Fix-ating

cresentwrench
A certain fixation seems one of the inescapable collateral effects of a problem orientation. I’m easily seduced into trying to fix if I see every complaint as a problem. This preference easily degrades into a form of addiction, where I seek out problem situations so I can show off by big, shiny wrench.

I am rather proud of my wrench. And I’m encouraged by my many successes employing it. If I am not always the master of every difficulty, I am always the master of my toolbox.

I suppose enlightenment begins sometime after I realize that no wrench in my expansive toolbox fits the nut I’m convinced needs tightening, or when I begrudgingly accept that no nut exists for my wrenching to secure. Sure, I’ll try the vice grips and even that antique Model T spanner I found at a barn sale, but they won’t work, either. In frustration, then, wisdom might prevail. Slip over here for more ...

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No Problem

problemsolving
I’m declaring my last month sensitivity to ‘leaversmith,’ aka leadership, officially over. I doubt that I’ll ever again be able to swallow the term leadership again without chewing and finding some surprising resistance there. My learning high-centers on the emerging conviction that I just gotta inject my own situational meaning into every invocation of that notorious ‘L’ word, otherwise, it’s clearly meaningless. Over the past month, I’ve encountered hundreds of instances of ‘leadership,’ each one cloaked in a fuzzy reassurance, and meaningless without my more-or-less mindful intervention.

Friends have published books over the last month featuring the ‘L’ word in the title, but most offered helpful follow-up advice in their subtitles. Read carefully! I’m learning to slow down and chew before I swallow, even when—especially when—that meaning was supposed to be pre-conscious. Slip over here for more ...

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False Identity

sheepinwolf
Business school bestowed an extra, unstated diploma upon me. Sure, I received the faux sheepskin one, properly bound in a green leather case, with a more powerful, insidious, tacit one invisibly attached.

After those full-immersion years of case studies, conferences, and cow-towing, I fancied myself some kind of leader. Other than getting myself chosen as the chapter head of a small student organization, I’d had little practical experience, and certainly no large-scale strategic involvement in anything. But I carried that attitude, that confident mindset that, given half a chance, my presence would improve any organization.

My first wife would ask what had happened to me, and I would respond absolutely baffled by her question. I felt on top of an expanding world, powerful in ways I had never before imagined. Sure, I worked long uncompensated hours as a management trainee, but I was working with the big dogs, ... digging, it would turn out, really big holes. Slip over here for more ...

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Lost In Translating

LostInTranslation
I might be a master at simultaneously translating. You might be every bit as masterful, too. Meaning-making and sense-making seem to demand no less from each of us. A difficulty emerges, though, because I’m rarely very aware of the substitutions I’m so seamlessly making. I don’t suffer from this perfectly human form of mindlessness, and even when I find myself suffering, I almost never understand that I’m the source. I could, in a more perfect world, always choose to translate in ways that would delight me, but I don’t often even catch myself translating.

So, my month-long challenge to catch myself translating whenever I encounter the ‘L’ word, what I’ve quite deliberately chosen to translate into ‘leaversmith,’ has rendered me a tiny bit more mindful. Of course, my newly-hatched mindfulness feels slightly crazy, like a more deliberate form of mindlessness, but I could claim the same effect from any habit-breaking practice. Slip over here for more ...

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Greatness

greatness
The headline insisted that we’d lost a great leader, though the story beneath the fold reported bi-polar opinions of her greatness. This story got me thinking about the great leaders I’ve known. What made them so great?

Here, I feel obliged to start listing attributes: behaviors, habits, and actions intended to describe their greatness. Maybe I could throw in a model that cleverly summarizes the universal attributes of greatness, leader-wise. I could even subscribe to one or another theory of greatness and pontificate. My bookshelves groan under the weight of competing theories of greatness. Slip over here for more ...

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Disappointment

disappointment
The very mention of leadership induces deep feelings of disappointment in me. It seems to dredge up failings rather than successes; ones I’ve witnessed as well as all the other’s I created all by myself, Lucy-holding-the-football scenarios I already know will turn out poorly. Mount the stage, fall on my face.

Some of the leadership gurus explain that continuous improvement looks exactly like this, serial faceplants, slightly different every time. Maybe the same tune, but with key changes in between. Whatever, leadership slips beyond risky into certainty. Set ‘em up. knock ‘em down.

This sounds pessimistic, I know. Slip over here for more ...

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Leadershiplessness

Lessismore
My first step into leadershiplessness might have offended some of my dearest friends. After half a lifetime in the leadership industry, I list many prominent leaders as dearest friends, so when I come out on this little stage to swear off the label to our shared life-blood experience, some might have concluded that I’d just slipped over that thin edge into delusional. I meant no disrespect.

Of course I was engaging in what we introverts do so well: blurting. It’s our greatest gift and, sometimes, our very worst enemy. My moments of greatest inspiration have all come from blurting. My greatest humiliations, too. I’ve spent much of my life canned up trying to tame this wild beast. It’s usually better for me when I open my can of worms with little deliberation. Though I might appear insensitive then, at least I appear. Slip over here for more ...

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The Leaversmith Challenge

leaversmith
I purposefully waited until after April Fool’s Day to propose this challenge because I wanted to make sure it was not mistaken for some kind of prank. Some will believe I should have waited much longer while others might wish I’d released this sooner. Like with all true challenges, there couldn’t have been and never will be a perfect time to initiate this one.

No day passes without me receiving at least one exhortation to become a more effective, purposeful, confident, likable, service-oriented, or successful leader. My Twitter feed overfloweth with ‘em. Facebook apparently thrives by frequently faceplanting into ‘em. And I know I really should want to achieve all of those, if only I knew what any of them meant. Slip over here for more ...

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The Burgeoning Self Deception Industry

self-deception
I am part of the burgeoning self deception industry. You probably are, too, either as a purveyor, a (probably enthusiastic) consumer, or, most probably, both. This market segment has enjoyed huge, unprecedented growth over recent decades, yet the top of its market remains beyond anyone’s ability to see, a bubble seemingly incapable of bursting.

Self-helplessness accounts for most of the activity within this industry. Slip over here for more ...

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Gun Owner Control

gun
I’m in no danger of becoming an expert on guns. I just don’t care about them very much. They seem expensive, dangerous, and essentially useless for anything I might do. I do have one, though, inherited. An heirloom, kept secure and inaccessible, wrapped in swaddling cloth, with no ammunition in the house.

I don’t like ‘em. I figure if Matt Dillon insisted that anyone entering Dodge check his gun at the city limits, I’m with him. I don’t mind people owning them, just that some of the owners insist upon shooting them in public. Slip over here for more ...

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Grandma Love

gmalove
Don’t look for it in the movies,
try not to push and shove,
no pundit in this world understands
Grandma Love.
It’s the glue that sticks together
pretty much everything we see,
but rarely do we stop to think
what that glue might be.
Slip over here for more ...
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Peek-A-Boo

peekaboo2
I say, “I see you,”
though I doubt I really do.
I certainly don’t see you the same way
you see you.
I look your way and even stop to say
some greeting as I pass,
and you return my acknowledgement,
maybe touching the brim of your hat.

We live our lives playing peek-a-boo,
believing all along the way
that we left behind our most childish games
in favor of grown-up play.
Then every blessed day we play,
unconscious of the game,
unspoken “Peek-a-boo” each time we greet,
with rituals much the same. Slip over here for more ...

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Reflection

old-fashion-christmas-decoration
Christmas seems reflective,
a bright and shiny sphere
within which we seek to see our world
in a parabolic mirror.
The tip of the nose expands in size,
shrinking toward the ears,
and we universally call the nastiest weather
The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year.

The rear view comes into focus
while the future fades away,
we sing the songs that have driven us crazy
since nineteen fifty eight. Slip over here for more ...

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Snow Angels

snowangel2
What could prove more uplifting,
on a fading, snowy day,
than some half-frozen youth
still innocent of truth
leaving angels along her way?


The snow might seem indifferent,
the weather threatening more,
the sun making sounds
like he’s ‘bout to go down,
still she tends to her chore. Slip over here for more ...

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Instancy

instantsnow
I am rarely impatient,
only intermittently rushed,
which renders me a throwback;
an alien on this bus.
I stalk the slowly-roasted,
I savor the leisurely-aged,
and I restrict my microwaving
to cell phoning, not my plates.

We live in The Age of Instancy,
with little time to spare,
just as hungry as we ever were,
and the holidays ’re drawing near.
We can order McTurkey for supper,
squirt whipped creme from a can,
and buy a brand new baby Jesus
on The Handy® payment plan.


Slip over here for more ...

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Illusional

KidChimney
Christmas seems illusional, almost sleight of hand; a magic trick we pretend to get, hoping it won’t get out of hand. It gets out of hand, anyway, whatever we try to do.

Much relies upon firm belief, no reindeer could fly on its own. Though few believe in Santa and such, still we decorate our homes. We share the stories and swap the yarns without really wondering much, and often some magic seems to appear, leaving a remarkable touch. Slip over here for more ...

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I Know Why The Snow Bird Sings

snowbird
I know why the snow bird sings with such unerring charm,
not because she’s particularly happy waiting out the spring.
And not merely because she knows the music, having inherited the score,
and not because she’s stiffening her courage to face some unwanted chore.
And not because she’s so devout she just can’t help but comply
with some chirpy-beaked, avian conductor waving a winged baton,
and not because she’s trying to please some showy, plumed mate,
and not at all because she’s certain of her or anyone’s fate.
Slip over here for more ...
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Black and White

4 thevintagevillage - Copy
The past was black and white back then,
the future, silvery bold.
The present, translucent and slightly hazy,
though memories shimmered gold.

Each year snuggled into eternity,
next week was a foreign land.
Some say this world was simpler then,
though I doubted that out of hand.
Slip over here for more ...
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Holly

10774581-christmas-card-with-holiday-elements-for-design-vintage-background
Doesn’t holly seem unlikely stuff to celebrate anything with?
The waxy leaves, infernally sharp,
the berries, a poisonous pith.
The plant, itself, invasive,
its habit unrefined,
try to remove its tap root
to lose your mind.

Yet we bundle it into festive wreaths,
cursing all the way,
we staple it to our doortops
and wire it onto sleighs,
we send long-suffering spouses out
to snip a few more fronds,
administering mercurochrome
after they respond. Slip over here for more ...

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Homefull 2.7: Beginnings

beginning
After the latest apocalypse—wasn’t this the umpteenth end of the world we’ve somehow survived?—the winter sun returned. Scudding clouds swept over trees swept naked in the overnight gale. Overnight, the cats had experienced a small end of their world, managing to pull one of the poinsettias off a side table. They slinked guiltily as I swept up the spill, but no less guiltily than I was slinkling.

All profound experiences appear trivial. Just another in a long stream of mornings, punctuated only by my slight surprise. We play peek-a-boo with the universe, sometimes almost scaring ourselves. Slip over here for more ...

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Homefull 2.6: Endings

endings
I feel grateful for the Mayans or their mis-interpreters for predicting the end of the world. As predictions go, this one qualifies as perfect. Perfect because there’s no freaking way to objectively determine if it succeeds; nobody will be around to assess. No big deal if it fails. Same-old, same-old.

I’m not living like I’m dying. I don’t have a ‘bucket list,’ and I try not to carry baggage over-filled with regrets. If I knew the world would definitely end tomorrow, I wouldn’t go trying to satisfy long-denied urges or overwhelm my senses. I’d do exactly what I’m doing this morning, I’d live like I was living. Slip over here for more ...

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Homefull 2.5: Winter Stock

winterstock
The Muse does most of the holiday cooking. She roasts the goose, bakes the pies, concocts the stuffings, and slaves over the stollen, but I’m responsible for delivering the winter stock that will anchor the formal dinner. I started that work yesterday.

This last week of Autumn provides plenty of ugly veg: odd outside cabbage leaves, parsnip peelings, rabe stalk butts, leek tops, and onions on the edge. Stock thrives on ugly veg. Four pounds of fine veal bones, roasted in a hot-hot oven for an hour before adding the rough-chopped veg, then roasted for another hot-hot hour before immersion into the stock pot. There, in the largest pot in the place, the whole mess simmers until long after the windows steam over.

The place seems wrapped in that kind of warmth only Winter brings, Slip over here for more ...

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Homefull 2.4: Lectricity

lectricity
I have a tenuous relationship with electricity. Just a couple of years ago, I finally conceded that it exists. Before then, I considered it a form of mass hypnosis. Sure, I’d wired in new fixtures, but I’d relied upon the circuit breakers to confirm if I’d connected them correctly. Even then, I once installed an outlet that delivered barely enough ‘juice’ to turn the fan in a hair drier, but not nearly enough to heat its element. Ohm problem or something, I guess. I resolved that difficulty by reinstalling the old light switch instead of the switch/plug combo that I thought should have worked.

The new place has florescent fixtures in the basement. The one over the laundry area works fine after I whap it on one end a couple of times. One over the workbench looks unused new, but was missing the tubes, so I headed back to the hardware store. I’m there two or three times every day since we moved in here. I’m getting to where I don’t get lost in there nearly as much. Slip over here for more ...

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Homefull 2.3: Smells Like Christmas

smelly
At first, this new place smelled like a vacation rental, exuding a dusty, slight mustiness common to any uninhabited space. Later, I burned some pinõn incense, and the main floor smelled like Sante Fe for a while. Yesterday, The Muse baked fruit cakes. Now, the place smells an awfully lot like Christmas.

My sense of smell usually seems irrelevant when compared with my aural and visual presence. I tend to prefer to take information in through my ears and eyes, like I suppose most of us do, but my nose knows a lot more than I usually give it credit for. Slip over here for more ...

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Homefull 2.2: Found

found
When The Grand Otter was a few years younger, we hosted an Easter egg hunt. I, not dressed up for the Easter Bunny role, hid the eggs. The Muse and The Otter had colored them the night before. Sara was out early, racing around the yard, yelling “FOUND ONE!,” whenever she found one. ‘Found One!’ has since become a utility-in-good-standing phrase in our family language. I’ve been channeling the eight year old Grand Otter this week, discovering long lost treasures.

I’d forgotten what I’d lost in the great dislocation. I’d packed up the old place with what passed for great care, but some precious possessions seemed to have simply evaporated. I missed them at first, spending idle hours searching through unlikely boxes hoping to find. I even found a few. But through recent years, several items were left aching to be found. Slip over here for more ...

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Homefull 2.1: The Tricks

tricks
How many Davids did it take to change the headlamp in The Muse’s car? Trick question! David couldn’t change the headlamp in The Muse’s car. He had to take it to the mechanic after spending a good part of one Saturday failing to figure out how to change that headlamp. The owner’s manual tried, but failed to describe the procedure. One download from the internet breezily explained how removing the front bumper proved the simplest method for headlamp replacement. Humiliated, I finally surrendered. Tony the Mechanic switched it out one-handed, without looking, and charged me less than I would have paid for just a headlamp, and even replaced for nothing three subsequent ones when they failed because, in his judgement, they hadn’t lasted long enough. Didn’t even scrape his knuckles.

”There’s a trick to it,” Tony explained, without describing the trick. Why, I wonder, does every mechanical device come with some unexplainable trick attached? Slip over here for more ...

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Homefull 2.0: Contained

tilepuzzle
I finished emptying the storage space yesterday, a four by ten foot treasure trove of irregularities. I disassembled those three shelving units and stacked the pieces in the car. Today, I get to reassemble, place, and populate them so they’ll serve several orthogonal purposes. Oh, the place I’ll reassemble them into currently contains piles of the stuff they’ll contain; a tile puzzle with no missing piece.

Moving amounts to switching containers. If the contents of a life would pour from one space into another, the shift would barely rate as trivial. But life comes in an alarming variety of shapes, sizes, and fragilities, with heavy emphasis on irregular, odd, and brittle. We expect rectangles to hold ovoids. Every single thing initially seems poorly suited to its new space, so moving seems a multi-dimensional mediation. Slip over here for more ...

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Homefull 1.9: Guilty

gavel
Big Jim the Plumber returned yesterday to finish the work he started Saturday, to fix the drippy kitchen faucet and replace the handleless outside faucet. He arrived right on time, 9:30, exactly an hour and a half later than promised, but I didn’t care. Saturday, I was foggy-headed from moving and annoyed at his tardiness. Yesterday, I’d reset my expectations. He arrived ninety minutes late, exactly on time.

I caught myself having been a bit less than my ideal self as I ushered in this giant. We exchanged what felt like embarrassed pleasantries, as if we both realized that we’d met under less than ideal conditions and preferred to just move on. I went to the basement to shut off the water and left him to his kitchen work, only catching up when he headed to the basement to survey the work there. Slip over here for more ...

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Homefull 1.8: Integrating

integral
Beyond the schlepping, moving involves much integration. Fitting, tastefully, the same stuff into space about a third smaller, twice as big, or just differently-shaped. We completed integration in our last move by renting storage space for all the stuff we could not fit into the place. Yesterday, under the possibly misguided notion that we wouldn’t need any overflow now, I moved most of that stuff into the formerly vast basement. Now it’s hardly half vast.

Renting the storage space never really qualified as integration. It represented a compromise, a somewhat shameful admission that we had accumulated more than we could hold. I’ve visited that space infrequently and always felt like a sneak thief there, as if engaged in illicit trade: Hoarding my past. Slip over here for more ...

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Homefull 1.7: Plumbing

plunger
The Muse never has to wait very long after we move in before I tangle with the plumbing. A few months after we moved into The Villa Vatta Schmaltz West, I made it rain in the basement when the house was full of weekend guests celebrating my birthday. That encounter included a backhoe digging a trench through the front yard, knocking down an ancient Hawthorne tree and half of a retaining wall, and ended with us rebuilding that retaining wall and sawing up about a year’s supply of fire wood. Plumbing can be like that.

So, when the second night in this new place, the kitchen disposal choked on a cabbage core and defied my vigorous plunging, I emailed the landlord’s property agent. That message failed, rejected by the agent’s server, so I called the next morning, connecting with the agent’s repair agent, who explained that it wasn’t his fault my message failed. Great, I thought, he’s a blame fixer. Slip over here for more ...

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Homefull 1.6: Leveling

level
Like any ninety year old, nothing’s level in this place. Some floors seem to defy gravity, others long ago surrendered to it. Our mostly hand-me-down furniture hasn’t passed for square in at least a generation, so we’re becoming expert melders. Intricacies define this game. The goal: fool the eye.

Yesterday, we moved the hutch into its better position. Little lifting required. I nudged the monster up enough for The Muse to slip cardboard under each end, then it slid easily across the floor. Two more nudges and the cardboard slipped back out to reveal that highboy leaning a fair bit front-ways. This morning, a few minutes with a prybar and shims, and it looks dead level both ways. I’m hoping it won’t seem too square for its surroundings. Slip over here for more ...

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Homefull 1.5: Moving Inward

inward
I say we’re moving in when we’re really moving inward. The movers left everything where we thought we’d want it. That was moving in, but we pretty quickly changed our minds. The kitchen, for instance, ended up impassable, so I schlepped all the kitchen stuff over to the dining room, which has been serving as the staging area while we scrubbed down the remarkably greasy kitchen. Likewise the master bedroom, unsleepable until I shifted everything over to Amy’s sewing room to create a temporary master bedroom staging area. Slip over here for more ...
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Homefull 1.4: Weak-Hand Mindfulness

weakhand
I visited our recently ex-landlord last night, returning his short ladder the movers accidentally brought along. My muscle memory guided me up the dark, uneven front walk, and I caught myself suddenly transported back into the me that moved out of there nearly a month ago. That me could move around that space without once needing to consider what I was doing. I could perfectly anticipate every move, my daily life ready-to-hand.

The difference felt stark because in the weeks since we moved, even the smallest acts have demanded my presence. No muscle memory could guide me through those transition times. I’ve lived the last month as an extended improvisation, one-time performances never intended for repetition. I’ve been feeling quite the clumsy performer, though I know I’m only experiencing mindfulness. Slip over here for more ...

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Homefull 1.3: Transplanting

transplanting
My life might be reasonably traced through the variety of soils it’s been transplanted into: from loess to hardpan, arid sand then soggy loam, cherty infill to perlite-improved clay. The process inevitably involves violent dislocation because roots set down without expecting to ever let go. The finer tendrils get disregarded, simply snipped off and left to decompose. We also have to prune some of the central tap root, which has usually foraged half way to China. The root ball, ever increasing in size and cumbersomeness, can survive out of soil indefinitely, but it needs special attention to keep from drying out during the transition.

This transition has lasted over-long, this separation particularly difficult. We’ll know tomorrow if the new hole we’ve dug proves adequate to hold the life we’ve accumulated, but we won’t know until the end of the dormant winter period if new tendrils find this latest new soil hospitable. Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 2.8: Because and Affect

affect
Thirty years ago, I supervised programmers responsible for maintaining the most remarkably convoluted mainframe financial systems. Their nightly processing ‘cycle’ frequently emerged as a choke point. One of the systems would crash trying to process some unexpected booger in the data stream, and one of my crew would get a pre-dawn summons from the night shift operator and head into the office to get around the stall. Time was always short, as the processing cycle needed to be finished in time to bring up the online system before the following morning’s day shift started.

I was interested in what happened in those small hours, so I’d sometimes mosey in under the guise of offering my support. I suppose my presence hurt more than it helped achieve resolution because I was deeply interested in understanding why these problems happened. I learned that the most effective midnight debuggers didn’t really care about finding the root cause of these problems. Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 2.7: Tickling The Tickle Point

tickleme
Ever since Malcolm Gladwell hit the best seller list with his The Tipping Point, I’ve been finding clients chasing their tail, pursuing that almost eternally elusive point where their system might actually tip. This doesn’t quite qualify as a fool’s mission, but I usually recommend ‘investing’ in lottery tickets as a viable, much more likely-to-be successful, alternative. The Tipping Point, you see, might be that point where a system crosses the Rubicon, unable to return to its old status quo. I promote a more easily achieved objective instead, The Tickle Point, where attention might shift without tipping anything over ... yet.

Anyone who’s ever wrestled a three year old out of a tantrum into a giggle fit understands the nature of The Tickle Point. It’s that point where the seemingly permanent frustration notices some brighter-shinier. True, nothing’s really changed at that point, except, perhaps, for focus. But once the focus changes, the previously impermeable barrier’s penetrated. Then, anything might happen. Even something really different. Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 2.6: Up To Something

up2something
”Nobody’s apathetic, except when pursuing someone else’s goals.”

I look for that look in their eye, that smirky stare that swears it’s not up to anything, ... honest. The poorly-concealed joke. The heart-lightening nod. Their affect emanates quiet authority because these people are up to something.

This matters. More than almost anything. More than higher purpose. More than lofty goals. More than that promotion, paycheck, or bonus. Being up to something salts and spices and sweetens every engagement, while cynicism stalks anyone unfortunate enough to not be up to something.

”Who stole your tricycle?” Slip over here for more ...

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Homefull 1.2: High Touch

hightouch
Packing requires a lot of touching. Yesterday, I packed the books in my office, thirty one boxes, authors in alphabetical order, segregated into non-fiction and fiction. I touched every blessed one.

I sneezed my head off. My present seems like my past with dust. My treasures were dusty after three and a half years on the shelves. I found many old friends lurking; like touching my past.

I couldn’t feel anything but wealthy after a day perusing that past, recalling the times and places those titles first found me. That copy of Münchausen’s Pigtail, which, twenty-five years ago, fell to my feet off a shelf and changed my life. Sheldon Kopp’s remarkable parables which have inspired me so. The Saturday night dates spent rifling through the Powell’s Books sales stacks. The many titles that accompanied me on long, otherwise lonely night flights back home. Those remaining copies of David Pye’s The Nature & Aesthetics of Design, a book which undermined my faith in methodology and process. My future came into sharper focus while I immersed myself in this past. Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 2.5: Saying Something

something
Cops work in pairs. Responding to a Disorderly complaint, only one of the two will enter the noisy nightclub. Their partner will Watch The Door. Experience teaches this simple protocol: entering a room subsumes one into that context. Perspective skews. Judgement, too. The one left by the door’s in charge of the intervention. The one who enters the room follows the watcher’s direction without question.

Brief Consultants often work in pairs, one seeming to engage while the other looks to be just hanging around the edges there. The one who looks like they’re slacking, they’re in charge.

Even when I’m working solo, this Brief Consultant watches because most of my presence value comes from me noticing something. I engage briefly because it doesn’t take long for me to inherit the same blind spots as everyone else within that space. For a brief few hours, I can see more than anyone already immersed in that soup, and no context needs more than a day or two to weave its trance. Nobody feels anything as perception fades. Slip over here for more ...

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Homefull 1.1: Winnowing

winnowing
Almost everyone who hears we’re moving tells us what a great opportunity this time affords. Great time to sort through possessions and just get rid of unneeded stuff. Before our forced relocation here nearly four years ago, I helped clean out my folks’ place, winnowing all the way. Then I winnowed out my own place, leaving some real treasures behind. When we moved in here, in exile, we had to rent extra storage space to hold some of our remaining treasures. This ‘opportunity’ feels more like a lifeboat game.

I haven’t accumulated much over the past four years. I stemmed my compulsive book buying with frequent visits to the library. The New Yorkers accumulate until I recycle them. I’m net negative clothes-wise. Kitchenware, about even, so what should I chuck? Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 2.4: Purpose Full

purposefull
I’ve been to the week-long workshops and the retreats and the brown bag booster shot luncheons where we sat together hoping to conjure up that feeling of being connected to a higher purpose. I’ve been saved, enslaved, and raved at; over-charged, barged in on, and marginalized in my pursuit. Either I’m full of it or they are, or maybe we all are.

I hold purposeful pursuit as one of my Seven Ethical Responsibilities. As a Brief Consultant—heck, as a man—I’ve grown to understand that few diseases do more damage than purposelessness. And for the longest time, I misunderstood where that purpose had to come from, and what purposeful pursuit really meant. Maybe all that church-going in my youth convinced me that little old me couldn’t quite qualify as a high-enough purpose; that what I wanted didn’t really matter if only I could connect with some ’truly’ higher purpose, I’d be in deep cotton. Deep shit, more likely. Slip over here for more ...

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Homefull 1.0: Gravity's Pull

falling1
Way back in July, the landlords announced that they’d be selling this place. That message neutralized our status quo and introduced months of chaotic living. Since, I’ve stalked a replacement, dragging my sorry butt home feeling homeless dozens of times. In August, I thought I’d found a good-enough replacement, and The Muse was accepting, though cheerless. Two weeks ago I stumbled upon the real place, Amy learned that she wouldn’t be transferring to Colorado yet, and everything just started falling together.

The first part of this journey felt hindered by my attraction to my old status quo. Even though I knew we could not stay, I could barely stay away. I suppose some know this as denial, but I wasn’t denying anything except my apparent helplessness compared to gravity’s pull. Once we’d pulled far enough away, we felt adrift, weightless. We inhabited middle space, apparently attractive to no place and not yet attracted anywhere, either. This emptiness ruled for a month or two, and threatened to take over as the new status quo. What could we know? When could we know it? Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 2.3: Is-ness As Usual

duckrabbit
I can always reasonably expect that I’ll encounter ‘Is-ness’ whenever I consult. Our language pretty much insists upon us representing our experiences as things, and explaining these experiences—our impressions, conclusions, and thoughts—with the simplest, least descriptive word: ’Is.’ ‘Is’ might well qualify as the most insidiously powerful English word. This Brief Consultant listens closely when his clients speak, hyper-sensitive to the presence of this poison tell.

Poison tell? I call ‘Is’ the poison tell because it tends to materially misrepresent experience while fully satisfying the ear. I can say, “It ‘is’ cold outside,” when I really mean, “It feels cold outside” or, “It looks cold outside.” Outside ‘isn’t’ cold. A dictionary might define cold as a class of temperature positioned somewhere South of cool and well North of ‘my ass just fell off.’ No dictionary defines cold as ‘outside.’ Yet language comfortably tolerates this indiscretion. Only two letters. One insidious word. Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 2.2: The Very Best

trophy
A special curse dogs The Best and The Brightest. Damned as superlatives, these poor souls dread the mediocrity the rest of us made peace with long ago. I call them The Blessed and The Blightest.

One client explained how, in the course of a week at age eighteen, she’d gone from being recognized as the smartest person in her county to realizing that at MIT, she was barely average, if that. She’d had a lot of tacit identity invested in her best and brightest persona, even though she’d never strived to be recognized. Once the gift evaporated in that lofty Cambridge atmosphere, she didn’t know who she was, or who she was supposed to become.

Life seems comprised of peaks and valleys, and the narrowest road always follows the ridge line. Stuck on top leaves few lateral possibilities, and it’s a long way down from up there to the valley floor. Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 2.1: ehT metsyS

backwards1
”How do you happen to be here?”
This open-ended question often starts one of this Brief Consultant’s engagements. Rather than starting with the end in mind or dwelling on The (infernal) Problem, I’m curious about the person in front of me. I want to hear their story.

Many notice that nobody ever asked them this question before, and most have been inching for someone to tell their tale to. Might as well be me.

Within the first five minutes, this client will say something that seems to jangle a chain of understanding, and not usually my chain. Theirs. Something significant shifts when the focus changes from hopefully peering forward into casually reflecting backward.

Nobody gets to understand forward. Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 2.0: The System

System
The System takes the blame for almost everything. And why not? Over the last century, our society has become obsessed with system this and system that, as if The System certainly must be the solution. Whenever it turns out not to be the be-all and end-all, it’s a handy Shmoo.

The second stage entails trying to fix the system so it will work as I thought it was supposed to work. This seemingly reasonable response encourages ‘creeping featurism,’ as the system, originally—and unavoidably—naively designed morphs to accomplish ends unimagined by the original designers. Rarely does any system get discarded in favor of wholesale redesign after encountering difficulties, even after catastrophic failures. The original design sticks, and the fixes tend to accumulate until they ascend to the status of the latest problem with The System. Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 1.9: Generosity Too

generositygenerosity
BriefConsulting® features few tricks. I have no master list of steps, prescribed phases, or replicable method to my ‘madness.’ Some phrases, however, do seem to repeat themselves, and while I don’t feel like I over-rely on them, and they’re certainly not magic bullets, I do hear them coming up again and again. The most common one serves as a most-purpose, if not an all-purpose unsticker because the situation within which it comes up probably serves as by far the most common stuck point: the unspoken conspiracy.

Unspoken conspiracies amount to unconfirmed conclusions about another’s motives, purpose, character, or beliefs. These commonly emerge from a small violation of the generous interpretation rule, and usually require only one to play, but may metastasize into into urban legend-quality stories, where a large group engages in something not unlike mind reading; usually, unusually inept mind reading.

The pattern starts when someone decides what another’s behavior means, then responds as if their behavior meant that, creating a perfectly self-sealing situation. Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 1.8: Generosity

generosity
Generosity seems an unlikely element of BriefConsulting. Brevity implies an economical, perhaps even stingy allocation of at least time, so where does generosity fit in? It fits in right beside interpretation.

I’ve explained that Brief Consulting avoids interpreting behavior as pathology, transforming what might otherwise seem dysfunctional into merely differently or curiously functioning. This little flip demonstrates generous interpretation in action: Interpret difference as difference rather than pathology. If I couldn’t possibly know, I’m free to make up any meaning that works best for me. Heck, I could even get curious and ask.

See how this small shift might shorten the length of a consulting engagement? Sometimes mindreading or body-language interpreting seems like a shortcut, but it usually turns into the longer way around. If the client’s words and the music don’t seem to match, I could initiate a controversy by ascribing my ungenerous meaning or encourage understanding by simply pointing out what I see and asking what it might mean to my client.

I tune up my generous interpreter by engaging in what I call High Quality Consultant Humor. Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 1.7: Leadershit

plead
I classify myself as a leadership skeptic. Seems like whatever the difficulty, somebody will start pleading for more, better, wiser, ... leadership, whatever THAT might be. This difficulty arises from a definite know-it-when-I see-it notion of what constitutes leadership, and the unclear implication that there’s probably no such thing. There’s probably no such thing.

Pity the poor devil perceived as the leader. Slave to Utopian notions, center stage, performing to a critical audience, certain to dissatisfy. The human response seems to be to try harder: to please, appease, ... Oh, pa-lese! The mythos surrounding leadership seems greater than the sum of its parts.

Leadershit has two parts. The first part lays undefinable expectations on some individual because they happen to occupy some position, often a position of presumed authority. The second part gives away personal authority, like peasants paying tribute to their king, to someone presumably more authorized to have it . It seems incongruous that a democratic society should rely so much on crypto-kings and pseudo-serfs, leaders and followers. Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 1.6: Presence

presence
All change occurs in the present, whether influenced by the future, the past, or a just-now painfully stubbed toe. So much attention flows outward toward the future or sticks back in some previous experience that the present sometimes seems the very least accessible place. We could be excused for trying to fix the past and exonerated even though flailing to fix the future, but our real work always happens right here. Identifying cause—even root cause—often over-presumes a causal stream unlikely to actually exist. Sure, it’s satisfying to savor what we woulda or coulda and perhaps even more gratifying to believe we’ve guaranteed some projected gonna, but any course change hasta happen right here. Now.

Staying present in this present when surround by clever planners constructing even cleverer plans might be the greatest challenge for anyone, consultant or client. Slip over here for more ...

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Bare-assed Consulting 1.4: The Mess

chaos2
Messy might just be the natural order of everything, though I strongly prefer my universes tidy. This difference between apparent natural disorder and strong preference for unnatural orderliness creates opportunities for this bare-assed consultant. Most of my clients call for help when they’re struggling to avoid or tame some mess, and they always hold some powerful notions about what constitutes mess and what might distinguish messiah. One man’s mess might be another’s masterpiece.

The bare-assed consultant only rarely resorts to sorting through—physically re-ordering—any mess. He first sits with it instead, under the belief that until he’s sat with the chaos, he’s unlikely to understand its nature well enough to avoid making that mess even messier. I make a crucial distinction, though, between sitting with the mess and plopping myself down in the middle of it. Slip over here for more ...

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Bare-assed Consulting 1.3: The Blindnesses

Blindness
The truly bare-assed consultant is blind, but blind with a twist. Like with cholesterol, blindness comes in both good and bad varieties. The worst of the bad blindnesses comes from being blind that one is blind: unconscious blindness; the best of the good blindnesses emerges from the full acceptance of just how unavoidably blind one is: conscious, bare-assed blindness.

As a truly bare-assed consultant, I can’t hardly help but acknowledge how blind I must be. Blind because I’m here, not there; me, not you; wagging on the tail-end of a lifetime of experience which probably doesn’t qualify as representative, universal, or particularly enlightening. I’m blinded by this shred of enlightenment, almost certain I cannot see even half of what’s before my eyes.

Before, when I was still inflicted with the curse of unconscious blindness, I could muster certainty from scant evidence, and could even swagger with the sour scent of confidence. Slip over here for more ...

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Bare-assed Consulting 1.2: Add Vice

vice
Consultants have a long and troubling relationship with advice. The young ones innocently presume consulting to be a means for dispensing advice, and their clients won’t readily dissuade them. The more experienced might have developed a dependency on advice-giving, and unselfconsciously inflict it upon everyone. Many consultants have been divorced. More than once.

The bare-assed consultant deeply appreciates that giving advice, cheapens it. Further, unbidden advice rarely produces intended results. Conveniently deflected and comfortably ignored, the very best advice might be to avoid giving any advice. Still, The Advice Vice seems as common to consultants as Brooks Brothers suits.

It took a very long time to wean myself off my advice-giving Jones. Slip over here for more ...

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Bare-assed Consulting 1.1: The Normals

normal
We live in exceptional times, just like our forebears did. Living seems to encourage a deep sense of exceptionalism; understandable, I suppose, since alive seems so mysterious and unpredictable. In this space we presently inhabit, exceptional qualifies as normal.

Maybe it just comes with the territory, but we seem awfully interested in fitting in, in following the trends, in adopting the most up-to-date. Perhaps we don’t want to be left behind. The ensemble’s performance, though, masks remarkable variety. Nobody lives like the population average, yet that average might be the most reliable reference to what’s normal and what’s not. The result can be an awful (with particular emphasis on ‘awful’) lot of theatrics: going along to get along, fitting in, passing as, mimicking, and the thousand other artifices, small and large, which seem to separate us from our preferences, from our selves. All perfectly normal.

If individuals are easy prey for such quagmires, organizations seem to encourage second-order versions, where individual adaptations tangle together, producing genuinely Gordian results. The popular term ‘dysfunctional’ might aptly describe every individual, every organization now, but I prefer the more normalizing term ‘differently functioning.’ Slip over here for more ...

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Bare-assed Consulting 1.0: Sick's Sigma

sicksigma
Even bare-assed consulting turns dicey when a client sets his mind on some process improvement scheme. It never really matters what the scheme might be, you can be certain only that it’ll fairly quickly produce the opposite of the attracting intention. Whether by initial interpretation or the influence of organizational antibodies, that true north veers due south. ’Twas always thus.

And the timing of the consultant’s arrival won’t much influence the outcome. The tariff, as Peter Block once noted, on imported method inevitably exceeds the expected return.

These initiatives always start as bright ideas,”I know, we’ll just put on a show!”-quality fantasies, laden with invisible externalities. Whether a Senior VP read some article in an airline magazine or transferred in from a company that had fully integrated some scheme, the mandate comes from the top down. The suits arrive shortly after the announcement, mustering a committee of ... cough ... cough ... volunteers ... chartered to change the company’s culture from the bottom up.

Therein lies the disabling paradox Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 1.5: Outing The Fix

outtathere
I stood up, explained my difficulty, and a small group of fellow authors gathered around to engage in a little session. Their role would be that of inquisitor. They’d ask me questions, hoping to help me gain some deeper insight. Doing this, they might gain insight, too.

I thought my challenge was a common one, especially for writers. I’m a hesitant joiner, though I’m absolutely convinced that community produces by far the best outcomes. So, when I’m invited to a writer’s retreat like this one, I spend at least the day before I leave trying to talk myself out of attending. I’m usually better at this than I was this time, so I’d shown up. Then, in this last session, I stood up.

Once en-grouped, I explained my experience in greater detail, then the inquisitors began. I noticed a twinge of thrill in my chest as we began, a sense that this session just might fix my life-long reluctance, and this possibility felt really, really good. Maybe I could fit in instead of force-fitting in. Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 1.4: Too Small Shoes

toosmallshoes
I call one class of complaint Too Small Shoes, in homage to Eric Newby’s Short Walk In The Hindu Kush. In that book, Newby tells the story of his several weeks-long trek through rough Afghan back country. In preparation, he’d ordered custom-made boots, which he had delivered to Istanbul. Not bothering to open the box containing his new boots until after the several hundred mile drive to the trailhead, he discovered there that the boots were considerably smaller than expected, so small that his feet barely fit inside them. He faced a clear choice then, since his alternative footwear consisted of a pair of soft sneakers completely unsuitable for uneven ground, of either wearing the boots anyway or abandoning the adventure altogether.

Many organizational initiatives and personal adventures feature a similar decision point. However careful the planning, some otherwise insignificant element gains prominence and threatens the entire enterprise. Going forward means accepting quite different from expected terms. Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 1.3: Not Supposed To Talk About

Shhhh
“What are we not supposed to talk about here?” I start most of my briefest consultations with this question because anyone responding to it tends to unstick shortly thereafter. I believe that the primary cause of stuckness lies not in any sin of commission, but in insignificant-seeming pseudo-sins of omission. What we dare not mention holds us captive, to mention whatever we’re not supposed to talk about tends to release the prisoner.

Sometimes my client responds, “Oh, nothing. We’re very open around here. We can talk about anything, anytime.”

”Fine,” I respond, then I watch and listen more carefully to hear what doesn’t get talked about. What dog isn’t barking? What birds never sing? Slip over here for more ...

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My Muse

muse
I excuse my muse her trespasses,
I forgive my muse her airs;
she’s simply pursuing her purpose,
pulling my head out of there.

How my head ended up inserted
down where the sun never shines
won’t help resolve the dilemma
every great writer must find.

When picking up a pen leaves me stupid,
or setting fingers to keys strikes me dumb,
I’m thankful my muse doesn’t need an excuse
to disabuse what could never become.

She’s gentle as a ton on a toenail,
thoughtful as pie in the sky,
she opens up space by gettin’ in my face,
My response, universally tongue-tied. Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 1.2: Expertise

Expertise
Consultants trade in expertise. Brief Consultants are no different, though their expertise might require a hard squint to appreciate, for Brief Consultants trade in their expertise at not being experts. Lemme ‘splain.

Every industry, every company believes they are unique, and presume specific knowledge of their particular operation essential for any consultant. Curiously, the most common difficulties are just that, common; universal. Stuck looks remarkably the same where ever it appears. Hire for industry expertise and you’ll get industry expertise when you might need someone with fresh eyes to look in on the situation.

Being an expert at not being an expert requires some rewiring inside the consultant first. Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 1.1: Bare Naked

peekaboo
Where did they go, those who used to inhabit those empty suits? Where are they now? Speaking for myself, I’ve become the bare naked kind, no flash suit to deflect any naked truth. Pimples, dimples, and scars quite obvious. I figure, “Why suit up for what will have to become a bare naked engagement?”

My transition from Empty Suit to Bare Naked consulting will never end. Vestigial misgivings remain, tugging whenever I start a new engagement dance. I’d quite honestly rather hide behind the protective starched shirt chest plate armor, dabble in nice-nice banter, then ‘suggest’ some solution, but I don’t. Not anymore. I never once saw the formality accomplish what I’d quite foolishly promised. The problem I’d been asked to resolve was never once even half the problem that the formalities turned out to be. If we can’t do this naked, we won’t be doing anything at all. Slip over here for more ...

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BriefConsulting 1.0: The Suits

emptysuit
The Suits quite deliberately dress a little better than you, disarmingly casual in their formal business wear. Who couldn’t be seduced? Shoes glossy, ties perfectly knotted, shirts starched into absolute submission, knife-edged pants, cuffs shot to show just a wink of onyx cufflink inside. Funny how I can’t remember a single face. No sincere smile, no twinkling eye, no wink of recognition, just those finely tailored empty suits.

Their advice seems equally disconnected. They share abstract models, distilled to wispy essence—ten easy, twelve step, top five best practices, and the most mysterious commodity of all, expertise. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 4.0: Need

need
Why is this work needed now? This question left me stuck for months and months. Stuck because I didn’t ‘know’ the answer. The internal defense attorney pled that it called for facts not in evidence. The internal judge, the only one that matters, feigned indifference and would not rule, so I felt in limbo. The first question, unanswerable. Now what?

We’re all stuck on something all the time. Not that we’re always supposed to be unstuck and flowing, but the impasses, like this infernal why question, sure can prevent progress. I’d intended to finish the book by August, but the question held me through July and August, and then September, too. Shame accumulated like ever-thickening mud on my boot soles until I could barely crawl. I was channeling what I was writing about. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 3.9: Compassionity

complicity
Consider the point beyond which compassion becomes complicity. What began as an act of pure human generosity twists into shame. You thought you might be able to help. Later you learn you’ve been feeding a hungry black hole of need who’s now grown dependent upon you. What will you do?

Of all the many forms of stuck, the muckiest emerge from my compassionate heart. Perhaps I’m playing out some pitiful sort of pity, simply showing myself I care, and I wouldn’t dare deign to demand that you change. True compassion’s never conditional until it must be. After that, it won’t be conditional without more personal change than I ever would have signed up for, had I only known. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 3.8: Situational

outofcontext
Stuckness seems situational; tied to here, not there, or there, never here. It holds some specific space or that space holds it. Whichever, some specific situation seems to knot the ties that truly bind.

I eventually wonder where this specific context lies, for every context contains ten thousand situations; more. Which piece sticks me? I’m facing south, not north. Feet up, not down. Leaning back, not forward. Barefoot, not shod. In a rented room rather than home. Which specific rules this situation, and which shifted specific might unstick me this time? Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 3.7: Insufficiency

insufficient
Go ahead and wake up after two and a half hours sleep, then get out of bed. Take a cool shower, get dressed, then get on with your day. I know, there won’t be enough coffee to quite wake you up all day. You won’t be quite hungry enough for such an early breakfast. Eat something anyway. You might well be groggy, but you might be unstuck.

Curious how abundant insufficiency holds such power Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 3.6: Inconvenience

inconvenience
I call the Seven Elevens in my neighborhood ‘inconvenience stores’ because each of them seems located safely out of everyone’s way. Neither of the little corner groceries at the end of the block sell anything I use, so I stopped visiting them years ago. Thank heavens. Convenience might be the last thing I need. If I have to go out of my way, I’m more likely to really need whatever I’m chasing.

Modern life seems obsessed with the pursuit of convenience, when we might have noticed that the most important things seem to happen at the least convenient times. It doesn’t follow, though, that surrounding myself with inconvenience might somehow encourage important things to happen. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 3.5: Yet

yet3
The production manager had just finished confiding a dark secret about her problem with another member of the management team. She beamed with the glow of recently expelled demons as I asked, “What did he say when you mentioned this to him?”

”Oh, I haven’t spoken with him, and I won’t. I don’t do stuff like that.”

”Like what?” I wondered.

”I wouldn’t want to embarrass him by bringing it up.”

”But he doesn’t seem aware that he’s bugging you to distraction.”

”Well, he should be! It’s not my job to increase his self awareness,” she insisted.

Stuck, she’d explained her long escalating frustration, boxed in by her insistence that the simplest resolution was beyond her repertoire.

”Well,” she continued, “what are you gonna do about this. You’re the consultant.”

”Nothing.” Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 3.4: Faking It

FakingIt
It seems ironic that deliberate self-deception can effectively counter authentic stuckness. I almost always inadvertently sink into stuckness, no volition involved. When I notice the sticking, even deliberately trying to get more stuck can, curiously, end up unsticking me, probably because I’m shifting the inadvertent into the volitional. Sure, I can also unstick by pretending I’m not stuck. Either deception can serve to release the suction for a moment, and nobody needs more than a moment of unstuck to transform that stuck inertia into the other, more mobile kind. Slip over here for more ...
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Unstuck 3.3: Stuckticipation

leaninginto2
I might be at my very best when I’m leaning into my life as if facing a bracing breeze. The pages of the book I’m probably holding, riffling, with the odd one carried away. My hair, uncombable; I squint my eyes as if the wind were filling me with fire. Anticipating.

Life’s probably best lived in fiery anticipation, hot on some trail against buffeting opposition, and worst lived behind any windbreak. The fire in my belly thrives on a steady injection of warm anticipation. Without the opposing force, I can become complacent, I might even stand haughtily tall or, heaven-forbid, lean back in phony repose. Nobody gets anywhere resting behind the laurel bush. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 3.2: Transcendence

choice3
Each and every either-or fully qualifies as a false choice. There’s always an unpresented third, fourth, fifth, sixth ..., ad infinitum choice beyond the presented two. Damned if I do and damned if I don’t both distill into exactly the same result. Another false choice insists that I must either select one of the two damning options or from the infinite population of the not damning ones. I can always refuse to choose.

I’m capable of choosing differently, but I’m also fully capable of forgetting that I always have other choices. I seem to shed options in the essential rush of life, and often miss the exits that might leave me transcending some damning ‘either’ and an equally damning ‘or.’ Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 3.1: The Sound of Silence

silence1
Silence on the outside, noisy inside.

We met and thought we might have some work to do together. I followed up with an email later that same day, and you responded within an hour or two, inviting me to coffee or lunch. I replied right away, saying, “You choose the place and the time and I’ll be there.” Then silence ensued.

Now what do I do? The chatter in my head asks a thousand questions. Would another email leave me looking pesky? Should I wait another day before following up? Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 3.0: Stucktainty

certainty1
Certainty might qualify as the most dangerous desire yet devised. Zagats should report it over-rated and obsessively pursued. It seems the principle occupation of every fundamentalist, capitalist, conservative, and ninny; me, too.

My forebears crossed the continent by every conveyance then known, including boot leather. Their letters ‘back home’ exhibited not a hint of certainty, ending as they did with the graceful phrase “if I live.” Their present action was not predicated upon anything close to certainty, but faith, mostly the unsupportable kind, which might be the only kind there ever could be. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 2.9: S.I.N.S.

stuck
Stuck Isn’t Necessarily Serious. I can be stuck on you, sweety pie, or stuck in the middle with you, too. (No place I’d rather be!) Standing there hub-deep and all by itself, stuck registers value-neutral. Pooh might have gotten himself wedged in a great tightness, but his distress felt at best comically unfortunate.

The great S.I.N.S. of stuckness arise from taking it too damned seriously. The venal sin of unwarranted seriousness can consume the most upstanding souls. Stuckness, like life, qualifies as just too damned serious be to taken too damned seriously. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 2.8: Paying Attention

PayingAttention
I’m grateful for my selective attention, though I’m not always as selective as I could be. If it weren’t for my natural ability to unconsciously filter my intake, I’d become overwhelmed. My desk top alone could soak up every ounce of my attention because it’s covered with alluring piles and distractions. But some ability enables me to see no distraction there, usually. Same story with my life. Surrounded by bright shinys, I’m often quite naturally unaware.

At a meeting this week, the convener was noticing how inspired she felt in the group. “We should get together more often,” she commented, “so we can get out of our routines and inspire each other.”

On my better days, I seem to find inspiration everywhere. Other times, I could walk untouched through the US Marine Band blaring Sousa marches. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 2.7: The 8th Habit

marymeng
Whatever seven habits I might train into myself, it seems I need an eighth; one reserved to break out of the seven habit trance. The chief difficulty with habituating anything comes from the blinders habits bring. Sometimes even the otherwise best habit needs breaking to get myself unstuck.

The 8th Habit might be called the habit-breaking habit. The first time, I struggled to escape a habitual. The second time, I perhaps struggled a little bit less. The third time, the effort was still great, but my experience informed my escape. Now, with decades of experience, I have a bit of a clue about what to do. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 2.6: The Merry-Go-Round

MGR
The finest learning medium ever invented must be the merry-go-round. That one in the corner of the park, beside the swings, just down from the teeter-totters. I doubt that there’s a kid in the world who hasn’t dislocated their shoulder grabbing one of those spinning handholds. The merry-go-round never sat still, or, perhaps more appropriately, an unspinning merry-go-round never attracted a kid. No nothing to spinning it yourself. The first lesson: Every interesting merry-go-round is already spinning when a kid shows up. Slip over here for more ...
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Unstuck 2.5: In Deep

InDeep
It probably doesn’t matter how any of us descend. Blame the long float down on gravity. Each of us knows the depths, that sinking feeling that we’ve passed the last exit and the trend has turned irreversible. Bye bye.

For me, lately, it’s come from not being able to figure out the too-cleverly designed user interface. Someone sends me a message via LinkedIn (What IS that for, anyway?) or some other overly-secure social networking site, and I just cannot get in to respond. I must have an account, or I would not have received the message. But I cannot, for the life of me, figure out how to get past the largely unnecessary security. My password doesn’t grok or my username isn’t registered. I slink to my corner and sulk. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 2.4: Echo

echo
Learning to speak for myself as an independent practical reasoner confronts a number of different kinds of obstacles:

1- Failure to re-educate my originally infantile desire to please others may result in my becoming someone whose opinions are indefinitely responsive to a pressure to conform to the opinions of certain types of others ... What I present is an unconscious need for approval.

2- Infantile resentment of my need to please others — a relentless pursuit of disagreement.

In both cases, I’m an echo, not a voice.

I might also distrust my reasoning by unconsciously selective attention to some features at the expense of others. Overcome by having reasoning put into question by others.
Alasdair MacIntyre, Dependent Rational Animals
Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 2.3: Fits and Starts

fitsandstarts
I can still hear my Quantitative Methods prof extolling the powers of smoothing algorithms. With them, anyone can construct a curve to represent a scattered collection of otherwise apparently random data points, and perhaps convince themselves that experiences really are related somehow. It’s a believable, often useful fiction.

Make no mistake, no moment provides smoothing algorithms. Creativity might depend upon their absence. They’re incredibly useful after the fact for making sense of—making up a soothing story about—the past. In real time, going forward, experience seems more fit-and-starty. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 2.2: Radical Acceptance

acceptance
”Why do you suppose he always acts like a snake?,” my client asked.

”Probably because he’s a snake.”

”Wha ??”

As I consultant, I describe myself as an expert at not being an expert. I know little about what my clients do as a business, but their technical details don’t usually get in their way. Something right before their eyes more often seems to.

Organizational difficulties emerge within a context I could not have access to or knowledge about before I’m poking around within that space. I am not nor will I ever be a content or process expert. As an expert at not being an expert, I rely upon my perception much more than my knowledge because I couldn’t possibly know beforehand. My contribution most often distills into simple observation. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 2.1: Do Not Read This

donotreadthis
One of the most popular ways to fail to influence another involves giving them something to read, especially if you intend it to be for their own good.
Attach it as a .pdf.
Post it to FaceBook.
Have Amazon send them a copy of the book.

I know, you want to share the confirming/enlightening/moving/life-changing experience you had when you read it, but you won’t. If they read it —I said IF —, they’ll read it as them, not you. They’ll have their own experience, not yours.

If they’re a partisan, they might appreciate the reinforcement of the beliefs you already share. If not, their perspective’s at best unlikely to change. More likely, they’ll interpret it as propaganda, and you’ll end up reinforcing just what you didn’t want. You’ll probably make ‘em angry, too. At you.

So what’s a mutha to do? Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 2.0: Copeless

hopeless
They say hope’s not a strategy, except it seems to pass as one much of the time. Hope’s supposed to spring eternal, but when it won’t, I lose the spring in my step. How do I cope with that?

Cope does qualify as a strategy, especially when hope refuses to spring. Copelessness might be the worse outcome, much worse than hopelessness ever could be. Hope seems so pull-myself-up-by-my-bootstraps-ish, so notional. The logic doesn’t work; not even Archimedes could find any leverage point there. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 1.9: Stucked

FutPastPres
I create my own sticking points with such dazzling skill that it seems as though someone else just has to be conspiring against me. So far, though, whenever I’ve poked around any personal stuckness I’ve found my own fingerprints all over the crime scene. I have no clue how I’ve been so uniquely blessed with this ability to hog-tie myself without ever catching on that I’m doing the tying again. Later, once I’m stuck, I might be able to lever myself back into motion, but in the moment before I mire in, I rarely catch myself ensnaring myself.

I’m stucked. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 1.8: Professional Crastination

thinker
Some seem born to run. Others, to ruminate. The runners chide over their sweating shoulders as they zoom by like Hares humiliating us Tortoises. I think I know who’ll win the race.

On my better days, their derisions breeze over me like warm wind. On worse days, they wound like arrows through my heart. For I am a professional crastinator. I’ve rarely found advantage taking the early lead. I need and benefit from an essential milling around period first. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 1.7: Dread Not

dreadnot
An Angel of the Lord came down from Heaven, appearing to an ignorant shepherd boy, saying, “Fear not for I bring you tidings of great joy.” Under the eternal law of unintended consequences, that stupid shepherd reported the incident, and the people of this world have struggled ever since to overcome that innocently misunderstood injunction to be unafraid, thereby inspiring every following generation to be afraid; very afraid.

Do angels trade in paradox? This particular Angel of the Lord passed, like a window-rattling fart in very quiet church, a particularly knotty one: The Not Knot. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 1.6: In-Smart

celticheart
I tangle my heart strings whenever I out-source what only my heart could ever understand. I’ve learned to second-guess myself.

I claim that I’ll know it when I see it, but I probably won’t. Worse, I’m prone to concluding that I know simply because I see something. Where matters of the heart are concerned, I’m naturally in-smart. If I out-source when I’m in-smart, I consistently out-smart myself.

Almost any choice will do. Where would you like to go to dinner? Gosh, I don’t know, where would you like to go? Lemme check the Going Out Guide to see what the restaurant reviewer who’s opinions I don’t respect advises. He suggests a place that ends up serving small plates at astronomically high prices in deafening surroundings. We out-sourced what we might have more satisfyingly resolved with our in-smarts. We successfully out-smarted ourselves. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 1.5: Coming True

future
Of all the perils humans seem prone to, dreams carry the greatest threat. I’m capable of transporting myself anywhere when sleeping, but not even nightmares can bring half the terror our waking dreams should. I can stick myself far into the future, anchor my presence there, and sleepwalk through the present as if today were mere medium instead of living life. I can also stick myself into the distant past, never noticing real, live days slipping by. Scary.

I was fortunately born in the most modern of times. I felt uncommonly lucky to be living where the future had over-taken all of prior human history, on the prow of time. Later, I learned to focus ever further into the future, and my present started walking backwards. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 1.4: Complitition

Finishline
I live immersed in myth and metaphor. I hold far too many truths to be self-evident. I swallow a steady stream of pre-conscious interpretations, hardly noticing how this circularity gets me stuck. I engage ‘as if’ without questioning if ‘if’ really ‘is,’ or ever could be.

One of the dominant metaphors in this society equates our very existence to competition. This small projection encourages much stuckness. I find it almost impossible to accept that Darwin never did conclude that competition determines the survival of the fittest. But he didn’t. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 1.3: Unthinkable

Unthinkable
Turns out that the unthinkable isn’t unthinkable. Unthinkable has been worked into one of those expressions that doesn’t mean what it says, but says exactly what it means.

What does it mean? It means ‘something I could never see myself doing.’ In this guise, the unthinkable binds stuckness. I can watch that guy over there getting away with what ‘I could never see myself doing,’ and just sit. Firm in my belief of what ‘I could never see myself doing,’ I’ll choose to do anything, anything but THAT! Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 1.2: The 1% Resolution

refre
Problem-solvers that we pride ourselves on being, it seems galling when some nimble nimrod slips one of those sinkerball-slick resolutions into the game. We’re out gathering specifications or envisioning outcomes while some twerp walks away already satisfied. How do they do that?

Part of their magic must be linguistic. They label what we call problems ‘difficulties.’ Problems, they’ll explain with hardly any encouragement, have solutions. Not all difficulties qualify as problems because some of them couldn’t possibly have solutions, or we’ve never once seen them solved. It’s futility incarnate to force-fit some solution onto something that never qualified as a problem in the first place. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 1.1: That Damned Box

insidebox
A steady diet of helpful homilies qualifies as one of the reliably better ways to stay stuck. Go ahead, think outside the damned box and see what that gets you, really. Make a freakin’ ASS out of U and ME, assume yourself into a coma if you can. Nobody ever assumed them selves out of any coma.

Stuck’s tenacity thrives on ‘all ya gotta dos;’ the more uplifting, the more encumbering. ‘All ya gotta do’ easily transforms into ‘you really shoulda already,’ and the stuckness hugs even harder.

You might more productively peek outside the box than think outside it. Slip over here for more ...

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Unstuck 1.0: The Prague Paradox

praguemap
Check into any hotel in Prague and you’ll receive a brightly-colored tourist map of the city. In small print at the bottom of this map, you’ll find a caution like this:

The streets of Prague cannot be accurately represented on a map. This map, therefore, is not correct. Following it, you might find yourself lost from time to time. Fortunately,
getting lost is the best way to discover Prague. Slip over here for more ...
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Homeless 0-71: Homefull

melted rims
A short time after a wildfire burned his home, a man explained that several of his fellow fire victims were suing their insurance companies. He’d volunteered to participate in a citizen’s watchdog group to oversee the claims processing, and had found no evidence that anyone had much of a case against their insurers. “The problem,” he concluded, “is that the dissatisfied seemed to believe they’d purchased home insurance, when they’d actually insured their houses. There’s no such thing as home insurance.” Slip over here for more ...
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Homeless 0-72: Hard Reset

hardreset
The landlord agreed in an email this morning to extend our tenancy to mid-November. This offer transforms zero minus twenty seven days into zero minus seventy two. Still no word on the possible next home, but our transition promises to be less complicated than it might have been. Still, Amy’s ordered packing boxes and I suspect I’ll wear a fresh trail between here and the storage place over the coming few weeks.

I’ve read enough detective novels to appreciate a plot twist. I might see one coming and still feel whip-lashed by the experience. Slip over here for more ...

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Homeless 0-28: Caretaking

caretaking
I asked the property manager to tell me the story of the brick colonial he was showing. “Don’t know a thing about it,” he replied. “I just open doors and turn on the lights.” His cold approach seemed to have seeped into the brick, leaving a clammy stickiness in the place. Some rentals come as anonymous as a no-tell motel room, a cynical financial transaction. Hard to imagine these places ever becoming home-making material.

Others come resplendent with history, so bright and present I wonder if there’ll be room enough for me to make any new history there. Slip over here for more ...

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Homeless 0-29: Paperwork

paperwork
Say what you will about the greatest works of man, not one history ever mentioned the paperwork involved. Leonardo’s great struggle requisitioning the marble for his David sculpture or Columbus’ great inventory innovations, history doesn’t care. Though history, I suspect, was always written on the back of paperwork, and not the other way around.

As the search narrows, paper appears: applications, tenancy forms, hazardous building materials warnings, credit checks, recommendation letters. Most of this blessedly occurs electronically now, but the crinkle and clutter persists. So much to specify, so very little to actually state. Slip over here for more ...

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Homeless 0-30: Third Thoughts

sleepless
Sleepless nights have never been strangers in my bedroom. I was every bit as sleepless as a child as I’ve proven to be as an adult. I often wake at two or three, then lay there staring at the inside of my eyelids, channeling some idea or feeling; rarely fretting. Sleep never refreshes me the way these long, isolated, early morning reveries seem to.

These days fill up with notions, first thoughts. These usually swarm around me, most prominently when I’m taking my quick, cold morning shower. Many of these turn into some piece of writing, a poem or short piece like this one. They simply appear, a few of them catch, carrying some clever twist or pleasing sound. Later, I’ll add an extra room, perhaps landscape their exterior a bit, and call them done, but I rarely second-guess those first thoughts. Slip over here for more ...

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Homeless 0-31: Thunk!

thunk
Few sounds come close to resonating the way the good, solid Thunk! of hitting a bull’s eye does. For some, this sound means that they’re skilled. For the rest of us, merely lucky. Might not matter which, the satisfaction’s the same.

Any search means you don’t know yet, until, suddenly, you do. Or you finally think you do. Then every complication shrinks, barricades evaporate, and self esteem, whether fairly earned or not, soars. Inside the bull’s eye, feeling clever becomes the same as actually being clever.

We might have hit the lotto yesterday. In the grand game of chance, sometimes I find myself holding the right number in the right place at the right time. I can, as a result, recommend no strategy beyond sychronicity, which can’t be rigged, outsmarted, or cleverly planned for. Slip over here for more ...

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Homeless 0-32: Creaking Floorboards

creakingfloorboards
The landlord was late. I knocked on the door and waited in that self-conscious way I have, feeling like I was trespassing. I might have the wrong address, it’s happened before. I double, then triple check, then mosey around back for a look-see. Plastic-wrapped couch. Cracked concrete parking pad. Low cyclone fence, painted black.

A car came zooming down the alley then, and the landlord emerged, apologizing, reaching to shake my hand. The actual walk through didn’t take more than five minutes. Moving detritus everywhere. A kitchen crudely made-over, designed to look great in a photograph, laid out like a galley, a frozen encumbrance to navigation in practice. What might have once been a dining room transformed into a nook. What must have once been a living room, cut up into a way too small dining room and an equally too small living room.

A twisting stairway, two turns bottom to top, every stair screaming with every footfall. Slip over here for more ...

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