Saturday, November 3, 2007
It usually starts during the middle of the day. His mind wanders while in the middle of something else. Sitting at his desk, reading a chain of emails expounding on a highly important but utterly insignificant detail. He thinks of the water. It is a flash in his mind of the smell of the damp and the clear. The coolness and calm start to trickle in around him onto the tension and stress of another existence. He is there, if only for a moment. The chime of the incoming email alert nudges his conscious back into the present. The water is gone but the longing is not.
The response to the detail is equally important, immediate urgency with soft satin wrapping. The clicking of the keys addressing the direction of the team, the shifting plans admit the insecurity. He feels as though he is steering a boat without seeing a harbor. Large water, rough waves that he is trying to personally calm. The oars of the team pulling hard, hands blistered, backs aching, grunting in groups. Teamwork at it's finest. The wake is just starting to form behind them when another gust nudges them off course. Or at least that what it feels like at the time. How do you get bumped off course when you are not very sure where you're going?
The response is complete, though the detail is not. The reminder for the next meeting emerges. It is time to peer into another porthole into the same ship. The meetings are there to cause unity to appear in a chaotic foam. Forums for alerting and alarming, debating and discussing, arranging and organizing, but most of all speaking. Speaking what is on their minds and in their hearts. Being heard while standing on the deck, wind blowing in their face. The rest of the oars are pulling but their oars are silent. They are agreeing on the song to be sung, the rhythm and the time, the beat of the drummer to which they will all strain together. The meeting can be a thing of beauty.
The project is going well over all. The schedule is tight, but the team is clear on the goal. The charts are climbing in the right direction, though not at the expected rate. Never at the expected rate it seems. Plans are made and promises broken, but the target remains in sight. There is no doubt they will get there, there is only a question of when.
The project begins as ambitious goals and lofty dreams which eventually settle into an aggressive plan. All of the items are emphatic and urgent. All of the dreamers are passionate and engaged. They all lose parts for the whole. The whole comes into clarity with subtleness and strategy. Take a little more here, cut a little less there, carving into wood until the shape can be seen. They are at the point of sanding. The shape is set, the wood chips are being swept up. The beauty of the project is apparent. They are clearly working towards something worthwhile. They can all see that.
He is proud of his role and contribution. He wants the sailing to be smooth and sweet, the carving clean and sharp. He does not always get what he wants. He usually finds that he gets what he needs. The Rolling Stones were indeed prophetic.
It is a Monday today. It feels like any Monday, while it is only this Monday. Monday is the day of direction and course. Looking at the maps and using the glass.
He pulled into the parking lot this morning, mind already into the day. Waved at a friend on the way to the door. Eager to jump in today with both feet. Unsure what it will bring but ready to try it anyway. His laptop bag hangs heavy in his hand, swaying in time with his walking. Up the stairs and down the hall, greeting each that passes. Today will be good. He can already feel it.
Monday begins with his coffee. Large quantities of coffee fuel the neurons and coax them out of hibernation. It may be addiction to some but existence to others. As much a part of his functioning as the air in his lungs. Back away for the mug. Though the irritability may sometimes gets in his way, it is a small price to pay for the euphoria.
It starts off while standing up, everyone gathered around and settling down. We are here, trying to go to there. He gathers the team into a huddle, breaks the long boards into pieces and groups the pieces into buckets. The team pulls the pieces and starts to carving. They know their knives and their callouses. They are craftsmen and women who want to make "the best". They are eventually forced to make "the good enough". It pains him to drive this way, though he understands the trade-offs well. He job is ultimately to balance. Balance the joy and the pain, the passion and the frustration, the calendar and the blueprint, the goal with the reality. Balance it all out until the piece is delivered. Not the exact piece that was asked for, but hopefully the piece that was needed. He blends the knots from the wood into the shape of the piece. Beauty can usually be found in imperfection, though sometimes you need to squint your eyes.
The response to the detail is equally important, immediate urgency with soft satin wrapping. The clicking of the keys addressing the direction of the team, the shifting plans admit the insecurity. He feels as though he is steering a boat without seeing a harbor. Large water, rough waves that he is trying to personally calm. The oars of the team pulling hard, hands blistered, backs aching, grunting in groups. Teamwork at it's finest. The wake is just starting to form behind them when another gust nudges them off course. Or at least that what it feels like at the time. How do you get bumped off course when you are not very sure where you're going?
The response is complete, though the detail is not. The reminder for the next meeting emerges. It is time to peer into another porthole into the same ship. The meetings are there to cause unity to appear in a chaotic foam. Forums for alerting and alarming, debating and discussing, arranging and organizing, but most of all speaking. Speaking what is on their minds and in their hearts. Being heard while standing on the deck, wind blowing in their face. The rest of the oars are pulling but their oars are silent. They are agreeing on the song to be sung, the rhythm and the time, the beat of the drummer to which they will all strain together. The meeting can be a thing of beauty.
The project is going well over all. The schedule is tight, but the team is clear on the goal. The charts are climbing in the right direction, though not at the expected rate. Never at the expected rate it seems. Plans are made and promises broken, but the target remains in sight. There is no doubt they will get there, there is only a question of when.
The project begins as ambitious goals and lofty dreams which eventually settle into an aggressive plan. All of the items are emphatic and urgent. All of the dreamers are passionate and engaged. They all lose parts for the whole. The whole comes into clarity with subtleness and strategy. Take a little more here, cut a little less there, carving into wood until the shape can be seen. They are at the point of sanding. The shape is set, the wood chips are being swept up. The beauty of the project is apparent. They are clearly working towards something worthwhile. They can all see that.
He is proud of his role and contribution. He wants the sailing to be smooth and sweet, the carving clean and sharp. He does not always get what he wants. He usually finds that he gets what he needs. The Rolling Stones were indeed prophetic.
It is a Monday today. It feels like any Monday, while it is only this Monday. Monday is the day of direction and course. Looking at the maps and using the glass.
He pulled into the parking lot this morning, mind already into the day. Waved at a friend on the way to the door. Eager to jump in today with both feet. Unsure what it will bring but ready to try it anyway. His laptop bag hangs heavy in his hand, swaying in time with his walking. Up the stairs and down the hall, greeting each that passes. Today will be good. He can already feel it.
Monday begins with his coffee. Large quantities of coffee fuel the neurons and coax them out of hibernation. It may be addiction to some but existence to others. As much a part of his functioning as the air in his lungs. Back away for the mug. Though the irritability may sometimes gets in his way, it is a small price to pay for the euphoria.
It starts off while standing up, everyone gathered around and settling down. We are here, trying to go to there. He gathers the team into a huddle, breaks the long boards into pieces and groups the pieces into buckets. The team pulls the pieces and starts to carving. They know their knives and their callouses. They are craftsmen and women who want to make "the best". They are eventually forced to make "the good enough". It pains him to drive this way, though he understands the trade-offs well. He job is ultimately to balance. Balance the joy and the pain, the passion and the frustration, the calendar and the blueprint, the goal with the reality. Balance it all out until the piece is delivered. Not the exact piece that was asked for, but hopefully the piece that was needed. He blends the knots from the wood into the shape of the piece. Beauty can usually be found in imperfection, though sometimes you need to squint your eyes.
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