Showing posts with label personal leadership. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personal leadership. Show all posts

Sunday, September 19, 2021

Thank You For Reading

"I don't regret it  I'll never forget it
I wouldn't trade tomorrow for today..."


When I first jumped into social media in 2007, I joined Myspace. Within 30 minutes of setting up my profile, I was "propositioned." 

That was almost the end right at the beginning. I didn't stay on Myspace, but I did get convinced by old high school friends to give Facebook a try. That was December of 2007, nearly 14 years ago. That was also the year I launched this blog, Get Off The Ground, a year before our first daughter Beatrice was born. 

I had already been on the professional network LinkedIn since January 2005, connecting with others in my industry sharing work-related content. That hasn't really changed since, although unfortunately some LinkedIn users have taken a toxic turn of sharing the same toxic crap we see on Facebook and Twitter (which I had joined in May of 2008). 

Social media has been valuable for many to share positive stories and to inspire others around the world. It's helped family and friends stay in touch with photos and videos. It's also been used to market products and services across industries, as well as to promote jobs and and employer brands (the HR and recruiting space I'm in). 

It also divides and destroys. It fueled COVID-19 and vaccination information, and still does. It fueled election lies and the insurrection on January 6, and still does. It fueled racial hate, and still does. For both adults and teens, bullying also thrives on social media.

You may have watched The Social Dilemma, the documentary from early 2020 that shares the dangerous and addictive destruction that social media has unleashed.

And you may have heard about the recent Wall Street Journal investigation referring to internal Facebook research about how Instagram causes increased levels of anxiety and depression and suicidal thoughts in teenage girls.

Because our girls are practically teens now, I want to be more attentive to what I share on social channels. It's usually always positive, what I write and the pictures I share, but now it's time to close this Get Off The Ground chapter and start a new one elsewhere. I will also continue to limit my personal time on the social media, as I've been doing for weeks now, except when it's work-related, or when I'm promoting safety skills with Kidpower

Our daughters know that they can come to us any time they see offensive or disturbing stuff online (they play Roblox primarily and watch TikTok and YouTube shows they like). While we'll hold off as long as we can from them having their own social media accounts, we'll want them to be responsible, safe and empathetic when we do so. Just like they are now, and just like we're practicing as adults now, finally, after all these years. 

From my first post on Get Off The Ground to this last post (for now), I've enjoyed sharing my parenting and personal leadership journey with you all.  I'm certainly no expert. I'm just trying to navigate it all like you are. I wouldn't change a thing; I would never trade tomorrow for today. Thank you for reading.

Be safe and well. Blessings to you all. 

Friday, July 1, 2016

Our Future Depends on Us All

"Stand up straight and realize who you are, that you tower over your circumstances." --Maya Angelou

Then comes the part where a cool morning summer stroll becomes a little magical, and the faux columns I see transform into real ones; I imagine I'm among Roman ruins at sunrise.

Really, I did. Just for a moment I immerse myself in antiquity while hundreds of years of history rise and fall inside me. Of countries conquering and collaborating. Of generations of families, friends and enemies living and dying, loving and warring. Of leaders leading progress and those leaving a destructive wake. (At least the parts I remembered from school and the time the Mama and I were actually there years ago.)
Of course we were nowhere near Rome. We were in Folsom, California, the morning after a fun weekend visiting family and friends, our girls getting time with those good folk we don't see very often.     
          
And I love Folsom. And El Dorado Hills. And Lake Tahoe. And Sacramento. And of course Santa Cruz. And every single city and destination I've ever been in throughout America. Hiking through the Southwest in the spring. Walking through Central Park on a muggy summer day (and now swimming under a waterfall on the lovely island of Maui). Strolling through the Blue Ridge mountains in the fall. Celebrating the holidays and Christmastime in Anaheim at Disneyland (we are not snow people).

From sea to shining sea.

But not just in America. I also love every place around the world I've ever been fortunate enough to visit, especially the travels I've had with the Mama. To witness the wonders of the world as well as the harsh realities of poverty and civil unrest.

Shortly after 9/11, the Mama and I went traveling abroad, counterintuitive to what many Americans were doing at the time. We stopped by a deli in Venice to get some lunch and the man behind the counter, who didn't no much if any English, smiled and asked:

"Americans?"

We said yes, and then he added:

"God Bless America."

Then later on that very same trip we found ourselves in the midst of an anti-American rally. Swallowed up by an angry but thankfully peaceful mob while pickpockets poked at our jackets and belt lines.

I know it's a tired cliché comparing America with the rise and fall of any empire of old (think Brexit now). I really do. Even with all the policitical and socioeconomic divisive complexity, this is still a great nation, this United States of America. The Mama and I are proud and engaged citizens and we're raising our girls to be the same. This isn't a nation that's lost its greatness, it's still an important bastion of democracy in this ever-erratic polarized and populist world. But it is a nation like much of the modern world that sorely lacks in great leadership, effectual leadership.

Personal leadership in particular. We can blame all our woes on terrorists and Wall Street and Congress and even the President of the United States (and we did with Presidents Bush and Obama, depending on what side of the fence we hemmed and hawed on). We can blame two presidential candidates with the highest disapproval ratings ever in the history of this country. But for me it all starts at the "home office," no matter the circumstance or the status.

I am not you and you are not me and I yet will still celebrate all our differences, even the little crazy ones. Those of you with the big crazy however, God help you, because I cannot, even with the separation of church and state. I can empathize with those of us who are willing to stay informed about the state of their world -- from local to global -- and who are willing to take action that builds up and not tears down. I'm not asking everyone to be a Rhodes Scholar, or to forgo keeping the "bad guys and girls" in check. I'm just requesting that we stay informed as objectively as possible and make informed decisions, which can be a challenge I know. (Fact-checking detectives by nature we are not.)

It still starts with us. We may be oppressed and disenfranchised -- we may feel like puppets of the 1 percent -- and yet we can still rise above and make a difference for our friends and family, our neighbors down the street and across this great country. I know we can. We can strive for autonomy from the 50/50 split and move to at least the 60/40 compromise, creating the incremental improvements that truly are the catalysts of positive change and progress. To improve our individual and collective circumstance.

Which is why I'm declaring independence from ignorance and intolerance. Really, I am. This nation's future is inextricably linked to the future of the rest of the world. It cannot be uncoupled without detrimental economic and diplomatic consequence. And cutting off the world won't stop the gun-toting crazy.

Stand up straight and keep democracy alive. Stand up and lead. We are an American citizens. We are a global citizens. And our children are as well. Our future depends on us all.


Wednesday, June 8, 2016

No One’s Ever Asking for Rape

There they were, three little words: And more rapes.

These three words were in response to someone sharing a seemingly positive article about President Obama addressing Air Force graduates that female leaders will help make a stronger U.S. military.

It’s a post that seemed to be relevant for the professional networking site known as LinkedIn – leadership, education, business, etc. But these three little words were the first comment on this post: And more rapes.

I couldn’t get the post and comment out of my head after that, although I never went back to it, nor did I click on the post link the first time I saw it. However, I did take a screen shot of it and wondered what the context of those three words was. I may want to reference it at some point. Sadly, the reference came sooner than I thought.

Was he suggesting that more women leadership in the military would prompt more rapes in lieu of making for a stronger military? Probably. I feel that’s the only read on why he commented that way. Forget about what his politics are. Forget about whether or not he’s was being comedic (or thought he was). Forget about whether or not he was an asshole, which he probably was.

The tired answer of “this is the way it is in the military” or any other modern day male-dominated industry and/or society, which most if not all still are – is simply pathetically tired. That women who put themselves in certain situations are “asking for it” – that it shouldn’t be a surprise that they will be raped.

The reality is that every two minutes in the U.S. someone is sexually assaulted. I’ve been a victim myself. In fact, a report of child abuse is made every ten seconds1 in 4 women and 1 in 6 men were sexually abused before the age of 18. And that's only what's reported. Statistically speaking, child abuse occurs at every socioeconomic level, across ethnic and cultural lines, within all religions and at all levels of education.

Brighter minds than mine have discussed all this for many years, but I need to speak up (yet again) because of one simple truth: I have a wife and two daughters. Three human beings that reinforce in me every day how precious life is and how important it is to love and respect each other.

I also had a mother, a sister and other strong female role models in my formative years to thank for the respect I have not only for women, but for other men as well. Respect, empathy and restraint. At least for those who share in kind. (God knows the men early in my childhood were no help whatsoever.)

Nobody’s asking for it. No matter what gender, how they dress, how they speak, how they act, their beliefs, their sexual orientation – even if they first say yes to intimacy and then change their minds. Nobody’s asking to be raped. No one. When it’s not consensual, when another person forces themselves sexually on another via intercourse, it’s rape and it’s a violent crime. It’s nothing else but that. It will never be anything else but that.

Except that there are countries, like in Brazil and elsewhere around the world, where a culture of rape thrives. Where a 16-year-old girl has reportedly been raped by at least 30 men in Rio de Janeiro. Where “images of the alleged attack on social media ‘racked up more than 550 likes and a deluge of replies with smiley faces and thumbs-up,’ The Globe and Mail reports. Where ‘Commenters using vulgar language celebrated the damage apparently inflicted on the girl's genitalia and said she had no doubt 'been asking for it.'"

Again, nobody’s asking for it. And yet, even in America, we still blame the victims a lot of the time. That for example, if they hadn’t been at that party drinking and wearing sexy clothing, then they never would’ve been raped. Like the Stanford student Brock Turner convicted of sexually assaulting an unconscious woman, but only sentence to six months in county jail and three months’ probation because, according to the judge, “A prison sentence would have a severe impact on him. I think he will not be a danger to others.”

And when the father, understandably defending his son, states before the sentence was handed down, “That is a steep price to pay for 20 minutes of action out of his 20 plus years of life. The fact that he now has to register as a sexual offender for the rest of his life forever alters where he can live, visit, work, and how he will be able to interact with people and organizations.”

Sure, it’s his son. But I don’t care that his father thinks it’s a steep price to pay. I really don’t. This isn’t fucking Con Air where the tattooed rapist telegraphs his every violent tendency towards women. This isn’t about stereotypical he-man woman haters.

No, this is about a young man who didn’t stop himself from raping when the girl lay unconscious behind a dumpster. Where he penetrated her with “a foreign object.” Where according to a statement the victim made she wanted “to show people that one night of drinking can ruin two lives. You and me. You are the cause, I am the effect. ... My damage was internal, unseen, I carry it with me. You took away my worth, my privacy, my energy, my time, my safety, my intimacy, my confidence, my own voice, until today."

He was the only cause. Not her. He went too far. Nobody’s asking for it. It wasn’t her fault. I remember one night early on dating my now wife, really drunk, both of us stumbling up the stairs to my apartment, making out and groping each other, and never in my most primal drunken delirium could I have forced myself on her, conscious or not.

So Scott Herhold of the San Jose Mercury News, I’m not confused “about the severity of this case for him.” I sadly think you are. A culture of campus drinking (and for those of us who went to college know of that culture everywhere) makes no never mind when it comes to rape. Because the 20 minutes of Brock Turner’s rape really comes down to the seconds where he could’ve and should’ve stopped himself. Where he could’ve taken her home, no matter how inebriated, and then gone home himself and slept it off. However, like my dad always used to say (who was in law enforcement for over 32 years), “Should’ves and could’ves only count in horseshoes and hand grenades; they don’t mean shit.”

I have a wife and two daughters. Or, I could have a husband and two sons. It doesn’t matter when it comes to rape and sexual abuse. Either way I will defend their worth unconditionally, as they would defend mine.

I’m outraged. You should be as well. We must all give voice to victims of sexual abuse and rape. We must stop blaming the victims and start making the rapists and abusers accountable. We must be the defenders of those precious seconds prior to a life destroyed, to instill self-aware prevention in our children. We must support organizations like Kidpower, a global nonprofit leader in personal safety and violence prevention education, that provide positive prevention tips to help us focus on what to “DO” to handle different types of personal safety problems.

We must ultimately and definitively educate society here and abroad that no one’s ever asking for rape or sexual abuse. We're just asking for prevention and justice.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Surprising the Neigh-Neigh

Watching Bea, I had an epiphany.

Not necessarily new, since I had just read a similar sentiment recently, but connecting the dots generated enough power to light me up.

The fact that when we're young, we're more likely to try the impossible, even if elder others tell us it can't be done.

Jack-ass and destructive activities aside -- I'm talking about positive game-changing activities, like creating integrated circuitry on the head of a pin or developing the neuroscience behind emotional intelligence and teaching us to lead ourselves to a less divisive promised land.

Was Bea imaging springing herself atop the wild mustang to ride away like the wind?

I don't know. Maybe. Remember, she's 2.

It doesn't matter that we as adults know she couldn't do it. She believed she could, or whatever she was imagining.

Fellow leadership Twitterer @angelabisignano tweeted the other day:

If you want great leaders raise great kids.

And one way to do that?

Keep them surprising the neigh-neigh.


Saturday, July 31, 2010

I have faith and Jedi mind tricks: this isn't the failure that's looking for you.

REGRETS. Those were the droids you were looking for.

This poster made me laugh all week. And think. And reflect. And laugh some more.

Anyone who understands the Star Wars mythos gets the reference. Even if you don't, nobody likes to have any regrets.

Fact is, it's too easy for some folk to say you shouldn't live with regret and that failure is not an option.

But we do and it is.

The difference is in what we learn from regret and failure, and how we learn to reconcile and elevate to give it another go, while being personally and socially responsible.

The challenge to do this becomes more magnified when you have children.

It was easier when Mama and me decided to get out of Dodge and jump the pond to Europe after the dot.com bust back in 2001. There were those who said we were crazy and why wasn't I looking for a new job when the company I worked for had failed.

But me and Mama had no regrets to take the severance and run.

When we returned I freelanced and consulted and we scraped by within a much tighter means until that all dried up.

For us there were truly no regrets and we rebounded and rebuilt from failure with blissful fluidity and fun (you should've seen me before Mama -- a tragically destructive hot mess I was).

What a difference a decade makes when you have wonderful wife, two beautiful daughters (one still not out of the oven), a water-logged mortgage, and a risky new venture that could be the rest of my life's fortune (and not all for money honey either) in a still abysmal economic environment.

"It's easy to make a buck. It's a lot tougher to make a difference." ~ Tom Brokaw

You said it, mister, but a difference doesn't pay the bills. I need to do both. Fatherhood comes at a price, whereas I do not count the cost as long as love remains (thank you, Neil).

I have faith and Jedi mind tricks: this isn't the failure that's looking for you.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Bankruptcy can never be an option.

If trust is the currency of influence and sound leadership, then why are my peers filing chapter 13 when crises occur?

I'm talking about those in their 40's and 50's, the folks who are in "trust" positions who are supposed to be protect us and keep us from going astray.

But don't.

Take the regulatory offices in the U.S. A few years ago, employees of the Minerals Management Service "used cocaine and marijuana, and had sexual relations with oil and gas company representatives," according to a government report.

Then an oil rig platform in the Gulf of Mexico exploded.

According to a recent NPR Plant Money podcast:

Economists have been writing for decades about "regulatory capture" — the idea that regulators are "captured" by the industry they're supposed to be watching over, and wind up serving industry's interests.

So who's regulating the regulators?

Who's regulating our selves?

Anyone?

Is it yet another Sodom and Gomorrah winner take all recycle policy?

Expand outward generation after generation after generation: the subprime mortgage crisis -- the S&L crisis -- the Nummi Plant in the late 70's -- grifting of all flavors, shapes and sizes, personal and professional -- same outcome, different decade.

Regulating ebbs and flows. Laws that come and go.

Yet, we're not teaching personal leadership to our children and our children's children. Not to the point of breaking the cycle of being permanently broken.

We bend, we fail and some of us break. I certainly have. Unfortunately some of us break forever, though.

But if enough of us build up a personal savings of:

  • Trust
  • Accountability
  • Dependability
  • Adaptability
  • Critical thinking
  • Emotional intelligence
  • And other high-yield personal strength bonds

And teach our children to do the same, while influencing others, then bankruptcy can never be an option.

Take the lead.


Tuesday, July 6, 2010

The fallacy that God never speaks

The Road by Cormac McCarthy had such a profound effect on me; it is one of my favorite novels of all time.

No tiny feat considering that we were only on the unconscious cusp of wanting children when we listened to the audio book during our Southwest trip in May 2007.

It was one of those defining moments that filled our hearts with loving choice.

Over and over again the book's theme of parental love and protection against dismal nuclear devastation and end-of-the-world odds was punctuated by beautiful passages of prose.

Yep, I really liked it.

However, we knew it was going to be tough to watch the movie version of The Road.

And 15 minutes in, Mama said to stop. It was just too much now that we have children.

The scene was the father tenderly washing his son's head in a stream after a violent encounter with one of the bad folk roaming the desolate earth.

That was it. We turned it off.

But earlier than that there was a line I can and will never, ever forget:

The child is my warrant, and if he is not the Word of God, then God never spoke.

There are places in the world today just as post-apocalyptic as that of The Road, with fathers, mothers and children dying at the hands of their relentless enemies.

That of us. Sometimes for a dollar. Sometimes for sport. Sometimes for survival.

Sometimes we just come up short.

I don't subscribe to supercilious dogma and I'm not a praying man, but I don't believe in the fallacy that God never speaks.

My faith comes from the fallout of loving words that drift slowly to the floor and coalesce into pools of hope.

Amen. I will protect that faith with my life.

Be better people. Be better parents. Take the lead.


Wednesday, June 16, 2010

We can be passionate sans the violence, kids. Personal leadership starts at home in the mirror.

In 1999 I was on a business trip in Paris. Seriously. I remember the morning before we left for Barcelona, the second leg of the business trip (seriously), I looked out my hotel room window and five floors below I witnessed an unsettling scene.

A man and a woman were arguing. They stood on the sidewalk, hands and arms gesticulating, and I caught bits and pieces of shrill French swirling in the air around me like hot ash.

The man grabbed the woman's arm and shook her. She wrenched herself free and got in a small white car.

The man continued yelling at her through the closed car window. I expected her to peel out and away from the curb, but she didn't. He kept yelling.

And then he kicked the side of the door. Full force.

And he kicked it again.

And again.

And then he broke the window.

That's when the thought finally slapped my mind across its face that I should do something:

A) Call the police.
B) Call the lobby to call the police.
C) Go downstairs and help her.

I looked up in this split-second decision-making haze, and when I Iooked down again, the car and the man were gone.

The one other thing I noticed during this violent exchange was the fact that no one stopped, no one paid any attention.

Mercy me. There's the cultural cliché that Parisians and other romantic language folk are passionate to the point of the rational breaking down and physical restraint becoming mired in emotional reactivity.

But no one even paid attention.

According to the Family Violence Prevention Fund site:

The United Nations Development Fund for Women estimates that at least one of every three women globally will be beaten, raped or otherwise abused during her lifetime. In most cases, the abuser is a member of her own family.

And then closer to home:

Nearly one in four women in the United States reports experiencing violence by a current or former spouse or boyfriend at some point in her life.

Two of those four could be my daughters someday, but not without me raising Cain along the way.

We can be passionate sans the violence, kids. Personal leadership starts at home in the mirror.

If you're interested, you can read a post I did at the TalentCulture titled Taking A Look Into The Leadership Mirror:

Oh, vanity.

We look in the mirror and just want to look great. Looking great makes us feel great and ready to face the world.

But as we linger over our reflection a little longer, we begin to notice blemishes, scars, discolorations, imperfections of the tiniest kind that initially only we can see.

That perception of our own imperfect reflection bleeds inward; what kind of a person are we? What kind of a husband, wife, family, friend, employee, manager, business owner, or CEO are we? What is our state of being?

We try. We fail. We learn. Or we don’t.

Linger long enough in front of that mirror and you ask yourself: How responsible am I today for me and my role in today’s highly integrated personal and professional miasmic universe?

Hopefully the answer is “very responsible.” We are leaders of self first, and there can be no in-between or settling for marginal personal responsibility, imperfections and all...

Read more here.


Sunday, August 30, 2009

Wearing the elevate patch 24/7/364

I wanted to be an astronaut when I was child, not only because I loved science and science fiction (I was 12 when Star Wars hit the big screen - sigh), but also the leave the abusive volatility around me behind.

However, I struggled to pass to emotional centrifugal force test, instead withdrawing into non-confrontational vastness of my soul's uncharted space.

And for a kid that's one of the safest places to be. The inside space. Down deep.

Unfortunately as an adult a self-destructive cycle developed: extended non-confrontational withdrawal to explosive pique; all-or-nothing scenario.

That really sucked and not the way to sustain oneself or any relationships. Then 12 years ago I incrementally began to better my centrifugal force stamina, learning that being direct lessened my "hurl" factor, and being less reactive and more mindful really helped me to "elevate" in most situations.

To focus, assess and respond to any highly-charged situation swiftly yet methodically, appropriately and without excess emotion.

To rise above.

It takes a lot of friggin' focus and work, that's for sure.

Like the nicotine patches I remember wearing when quitting smoking for the nth time, I started imagining slapping on a "elevate" patch prior to personal or professional emotional confrontation of any kind.

Like the past few days when my mom was in the hospital hundreds of miles from home and I spoke with my sister to whom I haven't spoken with in over a year.

That was a three-patcher, but well worth throwing Mama and Bea in the car and driving down there to help my parents and spending time with my sister, niece and nephew. First time they've met Beatrice.

The 40-70 rule applies and it's time to work together on this one. I call it fixing a hero sandwich.

What's in the elevate patch you ask? Whatever helps you rise above; every prescription is unique to its user.

From now on I'm gonna wear the elevate patch 24/7/364.

C'mon, gimee one day off, would ya'?
(In space no one can hear you scream...)