Just Plain Bill

Choke

At the risk of using the phrase “back in the old days,” I think I’ve discovered an analogy that may help explain why I’ve had great ideas - but have more than often not taken them to completion.

When I was first driving in the early 50’s, I would occasionally drive an old car or truck that had a manual choke: the accessory that helps feed more fuel than air into the car which helps it get started – especially on a cold day, or when it hadn’t been driven in a while. (Manual chokes disappeared from engines starting in the late 1930s.) Before I stepped on the starter pedal, I’d pull out the choke knob just a little, gradually press the gas pedal and listen for the car to catch and start.

After a short while with the engine running, I’d press in the choke to allow the gas and air mixture to balance out and I’d be on my way with the engine running smoothly.

On occasion, as I was learning how to drive these older vehicles, I’d forget to reduce the choke and the car would sputter and the engine would often die.

Well, I just realized that so many of my ideas are much like when I was starting that old car: I’d think of something important, most likely write it down on a scrap of paper or even started typing it up, and put it away somewhere and not get back to it.

I still to this day find notes on scraps of paper from years past, in pockets of coats, in old folders, notes scribbled on sides of papers, on envelopes, and even today when I started to write a pithy response to something I read – I then allowed what I’d penned to “die” – much like the engines in the vehicles I was driving.  

Days are long gone when there were manual chokes on engines, and, maybe with this remembrance and analogy I can adjust the choke appropriately and charge ahead to completion. Maybe…

Just Plain Bill

Creativity

Transmitter or Transformer?

From my early years as a corporate trainer, teaching adults in a business setting, I remember something that a psychologist named Timothy Leary said about creativity that has stuck with me for over 50 years:

Everyone is creative - 

–    They’re either a transmitter, one who serves as a conduit, a communicator for something unique, or

–    They’re a transformer, one who changes a process or object, finding a new way to combine existing knowledge into something new.

(A loose expression of what I heard Leary say, as I’ve not been able to find the exact quote.)

For most of my life, I’ve confidently believed I favored the transmitter end of the motivation spectrum, as I am inclined to talk a lot. (Since some have even used the term “rambling”, perhaps I possess an inclination of talking too much?) While this quality has often led to robust discussions and solutions to challenges, I’ve found myself assessing my later-in-life ability to take action to what I talk about and I now see myself as a transformer.

I’m now making a conscious effort to “do more of what I’ve talked about”, following ideas through to conclusion. (In the words of my inspiration, master marketer Seth Godin, to “ship”!)

One prominent example of this change is the weekly writing of this blog, Just Plain Bill, now in its 60^th week of posting. I am now committing to completing my “Thrive at 65” website by year’s end. Progress reports forthcoming!

*Timothy Leary, an American psychologist and writer, shared a great many philosophies. He popularized the phrase "turn on, tune in, drop out", promoting his advocacy of psychedelic drugs, but also possessed a keen sense of humor as confirmed by his view that “women who seek to be equal with men lack ambition.”   

Just Plain Bill

“…the one less traveled by…”

On my 76^th birthday, I recalled Robert Frost’s verse as I reminisced about years passed, chances taken, choices not made, and other decisions that have contributed to what I’ve become.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference

It’s compelling, even amusing to look “down the street of my life” or back over my shoulder at the roadways and side streets taken during my seven decades of change, observing – or trying to remember – events or major milestone decisions that made “…all the difference…” on my road “…less traveled by…”, such as:

·     To stop talking so much in kindergarten so I wouldn’t be sent out to recess with tape on my mouth – creating a lasting reputation as a chatterbox

·     Not to face the audience, but to face my kindergarten rhythm band I was chosen to conduct – I’d been told to never turn my back on an audience

·     To exit a bus a stop before mine when a pretty 5^th grade girl invited me to walk her home – instead of feeding my insecurity

·     Not to comply with a high school buddy’s request to break a law just to be his “friend” – just to do “anything” to feel included

·      To go to flight school when offered a chance in Marine boot camp – instead of declining, responding to my feelings of incompetency

·      To extend my military tour of duty when recruited to join one of the best drum and bugle corps in the world – again responding to those feelings of incompetency

·      To go down a weight class in my final year of college wrestling to be assured of a conference championship – missing the guidance of a real coach

·      To not eat a bag of dried apricots and drink water at the bottom of the Grand Canyon before needing to be helped 8 miles out of the canyon – a really painful “fork” in my road

·      To continue on with my graduate studies, just three units and a completed dissertation short of my doctorate, instead of returning to the classroom as a teacher – where “School Master of the Year” recognition was earned

Borrowing Frost’s phrase, it’s most likely true that none of these decision points would have “made all the difference”, but I will never really know, will I?  It’s all hindsight, as what’s ahead at each “fork” is known only after the opportunity to choose has passed. It is much like my favorite French term “l'esprit de l'escalier”, which occurs when I think of a snappy retort after the opportunity to say it has passed.

The road I’ve taken has brought me to who I am at this time. I’m delighted that there are more streets to be travelled and I fully intend to use my new experiences and lessons learned along the way to positively impact the lives of others. I’ll endeavor to search out and deliberately take the less-travelled forks in each road.

Just Plain Bill

I Have a Problem with “No Problem”

As conventions of speech continue to undergo changes, I’d like to take a stand against the all-too common response to “thank you” - the ubiquitous “no problem.”

As a member of the rapidly shrinking generation known as the depression or traditional generation that was born before 1945, I was brought up to respond “you’re welcome” to a word of thanks, but I can count on one hand the number of times I hear that response on the airways or in public on any given day.

I propose that we start a trend of using “my pleasure” (MP), instead of the worn-out “no problem” (NP). I’m wondering what it will take to make inroads in transposing the response NP to MP.

In a society focused on providing exceptional customer service – or proclaiming to – this simple change in response would change the dynamic of the employee/customer interchange for the better. After all, if I am the customer in that interchange and to get an NP to my thank-you, the employee has just implied that I have not disrupted the order in his or her day. Why would I or my transaction be a “problem”? Isn’t the employee there for one purpose only which is to serve me? I don’t like the feeling that I was just given a pass for maintaining the employee’s work/life balance. I prefer the courtesy of a simple acknowledgment by the employee that our transaction was appreciated as well, and that he or she would gladly serve my needs again.

Do you think it might work, or would the response be an effortless “no problem”?

As for conscientious managers everywhere – my pleasure!

Just Plain Bill

“What was your favorite toy, grandpa?”

This was one of the 32 questions I was asked by my youngest grandson, Gavin, as he was interviewing me for a 2^nd grade school project. As Gavin ran through the 31 other questions, I was struck by the challenge of responding in a way that would make sense to someone 68 years younger than me.

My world was incredibly different from most of anything a child of the present day would recognize. I was careful to not preface my answers with “when I was your age”, which wouldn’t at all be helpful to Gavin’s understanding of the life of a veteran of the Depression, or tradition generation: I could find no words to help bridge the gap between then and now.

Questions about pets, school, clothes, food, family, holidays, houses, entertainment, and the aforementioned toys generated one or two word answers. I was also wondering how the teacher – a professional from the final years of Generation Y – would help Gavin and his classmates process the information. Whenever I hear about life before my time, I’m not sure I can paint a picture of what someone older than me was describing – much like the challenge Gavin’s teacher faces in helping her students relate to my remembrances.

Along with the joys and pleasures of continuing into my seventh decade – or my “last quarter” as I’ve labeled it – I’ve been careful to couch my observations and remembrances in terms that will help provide perspective while not preaching and help Gavin get to know his grandpa a little better. (I love the nickname my seven grandchildren have given me – “Goofy Grandpa”.)

“When I was your age” was long ago banished from my vocabulary, which helps me as I presently teach 70 community college students who inhabit a world far different than I could have ever imagined. From time to time, it’s been tempting to make comments that could be interpreted as judgmental: expressing frustration that “things used to be like…”, or “you can’t imagine what things were like…”, but I’ve been able to stay calm and have not made comments that would not be in any way helpful or positive in establishing and maintaining a healthy and productive learning environment.