I stopped a high-speed car chase.

It was 1978, and I was driving my wife’s Pontiac Firebird.  Blue, sporty, white interior.  Classy, just like her.

The light turned green, and I started through the intersection – unaware of the police chase approaching from my left.  The driver had stolen the car after robbing a liquor store, and ran the red light at about 50 mph.

He hit my driver’s door at that speed.  My wife’s classy car was totaled, but I wasn’t scratched.  The ambulance took me to the hospital for observation, but everything was fine.

People said, “Wasn’t it terrifying?”  I replied, “Nope.  I didn’t see it coming, so I didn’t have time to worry.”

Now, suppose that a week earlier, someone had accurately said, “Next Wednesday at noon, you’re going to be in a serious accident.  Your car will be totaled, but you’ll be OK.”

I’d be terrified.  I’d spend the whole week worrying about it.

futureLife’s like that.  A lot of bad things happen to us.  But we often put a lot of energy into what could happen, and we live in constant low-grade fear.

It’s good to set goals, and it’s wise to prepare for the future.  But we don’t live in the future; we live in the present.

When we worry, we attempt to live in the future.  We mortgage the present, missing the richness of life.  We focus on protection and prevention, rather than the pleasure of the present.

A friend in Oklahoma said, “How can you live in California with all those earthquakes?”

I said, “Honestly, I’d be more afraid to live in Oklahoma with the tornadoes.  You know they’re coming, so you live in dread for hours at a time.  With an earthquake, you don’t know it’s coming. When it does, you deal with it.  A few seconds later, it’s over – and if you’re still alive, you’re OK.  There’s no anticipation or fear because you didn’t know it would happen.”

But some people live in constant fear of earthquakes. They’ve given up their joy in the present for the terror of the possibilities.

It sells a lot of insurance, but it’s a crummy way to live.

We need to be smart.  We need to think through the things that could happen in the future, and take steps to prevent and respond.

But we don’t want to live there.

Author Leo Buscaglia wrote, “Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy.”

Let’s give today our 100% attention.  Make choices, savor the moments, build relationships and make a difference.

The future will be here soon enough.  Live there when it comes – not before.

Water doesn’t work very hard.

It always follows the path of least resistance.

Raindrops hold hands with other raindrops, and seek out the lowest level possible.  When there’s a rock or tree in the way, they go around it.  They never try to resist. They do what all the other raindrops do:

They conform.

Pour water into a glass, the water takes the shape of the glass.  Fill a barrel, you have barrel-shaped water.  In your hand, it’s exactly shaped like your hand.

Water doesn’t take initiative to do anything different.

Mountain StreamI think we’re a lot like water.

It’s natural to take the course of least resistance. When we’re comfortable, we don’t move ahead. Moving ahead takes effort.  We prefer comfort over effort.

We take the shape of our environment.

Comfort isn’t all bad.  There’s a definite place for being at rest.  Exercise, for instance, takes us out of our comfort zone for a while.  But we follow exercise with rest in order to recover, recharge and grow.

Comfort isn’t a destination; it’s a rest stop on a journey.

It’s a great place to visit.  It’s a crummy place to live.

Why?

Because we were meant for more than comfort. We were meant to make a difference – to make a unique contribution that nobody else can make.

If we choose comfort over impact, we rob our world of that contribution.

Impact is an intentional choice.  Comfort is a default setting.

If we live for comfort, we take the shape of the world around us.

It’s better to shape the world, not be shaped by it. 

Want to really enjoy your comfort zone?

Make a difference.  Make an impact. Make a move.  Stretch.  Get better.  Get stronger.  Take risks for the sake of someone else.  Care enough to change someone’s life.  Wear yourself out doing something that matters.

Then, like water, take the path of least resistance.  Rest.  Recover. Retreat.  Restore.  Renew.

And do it all over again.

You’ll love your comfort zone, because it prepares you to make a bigger difference than ever.

You’ll live your life on purpose instead of default.

Agree?  Leave a comment . . .

Anyone who has taken a subway has encountered street musicians.  Sometimes they’re great. Sometimes they’re not.

But they’re always interesting.

I’ve seen them on the sidewalks in San Francisco.  One young man, probably 10-years old, wore an ill-fitting suit and tie while he squawked a few notes on his trumpet.  The coin-filled case in front of him held a sign of explanation: “Help me get trumpet lessons.”

No matter how good they are, one thing remains the same: almost no one stops to listen.

People avoid eye contact, talk on their cell phones, and rush to their next appointment.  Some appear irritated because the music is too loud or annoying (meaning the sound interfered with the music coming through their earbuds).  Others are so used to it, that they couldn’t even tell you someone was there.

Occasionally, someone will slow enough to drop a few coins in their case.  There might be one or two that slow down for a few seconds and listen – but they soon rush on with their responsibilities.

But what if the musician was really good?  Would we stop?  Would we allow a little beauty into our day, or would it be crowded out by busyness?

Joshua BellThe Washington Post decided to find out.  In 2007, they put Joshua Bell by the entrance to a subway station in Washington, D.C.  Simply stated, he’s one of the best violinists in the world.

A virtuoso.  He usually earns about $1000 per minute when he plays.

And he was playing a 1713 Stradivarius violin worth $3.5 million.

Joshua wore a long-sleeved T-shirt and baseball cap, and stood next to a trash can.  For 45 minutes, he played six intricate classical pieces.

1,097 people passed by.  It took six minutes for anyone to acknowledge his presence, until a middle-aged man slowed slightly, looked for a moment – then resumed his pace.

A line of people buying lottery tickets a few feet away produced no glances.

In 45 minutes, only 7 of the 1,097 people stopped and listened for a few seconds.

For Joshua’s efforts, he collected $32 in change.

There was one person who tried to stop and listen, craning his neck and twisting to get a better view.  He did everything he could to get to Joshua and hear the concert.  He instinctively knew he was in the presence of greatness.

But he couldn’t.  His mom kept dragging him by the hand, because they were late.

Evan was three-years old.

We’re busy.  We’re doing important things, talking to important people, and attending important meetings.  We have important places to be and important deadlines to meet.

But what are we missing while we’re doing all those important things?

Are we missing greatness that’s right in front of us?

It might not be a virtuoso playing a priceless instrument.

It might be a child’s voice. Or a spouse’s heart.  A bird’s song, or a simple flower.

It might be slowing down enough to listen to our own thoughts.  Or just to listen, period.

The poet W.H. Davies wrote:

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare?

There’s greatness all around us.  Let’s slow down a bit today and find it.

If we’re too busy with our important stuff, we’ll miss the wonder.

 

The original article is long.  But you’ll love it if you love writing/reading (it won a Pulitzer Prize), love music (fascinating perspective for musicians) or love reading about people and their behavior.  It contains video clips of the performance as well.  You’ll find it here.

 

 

 

Well, it’s been an interesting couple of weeks.

Old coupleTwo weeks ago, I posted ten questions to ask during dinner.  We talked about how we sometimes just run out of things to discuss, and need a little catalyst.  So the first ten questions were designed to get things started again.

We haven’t finished them yet, but they’ve led to some interesting discussions.  I’ve heard the same from others — that it’s fun to put a little structure into a conversation once in a while.  Plus, people like talking about themselves and sharing their thoughts.  This is a legitimate way to do that.

So, let’s go for Round 2.  Here are ten more questions.  Print them off, and pick a different one each night to talk about.  Don’t have expectations — just enjoy the process.  You’ll probably be surprised at the level of connection you reach.

These are slightly “deeper” than the first batch.  A couple of weeks from now, I’ll give you a single question to ask — and you’ll probably have to think about whether you’re ready to ask it or not.

Here we go:

  1. What do you think makes you most memorable to others?
  2. What’s one life experience that you’d like to go back and live over again?
  3. Describe a time when you were embarrassed by a family member.
  4. What’s the correct way to squeeze a toothpaste tube?
  5. Describe the first funeral you ever attended.
  6. Are you hopeful about your future?  Why or why not?
  7. What’s a historical event that you would like to have witnessed – or participated in?
  8. What’s a hereditary trait that you don’t want to pass on to your kids?
  9. How much money would you need to call yourself rich? (Financially rich)
  10. If you could solve one crisis or problem in the world, what would it be?

Try it.  Share it.  Discuss it. Comment below with your experience and insights (and other topics).

See where it takes you!

 

How To Write Better

Mike Bechtle —  April 30, 2013 — 5 Comments

Everybody has to write.  But many (if not most) people dread the process.

Even professional writers struggle.  Many of them say, “I don’t like to write – but I love to have written.”

Why is writing so hard for so many people?

Most of us learned how to write in school.  Our teachers gave us good grades for good writing, and poor grades for poor writing.  The idea was that poor grades would motivate us to write better.

Thinking writerRemember the dreaded 100-word essay?  We might have only had 60 words to say, but we were graded on length.  So we added 40 words of fluff.  We learned that longer writing was better than shorter writing.

We turned in papers that were our best effort at writing.  They were returned with red marks highlighting everything we did wrong and few comments about what we did right.  To get a better grade, we had to strive for perfection.

There was no learning curve.  There was no place for bad writing.

So we developed a mindset that said, “Only good writing has value.”

And that’s exactly why writing has become tedious and painful for so many people.  They dread the process, so they procrastinate – and constantly feel the silent eyes of their teacher saying, “It’s not good enough” while they’re putting words on a screen.  (This isn’t a critique of teachers – most of them are awesome, and we grew because they believed in us – and helped us believe in ourselves.)

It’s taken me a few decades to overcome that imprinting, but I’ve learned a few things that have made writing less painful.

  1. Know exactly what you accomplish with your writing.  Start with the outcome you want for your reader, and write with that in mind.  What should they walk away with? A clear purpose is like putting the address in your GPS system – it guides every decision.
  2. Never edit while you’re writing.  Writing is a creative activity; editing is a critical (but necessary) activity.  If you do both at the same time, you won’t do either one well.  Why? Because you come up with an idea, but your critic says, “That’s dumb.”  So you quit coming up with ideas.
  3. Write poorly – first.  James Thurber said, “Don’t get it right; get it written.”  The hardest part of writing is getting it from your head onto paper.  Once that’s done, you have something to work with – but not before.  Write rough drafts, then polish.
  4. Don’t write in a cluttered environment.  When we get stuck, it’s easy to get distracted.  Clutter gives us plenty of distractions.  I almost never write in my office, because there are too many shiny objects.  Physical clutter encourages mental clutter.
  5. Stay seated.  I never have anything to write about for the first 20 minutes.  I’ve learned to force myself to stay seated for at least that long, whether I produce any words or not.  No email, no solitaire, no reading – nothing but writing.  Usually, inspiration comes near the 20-minute mark, and I’ve built some momentum.
  6. Keep it short.  People have information overload, so you’re doing them a favor by staying concise.  People don’t usually ignore your content because it’s too short, but they will ignore it if it’s too long.
  7. Keep it simple.  Simple people try to appear profound; truly profound people strive to be simple.  Think ‘Reader’s Digest’ – the most popular magazine in the world.  They must be doing something right.

There are as many suggestions as there are writers, but those are a few that I’ve found to be valuable.

What about you, my writing friends?  Whether you’re a professional author, or you simply have to write documents at work or personal emails – what makes you more effective?  Share your ideas below so we can all learn from each other.

(Comment below – or at the link near the top.)

When Life Goes Badly

Mike Bechtle —  April 23, 2013 — 4 Comments

One day, a farmer’s old donkey fell into a well.  The donkey struggled for hours, but it was too deep.  There was no way out.

The farmer thought and thought and thought, but couldn’t find a way to rescue the old donkey.  There was no solution.

Since the donkey was old, and the well needed to be filled up anyway, he decided to just shovel dirt into the well and put the donkey out of its misery.

He invited his neighbors to help, and they all grabbed shovels and started throwing dirt into the well.  The donkey began to panic when he realized what was happening, but finally went quiet.

After a while, the farmer looked into the well.  He expected to see only dirt covering the donkey.

Trapped donkeyBut every time a shovel of dirt hit the donkey, he shook it off and stepped up on the new layer of dirt.  Over and over, he shook off the dirt and stepped up.

Soon the dirt reached the top of the well – and the donkey stepped up, over the edge and trotted off.

OK, it’s an old fable.  The first time I heard it, I was upset with the farmer for trying to bury his donkey alive.  The story breaks down in other ways as well.

But if I can overlook those details, there’s a good point in the story:

Life is like that.

We’re going to get hit with a lot of dirt.

It’s scary.  It’s painful.  It’s discouraging to know that circumstances – or even people – are trying to bury you.

The easy way out is to be a victim – to blame our circumstances for our misery.

The smart way out is to shake it off and step up.

Over and over again.

What’s the dirt in your life that threatens to bury you today?

What will happen if you don’t step up?

How can you use it to move forward — today?

Shake it off.  Step up.

It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together.

Sometimes, you run out of things to talk about.

Diane and I have been married for a really, really long time.  It’s always amazed me that we don’t get tired of each other, and there’s almost always something to discuss. When there’s not, it’s OK.  We can sit in silence and just appreciate being together.

Bored at dinnerMaybe it’s because life happens, and it impacts us – so we talk about how we feel, and what it means between us.

But sometimes, we’ve been too busy to connect.  If it’s been awhile, it can feel a little strained.  It’s not that there are barriers; we just get a bit dry.  We might try to bring something up, but it feels forced.

Does that ever happen to you?

In those times, it might feel artificial to jump into deep discussions about finances, family issues or friends.  We’ll get there eventually.  But it might be better to jump-start the dialogue with something simple, safe and non-threatening.

Try this idea:

Here are a few questions to ask each other on that level.  Print them off and keep them handy.  Each night for a week or so, pick one and talk about it over dinner and see where the discussion goes.  Don’t expect dramatic results; just have fun with them as you explore each other’s thoughts.  It probably won’t be deep, but you’ll enjoy sharing each other’s perspective.

  1. What was the worst date you ever went on? (Present company excluded)
  2. Who is one person you have the utmost respect for?  Why?
  3. What three words best describe you?  Explain.
  4. What was your favorite TV show when you were a kid – and what did you like most about it?
  5. Describe your favorite teacher in high school
  6. Describe yourself when you were in the best shape of your life – and what got you there.
  7. If they made a movie about your life, who would be the best person to play the part of you?
  8. What do you miss most about being a kid?
  9. How would you spend a million dollars if you had to do it in 24 hours?  (You can’t save it or invest it)
  10. If you had to lose one of your five senses, which one would you give up?

Consider sending this post to a couple you’re close to (or one that seems to be having communication issues), suggesting they try it as well.  Then compare notes the next time you’re together.

In a week or so, we’ll look at a few other questions – maybe at a slightly deeper level (Part 2).  Then, a week or so after that, we’ll talk about the single most important question you can ask the most important person in your life (Part 3).

Sometimes, we need to relax with each other.  See if this doesn’t lubricate your dialogue over the next few days.

What other questions could you ask each other to accomplish the same thing?  Add your ideas to the comments below (or at the top of this post).

 

A bomb explodes.  Then another.  People die.  Others are injured.

And the nation is riveted to their televisions for non-stop coverage of the tragedy.

People die every day for all the wrong reasons.  Drunk drivers veer into someone’s path; family violence kills children; poor decisions take innocent lives.

But when it happens at a historic event like the Boston Marathon, it captures our hearts in a different way.

We don’t know the victims, but it somehow feels personal.

There’s a dissonance between an event that celebrates at the starting line, and grieves at the finish line.

We might be thousands of miles away, but we feel violated.

We need perspective.  And surprisingly, I found that perspective on the evening news.

Boston Marathod helpersIt’s natural to focus on the person(s) who could commit such a crime, realizing the impact that person has on a nation.  It’s true.  We see what that one person did.

But watch the video again of the moment of the blast, and we see another perspective.  One person might have set off the bomb, but the video shows hundreds of people turning around and rushing to help.

Volunteers, doctors, ordinary people and strangers all ran to help.  People around the city looked for ways to bring comfort to people they’ve never met.  Social media became a network for opening homes for strangers, and restaurants offered meals to locals for “pay if you can.”   The media showed stories of people around the country offering prayers and support for the victims and their families.

One person sets a bomb, then goes into hiding.

That’s what cowards do.

Thousands of people respond, rushing to help.

That’s what heroes do.

One vs. thousands.

That’s perspective. 

People love to talk about themselves.

If you want people to think you’re a good conversationalist, don’t talk about yourself.  Talk about them.

It’s not a manipulative technique, though it can be used that way.

HandshakeMy friend Jeremy was a trainee at a large bank a number of years ago.  As part of his training, they taught him the subtleties of conversation with customers.

For example, he was taught how to read a person’s handshake.  They said that if you shake hands and the other person’s hand is on top of yours, it shows that they want to have control of the conversation.  If your hand ends up on top, it means they’re expecting you to take the initiative.  They were taught how to make conversation based on what they observed.

Jeremy expressed his frustration with the process.  “They’re teaching us how to pretend we care about our clients.”

There’s an easier way to show them you care: genuinely care about them.

Have you ever had a conversation where the other person did 90% of the talking, and you did 90% of the listening?  Yet they go away and tell other people what a great conversationalist you were!

It’s human nature.  It’s a basic need we all have to be recognized.

Most people think that to be a good conversationalist, they have to have lots of knowledge about lots of topics and show others how interesting they are.

But when they do that, they’re perceived as arrogant, not interesting.

So, what does it take to be a good conversationalist?

  • Listening.
  • Take a genuine interest in the other person.
  • Find out what’s important to them, and explore from there.
  • Make the conversation about them.

You can’t pretend.  You have to genuinely want to know what’s inside their heads and hearts.

I heard someone say that everyone carries a sign around their neck that says, “Make me feel important.”

How would it change your relationships if you took that perspective?  Instead of trying to impress them, you listen carefully until they’ve impressed you?

How would you feel if someone did that to you?

It’s not difficult.  It just the Golden Rule: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

  • Think about the conversations that make you feel important.
  • Think about what happens in those conversations.
  • Decide how you can do that for someone else.

You might be the only person they encounter all day that gives them what they really need.

Try it with someone close to you.  You’ll refresh them inside and out.

And they’ll tell everyone what a great conversationalist you are.

I was wandering through a bookstore the other day, noticing which sections were the largest.  There were tons of books about finances, computer programs, self-help and business.

I assumed that these sections were large because people were buying those kinds of books.  Bookstores don’t try to dictate people’s tastes; they find out what those tastes are, then satisfy the need.

Penguin leadershipOne of the biggest sections was about leadership.

I looked through shelf after shelf of leadership books, and realized how much great stuff has been written about how to become a world-class leader.  “If you have influence, you’re a leader,” the book jackets stated.

So the implication is that we all need to become leaders.

The problem with that message is that if we don’t strive to become a leader, we must be settling for average.

We’re mediocre.

We’re a non-leader.

But is non-leadership always a bad thing?  If everyone were a leader, there wouldn’t be anyone to lead.

What about becoming a world-class follower?

I’m thinking that if people became effective followers, the leaders would be much more effective.  They wouldn’t have to spend so much time managing, so they would have more time to lead.

So, what does it take to be a world-class follower?

  • Become a student of your leader.  Learn how they think, where their strengths and passion are, and what they want and need from you.
  • Encourage your leader.  Never flatter them – but catch them doing something right and acknowledge their success.
  • Keep your leader informed before they ask, whether the news is good or bad.  Admit mistakes immediately, bring bad news as soon as it happens, and keep them posted on everything going on.  Information you provide before it’s asked for has more credibility than afterwards.
  • Be loyal to your leader behind their back.  Never go over their head to their boss unless it’s praise.
  • Do what you promise, no matter how small.  Your leader needs to know they can count on you, and little oversights don’t go unnoticed.  Consistency builds trust.
  • Be there for support when they go through tough times.  They’re human.
  • See them as a mentor – learn from them.  Read the books they read so you can have common ground for interaction.
  • Take initiative.  Don’t wait to be told what to do; anticipate what is needed and do it.
  • Provide solutions along with problems.

It seems like these suggestions apply, not just to followers, but to leaders as well.  Great followers might not become leaders, but there are no great leaders who are not great followers.

How would you apply these principles in your job?  Your marriage? Your family? Your church?

How to Mow a Lawn

Mike Bechtle —  April 5, 2013 — 2 Comments

My favorite part of being in a baseball stadium is the grass.

It’s always perfect.  You know that the groundskeepers went to great lengths to get their mowing lines precise.  Relaxing with friends in the stands is always heightened by the park-like setting on the field.

Maybe I notice it because of my Dad.  When he mowed the lawn, the lines were always straight.  So today, that’s important to me as well.

My dad was born in La Mars, Iowa.  It’s a tiny little farming community, known as the “ice cream capital of the world,” the home of Blue Bunny Ice Cream products.

I’m not sure exactly how much farming my dad’s family was involved in, but he always loved working in our yard.  Some of that heritage must have stuck with him.

Grass lines on baseball fieldI remember him teaching me how to mow.  We had an old, non-electric push mower that looked like it had been picked up in an antique store.  I was small enough that I almost had to reach up to grab the handle.

“If you want a straight line, look across the yard and pick a spot at the far edge – exactly where you want to end up.  Then walk towards it with the mower.  But never take your eyes off that spot.  Don’t look down.  Don’t look at the mower.  Don’t look back.  Just stare at that spot until you get there.”

I stared straight ahead and started moving.  I could feel the mower tossing back and forth as it hit uneven ground, gopher holes and low spots.  I figured it would be a complete disaster.  But I kept staring at my destination.

When I got there, my dad said, “OK, turn around.”

I did.  I was amazed.

The lines were perfectly straight.

I tried it a few more times with the same result – perfection.

Then I got arrogant, and took my eyes off the target, glancing back halfway-through to see how straight my line was.  When I looked back, there was a sincere detour right where I had turned around.

“Why does that work?” I asked.  “The ground is so uneven, and the mower is tossing back and forth.  How can it make such straight lines?”

“When you look at the lines,” he said, “you try to make corrections based on what’s happening around you.  When you look at the target, your corrections are based on where you want to end up.”

The life lessons are obvious.

  • If we keep our eyes on the challenges we face daily, we lose track of the end result.
  • If we focus on the goal, it automatically helps us make the right choices.

Make some straight lines today.

Then eat some ice cream to celebrate.

John’s mother knocked on his door.  “John, it’s time for church.”

“I don’t want to go,” came the reply.

“You have to go to church today,” his mom said.

“I don’t want to go. It’s boring; I don’t like the people there; they don’t like me.

“John, there are two reasons you have to go to church.  First, you’re 47 years old.  Second, you’re the pastor.”

OK, old joke.  But I think that’s how a lot of people feel.  But it’s not just church we feel stuck with; it’s work, it’s the gym, it’s helping our child with their homework or visiting relatives.

I run into these people often in seminars.  They feel trapped in a job they don’t like because they need the money.  Or they hate exercise, but go to the gym because they have to.  Time spent with people feels like an unavoidable delay in their schedule.

I read a study this morning that said that about 80% of people surveyed would change jobs if they had the opportunity.

“I have to go to work” – “I have to go to the gym” – “I have to . . .”

Saying we “have” to do something means we don’t have a choice.  We’re at the mercy of someone else’s demands.

exercise-boredomIf we feel like we have to go to the gym, it becomes something we dread.  With that perspective, it takes every ounce of willpower to grab our shoes and get out the door.  Then, we’re counting the minutes until it’s over.

If we feel like we have to go to work, we’ll arrive at the last possible minute and count down the hours until we can leave.  We do the work, but we’re not fully engaged.

If we feel like we have to help our 6th grader with their homework, it becomes an unbearable chore.

What if we could change “have to” to “get to?”

It’s a subtle change.  But what if we started seeing all of life through a filter of gratitude?

How would our days be different if we said, “I get to go to work today” . . . ?  There are a lot of people who would give anything to be able to go to work today.

What if we thought, “I get to go to the gym” . . . ?  We could be grateful for the ability to work out and the chance to invest in our physical capacity – something that not everyone can do.

How would we look at 6th grade math if we said, “I get to invest in my child tonight” . . . ? Ten years from now, we’ll wish we had those intimate moments with that same child again.

Ten years from now, we’ll look back on our work – and our times at the gym – and those encounters with our kids.

Will we have regrets?

Not if we’re grateful now.

I see stressed people every day.

It’s probably because I teach seminars about time and life management.  The people who attend aren’t there because their life is in balance.  It’s because they’re at the end of their rope, spinning out of control like a race car on a wet road.

It’s often their last resort.  They’ve tried to stay on top of everything that crowds into their lives, but it’s not working.

  • Too many demands from too many people.
  • More messages coming from more directions.
  • Technology that makes them more accessible than ever.

They’re stressed.

I understand.  I really do.

Because I’m one of those people as well. 

I constantly fight the crippling effects of stress from the same sources.  Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to these fellow travelers.  I’m not teaching theory; I’m sharing the journey with them.

I don’t have all the answers.  I’ve just learned how to approach those stressors from a proactive position.  It doesn’t make them go away, but provides tools for managing them.

I have one tool that’s a favorite.

It’s a simple concept, but takes some work to implement.

It’s one that’s often ignored. But if we can understand its value, it can make a profound difference in our sanity.

It’s called margin.

Margin means that we leave space in our lives for the unexpected.

  • In our finances, it means setting aside a few months income in savings for unexpected roof repair and root canals.
  • In our families, it means leaving enough space in our schedule to be available for the child with an unexpected crisis.
  • In our driving, it means distancing ourselves a bit from the car in front of us in case they make and unexpected move.
  • In our vision, it means we create time to think and plan so we have a foundation when unexpected life events occur.
  • In our health, it means we build strength and endurance so we can deal with the unexpected need for extra exertion.

PressureRichard Swenson wrote, “If we were equipped with a flashing light to indicate ‘100 percent full,’ we could better gauge our capacities.  But we don’t have such an indicator light, and we don’t know when we have overextended until we feel the pain.  As a result, many people commit to a 120 percent life and wonder why the burden feels so heavy.

“It is rare to see a life prescheduled to only 80% . . .”

We need wiggle room.  Without it, everything gets too tight.

If we don’t pay attention, we lose our margin – and we feel overwhelmed.  When that happens, how do we get the margin back?

The only way to get margin is to plan it into our lives.  That’s best done by planning it into our upcoming week, putting it in our calendar and protecting it.  If we don’t intentionally plan for it, it won’t happen.

Margin never happens by accident.  But if we don’t have it, we start losing control and feeling stressed.

We have to constantly fight for it.

So, what percentage of your life is jammed to capacity?  What would it look like if you added some margin into your life?

The Value of Showing Up

Mike Bechtle —  March 22, 2013 — 4 Comments

I’m not a good traveler.

I’ve always considered myself to be optimistic. But when it comes to travel, I’ve learned otherwise.  I love going to new locations, but worry about everything that could go wrong.

We went to Europe a few years ago.  It was an award trip from my company, where they covered the expense.  All we had to do was plan the trip and go.

We picked a river cruise up the Rhine River from Switzerland to Austria.  We didn’t have to rent a car, find our way around, navigate hotels or figure anything out.  Everyone spoke English.

Still, I worried about everything:

  • What if we don’t make it to the airport on time?
  • What if our luggage is overweight?
  • What if we miss a connecting flight somewhere?
  • What about the language barrier?
  • What if we get sick?
  • What if I lose my passport?
  • What if . . .

For a couple of weeks ahead of time, I was stressed.  My head told me that everything would be fine, but my stress sensors were on overdrive.  I actually think I would have been relieved if the trip was cancelled for some reason.

But we showed up.

And it was awesome!

None of my worries came to pass.  Sure, we hit snags along the way.  But we dealt with them when they happened.  We figured them out.

I realized that those snags weren’t the problem.  It was the anticipation of the snags.

little_kid_steep_hillWe’ve talked about doing it again.  When I think about it, there’s not much stress.  We’ve done it, and I know what to expect.

But my wife wants to go on a different cruise to have a different experience.  I want to take the exact same cruise again.

I wonder how many awesome experiences I’ve missed out on because of fear.

I wonder how many things I’ve missed because I never showed up and taken the risk.

Woody Allen said, “80% of success is just showing up.”

Isn’t it amazing how we talk ourselves out of starting something without ever taking the first step?  We have dreams – desires – goals – that would change everything for us.  But as soon as we think about starting, our inner voice smacks us down:

“You’re not smart enough.”

“You’re not good enough.”

“Who do you think you are?”

“You could fail.”

Wayne Gretzky said, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”

I’m learning to postpone my worries until the snags happen.

Life is worth the risk.  A safe life tends to be a boring life (comfortable, but boring).

We’re made for more.

We need to show up.

Often.  Repeatedly.

Recently, I wrote about growing popcorn in our driveway at our little house in Redondo Beach, California. An accidental spill of kernels turned into a mini-crop of popcorn stalks.  Somehow, those kernels took root in the worst possible dirt.

That’s not all we grew at that house by accident:

We grew marijuana.

I never did drugs, so I was pretty naïve.  When this interesting young plant sprouted in the side yard of our house, I was impressed.  I didn’t know what it was, but it grew quickly.  So I took really good care of it – watering it and fertilizing it just like all the flowers and shrubs in our yard.

It was a pretty little plant – bright green serrated leaves that looked like someone’s fingers spread from their palm.  It had an interesting scent, too – different from the other plants in our yard.

It grew really well.  Soon, it was one of the nicest-looking shrubs in our landscape.

Makes a gardener proud . . .

Sometime later, we had friends over for dinner.  They were people from our church – good friends that we would often hang out with.

One of them was a cop.

We had worked hard on our house, and were proud of our landscaping.  So we took them on a tour.

We showed them the popcorn. We showed them the flowers and shrubs.  We told stories of tearing up the lawn, adding sprinklers and perfecting the thick, lush lawn they were standing on.

Then we took them around to the side yard to continue the tour.

“So, what’cha got here?” our policeman friend said as he approached our accidental plant.

“I don’t know – but it’s really pretty, isn’t it?”

“Yep.  Real pretty.  Did you plant it?” he said.

“No, it just sprouted one day.  It looked cool, so I’ve been taking care of it.”

“You know,” he said, “maybe it would be better if you didn’t take such good care of it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s pot.”

Marijuana plantHe did a little research, and found out that the neighbor had been busted a few months earlier.  The yard was absolutely full of the illegal plant.  Authorities cleared his yard, but some seeds were still in the ground.

We thought we were great gardeners.  Everything we planted grew well; even the things that grew accidently grew well.  Just like the popcorn, the marijuana just appeared.  We hadn’t questioned it; we just assumed it was OK with the rest of the plants.

A lot of things “just appear” in our lives. A lot of them are thoughts, habits or attitudes that we didn’t plant.  The people around us had a yard full of them, and they snuck in when we weren’t looking.  We assumed they were harmless, so we let them stay – and watered and nurtured them.

Over time, they’ve grown into full-grown plants.

They look pretty. But they’re dangerous – and damaging our lives.

They need to go.

We need to quit watering them.  We need to dig them out.

The only way we can grow is by focusing on the things that help us thrive, while intentionally eliminating the things that hold us back.

What’s in your garden?

 

I love walking through Craig Park.  From my house, it’s about a 3-mile walk, and Daisy (my miniature Schnauzer) and I do it 3-4 times each week.  It’s a chance to get some exercise, clear my head, pray and think.

The park is divided into sections.  For a quarter mile or so, I’m surrounded by thin, white birch trees and a gentle stream.  Another section is a grove of mature, gnarly oak trees.  Soon, I’m walking through a forest of pine trees – where adrenaline-laced squirrels carry out their chores.

It’s like driving cross-country, but the landscape changes every few minutes.

The highlight of each trip is the lake.  On a cool day, the water is left shivering by the crisp breeze.  Egrets and ospreys stand tall near the bridge, waiting for their dinner to swim through the rocks.  Baby turtles sun themselves near the shore, while ducks explore the water’s surface like lazy bumper cars.

I used to take my iPhone and ear buds and listen to podcasts or audio books.  I figured it was the ultimate in multi-tasking – learning something and being productive while exercising.

Craig Park 2But something happened to my iPhone.  I’m not sure what it was, but the speed changed.  Everything I listened to came through at twice the speed – so a half-hour podcast only took 15 minutes.

At first, it was great.  It was like speed-reading an audio book.  I had to concentrate to absorb the content that was being read like an old Fedex commercial, but I was able to cover twice as much material in the same amount of time.

That lasted several weeks.  But one day when I got home, I realized that I wasn’t relaxed.  I didn’t have the “exercise high” that comes from physical exertion; I was mentally drained.

Even though I was productive, I wasn’t enjoying my time at the park.  In fact, I found myself almost dreading it.

So I began walking without my phone.

And everything changed.

Maybe it was the contrast.  I had spent weeks on mental overdrive during those walks, so I was more receptive to my environment.

I relaxed.

I actually heard the breeze through the oak leaves, and smelled the pine needles as I shuffled through them.  I saw the artistry of design in the variety of birds, and heard the ducks conversing with each other across the lake.

I’m not anti-technology.  I love what it brings into my life.

But I’ve learned to make sure it adds to my life rather than replacing things that are important.

Goethe said, “Things which matter most must never be at the mercy of things which matter least.”

That means I can still listen to podcasts while I’m walking at the park.

Just not all the time.

Ready for a walk in the park today?

 

 

I like goals.

Because of goals, we accomplish things.  We move out of our comfort zone add richness to our lives.

Here’s my problem: Once I reach a goal, I tend to celebrate.  Then I do nothing for a while.

Sometimes for a long while.

Girl and growth chartIt feels good to accomplish something, so I stop and bask in that feeling. While I’m basking, I’m stagnant.  It takes me a long time to pick something else and go through the process again.

I did that with my first book.  After I signed the contract, it took me about six months to write it.  Then it took about a year for it to hit the bookstores.

During that year, I just thought about how fun it was to have written a book.  But I didn’t plan another one during that time.  In fact, it took another six months after publication before I started thinking about book #2.

I repeated that process for book #2 – writing and waiting, but not planning #3 until #2 had been out for a while.

I reached my goals.  Then I got stuck.

I heard leadership author John Maxwell say that goals were important, but not the most important.  He suggested one thing that’s better than goals

Growth.

What if our primary goal was to grow?  Our goals wouldn’t be ends in themselves; they would be milestones in the journey.

What would we be doing if we made a lifelong commitment to grow?  What if we started every day asking, “What can I do to grow today?”

  • We’d probably do less talking and more listening.
  • We’d do less teaching and more learning.
  • We’d have less answers and more questions.
  • We’d have less regrets and more curiosity.
  • We’d have less routine and more dreams.
  • We’d have less expectations and more expectancy.
  • We’d have less fear and more passion.
  • We’d worry less about people’s opinions of us and spend more time building our opinions of them.
  • We’d watch less TV and watch more real life.
  • We’d have less rushed encounters and more relaxed connections.
  • We’d have less words and more communication.

I’m still going to set goals and go for them.

But I never want to stop growing.

You too?

When we were first married, Diane and I lived in a tiny, rented house in Redondo Beach, California.  It had been built in 1920, and our landlady had renovated it just before we moved in.

The garage was too small for our cars to fit, so we always parked in the driveway.  That was part of the charm of the house; the driveway was two strips of cement with hard-packed, rocky dirt in the middle.  We could almost picture a Model-T Ford with its skinny tires resting on those narrow patches.

The black ground in the middle was almost as hard as the cement, soaked solid from years of oil dripping from various engines.

Here we were, at the beginning of our marriage – building memories in a house that was already full of them

Diane’s first job was as a preschool teacher.  Every evening, we would sit together on the floor in our little living room, cutting and pasting and creating activities for the next day’s class.  I was always amazed at her ability to build experiences that would shape a tiny little person’s understanding of a key concept.

One day, we collected a popcorn maker, a bag of corn, and a bunch of Dixie cups.  In class, she popped the corn with the lid off – so each “pop” would send fluffy flakes flying around the room.  The kids each had a little cup, and would race around trying to catch the kernels before they hit the ground.

(I don’t remember the point, but it sounded awesome . . . !)

She pulled in the driveway at the end of that day and opened the hatchback of our little Honda station wagon.  The leftover corn had spilled while she was driving, and some of it fell out onto that grimy, rocky, oily strip of dirt.  It was only a few kernels, so she left them there.  It wasn’t worth getting gunk under your fingernails to pick them up.

We thought that was the end of it.

Until they started to grow.

First, it was little green sprouts.  Then the plants took on the distinct appearance of corn.  Within a few weeks, tiny ears of corn began to appear.  (We parked in the street so we could watch the progress.)

They never reached full size, and we definitely didn’t harvest and eat them.  (We weren’t sure what kinds of toxins in that soil had made their way into the corn.)  But we were amazed that anything could grow there.

Old drivewayIs there a point?

Well, I don’t want to force everything that happens into a life lesson.  But for some reason, that one always stuck with me.  Here’s what I’ve taken from it over the years:

We’re dropping seeds every day.  Every conversation, every encounter, every contact – we leave our thoughts with other people.

And we never know where those seeds are going to take root – and often in the most unlikely soil.

We never know who will be impacted by our lives and by our words.

But it’s happening.

There are no casual contacts.

We’re impacted daily by others in ways they never know.  We’re impacting them in ways we never see.

We make a difference.

Ingredients for Life

Mike Bechtle —  March 5, 2013 — 2 Comments

“Five years from now, you will pretty much be the same as you are today except for two things: the books you read and the people you get close to.” (Quote from the late motivational speaker, Charlie Tremendous Jones)

I’m not sure how instrumental that quote was in developing my perspective about life.  But hearing quotes like that while growing up shaped my current love of reading and conversation.

I think it goes like this:

  • We become what we think about.
  • What we think about comes from our inputs.
  • Our inputs come through our senses – especially what we hear and what we watch.
  • We can choose what we hear and watch.

Hmmm . . .

So, if I’m understanding this correctly, the ingredients that form my thoughts are:

  • The conversations I have
  • The things I read
  • The things I watch

The logical conclusion?

If I want to be better than I am, I need to be choosy about those ingredients.

There are a lot of things trying to get my attention.  Advertisers yell at me from billboards when I’m driving.  They interrupt storylines of my favorite shows with commercials I didn’t request.  They talk to me through little screens at the gas pump, trying to convince me that I need their credit card.

Hundreds of thousands of new books are published every year.  My inbox is filled with requests from people who want something from me.  Flyers are tossed onto my doorstep, stuck under my windshield or handed to me in a crowd, trying to find creative ways to get me to look.

They’re not all bad.  In fact, there are great things to read, watch and observe.

But there are too many to choose from.  I simply can’t take them all in.

If I’m not intentional about those inputs, I’ll end up selecting the shiny ones.

And those ingredients will begin to shape my thinking – which will shape my life.

You can’t prepare a healthy snack if the only ingredients you have in your cupboards are sugar, butter and chocolate.  It might be a tasty snack, but not a healthy one.  I need different ingredients to get different results.

So, how do I sort through the inputs to make sure I get the best ones?

  1. I need to determine who I want to be.
  2. Then I need to determine what ingredients will get me there.
  3. Then I need to intentionally select the best ingredients.

Mound of butterHigh-quality ingredients produce high-quality results.

Good-ingredients produce good-quality results.

Low-quality ingredients produce low-quality results.

It doesn’t happen any other way.

 

If I want a high-quality life, I need to be more choosy about my choosing.

You, too?

 

Forgive AND Forget?

Mike Bechtle —  March 1, 2013 — 2 Comments

I’ve read a ton of stuff about forgiving the people who cause us pain.

It’s valuable information.  It provides a great blueprint for handling relationships that hurt.  It keeps us from becoming victims.

The advice is usually focused on one phrase:

Forgive and forget.

The first word (“forgive”) is where we usually put our energy.  It takes a series of conscious choices to forgive someone who has wronged us.

If we don’t forgive, we put the other person in control of our emotions.  We say, “They ruined my life.”  In effect, we shift the blame to them for anything that’s wrong in our lives.  We feel like they messed everything up, so we don’t take responsibility for moving forward.

I get it.  I buy it.  I’ve seen the value of taking responsibility for our own emotional health.

It’s good to forgive.  Not easy, but good.  It’s worth the effort.

But I’ve always had a problem with the second word – forget.

Somehow, it feels unhealthy to forget. It’s like saying, “The hurt never happened.”

But the greater the hurt, the harder it is to forget.

And I’m not sure we should.

Forgive and forget matrixMaybe it’s a co-worker who stabbed us in the back on their way to the top.  Maybe it’s a close friend who betrayed us.  Maybe it’s a spouse who damaged us with their choices.

We’ll probably always remember the damage that was done – especially when we live with the scars. We’ll always remember what people did to us.  If the relationship is important, we’ll forgive – but not forget.

If I forget the hurt, I set myself up to be hurt again.

If I remember the hurt, I can choose what to do with it.  I might be able to let it go . . . but I might establish boundaries in our relationship to keep it healthy in the future.

Trust doesn’t happen immediately when it’s been broken; it takes time to rebuild.

What if we said, “Forgive and remember?”

Maybe our forgiveness would gain meaning, because it’s based on reality.  Remembering allows us to be realistic instead of bitter.

It’s like growing up with an emotionally abusive parent who’s been gone for years.  “Forgiving and remembering” doesn’t ignore the hurt.  But instead of obsessing about the wrong done to us, we can use it to heal.  “My life is tougher because of what they did – but I can make choices about how I live.”

C.S. Lewis said, “Everyone says forgiveness is a lovely idea until they have something to forgive.”

Got someone you’ve been trying to forgive and forget, but it’s just not working?  Is there someone who has their emotions in their grip?

What would it look like if you could break free?  What would it look like to forgive and remember?

 

A blog (at least this one) isn’t a teaching tool; it’s a conversation starter.  I’ve been sharing my often unfinished thoughts over these months, and you’ve picked up the conversation by reacting and commenting.  That’s awesome – it’s how we learn from each other and grow.

Keep sharing your thoughts.  Invite others to join the discussion.  Keep interacting with each other.

Maybe we’ll all grow a little in the process.