How Sharp Are Your Depression-Era Skills?

I changed the battery in my son’s car last weekend. Man, am I pumped!

I know it doesn’t seem like much but, to a bookworm like me, flirting with the alchemy of wrenches, grease and electricity and not making a hopeless mess was a pretty big deal. So, I’m going to take a minute and celebrate. Woo-hoo.

It’s not something I do every day — in fact, the last time I did it was, let’s see…hmmm. Never. Yes, never would be the last time I changed the battery in an automobile.

In fact, I’ve never done any car repair of any type at all. Like many Americans, I find it far too complicated. A simple cost-benefit analysis leads one to the conclusion that paying someone whatever price far outweighs the hassle — and the fear — of disassembling and assembling parts of your engine only to find in the end a few extra bolts and washers left over on the garage floor.

When I was growing up, this was the kind of thing my father — and I suspect many other men — did all the time. He built our garage with the help of a friend, constructed about 40 percent of our in-ground pool, repainted at least one of our cars, and generally built, fixed, and altered things as needed. He always knew the right tool to use, too.

He did these things, I think, because he could, but also out of a sense of frugality.

Frugality existed as a core value of many, if not all, previous generations of Americans, and rarely, if at all, in the current one. I would have to admit that I place convenience and comfort far ahead of frugality in my daily life.

One result is — for me, I now realize — an unnerving lack of skills necessary to thrive or survive in a period of enforced frugality — in other words, a severe or prolonged economic meltdown in which I was personally affected.

I cannot repair my own car, and I cannot fix a roof on a house, nor a leak in a basement. I cannot — heaven forbid it comes to this, ever — grow or kill sufficient quantities of food to feed my entire family (let alone my voracious sixteen-year old son). 

I imagine I could learn. I imagine necessity, hunger and pain would be effective, swift teachers. But, it would be nice to be able to do these things for yourself because you can — and because you never know when you might have to.

But I’m getting there. I can change the battery in a car.

Ooops! Your Pusillus Animus Is Showing

I subscribe to Dictionary.com’s “Word of the Day” because, as the folks at the Reader’s Digest used to say, it pays to enrich your word power.

Each daily email features a word, ranging from those we use every day to, more often than not, those that only the biggest boobs among us work hard to slip into normal conversation — say, like deipnosophist. Along with a definition, or definitions, and some examples of usage, you can learn the origin of the word.

It is this latter feature that interests me the most. First, it is fascinating to see that no language is an island, and English in particular has been pollinated with ideas, concepts and words from Greek to Old Norse.

Second, every language has its own DNA visible through its origins, and is itself a form of DNA woven through our culture and history — in many ways, forming the building blocks of who we are and how we think. Sometimes the origin of a word, which often exposes the thought processes of the ancients who developed it, is more enlightening and meaningful than the word we are left with today.

Pusillanimous, which flitted into my inbox a few days ago, is one of those words.

It means “cowardly” or “lacking in courage or conviction.” But, as you can see, it is not a word most of us trot out on a daily basis.

Instead, the origin of the word is a more beautiful, elegantly simple definition of the concept of cowardice. It comes from two Latin words — pusillus, meaning “very small, or tiny;” and animus, meaning “soul.”

“Tiny soul.” Doesn’t that perfectly illuminate what a lack of courage truly is?

An Auto Show, and a Visit to A New Cathedral

My son Andrew and I went to New York City this past Saturday for our annual trip to the New York International Auto Show. Andrew has been a car buff since a very young age, but now that he’s older, he combines that enthusiasm with a very sophisticated sensibility about automobile design, marketing, business strategy, and performance. It’s an education to accompany him throughout the entire exhibition; in fact, I’m more than happy to take my cues directly from him about what I should and shouldn’t like, or should and shouldn’t be impressed by.

Sleek, great lines…I can’t wait to bring one of these home

We also use the opportunity to explore Manhattan and, in a little bit of a switch, he gets to look up to me. To a fifteen year-old growing up in a small town in Vermont, New York City is a stimulating, strange planet of sophistication, temptations and…well, life. My own career has given me an education in the more interesting delights of the island, and the fact that I know where to get a great milkshake in Hell’s Kitchen makes me in his eyes, well…less of a dweeb. At least temporarily.

Some observations from an afternoon of people watching and walking about:

One. The vast, vast majority of consumers don’t seem to be the least bit interested in an automobile’s performance. People are less attracted by good engineering, instead perferring to be exclusively mesmerized by a vehicle’s creature comforts. Not surprisingly, manufacturers have picked up on this, and the auto show was consistently characterized (in my view) by an odd emphasis on marketing cars as mobile living rooms or entertainment centers. I saw flat panel televisions that drop out of the roof and pivot in all directions; center-stack audio, video and environment controls that rival in sophistication many primary flight displays in modern jets; and, in a concept vehicle from Nissan, a rear seat that was essentially a plush, curved sofa. Is anybody planning on paying attention to the road? And do we really need minivans a fourteenth century baron would consider an outstanding home for his wife and their fourteen children?

Two. This is an impressive vehicle, both aesthetically and in promised performance. Boy, Hyundai has come a long way. My wife’s first car was a Hyundai she paid $4,995 for brand new; if you held it up to the light, you could almost see through it.

Three. Honda had a blonde at the show. Don’t worry, honey; she looked like a slut.

Four. The environmental and “green” movements have jumped the shark — or are about to. “Green” has become almost a parody of marketing hype — an “industry of cool.” One manufacturer’s presentation included an almost carnival barker-like description of how the interior burled wood trim came from old furniture scraps and the carpet is made entirely from banana silk fibers rather than — gasp! — petroleum. No word on how these vehicles can be produced economically (and without depleting the earth’s banana reserves) so the slack-jawed dude from New Jersey standing there in his shiny track suit and his gold chains can afford one, but this company has a soul, man, and, hey, now you can buy one too.

A Tale of Two Cathedrals

So we walked up to the Apple store on Fifth Avenue. There was a line to approach the clear glass cube that serves as the above-ground entry to the smoky plexiglass stairway where you descend to join a mob of worshippers, all reverently seeking the hope, peace and a better life where a trinity of design, information and entertainment all converge in a stunning facsimile of perfection.

A few blocks south sits St. Patrick’s Cathedral. It, too, is a “retail” presence of a movement that offers hope, peace and a better life. There was no line outside.

Lucky, and Grateful

One day, for no particular reason, I just decided not to go to the office.

Instead, I climbed into my truck and made the five-hour drive to Long Island, N.Y. to visit my grandparents: Concetta, 92 years old at the time; and Salvatore, 94 years old. It had been many months since I’d seen them; they had given me a special gift, and I wanted to thank them in person.

My grandfather asked me if I drove my car down; he was hoping to see it, having heard a great deal about it from my father. This was a surprise to me since the car has (what I had come to learn over the years) two unforgivable qualities in his eyes : it’s Japanese and it only has two seats, making it virtually useless and morally indefensible. “Bulls—- cars,” he always called them.

Anyway, we sat and talked for a few hours.

“I’m ready to die, Joe” he said. I was taken aback by the clarity and conviction in his voice.

“What? Why would you say that?”

“I’ve seen everything. What am I waiting around for?”

I listed a few reasons off the top of my head, which he acknowledged politely, but it was clear my argument was feeble at best.

Three weeks later he was dead.

My grandparents, as immigrants and children of immigrants, led hard lives, full of seemingly unending, back-breaking work. And they had the stories to prove it, stories I never got tired of hearing, no matter how many times they were told. And retold.

“Do you know how this family wound up in America?” he asked me during one visit.

I’ve heard it a million times. “Tell me,” I replied.

He began the familiar litany, which begins on a hillside in southern Italy:

“My father, after planting his crops, which included some very valuable melons, had the local priest come over to bless the farm.

“The very next day, a hailstorm destroyed everything in the field, wiping out the entire farm.”

He paused. And he said something new, something I’d never, ever heard in all the years I’d listened to this story — a story so pivotal to my family’s history.

“And from that day on, my father cursed God.”

Hold on just a minute. “He cursed God from that day on?” I asked.

“Yes, and he left for America soon after.”

“Did you curse God for that?”

“I never thought about it,” he replied.

“‘Cause I gotta tell you,” I said, “that hailstorm was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.”

I explained to him my feeling that, as tragic as that storm was to his family, its outcome as far as I was concerned was a damn good one. Because of that storm, I was born in the United States of America in the late 20th century, which is arguably the equivalent of winning the biggest lottery in the Universe.

Because of that storm, I grew up and live comfortably, with opportunity and optimism, and without fear, doubt or danger.

Because of that storm, and because they were willing to risk it all on the unknown and, when called to, spend their lives on their hands and knees doing back-breaking work, I have reaped a very fruitful crop.

I sit in a comfortable office; the work I do, I do because I want to, not because I have to.

I have no calluses on my hands, no aches in my back. The only hunger I ever feel is mostly spiritual, and arises from self-indulgence rather than physical survival.

A hailstorm destroyed a man’s livelihood, and I’m the luckiest person I know.

My point — if you’ve stuck with me this far — is that it is very easy to succumb to what is becoming a whiny, cynical culture. That is, it’s so easy to feel sorry for ourselves, given how hopeless, horrible and inconvenient daily life has become, right?

No, actually. We’re all lucky and fortunate in some way. We’re all able to be grateful for something.

For me, it’s growing up American, privileged to be accepted as part of a tribe founded not on ethnicity or ancestry, but on an idea — that human beings have a right to be free. That, and being able to turn a hailstorm from a curse to a blessing in less than a century.

For you, it may be something else, something entirely different. But it’s there — trust me.

I hope you find it.

What Ineffective People (Usually Leaders) Have In Common

Writing about the pathway to workplace superstardom reminded me that I encounter quite a few people (usually managers and other organizational leaders) who have the opposite problem — they’re going nowhere. 

They’re chronically ineffective — as people and as leaders.

Their efforts to change and grow as people, or develop leadership skills have stalled — sometimes hopelessly.

I noticed something else about these folks — they have one or more characteristics in common, significant roadblocks to making the changes in their skills, focus or behavior necessary to become more effective, happy and successful.

Here they are — five surefire pieces of evidence that someone’s growth and development are blocked:

1. They’re Not Having Any Fun. They don’t enjoy their lives, or their jobs, or their circumstances to the fullest. What possible motivation does someone have to improve, to learn and to grow if they hate what they’re doing? The best way to achieve mastery at anything is to have a deep passion and commitment to the challenges and problems it throws at you every day. One of the challenges and problems you must enjoy deeply is building yourself.

2. They Live Scattered, Hectic Overloaded Lives. In other words, no margin. For most managers I know, life is like drinking out of a firehose — some gets in your mouth, but most just goes right over your shoulder. The major reason they don’t build themselves (or other people, for that matter) is they simply don’t have, or haven’t fought for, the time and space to reflect on themselves and their behavior, and to devote to the hard work of growth.

3. They Are Unable, Or Unwilling, To See The Truth About Themselves. It’s simple — great leadership starts out as a love affair with the truth. If you can’t, or don’t want to, acknowledge your own shortcomings or ineffective behaviors, how in the world are you going to do anything about them?

4. They’re Self-Absorbed, Unhealthily Focused On Their Own Needs. One of the biggest obstacles to change is a lack of focus on other people, particularly those you lead or those impacted by your behavior and actions. The antidote? Express gratitude daily; other people play, or have played, a role in your success. Acknowledging the contribution of others makes you aware of their presence in your life. And (now follow me on this), the more outward your focus, the greater the chance you’ll care about your impact on others. The more you care, the greater the chance you’ll do something about it.

5. They’re Isolated. Personal change and development is difficult. It’s even more so when you go it alone, without support, encouragement and, most importantly, accountability. People who don’t want to change want to continue to live in the dark, away from scrutiny and feedback. People dedicated to growth seek out partners who will hold them accountable, with whom they can generate mutual support.

Give yourself a score on each of these items; how closely does each describe you? We are all pursuing some sort of goal, from becoming better leaders to losing weight. If you find your own progress blocked, chances are you are struggling with one or more of these characteristics — partially or fully.

My advice to you: (1) have fun, love your problems; (2) fight for margin; (3) fall in love with the truth; (4) thank someone every day; and (5) find a partner.