Shop Talk Creates Remarkable Moments
Does God show up in shop talk?
I wondered aloud what it would look like if God showed up at work. I thought it would not look like church but instead might resemble acts of excellent service, possibly offered anonymously. I argued such service might flow from a deeper dedication than winning points with the boss. I also speculated that if God showed up, He might bring with him a sense of the larger purpose to our work.
One medical device company I worked for the CEO would routinely travel with sales reps to visit physicians. When the CEO showed up, the tenor of the conversation changed. Suddenly it was not about just product benefits and features, but it was about the surgeon’s particular need with the kinds of patients she was seeing. Or what the cardiologist was noticing about how this technology helped his patients and where there could be improvements. The conversations broadened out beyond technology, and then broadened out beyond that particular physician to all surgeons or all cardiologists or all patients with this particular pathology.
Shop talk—the conversations we have with colleagues—can be a rich source of practical help. It can also be utterly engaging. It’s the details we notice and sharing the things that work (and noting those that don’t) and the funny stories of different personalities and their ways of approaching work. Shop talk is all about what we find remarkable, what we find stimulating or workable. Or amazing. Or meaningful. But shop talk can never be created by a computer—it is always about a human response to a shared situation.
It’s Monday, that day of the week when our work can feel particularly mundane or stale. Hearing our colleague explain why our shared work helps people can be refreshing. It can help reframe today’s tasks. Sometimes it takes great courage to explain to our jaded, cynical colleagues why we continue to move forward and why this work has meaning. My favorite leaders have shop-talked their way into answering the meaning question—and today I’m grateful for their acts of revelatory courage.
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Rudy’s Crisis of Character
Does your crisis need introspection or extrospection?
Rudy (not his real name) (his real name was Samuel) was pastor of a small church in rural Wisconsin. A lot of people looked up to Rudy. It’s easy to imagine the pressure to be an example in such a community. Some/much of that pressure was self-inflicted.
Rudy’s son had a drug problem. When the problem came to light—in a very public way—Rudy blamed himself. He took a break from his pastoring job and pulled his trailer out into the woods where he was going to pray and read the Bible and think about where he had gone wrong and generally plead with God. He was in good company on this—lots of people in the Bible pursued these pleading communication events when crises hit. A few days alone, or alone with God, may answer the “What next?” and “Where did I go wrong” questions.
I’ve thought about Rudy’s instinct over the years. I grew up in a tradition where sorting things out on your own was expected. “Whatever you need to do to straighten up and fly right, well, get on with it” was the general sense of how things ought to progress. That was Rudy’s primary methodology.
Yesterday I had a delightful chat with a local philosopher. We got on the subject of what happens when we encounter the Other. What is our responsibility for the people with whom we come in contact and when does that responsibility kick-in? How can we be mutually for the people in our lives—and maybe for the people on the fringes of our lives? It turns out that one way is through our conversation. Even the casual conversations—just in passing—can have a deeply cathartic effect at times when people say what is really going on. I cannot help but wonder if Rudy’s instinct might have benefitted from time alone followed by a long walk with two or three childhood friends to help him sort the flotsam from the jetsam. Followed by weeks of conversation with his wife, Carol (not her real name) (her real name was Gertie). Followed by lots and lots more honest talk—especially with his son.
Because when we speak with each other—sometimes we say (and hear) the things God would say to us.
Speaking of Rudy (not his real name) (his real name was Ebenezer). Everything turned out ok: Rudy eventually left his pastor job and he became an exemplary truck driver and was chock full of wisdom for the people on his route. And the son’s drug problem grew until it stopped abruptly when teen angst gave way to career and age and the need to pay attention to life.
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The Lost Art of Getting Back
Returning phone calls is so 2008
A recent post from Big Picture Leadership reminded me how mystified I am that so few people actually return calls or emails. Twice in the past two weeks I’ve had conversations about this phenomenon. And these conversations were with people in positions of power, which makes the phenomenon all the more difficult to figure.
I get that everyone is busy. I get that we often we think we know why the person called or emailed, and that their issue is not our issue. Or perhaps the answer is “No” but we don’t want to say it aloud. But I think not-getting-back is deeper than just busy. I think it actually says something troublesome about people, perceptions and power relationships. I am guilty too—on all three counts.
These days the medical device industry regularly purges employees for one reason or another—just like every other industry with human capital. What once was a stable position in a stable company is now neither. A person in a stable position in a stable company has a certain perception of power that tracks with their budget and mandate. That perception of power vanishes the instant the person is called into the corner office to be downsized. I know this because I see these people working LinkedIn like crazy.
I have some older people in my life these days and I’ve been listening to what they say about the sense of being marginalized and invisible. George Tannenbaum’s recent reflection on Work. And death is apropos and could also have included what happens as people slowly fade into their age, which is to say, into the woodwork.
Over the last few months I’ve also had opportunity to email three philosopher/authors who works I love reading (Drs. Sean Hand, Robert Sokolowski and Michael Purcell). I had obscure obscure questions or comments about something they had written, and would they comment further? I was amazed—indeed, it was remarkable—that all three gave very generous responses and even provided extra source material.
These philosopher’s responses remind me that I want to be the kind of person who doesn’t take power distance, assumptions about what my friend will say or mere busyness as a reason to not acknowledge someone’s humanity.
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On Coasting
Good for biking. Not good for marriage. Not good for collaboration.
I like to ride my bicycle and downhill is my favorite route. Coasting is the best part of biking. But biking is one of the few places where coasting is best.
We’ve spent the last five or six years coasting in a church. From the very beginning, we looked for places and situations where we could use our gifts and talents, where we could put our shoulder to the work and help the vision move forward. But in the end we just couldn’t break into the right spot where usefulness meets need meets a bigger-picture purpose. Now as we look for a people with whom we can fully engage, I realize I was coasting far longer than I ever meant to.
Except for biking, coasting is not a good place to exist. Just passively taking things in and waiting for stuff to happen is no way to attend any job, any relationship, any organization. Coasting in a marriage smells like doom. Coasting in life is no plan at all.
There are hopeful signs: last time we looked for a church, we just wanted to escape the groupthink of evangelical Republicanism. We achieved that. In the meantime we did a lot of good sorting out of this notion of church, how it is an awkward marriage of human structure and something completely Other. Something Other with far bigger plans than policing morality (though we do need help with this) or weekly showcasing a few people’s talents or developing sentimental religious feelings.
The hopeful thing I’m starting to observe is that people of faith are exhibiting behavior that makes me think a relationship with God looks like good work and fair treatment of others in the workplace. The hopeful thing is seeing people with a generous devotion to God that looks like pleasure with other people. This hopeful thing looks a pursuit of chesed rather than amassing more stuff or more fame or attention.
I’ve met people like this recently. People who are not coasting. That makes me hopeful.
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“Work is my salvation.”
Theologically—entirely false. Literally—sorta true.
I heard myself say that headline the other day. My buddy and I were talking about what it means to pursue a craft. For me, the work of pursuing a craft is about the ability to focus. And the ability to get back to focus post-distraction.
Focus and getting back to focus are inherent parts of learning and practicing a craft. I believe that focus on craft builds sanity and humanity. Getting back to focus on my craft of copywriting has pulled me out of many mentally ambiguous places and difficult decisions. Focus on craft—especially as I aim toward usefulness and practical service—allows me to background difficult decisions and gives time for my subconscious to work at them. And after I’ve focused I am able to do productive work on those decisions.
I also think growing in our craft is a way to serve God and people. Bethel Seminary—my alma mater—recently received a $190K grant to pursue a “Work with Purpose” program (Bethel Magazine, Fall 2012, p.8). I’m eager to see how this unfolds because the standard churchy answers for a productive and full life mostly involve using work as verbal platform to persuade others. But the work itself—that’s where I see growth, usefulness and, frankly, the hand of God. This is an old notion from the Reformation that need resurrecting pronto.
Last weekend Mrs. Kirkistan and I watched a documentary called Buck, about a guy from a rough, abused background who had an uncanny way with horses. I’m not a horse guy, and I’m not a fan of cowboy flicks, but this film was mesmerizing from beginning to end. What Buck could tell people about themselves as he watched the way they treated their horse was painfully close to home. The movie is full of notions about collaboration, respecting others and how to work with others without breaking them. One take-away quote from the film was that “horses just need to do something useful. They want work to do.” Maybe Buck was anthropomorphizing horses—maybe not. I do know that the craft we learn and the work we do often places us productively among other people.
And that is a good place to be.
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Does a Steady Diet of FOX News Contribute to Early Onset Dementia?
The faux-news channel seems to leave vulnerable adults in its wake
I have no double-blind, randomized studies to cite for this or any clinical research at all. Just observation that this particular entertainment outlet—with its flights of rhetorical fancy and its continual twisting of cherry-picked facts with dark conjecture, its on-air personalities who are caricatures of thoughtful people, who continually feed a state of hysteria—seems to leave vulnerable adults in its wake. While the name implies news, it’s really an entertainment channel for a particular narrow conservative world view that takes an all or nothing reductionist approach to every story. Everything is black and white. There is no gray area where thoughtful people might discuss merits. It is the perfect mental food to feed and frame the coming apocalypse (whether zombie or rapture).
We’ve known for years that we need to monitor how much TV our kids watch—for a number of reasons. They need to go outside and get fresh air and play. They need to read. Snacks and TV and obesity seem to fit so neatly together. We’ve also speculated (I cannot point to definitive research), that violent video games contribute to violent behavior. Is it so far-fetched to think that isolated adults who entertain themselves with a faux-news entertainment (which seems dedicated to breaking down reasoning ability, maintaining their demographic in near-panic and cultivating their buying choices)—may push some over the edge?
My argument is less about a conservative viewpoint (some elements I agree with) and more about how the faux-news entertainment channel debilitates its audience with hysteria and rumor-mongering, so much so that they cannot hear and do not pursue alternate opinions which could help balance their media diet. It leaves vulnerable adults by chipping away at the power to reason effectively. We’ve known for years that watching TV makes us stupider—actually putting us into a wakeful sleep pattern of brainwaves. Something like hypnosis. Is it possible that FOX News is stupid on steroids, pushing viewers toward a persistent vegetative state even faster?
The solution is not laws that ban free speech. The solution is family interventions that help curb the infusion of faux-news. Friends don’t let friends camp in front of Fox (faux) News.
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What if God Showed Up at Work Today?
I doubt it would look like church.
It wouldn’t look like a Promise Keepers rally. It wouldn’t look like clouds of incense. Probably there would be no robes involved or collars or big leather-bound Bibles to thump.
There might be preaching, but no pulpit. And no audience. If God showed up, the preacher might be the unknown worker silently speaking with deeds, deep inside a process, attending every detail. The example of some human serving in a hidden way that was not meant to be seen.
If God showed up, someone might float an idea in a meeting, an idea that was not politically motivated or meant to show how smart they were. Just an idea to help the group move forward.
If God showed up, all the gossipy chatter might be silenced—all that vindictive, energy-sapping talk about so-and-so that goes on all day every day.
If God showed up, maybe we’d see why we worked there in the first place. And maybe we’d decide this job costs way more than it pays. And we’d quit.
If God showed up today, what would your work look like?
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Memo To My People Updating My Facebook Page
How about a few less quotes from old dead white guys?
Post-election, let’s have a little less constitution-driven stuff. I need to sound hip and with-it (You kids still say that?). Sprinkle a few Malcolm X quotes in there (Yes?) and maybe—I don’t know— Nietzsche (why not?). Our business partners and potential clients need to see we’re deep and edgy. But trustworthy—so, ok—maybe a few quotes from Jefferson, but way less than three a week.
Jenny: Put the business books and blogs down: Covey and Collins are sounding stale. Give me more of that pithy stuff like Seth G. puts out. In fact—give Godin’s people a call and tap into that well they are pulling from. I want to sound more like Godin. And Spike Lee.
Jerrold: Give me more comments on human interest stuff. I need to sound warm and supportive. Potential clients need to see the entire organization as approachable—so that starts with me. And do the same with Ivan in the St. Petersburg office. He needs to sound a lot less like Putin, that grandstanding old propagandist. Ivan needs to sound like New Russia—starting now.
Jamison: you gotta tune my Twitter feed. Post-election, work with Jenny on the Godin and Spike Lee stuff—get me solid tweets that pull in about a thousand more young managers. Skew young!
All of you—people tell me I should read beyond history books. Make me current! Wired. Salon. The New Yorker (within reason). Whatever.
Jenny–What’s that? Godin writes his own stuff? Which of his people said that?
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Texts as Tools for Sorting What Matters to Your Firm
Your words make me so mad—and that’s good
words can wake us to the believable center of our purpose
I spend my days poring over texts. Reading internal notes and documents. Rereading interviews and meeting notes. Writing questions, asking those questions and writing the answers. And sometimes rereading the answers. Then I start making texts: mind-maps and cartoons and diagrams for starters. Then the short (or sometimes long) text that will go back to my client—ordered arguments and assertions. Emotive elements. Narrative. Jokes and anecdotes—whatever it takes to communicate the essence of what I take as my client’s central point.
And then I send it to them.
And they react.
Reactions vary from “you are right except for this point” to “that’s fine” (the worst possible reaction, it means my copy was so bland it stirred exactly nothing) to “you nailed what we’ve not been able to say” (my favorite reaction) to “We are deeply offended by this.” That last is my second favorite reaction—it means I got under their skin, though not in a good way.
And then we trim the right copy as a text for the target audience.
What’s remarkable is how the process of sorting through all the internal dialogue and the organization’s unexamined thought actually helps in finding the believable center of the organization’s identity. It’s got to be believable because if you can’t imagine an employee saying it with a straight face, you’ve not hit it. It’s got to believable or the promise won’t match reality—and that never gains traction with the target publics.
But the words themselves—right there on the page—can stir such a reaction from the client that they can sometimes catch a quick vision of what they aren’t. Or what they are. And that glimpse carries forward to what a team does next. And that glimpse can fold backwards into how an organization thinks about and treats itself.
That’s why copywriting is fun.
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Orange Mighty Trio, Jesus Kitchen & Other Public Devotees
What nourishes you?
exceeding cold Minnesota winter
Last weekend Mrs. Kirkistan and I were on our way to hear the Orange Mighty Trio at the Cedar (hoo boy were they good: listen to this sample). The folks of Jesus Kitchen offered us soup and cookies as we walked past their sidewalk encampment. The Jesus Kitchen looks to be a few college kids with the goal of reaching out to a populace that might find itself, well, drunk. Or homeless. Or just hungry. It’s a bold, cold, and uncomfortable mission (and part of something much larger).
I’ve seen them out late on exceeding-cold Minnesota winter nights. I applaud their very practical goals. Yes there are other more strategic ways to meet needs, but the statement they make by standing and beckoning others is warming. Their presence on that well-walked street—especially in the name of Jesus the Christ—is itself a mute and practical communication event.
The Cedar was a warm place with an enthusiastic crowd for the Orange Mighty Trio. And rightly so: their virtuoso performances spoke of all sorts of stuff that fits into words only lamely. Mrs. Kirkistan and I both commented on the productive thoughts we had during the concert. Listen to their “The Long Zoom” and pay attention to what comes to mind.
Both the Jesus Kitchen and the Orange Mighty Trio put the ineffable into action, if not exactly words. Both efforts have the capacity to nourish passers-by.
Which public does your devotion feed?
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conversation is an engine 