  The guy came to install the carpet in the new bedroom and, when he unrolled the carpet, found that it was stained and moldy from top to bottom.  Over this same time period, my Mom was moving to a different senior living facility and I was coordinating from afar with my sister, who did the lion’s share of the work.  I was left with worry and anxiety that all would go well.  We ran ourselves ragged over three days moving back into the house anyway since the kitchen was done, dodging the painters who were still finishing up.  And Bridget, of course, threw up in her carrier during the literally half mile drive home.  I couldn’t control anything.  I couldn’t fix anything.  I had to defer to the expertise of those around me and trust that they would make it all happen.  And it has.  Or it will. 

We are back in the house.  The kitchen is freaking beautiful.  Not perfect, but perfection cannot be the goal.  The cats are settled.  The rest of the house, outside of the new main bedroom, is coming together.  My laptop has a brand new hard drive; most of the data were saved; and, it’s faster than the day I bought it.  Mom is settling into her new community.  I’m about to go away for a few days with my college friends.  There has been a lot of deep breathing, some pulled muscles, and fights with Trish over little things.  But, like most things in life, this is working out.  Over and over again, I have to learn the lesson that most things DO work out.  It’s a lesson in Endurance.

At the end of last week’s first essay in my year-long Abecedarium, I committed myself to the word “breathe” for this “B” essay.  I’m not sure I am going to commit to the word for the next letter at the end of each essay, but having done so with “breathe,” I’ve spent a lot of time over these past two weeks ruminating on the breath.

The instructor at our Thursday Stretch and Balance class at the Y always begins with a few minutes of breathing exercises to center us.  I am always amazed at the impact that those few minutes of deep, structured breathing has on my physical and mental state.  Why this happens is really no mystery.  Our autonomous nervous system, which controls things like breathing and heart rate and digestion (functions that happen without us needing to consciously focus on them), has two parts.  The sympathetic system is what drives our flight-or-fight response.  It is typically characterized by short, shallow breaths and is often accompanied by release of cortisol and adrenaline.  In fact, just taking short, shallow breaths can make you feel anxious.  The parasympathetic system controls our rest and relaxation response.  It is characterized by slow, deep, diaphragmatic breathing and is often accompanied by the release of endorphins, the hormones that calm you down.

This Stretch and Balance class is at 8:00 am, so I’m not totally awake when we get there.  I’m clearly not ready for vigorous exercise.  However, after we have done those few minutes of breathing exercises, my mind feels clear, my body feels ready to go, and I’m ready for Downward Dogs and Tree Poses.  Before we transition from breathing exercises to “work,” the instructor suggests we pick a word to express our intention for the day.  Something always comes to me that fits.  It might be about calm and peace, it might be about getting things done, it might be about focus.  Whatever it is, in that moment my mind knows what I need that day.  That sort of clarity is so valuable.

Part of what I’ve been ruminating on is why I don’t do deep breathing exercises on my own.  I know that from a vigorous exercise perspective, I do way better with an instructor.  The effort I can inspire in myself pales in comparison to the effort I will output at the suggestion of an instructor.  I have accepted that, which is why I go to exercise classes most of the time.  But breathing?  Isn’t that something I should be able to do without Jane instructing me to do so?  Can’t I spend a few minutes each day deep breathing? 

The problem is shutting off my very active inner voice.  When Jane is talking us through three part or four part breathing, my mind is focusing on her voice and her direction and other mind chatter is silenced.  When I attempt to direct myself to do these exercises, the “random chatter” side of my brain has no respect for the “breathe to a count of four” side of my brain.  And before I know it, I’m breathing with shallower breaths again and my “random chatter” brain declares victory.

I’ve gone through stretches of time when I am fairly consistent with Mindfulness Meditation, which is all about controlled deep breathing.  Honestly, I’ll do it for a few days in a row and then just forget about doing it.  I have not been successful at making it a high enough priority that it becomes a must-do in my daily life.  Maybe ruminating on this publicly will make me hold myself more accountable.  (I’ve already been asked if I’ve started the Mandarin lessons on my Rosetta Stone.  My very valid excuse is that it’s under a pile of crap in the office in the house.  But once we are back home and unpacked, the accountability will resurface.  Ni hao.)

Being so conscious of the impact of breathing over these past couple of weeks has made me painfully aware of how often I am in need of a deep breath.  Many of those instances have surrounded the inevitable issues that have popped up around our home renovations.  I actually asked the project manager this week how many Xanax pills he needs a day since EVERY DAY unexpected issues arise.  He laughed.  But he never answered my question.  Trish and I continue to take turns melting down over our lack of control and desire for this to just be done.  When we saw that the sinks ordered for the bathroom vanity didn’t fit (which is holding up cutting the granite for the bathroom, which is holding up the tiling, which is holding up the plumbing), I found myself involuntarily closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.  When we saw that the HVAC guy had inexplicably left a two-inch roundish hole in the ceiling of the new bedroom (that had JUST been painted) next to where he cut the opening for the heat pump filter, I rolled my eyes—and then found myself closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.  When Trish tripped AGAIN over the gate into the backyard that has yet to be rehung, we both yelled—and then took deep breaths.  Nothing changed in the moment before the deep breaths and after, but we calmed down a bit.  We knew things would be addressed, problems would be solved, and we’d find a way to deal with the outcomes.  I’m finding myself taking deep breaths just writing this paragraph.

Think about how many times you tell yourself or someone else to take a deep breath.  I was thinking of that during a recent Zoom call with my college friends, since we often share our stressors with each other.  I think of that when I talk with my Mom and she’s dealing with stressful situations at her retirement home, or when my sister tells me about the frustrations of being on the board of her HOA.  Deep breath.  In to a count of four.  Hold for a count of four.  Out for a count of five.  Repeat.  Whether it truly helps you be in more Control or just gives you the illusion of that, it still makes a difference.