It’s just when you have a really big report due that you hear that baby trapped in the wall.  And I don’t mean to be sexist, but let’s be honest, if there’s a baby trapped in the wall, the man of the house will never hear it.  Sorry, but you know it’s true.

Women hear the baby trapped in the wall.  Say yes to bringing cupcakes to school the same day a proposal is due.  Write reports with children on their laps. Pull legos out of their purses looking for a pen.  Worry if their kids aren’t happy every minute of every day.  And they still get it done.  And it’s amazing and I’m happy and blessed to be in the club of women who hear the baby trapped in the wall, get her out, set her down with a graham cracker, her Teddy and a hug, and get back to work.  Happy Mother’s Day!

It’s a miracle I got through this week.  I had a major report due to the State and a new training to prepare on top of the regular day to day.  Then, slam — on Monday morning, I was assigned my CASA case (CASA: Court Appointed Special Advocate).  Well, guess whose little can-do attitude got a little smack in the face. 

Oh my.  So I thought I knew how things work.  But there is a real big difference between reading about child welfare issues in the paper and trying to sort things out for just one child.  Things I learned at SDC when it was a down and dirty anti-poverty agency really helped me out this week:

• If you don’t know what you don’t know, you are really in trouble.  However, if you know what you don’t know, you have a prayer.  If you’re in the first position, you make the huge mistake of making assumptions that are wrong, wrong, wrong.  If you’re in the second position, it’s just a matter of asking and listening.
• Assume the best about everybody.  Practically nobody does things intentionally to harm another person.  The world is full of people who make mistakes; people who work really hard but don’t get beautiful outcomes.  It’s not a contradiction that few people are evil but lots of bad things still happen.
• Make it personal.  Keep ‘there, but for fortune, go I’ as a mantra. 

That’s it.  I learned an awful lot this week – too long and complicated a list for here or anywhere else.  I’m heartened and exhausted.  And I’m taking my sorry ass to bed.

If you hang around Jewish people like I do, you will eventually learn the term tikkun olam.  Very roughly translated, this speaks to an obligation for every Jew to help repair the world.  Of course, it’s hugely more complicated than that.  Everything in Judasim is.  I know this from many years as a Methodist person driving my three Nicaraguan kids to Hebrew school.  Oh, go scratch your head.  It’s ok.

So,  tikkun olam became one of my ‘take-aways’ from being Blondie at synagogue.  But how do you fix the world?  Well, I always liked to think that my professional work has a positive impact on the world but that I’m paid pretty well kind of erodes my point tally in the “Book of Life.”  Writing a couple of big checks every year, sure, that helps.  Mentoring younger professionals coming up, ok.  Serving on a couple of nonprofit boards, that’s fine.  Doing work for groups for free, absolutely should count.  But you know what all this stuff is?  It’s safe.

But now, I’m about to venture into new territory.  If not this week, within the very near future, I will get my first case as a CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate).  A CASA is a trained volunteer appointed by a judge to monitor a foster care placement and to advocate for the best interest of the child; the work involves weekly meetings with the foster child(ren), and regular contact with foster parents, birth parents, teachers, and other people involved in the child’s life.  I’ve been told that judges regard CASAs as  people with extremely valuable insight into how a foster child is doing and what he/she needs in the future because the CASA is the only person in the foster child’s life who is looking at all the pieces of the puzzle.

In my mind and what motivated me to pursue this is if a CASA had been monitoring Christopher Thomas, Jr.’s kinship placement with his aunt, he would be alive today.  If the name doesn’t ring a bell, google it and then prepare to have your heart broken.

So after mulling it over and finding a dozen reasons why I shouldn’t become a CASA, I took the 34-hour training course and was sworn in as a CASA by Childen’s Court Judge Yamihiro a couple of weeks ago.  Next step is the case.  I’ll get one case and I’ll have it for a year, minimally, maybe longer.

What’s the big deal?  This is so not me.  I don’t do direct services.  I write about direct services.  I describe people’s problems.  I don’t try to solve them.  You get where I’m going here?  Oh heck, I can talk to anybody and get information.  Give me 5 people in a desert, an easel and some decent markers, and I can run a focus group on jackrabbits.  But be up close and personal with people in serious trouble over a long period of time — oh, this is stranger in a strange land time for Jan. 

I feel prepared.  (Kids Matter, the local CASA coordinating agency, provides great training and support.) And I really feel challenged – to take on what’s not so ‘safe’ and comfortable.  To maybe stop talking and start walking, if you get my drift.  Wish me luck.  And think about what you are doing in the tikkun olam department.  Will keep you posted on how it goes.

One reason why I don’t have ulcers or lose sleep over work is that I keep in my back pocket a finely honed ability to go off half-cocked. I don’t do it all the time and, as I get older, tend to do it less and less, but I have no fear of pushing my chair back from the table and saying “I’m done with this” if the foolishness quotient goes beyond a certain level.

I learned this from my Dad.  Well, learned probably isn’t accurate.  It’s more like I absorbed it.  My father didn’t do a lot of direct instruction and probably wouldn’t have known a role model if one sat in his lap. 

My dad knew how to pick up and leave.  Now, get this right.  My dad was not a rich man.  He couldn’t always afford to go off half-cocked and several times his family paid the price for his unilteral decisions to sell his business, move to a new town, buy a business, move again.  There were a lot of 29 cent chicken pot pies eaten while he played in dance bands at night or sold Muntz TV’s door to door in Detroit to pay the mortgage and keep his day business operating.

But you know what I respected about him?  He didn’t take a lot of crap from people or situations.  He took some.  He wasn’t some super-sensitive guy who was always getting his nose out of joint or running out the door because his pride was hurt.  He would negotiate, try to change things, come at problems from a new angle.  But if none of that worked, he’d just get to a certain level and, man, that was it.  He was done.  He was on to making a new plan. 

Without even thinking about it, I realized early on that I approached my work life the same way.  And it has brought a value to my work that might be underestimated by many people.  Because I know I am not afraid to walk away from a bad situation, I’m less stressed about staying in one.  As an SDC colleague of mine said when the agency was going through a particularly wicked period, “This isn’t the kind of place you should work if you don’t have options.” 

I have colleagues who just seem to suffer every single day on the job.  “How’s it going,” I ask.  Then the torrent…”they don’t use my skills, I never have any say about my assignments, no one ever listens to me, I’m not appreciated and on and on.”  To which I say, “You’re smart.  You’re competent.  You have options.”  Invariably, I get the arguments back about how they don’t have options, they have families, it’s a bad job market, they’ve got a pension to worry about.  A hundred reasons why they can’t control their own lives.  I feel bad for them - not really. 

Going off half-cocked — important skill to have. It’s not about being flaky or temperamental or egotistical.  It’s about having standards and a sense of one’s own capabilities and contribution.  And knowing what you will and won’t do to make a buck. 

And believing, at the end of the day, you can make a new plan.

Jan Wilberg Janice Wilberg

“Let’s go around the room and have everyone introduce themselves,” the group leader says.  “I’m Fred from UWM.”  “I’m Gladys from General Motors.” You know the drill.  I decided recently to just give my name with no affiliation, a Cher-envy play that got no attention whatsoever.  “I’m Jan Wilberg.” Kerplunk.  Everyone waited the decent interval (where my affiliation would have been) and went on to the next person.

So boring.  SO BORING.

There are ways to do introductions that a) make them fun; b) break the ice; and c) and most importantly, build the relationship strength of the group.  Focus on the last point for a moment.  If I go to meetings with you for ten years and all I ever hear is that you’re Fred from UWM because you never say much and flee immediately following the meeting, I’m missing a chance to build a relationship with you and UWM that could be of value to both of us.

So what to do?  Start the meeting with disclosure and laughter.  Here are some things that either I’ve done or I’ve seen done by way of juicing up the introduction drill at the beginning of meetings:

• My all time favorite intro/ice breaker is to ask people to tell us their name, affiliation, and one thing about themselves we wouldn’t find on their resume.  This is how I found out a local economic development leader was the San Francisco spelling bee champion and how an incredibly mousy state bureaucrat was a bungee jumper.  I’ve also found people who were studying to be ordained, raise Christmas trees in their off hours, spoke five languages, ran marathons in foreign countries, and a whole bunch of other weird, quirky thing that immediately enriched the interaction of the group.  Why?  Because we right away feel like we know each other better.
• A good friend of mine, Marcia Jante, former Director of UW-Extension in Waukesha, would start each coalition meeting with a completely off the wall question for introductions.  If it was national dairy month, she’d say, “Tell us your name, your organization, and the dairy product that best represents you.”  Huh?  People are totally taken aback by a question like that – which is good because they giggle, chat with their neighbor, the room buzzes.  It’s good energy.  I was Gouda cheese.
• Friday, I was at a meeting where the facilitator asked each person to introduce themselves and describe one relationship that had developed as a result of their membership in the coalition.  This seemed to take forever — but it was truly worth it.  Generated heartfelt comments, made people feel connected and happy.  A good use of time.

What bothers me about  boring introductions is that we are missing opportunities for better relationships, better projects, and more impact.  You know how Facebook, by sharing little snippets of people’s daily lives, makes you feel like you know a lot more people a lot better?  Think of that approach – the widening and deepening of social networks – as a way to create a more dynamic community for your group.

We’re more than where we work.  And when we share that, somehow it makes our work richer, more worthwhile, just better.

I once watched a well-respected doctor throw a pencil at a female colleague whose ridiculously long, whiny oration during a proposal planning meeting had put him and the rest of us around the bend of polite behavior.  I remember being shocked at the time but also deeply appreciative.  The meeting had truly gone way beyond human endurance.

At a Passover Seder, we recite the Ten Plagues.  You know them: blood, frogs, lice, flies, cattle disease, boils, hail, locusts, darkness, death of the firstborn.  Because I was at a Seder last night and I have an unusual fondness for lists, I’m thinking of  Ten Meeting Plagues.

1. Anonymity – skipping introductions in the interest of time
2. Hunger and Thirst – no offer of coffee or treats
3. Puzzlement - meeting purpose that is confused or secret
4. Exclusion – tiered group with clear insiders and outsiders
5. Humorlessness – absence of chitchat or jokes
6. Aimlessness - meandering, undisciplined discussion
7. Endlessness – no respect for people’s time or patience
8. Hopelessness – deep belief the meeting is meaningless
9. Discontinuity – no traction from previous meeting
10. Disinvestment – decision to bug out – literally or figuratively

These days people don’t have to throw pencils to vent their frustration.  They Blackberry – google other people in the room, play Scrabble, text other attendees they sense are bored and frustrated.  Basically, they’re there but they’re not there.  I know this.  I’m one of these BB’ing folks who can’t tolerate bad meetings and would otherwise be arming myself with pencils.

What to do?

Here are five simple steps:  1) Have a purpose and an agenda; 2) Designate someone as the facilitator who will implement the agenda and manage the conversation; 3) Keep and distribute minutes; 4) Implement the ‘everybody talks/everybody listens’ rule; 5) Be glad to see people and have a little fun. 

There’s a reason why we got into this business – it’s interesting, important, and worthwhile.  When we get together to solve a problem or plan a project, it’s an opportunity to make things better in the world.  Let’s enjoy it!

Sometimes organizations choose the wrong funding source for a project because they simply don’t know any better.  Rule #1 in diagnosing this problem:  If an organization is still handwriting its proposals, it’s probably not ready for prime time for most funding sources.  Don’t laugh.  I had a city official (not Milwaukee) say to me just last week that she was working with several community-based organizations and faith-based groups that were scratching out their funding requests with pen and paper.  Ok, so that group needs pre-funding remedial classes.

What about the organizations that should know better?

Some organizations – we used to call them bottom feeders – go after every bit of scrunge in the water.  No matter if it fits with mission, program capacity, or strategic plan.  Got money? Got proposal.  Just like people who throw $5 worth of dimes in the little fishbowls at the carnival, eventually you will win a goldfish — a 39 cent fish that you spent 13 times that much trying to land.  If you are working in an organization with this trolling philosophy, it’s almost impossible to change it.  You see, even one win reinforces the strategy.  Yay for the 39 cent goldfish!

In more discerning organizations, there is usually some analysis that precedes the decision to apply for funding from a particular source.  Smart organizations seem to do these things:

• Know about funding opportunities way before everyone else.  They don’t wait for the published RFA (Request for Applications).  These organizations are so tuned in they know what’s coming down the pike and they’re ready.
• Communicate up and down the food chain.  I am always worried about organizations where the grant go-ahead decision rests with only one or two people.  A much better situation is when a group of people – and the group might change depending on the proposal – conduct some serious ‘vetting’.  Would this funding help us achieve our goals?  Do we have the resources to a) win the grant; and b) successfully administer it? Is this some other organization’s money, e.g. has another organization in town consistently received this funding and done an ok job with it?   This kind of discussion serves two purposes – helps you decide whether to move forward and reinforces a sense of team and mission around the grantseeking effort.
• Correctly assess their own grantwriting capabilities.  I’ll just say it here:  a newbie grantwriter who’s done two foundation grants cannot write a successful SAMHSA grant (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration) with 50 moving parts, complex research and evaluation requirements, and tons of other hoops that only a small and very skilled army can manage.  In other words, your resources have to be adequate to the challenge.
• Listen to the funding source’s explanation of its priorities.  If a major national foundation or federal department has published its grantmaking priorities and guidelines, it is not your place to try to change their mind.  Countless times, I’ve listened to organizations, so determined to press on in the face of screaming red lights, strategize about how to convince the funding source that its thinking is off and their thinking is right.   Ignorance and arrogance — always a winning combination.  If you’re so convinced that your idea should be considered, have a conversation with the funding source.  Start a dialogue.  You never know what will happen down the road.
• Build.  Successful grantseeking organizations connect the dots.  One funding source leads to another.  Performance, communication, networking, new opportunity.  Steady, purposeful effort aimed at building capacity. 
• Walk away.  This is so hard to do if you’re an organization that is on a growth trajectory and is very competitive.  But it’s essential to the notion of right fit.  Sometimes, you really have to walk away.

I was trained in an organization that applied for everything that walked and tried to make sense of it later.  As a consequence, I’ve written some of the most outlandish proposals you will ever read – don’t even get me started.  But that was a while ago and I’m a lot smarter now – my little goldfish plaques notwithstanding.

Flop Sweat.  That ought to be the name of my company, Flop Sweat LLC.

Flop Sweat:  nervous perspiration caused by a fear of failure before an audience.  This, my friends, is the story of my life.

So why is flop sweat/fear of failure such a constant theme in my work?  Because I think it’s important to do scary things – like public speaking, organizing big events, taking on complex projects with tight deadlines, and negotiating with tough customers of all types.

I can remember times when my fear of failure almost put me into a faint.  One example is a huge community planning event designed to bring together observant Jews and African Americans to create Vision Sherman Park.  Somewhere between the PowerPoint, the survey results, the intricate seating arrangements, the marinara sauce, and Rabbi Twerski, I found my footing but only after repeating, oh, probably a hundred times, my mother’s inevitable response as I whined about some upcoming presentation at school, “A coward dies a thousand deaths, a hero dies but once.”

Every scary thing I’ve done and survived has ratcheted up my competence and willingness to take risks.  Moreover, I’ve learned to trust my judgement and believe in my own voice.  To say to yourself, “I’m afraid but I’m doing it anyway” is very empowering and a lot better than saying, “I’m scared to death and I’m going to find somebody to hide behind.”

Friends and colleagues who complain about how boring their work is strike me as people unwilling to bust out of the tiny circle they’ve drawn around their professional role.  You know the feeling — scared to make a fool of yourself on the dance floor, you hang back with all the other drips not realizing you would be a lot less of a drip if you would just freakin’ DANCE.

So as my mother would say, “If you’re bored, you have only yourself to blame.”  (My mother was a sweet, gentle person but she did have a lot of hardcore attitudes.) My guess is that people who are bored with their work are doing the same 10 things over and over.  They find excuses why they can’t take chances — their boss won’t let them, it’s not in their job description, they might FAIL.  That’s ok.  People want to be stuck, they can be stuck.  But they won’t grow.

My career hasn’t been a  beautiful string of successes.  I’ve had several head-hanging, what was I thinking, will I ever work again moments in my business. Thank goodness, there’ve been enough successes and good work to help most people forget the mistakes.  But I can guarantee you — I am absolutely never bored.

Of course, how could I have been a bat girl?  There ARE no bat girls.  Bat people are boys.  We all know that.  Still.  I could pick up bats and keep the ump supplied with balls with the best of them.  Because I’ve been to spring training.  In fact, I’m at Brewers Spring Training in Phoenix, AZ as we speak.  And if there’s a better place to be, I sure don’t know where it is.

I’m not a maniacal baseball fan, nor a student of baseball.  However, I am married to an avid fan and attend a lot of games every year – we’re talking 25 or so not counting 3-4 spring training games.  Until very recently, watching baseball was a meditative experience for me.  But then something clicked – I think it was the day I got the metaphorical significance of Striking Out Looking – and I started to love baseball and baseball players alot.

Spring training is the loveliest thing in the world if you are any kind of a fan at all.  First of all, everything about it makes you feel new – new season, new players, new promises.  Makes everyone feel like they’re 25.  It’s also the most relaxed and mellow place on earth (except for the young guys coming up trying to impress the coaches).  There’s a road in Phoenix called Carefree Highway and, in my mind, it runs right to Maryvale where the Brewers Stadium is located.  Picture the program vendor who dumps his sack in the 8th inning to stand atop the dugout to lead the crowd in YMCA or the former MPS teacher, now beer vendor, who gives each section a grade on how well they echo his trademark yell.

Most of all, people are happy.  The players joke around and tease each other.  Prince Fielder has a big grin on his face – something you don’t see once regular season starts.  And everyone is kind and chatty and generous.  Uncharacteristically, I made a play to catch a promotional T-shirt, missed it, only to have the woman who did catch it give it to me.  Dang. 

Nothing real profound here.  Just Arizona in March with a bunch of young guys playing ball and having fun.  Hard to complain.