Conversations from Logan

I’m marooned at the airport in Boston courtesy of my own questionable planning and attention to detail. The weather is less than inviting so a trip into the maritime city, which would normally be a good idea, seems less appealing under overcast skies. No problem I have a new book to read by Tony Hiesh of LinkExchange and Zappos fame. Settling in for the read I can’t help but overhear one side of a nearby cell conversation. A smartly dressed forties something is explaining to someone that he is in a bit of a bind. Apparently without his knowledge someone, trying to be helpful, removed his bag from his rental car and stowed it away at his last business call. Now here he is at the airport for a soon to depart home bound flight minus his threads. Figuring that he could have the bag couriered he dropped off the rental and rushed off to grab his flight. But like many problems, this one had another twist. He has now discovered that his car keys for his car parked in Philly are lounging in the orphaned bag.

Problems are like that, aren’t they? It seems that once a problem arrives others pop up like dandelions in springtime. Proverbially they come in threes; I’m left to wonder what his third strike will be.

This hapless story is quickly followed by another. An annoyed sounding gentleman is reciting an e-mail over his PDA. It appears to be directed at his former bride. I’m not sure if he’s talking to his lawyer or a friend, but it’s a zinger of note chastising her for some egregious act she has recently perpetrated. I’m left with the impression that she is the one who has changed their life course leaving him to deal with the remnants. He’s clearly pissed and feeling the victim. Not satisfied with one opinion or one venting he’s soon on to another friend reciting the same scathing missive.

Sharing our trials is as important as recounting our victories, having someone listen to our woes can aid in restoring our well being. Sharing allows us an opportunity to put to the collective our joy and anguish. In revealing both strength and vulnerability we can feel connected to one another satisfying in turn our base need to be understood, to be cared for, to be accepted, to belong.

A couple of twenty something’s are reviewing their impressions of a business meeting they’ve just finished. But they’re not talking to each other; they’re both on their phones checking in, presumably with the mother ship. Though initially upbeat and excited (I can almost feel the energy coming off them), too soon they are doing more listening than speaking … it seems from their changing demeanour that someone at the other end of both of their conversations is telling them what needs to be done now. One of them, a chic looking young woman, tries but fails to interject in her conversation, finally she resorts to creating an opportunity to come back to this issue at another time telling her cell counterpart, “. . . okay Steve, but I have a few ideas I’d like to share with you when I get back.”

I find young people invigorating; they can fill the air with their enthusiasm and desire to do. It’s a shame that most organizational cultures seem to do their best to crush that level of engagement. Perhaps not intentionally, and certainly not all organizations, but far too many pay little attention to keeping their cultures fresh and open to ideas and change. More often the trend seems to be one of ensuring conformity, rewarding caution and discouraging alternative views. Telling trumps listening and getting fresh perspectives is eschewed for doing it the way it’s always been done. It’s like watching a beautiful red balloon deflate into a skinny ugly rubber worm.

I’ve retreated to the curb to have a cigarette with all the rest of the social outcasts, when a young woman arrives alongside me speaking angrily into her cell. She’s clearly upset, in fact close to tears, a few well emphasised expletives erupt from her now quivering mouth, her eyes are tearing and her voice is breaking with both hurt and anger. She’s thrashing about in her oversized purse for a light, I pass her a lighter feeling some fatherly compassion for her feelings despite not knowing her plight or her role in this mini-drama. She brightens for a moment and returns to the conversation, though now with a little less anger and fewer choice words. My intervention has likely reminded her that she’s in a public space, though maybe the small act of kindness itself softened the moment, regardless the tone has changed and now she’s calmer or at least more restrained.

Life is filled with emotions; we bounce from state to state from joy to anger from complacency to passion and points in between. We feel our lives in the living of them; our emotions have a powerful influence not only on ourselves but on those who surround us, intimate or unknown. It is a state of being that we share with all higher animals; but it is our ability to consciously manage these feelings, to channel them towards darkness or light that maybe our greatest gift and our darkest curse.

I like airports; they are filled with little stories, dramas, comedies, and benign moments. Most people are not so keen on the experience, long lines, missed flights, bland food and over priced goods more often come to mind. But I think it’s all in your perspective, you can choose to see the experience as an ordeal or take a different view... one that provides you an opportunity to watch us, being us in every imaginable way. If you pay close enough attention you might even learn something about yourself.

Star gazing ...

The other night I wandered out to the back yard for a quiet sit down. The yard was bathed in pale moonlight, a nearby streetlight added to the eerie effect, although it played only a bit part. It was cool outside with summer drifting into fall, but the patio stones were still warm from the day's sun. I sat down, lit up a smoke and stared into the night sky. I live close to a major metropolitan area so the light pollution significantly waters down the effect of starlight. Nevertheless as I sat there letting my head fall back I could see a hint of the majesty of the night, stars twinkled back at me as if trying to be seen through the city's glare. The effort didn't go unnoticed; I was at once transported back to a simple childhood memory.

I was probably around eight or nine years old at the time. I recall camping out in the backyard of friend's house which bordered on a large open grassy field. Lying on our backs, our heads poking out from a pup tent, we were engrossed in that 1960's something sky, a sky filled from horizon to horizon with brilliant stars of every size. We lived on a small Air Force Station nestled amid farm fields and woodlots halfway between two very small towns in Southwest Ontario. There was little man-made light back then the night sky commanded alone humbling me even at that tender age.

We lay there, we two buddies, pointing out shooting stars and curious lights, thrilled by their passing and convinced that some were likely spaceships poised to steal us away. I can still smell the grass and feel the dampness of the dew outside our tent. It’s a vivid memory, one that reminds me of how much joy can be felt by simple things, of the value of sharing such things with others, and how nature’s presence can bring out our innate curiosity and humility.

I've seen that sky a few times since, although seeing it now requires travelling miles from home to find a spot clear enough to enjoy the richness of it. Unfortunately over the years it seems I have had fewer and fewer opportunities to do so. Unfortunately it’s not just a case of glare or convenience that denies this treat, it seems my gaze is now, more often than not, fixed closer to the ground and on earthly pursuits; pursuits that seemed to have pushed aside my childhood wonders and delights.

But every now and then something inside me sends me out to the backyard or to some quiet place to stare into the sky again, to embrace the wonder, the majesty, the incredible beauty of our night sky; a sky that at once reminds me of how infinitesimally small and yet how incredibly precious we are.