The Second Third, Week 8: Go With My Gut

/ J. Thorp / 7 Comments

Blogger’s Note: The whole idea behind these “Second Third” posts can be found here.

I had intended to do a short post this evening about acknowledging and embracing the fact that I am not a rationale/logical decision-maker, but instead am an emotional/gut-level guy. Had I gone with my original idea, this post would be just about over:

“I tend to make emotional decisions, but most of the time they turn out better than when I try to think through things methodically. This is true for everything from my days as a high-school athlete to test-taking, from interacting with family and choosing friends to hiring people (or choosing a job myself). In my Second Third, I need to acknowledge that as a strength and “go with my gut” more.

The end. (Not much of a post.)

However, near the end of the work day today, I experienced a prime example of why “going with the gut” can be problematic even if it tends to work…and why I tend to be apologetic about it. It involved a collaborator and dear friend of mine, who may well read this post, but to whom I will only refer as “my collaborator” or “she.” If she chooses to reveal herself, that is her choice!

Last week I worked on a draft of a document that will be public in the next couple weeks, but that requires sign-off from a number of people. It is generally easier to get that sign-off if the version you share with the various “powers-that-be” is as well-thought-out and polished as you can get it. Unfortunately, I am also an instinctive writer, so I can always use help ensuring a piece is, in fact, as well-thought-out as I feel it is. That’s where my collaborator quite often comes in.

Last week she suggested some very concrete changes to the opening of the document. I read her changes, then stewed on them a bit. I could see what she was doing, and I thought I understood why, but they didn’t feel right to me.

Late this afternoon I began revising the document based on feedback from my collaborator and another colleague. I was working from an old draft because I hadn’t figured out what to do with the opening yet, but I wasn’t planning to use my collaborator’s changes verbatim.

Just then, in she walked.

She could see what I was working on, and she could see it was the old version. She asked me if I was working from an old version. I said yes, and mumbled something about trying to incorporate other feedback. (Technically true.) We went back and forth a moment, and she left.

The truth is, in that moment I couldn’t tell her why I wasn’t using her changes. Not specifically. So I punted: a low, wobbly, short kick to boot. Embarrassing.

I worked on it. I reworked the beginning, trying to weave in the optimism and opportunity she had added, but in a way I thought suited the piece better. I could’ve sent it to the next level of review at that point, but it still wasn’t ready, and I knew it — I just didn’t know why.

I was running out of daylight and up against a deadline. This collaborator of mine is one-of-kind, a person whose perspective (both on work and life in general) has been invaluable over the past few years. So I took the new draft, with my revised beginning, to her.

As soon as she saw it, I could tell she didn’t like my opening. She started to ask me about it, and I started to cobble together an explanation of what I was trying to do. She asked what was wrong with her suggested changes, and I tried to cobble together an explanation of why I wasn’t sold her approach. Both bits of cobbling were poorly done; she explained what she didn’t like about my latest version, and ultimately I acknowledged that she was right: she had explained logically what I couldn’t put my finger on — the reason I hadn’t simply sent my version of the document up the chain of command already.

“But I’m still not sold on your wording,” I said.

We talked a bit more, not completely comfortably…and as is typical between the two of us, she said something that sparked an idea, a solution to the opening that bubbled up in both of us at almost the same moment. She voiced the idea and even jotted some notes, then I ran from the room to try to put it to words.

My collaborator read the rest of the document, then came to my office with only a few minor changes to the rest of it. I asked her to read the new opening, which I had just finished. She did.

“Yes!” she said.

“We got it!” I said.

We laughed a moment about our back-and-forth earlier.

“We don’t exactly meet in the middle,” I said. “It’s more like this…” and I spread my hands wide, then brought them up, up, and together, like an A-frame or a high peak.

She laughed. “We take it to a higher place…I like that!”

“And it’s uphill for both of us,” I added.

“And it’s harder if we’re carrying baggage,” she said.

She’s right, of course. She generally is. But the thing is, that’s how my mind works. I know if something feels right or wrong, and I like something or I don’t, well before I can explain why. It’s a weakness in some ways, because I can’t defend or explain myself very well in a collaborative working environment. It’s why I hate meetings in which people attempt to write by committee, and why I almost always volunteer to be the one to “consolidate the feedback” and revise a document.

In my Second Half, I need to figure out how to explain this as a strength. But how do you think my collaborator will respond if I don’t accept her changes and instead say, “They don’t seem right to me — I don’t why — I just know we can do better…”?

Rose Is Rose

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

If you look at the list of blog tags to the right (and down), you’ll see that “Rose” appears only about half as much as “Bren,” “Gabe,” or “Trev.” A number of factors contribute to this discrepancy, including the fact that Brendan and Gabe are both older and have thus had more opportunity to do blogworthy stuff; the Trevor was more recently a toddler and preschooler and thus was more prone to do cute kid stuff than any of the older kids; and that the boys spend more time with me than Emma does. She and Jodi get more one-on-one time by virtue of shared interests, etc.

One thing that hasn’t been a factor, because it simply isn’t true, is that Emma’s not as cute or funny or bloggable as our male children.

Case in point: today our girl-baby and I ran errands together. As we rolled into Elk River, she spotted Chipotle and hatched a plan: “Dad, why don’t we go to Chipotle and not. tell. anyone.“

“Emma!” I said in mock outrage. “That would be incredibly mean and selfish. Besides, I have to go home and make them supper tonight.”

“You have to make supper for them,” she persisted. “Nobody said anything about us.”

“No, Emma, I’m sorry — we can’t go to Chipotle.”

“Oooh! then how ’bout Pizza Hut? I want to toast a tortilla, then wrap it around a slice of cheese pizza and eat it!”*

“If we stopped at either place, that would really toast Mom’s tortilla.”

Emma laughed and laughed. “Next time I get mad, that’s what I’m gonna say: ‘That really toasts my tortilla!'”

“You can do it with other stuff, too.” I said.

And so we did: “That really browns my burger.” “That really fries my bacon.” And so on.

“Toasts my tortilla” and “browns my burger” are Emma’s current faves. I love that girl. And even though I mentioned the other kids in this post, I’m not tagging it that way. She needs to gain some ground!

—–

*This, by the way, was later dubbed the cheese pizzadilla or the quesapizzadilla.

The Second Third, Week 7: Hunting Old Knowledge

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment
Blogger’s Note: The whole idea behind these “Second Third” posts can be found here.

This fall, I took Brendan deer hunting for the first time. We’ve never hunted for small game together, and he’s never bow-hunted, so he’s skipped two stages of development I passed through on my way to firearms deer season. And it turns out we live in Minnesota’s shotgun zone — probably not such a big deal, given the range and accuracy of modern slug guns, but still, it feels somewhat foreign.

But worse still is the fact that Brendan has questions, and in the roughly 20 years since I last did any serious hunting — especially deer hunting — I feel as thought I’ve forgotten much of what I knew.

As a kid, I was an animal nut and hunted with my Dad all the time. I knew habitats, habits, and tracks, and what I didn’t know, Dad could teach me. I spent long hours alone in the woods in all sorts of weather. (I used to even enjoy late-season bow hunting — sitting still in a tree in a snowstorm waiting to ambush a deer with sharp sticks is its own kind of crazy, don’t you think?)

Today I know the basics; I’m safety-conscious and careful. And that’s a good start. But in my Second Third, I’ve got so much to relearn before I’m qualified to teach. Dad says it will come back to me. I hope so — without too many bonehead mistakes.

Greetings From the North Pole, Part VIII

/ J. Thorp / 3 Comments

Blogger’s Note: Over Christmas 2003, we became annual pen-pals with an elf named Siberius Quill, and he has again delivered this year! Transcriptions of past letters from Quill can be seen here.

Christmas 2010

My dearest Children!

Another year flown by already—and as I sat down to write you this evening, the Keeper of the Birthday Calendar, Monitor Milestone, reminded me that not only do you have a Teenager in your midst, but also another child in Double Digits, as it were! We track such things carefully, because as you might guess, birthdays and other such Big Events are prime opportunities for Young Ones like yourselves to do good or ill. Happily, you all remain on the Good List again this year—believe me, not all my Families do so well!

But old Monty had a second purpose in mind with his reminder: while a decade is no time at all in the Life of an Elf, it is a Significant Step for the children of Big People and a boy’s role in the celebration of All Things Christmas. Why, it seems no time ago at all that I told Master Brendan he was of an age to take on New Responsibilities in that regard, and now Master Gabriel has joined him! As you’ve no doubt guessed, there are Things You Must Know and Thing You Must Do. In a quiet moment, talk to your Father, Master G.—he remembers his own Tenth Year well!

Master B., we’ve noticed the Shifts in your attention and interests this year from Play Things to stuff of a More Serious Nature. Though your house is not small, you are in Close Quarters with your siblings (at least one of whom is still Quite Small) so you cannot do or have everything you would like. Patience, Eldest! St. Nicholas knows your needs and has done something unusual this year—you will find somewhere in your gifts an opportunity to choose something a bit more Grown-Up. Use it wisely!

As for the lovely Emma Rose and young Master Trevor, it is a joy to watch you grow, in grace and wisdom, as well as stature. Miss Emma, your love of the Arts is apparent in all that you do! You might recall I previously mentioned our elfin Songmaster, Jovial Morales, who provides the music by which we elves do our work? His mother, Choral (who was a Longpiper before she married) has heard you with the Children’s Choir and (I hope you don’t mind!) singing about the house. For nearly a millennia she has conducted our church choir, so you can be sure she speaks the Truth: your voice is sweet and will only get sweeter. Madam Choral says keep practicing, and remember: When you sing, you Pray Twice!

As for you, Master T., as is typical for Boys Your Age (especially those with Big Brothers) you are always trying keep up. You’ll be happy with the gifts old Santa has prepared—but I urge you to Be Patient, as well. Enjoy being young, and do not rush into the games and toys of Older Kids!

Finally—and I will not dwell on Sadness, knowing you are reading this on Christmas Day, which, like no other day, must be a Time of Joy—we know of the loss your family suffered in November. Suffice it to say that our thoughts are with you. The Devout Sisters of Our Lady of Perpetual Winter have joined their prayers to yours, and I have it on good authority (theirs!) that your Dear One is in Good Hands! Master G., your idea of hanging a special stocking was a fine one, but Kris Kringle had a different idea. Each Christmas he will leave a Special Ornament to hang on your Family’s Tree, in remembrance. And this year, he has left Something Else, something from the Wood Shop—he thought it appropriate for your Back Yard, and requested Dorothea Gudwerds of the North Pole Library to track down a Special Poem by one of your Most Famous poets, Emily Dickinson (who, by her language, could have a touch of the fey and elfin in her own blood):

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune—without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Again I’ve run on and made Little Sense, it seems. But you see with the Wisdom of children—I’ve no doubt Some Sense will come of it. Travel safe, my young Friends, and a Very Happy Christmas to you all!

Yours Still and Always,

Quill

Blogger’s Addendum: Bren’s opportunity for something a bit more grown-up was a gift card to Cabelas; he’s had is eye on a variety of hunting knives, as well as an UnderArmor hood/facemask. The special gift from the wood shop was a bird feeder. In the spring we intend to do some landscaping back there, including a fruit tree and statue.