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. 

Yesterday, on the way to El Rey, my husband and I drove down Washington Street.  As we passed 12th, I looked up the street and could see, a block away, the flowers and memorials in front of what had to be the home of Rachel Thompson and her two sons. I looked at the house, amazed that what had happened to this young family had occurred in this neighborhood, with people going about their business, kids on the street, life happening.  How is it even possible, I thought, that three people could massacre a family?  What kind of person could put garbage bags over toddlers’ heads and watch them suffocate?  I use the word unfathomable.  Not because it can’t be understood by anyone — it just can’t be understood by me. 

Shift gears.  Last week I went with Joe Volk and Steve Falek to meet with members of the Milwaukee Journal Editorial Board to convince them to support the Continuum of Care’s 10-Year Plan to End Homelessness.  We went up the elevator, past a sprawling newsroom, and into a paneled conference room complete with a portrait of Solomon Juneau and there we made our pitch for their support.  It wasn’t hard — it’s not easy to be against ending homelessness.  The meeting, along with a terrific plan generated by a tireless group of CoC members, resulted in a great editorial two days later complete with a picture of a homeless man straight from central casting.  

So this is the high and low – the up and down – the good and the bad.  Certainly the exhileration I felt at the Editorial Board dissipated when I learned the details of the Thompson family murders. But standing back, I’m seeing circles – overlapping circles with the family in the middle, various systems, neighbors, teachers, and social workers touching their circle, but maybe the Editorial Board experience and what it represents in terms of Milwaukee’s opinion leadership and power structure just ever so faintly touching the Thompson’s world.

If I don’t get it, the Editorial Board probably doesn’t either.  And although they are closer to the ground, I bet the social workers and parole officers and the teachers know about the day to day, they are still at a loss as to what to do to prevent this in the future.

We don’t know why those young people would murder Rachel and her kids any more than we really know why people are homeless in a country with so much wealth.  It’s going to make my head ache extra hard to hear Charlie Sykes and his ilk jump up with the ’she should’ve known better’ or he should’ve worked harder’ insta-analysis.  And the inevitable, ‘this organization or this system failed.’

The fact of the matter – and I see this every day – is that the people who run homeless shelters, police officers, juvenile court workers, social workers – they’re all doing the best they can and trying to make things better.  They might not know the answers but they keep at it. And I guess that’s what we do at a time like this.  We just keep at it.

I’ve been in business for 15 years – started in January 1995 about five minutes after the Social Development Commission made a disasterous pick for executive director, a woman who resigned two years later amid allegations of misappropriation of funds, lying about her credentials, a ton of stuff that confirmed my decision to boogie when I did.  I resigned my job as Planning Director – a job that I loved and was very good at.  It broke my heart to leave.

Because I had been in business before, I knew I could rev up the engine and get going again.  I likened myself to Rockford, the private detective living in a Malibu trailer who printed up business cards in his car on his way to con someone into giving up some valuable info.  I could do it all – planning, grantwriting, research, community involvement, all the things I loved doing.  Yep.  I could do it all and fry it up in a pan.   And that’s pretty much what I’ve done.

So because I’ve been around a while, I get a lot of calls from people who’ve decided to become consultants.  Usually, they’ve just been down-sized, are in a state of shock, and on the rebound, so to speak. They’re looking for a quick way to make it look like they chose to leave their job.  If I know them or know the person who told them to call me, we’ll have coffee so they can “pick my brain,” one of my least favorite terms but people always seem to think it’s a nice thing to say.  So I get asked lots of questions — usually the first is, “How much do you charge?”  Followed by “How do you get business?”  And, my favorite, “How hard do you have to work?”

Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, ever likes my answers.  Sometimes they start telling me what they would do different.  And I think, ok, as if. Nine times out of ten, I never hear from or about these folks again.  Why?  They find a job.  Essentially they weren’t interested in the heavy lifting and unglamorous parts of running a business – the fact that while you might be master of your own ship, you’re likely to be the only person on the boat. They liked the idea of being on their own – the freedom, self-determination, and the huge fees they felt entitled to.

It’s kind of like getting married. There’s the idea of getting married and then there’s the day to day.  Having a successful business, like having a successful marriage, is about playing the long game.  It’s about being totally invested (not secretly considering options), optimistic, confident, and cheerful.  In marriage, as in business, it helps to have a short memory and start over every day.  In both marriage and business, you have to learn to quickly recover from failure and disappointment because the weight of those things can drown you.  Deciding this is IT – that you are totally committed to a course of action, whether it’s marriage or business, frees you up to do wonderful things.  For real.  I can prove it with 15 years of a great business and 26 years of a really great marriage.  Lucky to have both — but neither dropped from the sky.  As my father would say, “successful people make their own luck.”

There’s a lot written about the art of the apology.  In family life, if you don’t know how to apologize, you’re really in for a lot of heartache.  But the art of apology is just as important in professional life.  Here’s where a lot of people’s fear of taking responsibility overwhelms them.  So instead of apologizing in a timely, sincere, and meaningful way, they argue, obfuscate, blame others and make excuses.

My apology teacher was a former priest – my boss at the Social Development Commission.  Although sometimes overly responsible (apologizing for every bad thing that happened in the building), he knew how to apologize quickly and turn the discussion to making amends.  In other words, it was all about the product — not his ego. 

This is what I learned from that:  People will judge you on your overall competence – not on a single event.  If you’ve made a mistake — even if it’s a huge one — it’s how you handle the clean-up that is the critical factor.

• Make sure you understand what mistake you actually made before you start apologizing.  And don’t do that stupid  “Gee, I’m sorry you’re upset” thing that they teach all the customer service people.
• Apologize in the same venue where the problem arose.  By this, I mean if you made a mistake involving one person in a large group setting — in my opinion, you have to apologize in the large group.
• Apologize, explain specifically what you think the offense/mistake was, and ask how to make amends.  “I’m sorry. I didn’t get this survey instrument approved before I started doing interviews.  How can I make this right?”
• Don’t blame colleagues, subordinates, your children, the weather, your failing health, or anything else for the mistake.  Practice this in the shower:  “I’m sorry.  There’s really no excuse for this. I take full responsibility.”
• Force yourself to make affirmative apologies.  By this I mean that once you realize that you did something – even if the event has passed – you should go back and correct it.  This can be really tough.  I’ve done it.  But you’ll feel better and your group will respect you.
• Remember there’s a difference between being accountable and being a doormat.  I’ll apologize when I’m wrong but I won’t tolerate piling up or my own colleagues running for the hills when they were part of the mess.

Life being what it is — complicated, messy, busy — there are always plenty of opportunities to practice apologizing.  Why, I was able to do a little practicing just this past week!  Did my apology fix everything?  I don’t know.  But life’s a long game – every mistake is about doing better next time – that’s what I think.

“I want a job and a way to get there.  And I want people to treat me with respect. That’s all.  Don’t look down on me or talk down to me. It’s not my fault that I’m homeless.”  This from a homeless guy in his mid-fifties (he told me, I’m not guessing) who wasted no time telling me what was what in a focus group we conducted at a homeless shelter last week.

Let me back up.  I decided to do a series of group surveys/focus groups because I needed to include a consumer-prioritized list of service needs in a major grant I was putting together.  So it was time to get off my arse and go ask — it had been a couple of years -and I really felt like it was time to show the funding source that we were in touch with consumers. I’d already done a provider survey — a neat, tidy little online survey accomplished without moving from my office or talking to a single human being.

A big snow storm was predicted the day of our first group.  Looking at a 10-inch accumulation and blowing winds, I felt like an idiot going out to ask homeless people to rank their service needs.  But it’s what I do.  I put my survey instrument together,  packed my bag with chocolate bars, and headed out in my jeans and boots to do my job.  We needed consumer input.  My job was to get it.

At one shelter, we talked with a group of fourteen men.  My role as facilitator was to ask questions and listen.  See the guy who seems to want to talk and get him to talk.  Absorb it.  Move things along.  Maneuver the group around the interpersonal conflicts that seemed right below the surface.  And assure them that no repercussions would result from their complaints about various programs and, even, individual staff.

“Respect me.  Respect us.  Don’t treat us like crap.”  When I asked the group of homeless guys what message they wanted to send to providers, this was their answer.

I try to do this on a personal level.  When I meet a person who appears to be homeless on the street — or someone who asks me for money – I look them in the eye.  Sometimes I give them money.  Sometimes I ask if they’ve gone to XYZ agency or tried the ABC program.  I don’t ignore people when I meet them.  I look them in the eye.  I believe it’s the right thing to do.  I would want someone to acknowledge me if I was homeless and talking to them – to see that I am a person worth talking to.

But professionally, maybe it’s a different story.  I was so sure that I knew what homeless people wanted and needed that it seemed inconsiderate and redundant to go ask them.  After all, wouldn’t anyone know what homeless people would say they wanted on a snowy night with single digit wind chills?

No.

How many meetings have I sat through talking about homeless people, kids in the juvenile justice system, families in child welfare, without having any consumers in the room?  How many times have I helped decide what goals to pursue and where to allocate funding without the people affected being present?  How often have I assumed, and let others assume, that I know what people want and need.

It hit me last week.  My arrogance.  And so I’ll say here what I said in a Facebook post:  Slap me the next time I think I know what people want or need without asking them. 

People need to be asked and heard – not once every couple of years – but in an ongoing way.  A good lesson relearned.