Well dedicated readers… the winds of change are streaming across the bow of my blogging boat.  Due to some recent corporate restructuring and alignment of supporting initiatives, I will no longer have time to write my own blog posts during the events of a typical day.  I want to thank all of you who have been loyal readers and especially those of you who have posted comments.  

I will however continue to blog on another site that I just launched but it will not be linked to any corporate sponsorship or topic… and will be maintained after-hours and probably plagued with a host of grammatical errors.

http://seethinkshare.wordpress.com/

Once again… thank you for the loyal participation.  I hope to hear from you somewhere in the blog sphere.

This morning I reinstated my running program. There is a new Reebook ad that sums up this situation for me. The ad starts out stating straight up “you have this love-hate relationship with running.” True. Very True.

There I was, loping through the darkness. It felt like a scene in some old black and white movie, a sailor returning to his ship after a long night in some foreign port. I was only about 100 yards from the house when I dang near broke my ankle in a pot hole. This time of year the roads are shot. They look like a shield King Arthur carried, scarred and gnarly after endless efforts to defend it’s purpose.

But now, the seasons have made the turn. Spring is here. Things change. The pot hole not only came close to snapping something in my ankle but it snapped me back into reality. As I looked around the neighborhood I was somewhat surprised to discover how many homes are for sale. Homes owned by people who I thought would never leave. Things change. There are homes for sale because of a divorce, because kids have grown and left, job changes, illness. Things change. One sold that we didn’t even know was for sale which is unfortunate because it is a sweet home… and it happens to be the childhood home of Gerald R. Ford.

All of us have had to contend with change… intentional or otherwise. Like a tire that bounces through a pit in the road, we keep on rolling. Whether we will contend with change isn’t really the issue, it’s how we manage our way through it that makes the definitive moments.

Last summer we took Amtrak from Michigan to Montana. One of the most memorable experiences of that journey was how with each stop in every little town, the occupants of the train changed. It was like speed dating. Someone new sits down, talk to them for several hours, get to know them a little bit and snap, they get off at the next town and someone else gets on. Change happens.

This is true with how we approach events in our home too. In the span of an hour, a routine day, a week, a season or a life time… things change. We should go in knowing it will happen and stay open to the learnings it will provide. Last December we moved a chair to make room for the Christmas tree. The tree is long gone but we love the chair where it is so much we left it there.

In it’s old place is a pile of musical instruments. Prior to now it was a choir to get one out and dink around with it…”ease of use equates to frequency of use”. I find the instruments get used much more often now. This is a great example of how design reacts to society, how design can enable improvement and how change can provide positive yet surprising results. But I still suggest you watch out for pot holes if you go running in the dark.

Last Friday I spent the day in Chicago attending the kitchen & bath show… very cool. It was the first time I attended the show so I have little to compare it to, but it seemed pretty busy.

For the most part, the highway to Chicago from our town parallels the Lake Michigan shoreline. You can’t actually see the lake from the road, but you can sense it’s presence. The landscape changes from one of unobstructed, flat farm land to gently rolling mature dune. Beach grass trades place with scrub oaks and then back again with an occasional open dune. You can almost hear a voice at whisper level beckoning you to pull over, abandon your premeditated agenda and indulge in spontaneous exploration through the woods and cart-wheels down the sandy inclines.

There is one section where the north and south lanes peel apart. For a few dozen miles, people traveling on either side can’t see the other. During summer day trips to Chicago you typically encounter this section of road home at sundown. In-between the two lanes is a growth of beautiful trees that filter the sunlight with a rapid strobing effect, like looking at a flashlight through a ceiling fan.

Friday, on the way home, as this phenomena was taking place I looked out the window directly at the road screaming by beside me. What I witnessed was dizzying. At 80 mph things up close that I tried to focus on came close to inducing mild nausea. When I shifted my “zoom” as a friend of mine put it later that night, to things further in the distance, I could easily focus.

Here’s the dichotomy. All through life we are told that it’s the details that matter: “The job isn’t finished until the paperwork is through”… “God is in the details”… “great idea but they blew it with the execution”.

So here I was in my rental car, looking for things to keep me entertained (or is that too obvious?) trying to focus on the details and concluding that it was just impossible. The only thing I could focus on was the big picture… the long view. Had I inadvertently discovered a new theory that eroded the sand from under the pilings of my youthful boardwalk? Holy rapid-fire Batman! What was the twisted logic that allowed these two philosophies to coexist? Focus on the detail. Don’t focus on the details or you will drive off life’s road!

As the evening unfolded I reconciled this silly dilemma by concluding that it had nothing to do with what you focus on, rather the speed which one travels. Which, ultimately is a much more applicable lesson. Traveling too fast prevents you from seeing the details. Traveling too slow prevents you from reaching your goals.

To me this insight seems applicable to pretty much any situation. If you had two weeks to go to Colorado, how would the experience be different between flying, driving and biking. If you schedule 2 hours on Saturday to clean out the attic vs. doing in in 10 minutes some early December evening, while you’re looking for your favorite holiday snow-globe! How different would the experience be?

Although I awoke this morning to several inches of fresh snow on the ground, spring can be seen peeking around the corner if you know where to look. It is a messy time of year. Our landscape is stuck between seasons with a puzzling mix… remnants from last month and previews of next month. Fading snow banks are creating an eerie worm hunting ground for the robins. Early morning birdsong can be heard while you scrape away the thick frost from your car windows.

Last night during a short cut through a playground, the path traversed a large sloppy pool of early spring gumbo. My 12 year old daughter proclaimed “whoa… that is some awesome mud”.

(friend or foe?)

It instantly struck me how different our perspectives can be. My reaction was to avoid it at all costs for fear that it would clog our shoe treads and track into the car and house. Hers was one of wonder and potential. Perhaps visions of culinary creations, mud pies and terra muffins. Hours of entertainment in the pure primeval goo. I was thrilled at witnessing her innocent guttural reaction. But it took me a several seconds to recognize it.

Last week while attending a meeting in Texas, the keynote speaker Tye Maner spoke of many intriguing things. One key insight was the lost art of listening. He used several analogies to make the point that listening to understand is different than listening just to hear. As a designers or individuals involved in creating solutions that improve people’s lives, this is a crucial point and a crucial difference.

My daughter’s reaction to the mud was not at all what I would have expected. Had I not been listening to understand, I would have missed the rapid romping through the possibilities on her imaginary journey and the simple joy she found in it. It is a simple thing and certainly not a major crime had I failed, but a beach cannot be formed with one grain of sand. Like our experiences in life, it takes thousands.

My opinion of the mud pit changed from one of avoidance to one of admiration… not that we stopped what we were doing and dove in, but my point is this. People react to things differently. Tye’s presentation came to mind. We need to always strive to understand through listening, through seeing and through pushing our own biases aside. In doing so we will be better designers, organizers, spouses, sand castle architects and perhaps mud chefs.

I have just returned from a trip to San Antonio, Texas. Suspect of a growing geographic homogenization that is creeping across the country, I didn’t expect to experience much regional influence. Wrong.

This wasn’t my first trip to Texas, it but has been at least 15 years. The itinerary while there was jam packed and didn’t allow for much exploring or entrenchment into historic Texas culture. But I managed a few quiet, late night walks where I was able to study bronze placards and envision a time not long ago when this area was truly the wild west frontier.

I engaged in a conversation with an elderly man who was the proud proprietor of a western-wear shop. He explained to me the history of quality beaver felt hats, and much to my surprise convinced me that I didn’t need another one for my collection… I just need to wear the ones I have a little more often. I strolled the halls of a hotel that once served as the meeting grounds for Teddy Roosevelt’s “Rough Riders”. And of course the Alamo, with a story of bravery and adherence to a belief… and so pivotable to the outcome of our southern states.

(The Alamo Mission: home of “The Fight At The Alamo”)

(…”those willing to die defending freedom, cross this line”…)

It was a rapid, exhausting trip that has been deemed a success. We were there to host a meeting for our ORG product dealers. Due to a comical series of events, I had the opportunity to spend each night in a different hotel. Although I have dozens of thoughts linked to this excursion, one of the most powerful is the keen awareness that how a space is designed, decorated, maintained and presented strongly influences the life and experience of its occupants.

One evening I was living the life of luxury in a Hyatt, and the next in what I call “A night at the Munster’s”. And yet another, in a “National Historic Hotel” called the Menger, which left me feeling right at home. It may be revealing too much about myself, but I felt like “Goldie-Locks” trying out furnishings and finally finding a bed that was “just right”.

This, combined with constant packing, unpacking and organizing my things, kept me occupied with seeking efficiency and capturing memorable outcomes and details. (What about this can I replicate? If only there was another hook right here for a towel… they should put an outlet right here… this coffee maker is exactly where I would expect it to be… someone shut that barking dog up… it’s 2:43 A.M., etc.)

The intensity was all encompassing. I met some fantastic people who shared with me several personal and business experiences.

Now that it’s over and I am home again, I can reflect. I am once again surrounded by the things that are “me”. Seldom have the flannel sheets felt so right, the shower temp so perfect. The sound of the kids chattering as they drift off to sleep so soothing. It might not be as infamous as the Alamo, occupied by it’s 187 defenders, but it’s a home full of memories.

Quite often the impetus of a blog post for me is the result of a resounding insight that either I just can’t wait to share, or one that I heard elsewhere and morphed into my own relevance. Such was the case last week when I was listening to NPR.

There was a report on recent studies which indicated people believe they feel better from taking the most expensive medicine, even if it is a placebo (a fake). The point to the study is that we tend to use financial value as a end all for evaluating worth. This into itself is pretty fascinating, but one comment made during the interview fueled this thought path.

The guest on the show said “people will try harder to save $10 then they will to earn $10.”

This is a bit extreme but lets say your house cost $225.00 per square foot to build. One square foot in a 30 year mortgage at 6.25% equates to $227.46 in interest. For a 6×10 foot storage area it’s more than $16,000 dollars in interest over the life of the term. (Note: I did this math myself with Quicken loan planner, so take if for what it’s worth!)

(utilize that space…)

Ironically the people in the medicine test felt better after having taken the fake pricey drugs… but they might feel even better if they re-think how they organize their home and utilize their space as best they can.

(Cherry Republic, Glen Arbor Michigan… some spaces are worth the cost per square)

A few weeks ago I sat in on a brief lecture that was focused on personal growth. The analogy being used in the presentation was so simple and yet so perfect. The speaker was comparing us as humans to a rock. Then he held up a split and polished quartz amethyst geode (I had to look this up… I am far from being a gemologist or whatever the right term is). This is the kind of rock we have all seen in souvenir shops at the Any-town museum.

(photo credit: University of Texas)

He went further to explain that seeking personal growth is really like polishing the inner layers of our being. On the outside we still look the same, but personal improvement polishes our insides. Pretty interesting.

As the presentation proceeded, I thought of how this comparison is equally applicable to the act of organizing. The success of a truly good organizing system is dependent on the understanding of the user’s processes. Whenever one studies their behavior, truths are revealed. Therefore, any action that reveals truths about yourself can be considered self improvement, right?

It’s kind of an abstract trail. You start out trying to clean the front of your refrigerator and you end up contemplating the moment you took that picture of your sister helping your daughter fly a kite, then thinking about why that moment struck such a strong chord in your soul. And therefore, is that picture more valuable than the veterinarian’s business card, which is dueling with it for space on the Whirlpool.

When organizing (or designing), we are forced to give thought to importance, priority and value. Ironically, if you have ever taken a walk on a northern Michigan beach and you don’t apply the same thinking, you end up with about 1,043 rocks in your pocket that you just simply can’t live without.

(I have been unable to get to my writing…) 

Wow… the new year not only changed the page on my calendar but it presented a proverbial boat load of initiatives.  I have been consumed by things like IBS (International Builders Show) and other similar efforts and been unable to spend any time writing. But… I’m swimming towards the surface and soon I will be able to breath and get back to it.

Thanks for swinging by… come back soon.

I set up a temporary office in our living room while we do some work in our house. Our living room is what I call our “qualitative space” in that there is no TV.  It is a space denoted for sitting by the fire, reading a book, drinking a glass of merlot… listening to, or playing music.

But I just looked up and discovered a bit of a contrast.  My laptop is perched right in front of a set of encyclopedias we got at a garage sale for half a buck.  This relationship of the established with the new seems to represent the future to me… how things will get done, and how peace will be maintained.  Listening, understanding and collaborating for a better good.

I found this poem by Christina Rossetti in a micro book my mother-in-law gave our kids. The book is titled “A Treasury Of Children’s Poetry”, published by Running Press.

(click on the pages to enlarge)

To be honest, I’m not big on poetry but what struck me about this poem was how simple and accurately it stated something that we all innocently overlook. It provides a new view on an occurrence that is so common, we long ago retired any intuition of analyzing the scenario.

We believe we see the wind, but in fact we can’t. We only see the effect of it’s presence, and perhaps rob ourselves of a greater reward. We see the leaves dance, we see the waters ripple, we see the snows plume. We feel the chill as the wind snakes through our collars and slithers down our necks.

This is a wonderful analogy for other aspects of our life. Like the wind, we only see the result of the effort. Given any favorable outcome, when was the last time you really thought about what went into that result?  A glowing report card, a fabulous steak, a storm front captured in watercolor, a wooden canoe.

Have you ever found yourself watching the special features located on the back end of any DVD, and been engrossed by the amount of effort that goes into making just one scene? Think about the collective amount of experiences and practice that merged for the outcome.

This perspective is just as applicable in our homes, as is any other place in our lives. Study your fireplace, a kitchen cabinet, the view from your kitchen sink, the walk in closet, the stones around your perennials. How many generations of craftsmanship went into making sure those details are still executed within the band width of their intended design period? How many decades have the principles of the Craftsman movement traveled to insure your oak rocker is accurate? How many decades have the principles of your Gothic Revival stove hood had to transcend for you to find value in it? As the saying goes “the journey is the reward”.

In the book “Pilgrim At Tinker Creek”, the author Annie Dillard does a wonderful job describing her observations of seasons passing. In one chapter she describes with much astonishment, how a flock of migrating starlings vanish into a barren tree. She can hear them, she saw them fly over, she sees them land, but when she looks, they are invisible… until they take to flight again. This act of really trying to see, reveals a new level of amazement, wonder and appreciation.

To quote her, “what you see, is what you get”. I hope you get a lot, it’s free… like the wind.