Hanging out with an older lady (There is a good chance she is going to kill me for that)

My coworkers were ready to have Mrs. Robinson playing when I started up my computer yesterday. Forget the fact that Wendy had informed them she was there at my birth, or had driven to Boulder to see me. Nope, they figured I was full of shit. Well, kinda at least. It probably didn’t help that we had margaritas together; and she paid. Or that I took the day off to run her butt up Sanitas, into Rocky Mountain National Park and into the movie theater. On the outside looking in, it must have seemed kinda strange.

It was a great day. One of those days in Boulder where you never feel rushed, but somehow manage to see the Rockies, Flatirons, Rio and Stone Cup without breaking a sweat. The kind of day where conversation flows together, weaving in and out of topics, crashing down at times and then receding back to more comfortable waters.

We talked a lot. I’d like to say it’s because I can add valuable points to conversation, but we all know I’m kidding myself on that one. At one point, somewhere between the flat wasteland of America’s Midwest and Gods natural speed bumps, the Rockies, we talked about her late husband and the grieving process.

The conversation was in confidence, but it stuck out. I had close friends in high school who lost parents, friends and siblings. I somehow managed to sidestep the funerals, memorials and suicide attempts. I did, however, always wonder how I would grieve.

Throughout the day a central theme circulated our conversation. The need to get out and experience life. For Wendy, an “older” woman, it was how to cope with post-kid life. For me, a “younger” man, it was how to start a family and set down roots. We both had our desires. Our aspirations. Our similarities.

There is a country song going around on the radio right now about how life goes faster than you think. I’ll save you from the depressing lyrics, but it was evident yesterday while hiking up to Cub Lake that life was what you make of it.

Wendy got in her car and drove away from home. She decided to shed skins. Look deep inside. Take a journey of self discovery.

En route, she just so happened to spend a day with me, in a place I am growing to love. Living in a town that seems so similar to back home, I’m still alone, wandering into bars with good friends, but new friends. Her familiar face was a welcome site. A grounding of existence. And of course, so was her ability to tell me how it is, and set me back on track.

Best Damn Weekend Ever: Moab + Sun + Full Moon and Good People

Sweet Home Alabama just hit the radio. It’s 2:22 am. I’ve cracked my second beer. We’re getting passed by a mini van. Moab is in our sights. Sweet.

More to come, but I’m zonked after nearly 800 miles of driving and two days in the desert. Photos are straight from the camera so be nice on the touchup.

-Tim

Seven ways people react to new ideas and roadblocks

I’ve noticed something lately, usually when given a task that involves a roadblock; I tend to focus on the positive instead on the negative. Not that I don’t bitch, I do that all the time, but rather when looking at my job, or tasks at hand, it’s the positives that get me through.

The last few weeks I’ve made a conscious effort to listen to how people react to ideas. I’ve noticed some interesting things.

• People usually like the idea, but find a negative within the first few seconds. Instead of asking what they can do, they ask how the person will overcome so and so problem.
• People take the idea and make it theirs. They usually do this by saying “It’s great, BUT how about so and so. (I do this all the time and need to watch it)
• People rarely ask how they can help. I get a feeling that people, and this is not directed at the people I work with, are afraid to take on more work. They don’t want to commit to someone else’s idea. It’s not out of selfishness, but more to maintain their sanity.
• If people do ask what they can do, they usually don’t accept the person’s suggestions. Rather they go out and do what they think they need to do and then show off their work.
• People are afraid to agree and jump blindly. Again not directly related to my job, but the department I work in constantly has roadblocks. We have technical problems, equipment problems, contributor problems and yet we survive. It’s mainly because we put ourselves out there as a team and hope for the best. This, however, is usually not the norm.
• Those who do offer, who do follow through, who do give away some of their time usually come away with more than they put in. Professional coaches say, “Those who are willing to learn, ask for help and help others, will grow beyond their years.” I have a hard time with this one, but try my best.
• When the idea is bad, people say so and leave it at that. Instead, they could talk about how to improve the idea, or push the thinkers own ideology. It’s a fine line, but important.

So the moral of the story? Next time I hear an idea, no matter how ludicrous, I’m going to do my best to encourage, help and maybe even be a part of the project.

John the nice guy…

He was a nice guy. A little off his rocker, and probably mentally disabled, but overall John was genuine. I was in the YMCA locker room getting read to go back to work, when John started talking up a storm. He was across the room, talking to every person who came near him about the snow.

“Did you see the snow today?” he would say. “I hear it’s supposed to snow till six, then it will stop hopefully for the rest of the year. I love snow, do you?”

And usually the guys would mutter a one word answer and walk away quickly ignoring his advances. But then one guy sat down and talked to him for a few minutes. He methodically talked about snow and spring, and took time to listen. When he expressed he had to go, John beamed and wished him well. A few minutes later John looked at me, smiled and said “see some people really do care.”

Drop and give me twenty! — My personal challenge to you

Growing up I was the fat kid. Actually, I was skinny-as-a-rail until about 11, when my mom started buying husky pants and telling me they were for “husky kids.” Of course I had no idea husky was a nice word for fat, so I didn’t take it to heart.

I think it was in 7th grade when I started noticing I wasn’t normal. It probably happened in the locker room on the first day of PE, when this kid, who will remain nameless, made fun of my and didn’t let up for six years.

Now I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t I do anything about it? Well the truth was I did. I ran four days a week, ate with some sort of a conscious and even took weight training. The problem was, no matter how active I was, or what I did, my body more or less didn’t care.

You should know this isn’t a pity party, so before you decide to click out, there is a reason I’m divulging into something I still grapple with today. You see, when I was in ninth grade we participated in the Presidential Fitness Challenge. According to the challenge, I was supposed to do x-amount of push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups and run the mile in under 7:30. I failed miserably and was told by my PE teacher, that according to national statistics, I was in the bottom 15 percent. Harsh words for a kid who could backpack for weeks on end, ride his bike up pipleline road and climb a redwood tree almost as fast as his best friend.

I guess this all came flooding back tonight when I read a recent article the New York Times wrote about the simple act of Push-ups. To my surprise the underlying message was,“To develop enough strength so they can break a fall safely without hitting their head on the ground. If you can’t do a single push-up, it’s going to be difficult to resist that kind of loading on your wrists in a fall.”

In other words, what simply defined me and gave me a complex for years was to keep me healthy enough to not get hurt while falling. Awesome.

About a year ago while training for an Olympic triathlon, my running coach challenged me to a simple workout routine, which he said, “would change my world.” Once during the day, starting at week one, I was to do one push-up and one sit-up, three times. Each week the number would increase by one, until week 50, when I would be doing 150 push-ups and 150 sit-ups a day. I foolishly took him up on the challenge and was quickly humbled.

Just this Sunday I finished the challenge and took a moment to reflect. When I started I could do 30 push-ups no problem, but not every day, and not three sets. I did push-ups in airports, Wal-Mart parking lots, strangers houses, National Parks, the back of my car and on the bank of several rivers. There were days I didn’t want to do them but kept going. Days that I skipped and now regret. But most of all, there is now the understanding of a slow long-term goal that takes patience and commitment. A goal that for some is feasible with relatively no effort at all.

So I challenge you, my friends, to do the same. I’ll even do it with you, sending bits of encouragement back and forth. If you laugh at the thought, or think it’s too easy, then I’m afraid you’re simply not getting the big picture.

If you’re interested, send me a note and we’ll start next week.

The Tender Bar: Proof you can be a functioning alcoholic

A dear friend of mine recently passed along, J.R. Moehringer’s recent memoir The Tender Bar, and since all three of her children work in bars, and usually are pretty good at getting into trouble without going too far, reading it was a no-brainer.

Last weekend after a perfect bluebird day here in Colorado, six inches of snow kept me indoors and restless. Wrapped up, sitting on the floor, I opened The Tender Bar and started to read. Four hours later I set the book down, went out and bought a 12 pack of beer, then promptly preceded reading. Ten beers later, I was done.

The following are two passages that stuck out:

J.R. talking about his cousin’s baseball career

I understood that my cousin was a budding major leaguer. He was a dedicated craftsman, and the rewards he’d gained from hard work went far beyond mastering a slider and a change. He’d mastered himself. He knew that hard work was the right path for a man, the only path. He wasn’t paralyzed, as I was, by the fear of making a mistake. When he bounced a pitch in front of me, or threw it over the head, he didn’t care. He was experimenting, exploring, finding himself, and finding his way by trial and error to a kind of truth. No matter how foolish he looked on a pitch, no matter how badly he missed the target, with the next pitch he was focused, confident, relaxed. He never once that afternoon lost the look on his face that he’d worn when we were boys. He was working hard, but he’d never stopped playing.

J.R. remembering a conversation he had over scotch with a priest on his way home from Yale

“Can I tell you something?” the priest asked. “Do you know why God invented writers? Because He loves a good story. And He doesn’t give a damn about words. Words are the curtain we’ve hung between Him and our true selves. Try not to think about the words. Don’t strain for the perfect sentence. There’s no such thing. Writing is guesswork. Every sentence is an educated guess, the reader’s as much as yours. Think about that the next time you curl a piece of paper into your typewriter.”

Reality Check on the Trail

Was out this weekend with some friends in Rocky Mountain National Park, when we passed an older guy on the trail.

“Hello, how are you?” We asked.

“Great kids!” he responded. “It’s another day above ground my friends.”

And just like that, suddenly everything was snapped back into perspective.

Finding the balance of life and work

Recently there has been a lot of debate about a blog post Mahalo.com’s CEO, Jason Calacanis, wrote titled, “Can you have a life and work at a startup company.”

Jason provided several examples why working in a startup requires more time and commitment than your average job, but really hit a nerve when he talked about letting two smokers go. The jist of it was that they were smoking while everyone else was collaborating. In other words, they weren’t being team players. Several high-profile bloggers jumped on the story, and one even made a mockery of it, but the question at hand shouldn’t be downgraded to witty comments and laundry “how to” lists.

Instead it should be taken to heart, and debated among the group most affected, the twenty something’s trying to break in.

Take myself for instance. I have an amazing opportunity to work for eight months at a magazine I idolize. I took huge risks to get here, and even have resorted to sleeping on the floor due to budget constraints, so when looking at the debate between punching a 9-5 time clock and reality, I can’t help but think it’s more important for me to work my butt off.

Secondly, there are a hundred kids behind me who will work twice as hard as me if given the chance. I know this because I’m one of those kids.

So then how do I find a balance? For starters being broke really helps. Since I can’t afford health insurance, skiing is out. Ice climbing is cool, but an endless expense, and at this point, staying away from eating things out of a box is almost not a reality.

Secondly, I find time to pursue my passions outside my job. Usually this involves waking up around six a.m. and going running, reading a book, cooking breakfast or just watching the sunrise. By the time I punch the clock, I’ve already had a few hours to myself.

Thirdly, I make time to do nothing. Usually this involves beer, a couch and our 15-inch TV. (Ironically it sits about 17 feet away.) Last night it was Dominos and some music.

But most importantly, I’m able to find a balance out of the knowledge that this is what I want to do. I gave up the money, the stability, the promising career and left it all to faith. So you better believe I’m not going to just roll over and let it all go away just because I’m not willing to work harder than the next guy.

(ps: writing this at a great little coffee shop in Boulder, relaxing and listening to three guys, who are stoned out of their minds, play some of the worst music I’ve ever heard.)

(pps: This weekends travels brought me here…)

It’s summer! Wait…scratch that…the F-ing snow is back…

Climbing Twin SistersIt was hot yesterday. Like 75 degrees hot. Of course when I woke up this morning, three inches of snow was on the ground, but at least for one day we had California-like weather.Pics are from our adventure up Twin Sisters peak in Rocky Mountain National Park.