johnmaconline

A strange thing happened today. The FedEx truck stopped in my driveway.

Of course, that’s not strange. This time of year, between the endless string of UPS, FedEx, and Amazon trucks, my driveway presents an expert-level test in trucksmanship. True entertainment from behind the window of my home office. 

What was strange, however, was the other car that followed it into my driveway and parked behind it. That piqued my attention. The driver got out, waited for the FedEx person to step out, and then approached her. For the next minute or so, he calmly but earnestly waved his hands and flapped his jaws about something that irked him. At least, that’s what it looked like through the silence provided by my window and a good 100 feet of distance.

Then he nodded, returned to his car, and took off down the road. 

I met the FedEx driver at my front door (a wine delivery).

“You OK?”

“Oh sure. He thought he was right and he just needed to be heard. Sign here, please.”

And she was off to finish yet another long day of Christmas present deliveries. 

“Just needed to be heard.”

Whether out of a feeling of rightness, superiority, or a sense of justice, some people just need to be heard.

Recognizing it is next-level. 

Which would you rather?

I heard this question posed a few days ago, and I can’t get it out of my head. My initial reaction was, “Of course, I’d want to live a good story. Everyone would.”

But now that it won’t leave me and I’ve ruminated on it for a bit, I’m not sure of my own answer, let alone the statement about “everyone.” I love to read a good story. I’m trying to write good stories. I’ve lived some good stories.

But which I would rather? I think it comes down to emotional risk.

Reading a good story exposes you to emotional risk in a safe and controlled environment. The story can move you emotionally and even bring about emotional changes in you. But you’re engaging with it from the safety of the stands. You’re behind the glass, cheering but not affecting the outcome.

Writing a good story ratchets up your emotional risk by moving you out of the stands and onto the bench. Now you’re the coach. It’s your strategy and tactics. You’re directing the characters. It may work, or it might not. You can’t put the puck in the net yourself, but your job is to ensure the players can. Now you have skin in the game. Now you’re exposed.

Living a good story, however, thrusts you down onto the ice. You’ve got the stick and helmet, and you’re trying to score while the other guys are trying to stop you. Every decision, action, and consequence is real. You may lose. You may get hurt. You may destroy what you’ve already built. For real. But what if you win?

The best stories require conflict, journey, and transformation. Are you up for it?

If you’re on one side, you want to be able to say or shout the things that mean something to you, identify you, think others need to hear, or cause the emotions you’re feeling.

When you do, the other side gets to be offended, yell back, tell you why you’re wrong, boycott, protest, and say the things that are causing the emotions that they feel.

That’s how it works. It’s how it has to work.

You may get scammed. You may be confused. You may get led down a dark path. You may get injured.

Because free speech isn’t about truth, right and wrong, the way it should be, safety, comfort, or what’s good for us individually or collectively.

Paradoxically, it might just be the best protection we have in this diverse world.

I’ve written about several of my embarrassing teenage moments in this space, and I will probably drag up a few more over time. Lord knows there are more. I was an expert at public embarrassment. A real pro. 

I do it for a few reasons. First, it’s cathartic. Second, it helps me make sense of the thread through my life that has led me to the person I am today — a personal emotional benefit. Third, I know I’m not the only one. In fact, I suspect many others out there have similar and worse stories. Kindred spirits. 

But also, I see a concerning trend in parenting culture today. I think we’re confusing embarrassment with bullying. That confusion isn’t serving our kids or their future adult selves. Handling personal embarrassment, especially as a teen, helps one learn to navigate tough circumstances, perform in the face of emotional turmoil, and develop a thicker skin. All good qualities to have as an adult. 

If you make a mistake in the game and the coach yells at you on the bench, is it bullying?
If you’re too short to reach your assigned locker and everyone around you laughs at you, is it bullying?
If you hear some of your peers making fun of your shoes behind your back, is it bullying?
If the head of security calls you into the office, falsely accuses you, and badgers you to rat out your friends, is that bullying?

I think the answer is, “it depends.” Any of these scenarios could be bullying. At least one of them was indeed. But bullying involves a power imbalance and the intention to belittle. Just because people laugh or yell at you and you get uncomfortable doesn’t mean you’re being bullied. 

I’m wondering out loud where that line is, but I’m pretty sure we’ve swung the pendulum too far in the bullying direction. 

Synergies.
Core competencies.
Core focus.
Strength alignment.
Leverage.
Circle back.
Move the needle.
Pivot.

I’ve heard them all. You have too. They’re meaningless. Plus, you can jumble them together to make a word salad. Also meaningless.

If you’re an executive, manager, or leader of teams, beware of these terms. They might work in legal scenarios, earnings calls, and marketing presentations. But they don’t work with your team.

All they do is disconnect you from the people doing the work.

“Be cool or be cast out”

– Neil Peart, Subdivisions

I truly did love Rush, as I still do. My Apple Music 2023 round-up just told me that Rush is my most listened-to artist this past year. 

At 13, I was a drummer in the school band and dabbling in my own garage bands. For rock-loving teenage band-geeks like me, Rush was the north star. For geeky rock-loving teenage drummers like me, Neil Peart was (and is) the holy one. 

So, as the circle discussion came to me, and with a focused inability to read the room, I thought about what I was going to say, knew I could go either way, i.e., blend in or head out on my own, and decided it was worth it. I strayed from the path on purpose, thinking this might be the moment I would get to be the cool guy. 

Swing and a miss. 

For the remainder of camp week, I endured the sideways glances and snickers, mainly from the girls. Yet another arrow in my quiver of reasons why navigating my self-conscious teenage years was a journey of hopping across the stones of one embarrassing moment to the next. 

But also, in this particular moment, I kinda did like being the outsider. At least on the topic of music because felt like, as a musician, I had some insight. Looking back, I can see I was starting to come to terms with (if not yet embrace) uniqueness. Both in myself and others. 

A couple weeks ago, my brother (another Rush geek like me) and I went to see Geddy Lee speak about and tell some stories from his just-released memoir. What a treat. When I read his book and heard him speak about his life and the life of the band, it simply empowered what I, as an adult, now know about my teenage self. 

First, it’s good not to fit in all the time. Think for yourself. Embrace what you care about. You will endure embarrassment. You will be snickered at. Muscle through it. 

Second, you’re not really alone. You may feel alone, and god do you feel all alone sometimes, but you’re not. There is a whole community of like-minded people around you. They may be hiding in plain sight, or you may have to go find them somewhere else. But they exist, and they’re waiting for you. 

And finally. Rush was and is cool. Regardless of what the room full of teenage girls thinks.  

The year was 1983. I was 13 at a Christian summer camp in the Poconos of Northeastern Pennsylvania.

In the mid-mornings, we had circle time. Eight to ten us in each circle with a counselor discussing various topics. The topics of circle time varied from the deep and biblical, such as faith and sex, to light and cultural, such as movies and school.

Today’s topic — music.

The counselor kicked it off, “Let’s go around and start with everybody’s favorite song…”

My circle just happened to be all girls on this morning. The go-around started with the girl sitting to my left and went clockwise. I would be last. This was the summer of Def Leppard’s (really, Mutt Lange’s) mega-hit, Pyromania. In fact, in just a few weeks, they’d be playing the Allentown Fairgrounds. All the cool kids I knew were gonna be there. Anticipation was high. One of the older kids at the camp ran around all week in his Union Jack shorts, made famous by drummer Rick Allen in the videos.

Not surprisingly, every 13 and 14-year-old girl in our circle’s favorite song choice was from that album. “Photograph…Nah, Rock of Ages…Photograph for me, too…Mine’s Too Late for Love…”  All 7 or 8 of them.

Then they got to me.

Now I liked Pyromania as much as the next teenager (Still do. My choice would have been Foolin’). But I just couldn’t do it. I’ve spent much of my life trying to fit in, but at this moment, with 8 teenage girls and a counselor putting me on the spot about my favorite song, I was inspired. Channeled even. I was fortified in my rebellion.

“Tom Sawyer. Rush.”

And there was a collective groan. 

“Oh, you would…Who’s Rush?…I’ve never heard that one before…Those guys suck!…You geek!”

And such was the beginning of my life as an outted Rush fan.

(more to come…)

Who’s in the room matters quite a bit.

When it’s only me and my team in the room, we use a lot of words that, to an outsider, don’t make much sense (at least not in context). We use words like Python, polymorphism, rubber ducky, spaghetti, API, DevOps, and git. That allows us to keep our discussion deep and nuanced but also highly efficient.

If, however, there are outsiders in the room, this technical terminology either shuts them out or leaves them behind. When we want to include others, we change the terminology and the explanations. The conversation may slow down and become less efficient, but it doesn’t have to lose its depth and nuance.

This is what good teachers and communicators do so well — bring others into the conversation without sacrificing the depth or nuance of the subject. They’re not dumbing it down; they’re attacking it from a different angle.

But technical terminology can also be used purposefully to shut others out or attempt to make oneself appear smarter. If you find yourself in a room and can’t understand the terminology, it might be that the talker is unaware or you aren’t the audience. Or it might be that the talker is using jargon to boost their status.

In any case, you should know who’s in the room.