Brain in a Box

Bob was a legend.
He had worn so many hats with the company: Operations, seasonal businesses, auditor.
He knew what happened,
why it happened.
how it happened,
why it broke,
how to fix it.

He relocated when the company moved the corporate offices.
He took his turn ‘on call’ during the holidays.
And retail holiday time is no picnic for the support teams.
He hid when it was Take Your Child to Work Day,
and managed not to lose his temper
when he learned I’d labeled his closed door ‘Harry Potter Lived Here!’

He enthusiastically took part in Frosty Fridays, when we would splurge for the frozen treats for everyone.
He went to the regional DM and Store meetings,
and would be both the first and the last person on the dance floor after dinner.

He’d come and remind me that it was time to take a break when everyone got together for lunch.
For one of his work anniversaries we made dozens of copies of his headshot from an old corporate directory and hid them EVERYWHERE.
We’d find them for weeks and weeks; open a drawer for a pen and there was Bob.
Need the whiteboard?
Open the cover and there was Bob.

Bob was honored with a Core Values award.
During the ceremony, the department head reads the reasons why the person is being recognized.
The name comes last- the suspense was always fun as we tried to guess who it is.
The Operations honoree was described in many ways,
but once we heard
‘He’s a Brain in a Box’, we knew it was Bob.

He was the go-to.
He’d help answer the questions.
He was invaluable.
He was legendary.
Within two years his job was eliminated.
The company was floundering,
Jobs were ‘consolidated’.
Overhead was cut.
It wasn’t personal.
It felt personal.
Not just its Brain left the building that day; part of our heart walked out with him.

I thought about Bob last month,
during a manager meeting at the company where I now work.
My boss referred to me several time over those couple of days.
He said I ‘knew everything’.
(Want to wake up my imposter syndrome? Say that I know everything.)

I know a bunch of things.
What I don’t know I can usually either figure out or get help from the correct person.
I don’t mind telling the truth when I don’t know something.
I like learning new things.
(We used to have Learn New Thing Day back when I worked with Bob…)
I’m glad to help when I can.
Part of my goal each day is to answer questions before the people I support ever think of them.
One of my more share-able nicknames is The Oracle, but I’m looking to pass that one along.
(Another is the Store Whisperer.. I kinda like that one.)

But, I’m no Bob.
I’m no Brain in a Box.
And even if I was,
even if I had the knowledge and heart that he had,
it only goes so far.

I crave security.
After the last rocket ship days of Borders, I crave stability.
But there is no real sure-thing.
As that great sage,
that speaker of wisdom Heidi Klum says
‘One day you’re in, and one day you’re out.’
I know this.
Let’s just say I’ve been working a long time and I’ve seen things.

So I do my best.
And then I try to get better.
Try to bring other along, too.
I learn, and question, and keep on keeping on.

And I’ll keep smiling if you say I know everything.
We both know I have a lot to learn… and I have every intention of doing just that.

(This post is part of the #31DaysofWritingChallenge2019… and dedicated to Bob Childs.)

 

 

Writer’s Block

Tonight I learned that,
contrary to Calvin’s assertation,
that writer’s block doesn’t exist.
I learned this from an actual, honest to goodness, writer.
From her own mouth.
I was there: I saw and heard it.

At an event by our local independent bookstore (Literati Bookstore in Ann Arbor)  I assisted with a meet and greet before the author’s talk as part of a benefit for Binc.
Binc is the Book Industry Charitable Foundation, and for over 20 years it has been the safety net for booksellers.
I was privileged to have been on the Board of Directors for several years, and privileged still to have the opportunity to participate at times as a volunteer.
Tonight the author was author and Binc Ambassador Ann Patchett, and she discussed the creation of her new book (The Dutch House) and also gave a peek into books that she recommends.

Meeting her was very nice.
Hearing her talk was transformative.

Not only was she funny,
self-deprecating,
witty,
and SMART;
she took Q&A from the audience
and it was her answer to one question that made me sit up straight in my seat
and PAY ATTENTION.

Since I wanted to be in the moment I only jotted down the words quickly, but this is a close as I can recall.
She was asked about her experience working through writer’s block, as she had recounted her struggles with starting and stopping, over and over, at page 30 of her new book.
She also name dropped delightfully the authors that helped her work through the novel’s plot.
But- her answer!

She said that there is no such thing as writer’s block.
It doesn’t exist.
And she knows it because her husband is a doctor.
Her husband works through things all day long,
trying over and over again to solve a medical problem for his patients.
And sometimes the day ends and the problem isn’t solved.
But he doesn’t come home and say that he has  doctor’s block.
He just gets back to working on the problem.
He does the work,
he tries again,
he makes mistakes,
he asks for help.

There is no writer’s block.

Writer’s block is the name that we give to whatever we empower to stop us from solving the problem.
What it means is that you need to do more work.
Put away the distractions.
Sit yourself down,
dedicate the time,
work through the issues,
solve the problem.
Try again.

There is no writer’s block.

I now have to question everything I thought I knew.
If (and Ann said so), there is no Writer’s Block, what else doesn’t exist?
What other things that I’ve given the power to stop me from moving forward aren’t actually there?

Is there Not Enough Time?
Is there Not the Right Time?
Is there Not Enough Money?
Is there truly any It Won’t Make a Difference?
Is there a My Voice Won’t Matter?
Is it really Someone Else’s Job?
Is it Too Early?
Is it ever Too Late?

What could you do if I gave you permission to wipe away the thing that you’ve allowed to stop you?
Name the thing.
Then know there is no such thing.
Then erase it.
Blow it away.
It doesn’t exist.
You do.

(This post is part of the #31DaysOfWritingChallenge2019 )

 

 

 

 

 

Make Your Own Kind of Music

I wonder how our elementary school  music teacher got away with it.
She taught us music, it’s not that she was a slacker.
But the music she taught was more than American standards and showtunes.

Although, she taught those, too.
We learned ‘On The Street Where You Live’ from Oliver,
‘If Ever I would Leave You’ from Lerner and Loewe’s Camelot,
and Don Gato (a song from Making Music Your Own, a school music book circa 1964… we used old books in school even then),
and ‘America the Beautiful’
along with the Battle Hymn of the Republic.

Our elementary school teacher also loved popular tunes.
We learned ‘Up on the Roof’ (Carole King),
‘The Candyman’ (Bricusse and Newley),
‘Come Saturday Morning’ (Previn),
‘Both Sides Now’ (Joni Mitchell),
‘Alone Again (Naturally)’ (Gilbert O’Sullivan),
‘Yesterday’ (I believe it was just McCartney, although the official credits in most places state it was Lennon-McCartney),
‘You Only Live Twice’ (The 1967 James Bond song by John Barry)
and ‘Blowin’ in the Wind’ (Dylan).

We sang them all.
With gusto.
And used them in the yearly school music show.
You know the show.
The kids come on stage by age.
Little ones wander about and mumble,
precocious ones stand straight and belt out the songs.
Tambourines and loops of bells are judged stage-worthy instruments.
The teacher moves the piano from the music room to the auditorium and slams out the songs.

We older kids got to use the metal bleachers.
Well, I never used the bleachers.
As I was usually one of the smaller kids I got to stand in front.
Along with the other small girls
(I remember you, Michelle Kouch and Lisa Kozej).
The majority of the class walked up the bleachers as we filed semi-silently onto the stage.
We were careful not to touch the heavy velvet curtains.
The bleacher-kids tried not to move and set the metal steps to creaking.
It’s not like it was a surprise, though.
I mean, our parents expected to see us on stage, eventually.
That’s why they were there that night.
But we waited in muffled excitement for the curtains to drag backwards into the wings.
To here the quiet one-key depression on piano,
to see the music teacher’s quick little head bob to start our deep collective breath.
And we sang.

Some of those old songs have stirred in my memory recently.
Maybe because I just read one of Judy Collins’ biographies;
I’ve been thinking about the folk music
that has long been the voice of people dissatisfied with the current state of things.
There’s a commonality found when people gather to sing.
It’s a way of making your voice heard.
You breath in and out in syncopation,
sharing the very air in the room.
Making harmony.
Telling a story.
Speaking affirmations.
Raising your voices not in anger, but in song.

I wonder if that’s what she heard, our teacher?
The Vietnam War was ever present during my school days.
It wasn’t officially ended until I was in high school.
Did she use our voices as a statement to our parents when we sang
‘How many times can a man turn his head, pretending he just doesn’t see?
How many deaths  will it take til he knows that too many people have died?”
Pretty grim sentiment for a school music show.
We knew it, I remember, we were sober as we sang the songs,
feeling their importance as well as their beauty.
But maybe just the thing that was needed to help bring about a change.

And now?
Maybe we need a little more of that music now.
A bit more of a reminder that words put to a melody can let us absorb.
McCartney, Mitchell, Dylan; pulling a few lines from the songs I learned so long ago,
I gotta share the music,
I’ve gotta get those words out.
Even if nobody else sings along.

Yesterday… all my troubles seemed so far away.
Now it seems as though they’re here to stay…..
But now old friends they’re acting strange,
they shake their heads and say I’ve changed.
How Many years can some people exist,
Before they’re allowed to be free?……

(This post is part of the #Write32Days Challenge)

Worlds Collide

I looked up today and two decades walked over to me.
Of course, with well over 10,000 employees at any one time,
and 24 years working for one company,
it’s most surprising that we don’t walk into each other’s life more often.

But this was a surprise from nine years ago and three states away.
Of course we hugged.
I asked if he was joining me, was he here on an interview?
I told my current coworker that we should hire him if we can>
Pay him whatever.
We still won’t pay what he is worth.
(It wasn’t that;
he was here for a conference and mentioned the company where we both had worked.
They brought him by to see me.
I guess they were sure we knew each other by the third embrace.)

‘So,’ he said to me,
are you doing the training here?”

And just like that, I skipped a breath,
felt my pulse jump and my heartbeat skitter.
No.
No I’m not a trainer here.
That was me before….. before… before everything.
I do something different now.

And just like that, my mind skipped back.

As I drove home.
As I showered.
As I check the time before This Is Us starts.
I’m back there again.

I. Loved. Training.

I loved the people I trained with.
And most of the time I loved the people I trained.
The stories told between us as we prepared.
The support we gave to each other during the classes.
The ab-so-lute thrill of being,
without a doubt,
at the top of our game in the very best region.
Making a real difference- long term- in the life of the new managers.
Pushing myself to do better.
Yearning for feedback and quaking to receive it.
Watching the success of those we had trained.
Sharing a cup of tea in the morning
and gearing up for a long day after much too few hours of sleep.
Watching my store work to maintain and exceed sales while I was gone.
Hoping against hope there was no family emergency and angry call.
Knowing that, when the call came anyway, I would find understanding and support.
Working with my best friends.

But that’s the person I was.
I have tried to keep the best,
learn from the rest,
and worked to be the person I have become.

When life take a turn,
where your neat plan of what-comes-next is shattered,
your trip detoured;
You need to make a choice.
You need to DECIDE to go on.

‘There are no maps of the change…’
You make yourself ready.
Take a deep breath.
You plunge into opportunity.
You jump and must know in your heart that you will land.
That you will come out the other side.
That everything you have done has prepared you for everything you will become.

And, sometimes,
if you are very lucky,
and when you may least expect it,
your past walks up on a very normal day,
and gives you a hug.

And I am happy.
Yes, he agreed, it looks like I’ve done well.
That I am in a good place.
And so I am.

(This post is part of the #Write31Days Challenge.)