I've Never Been to the Galapagos

 I just got done with an inspiring Leadership Open Space virtual conference with my colleagues at Nordstrom. One of the topics that came up is How do we continue or transfer the Nordstrom culture to a new working environment post-pandemic?

Nordstrom has a culture that in my view is heavily influenced by two principles. First, if you know or have read anything about Nordstrom culture and certainly if you are one of our loyal customers, you know that Nordstrom culture starts with how we treat our customers in the store. Our store employees are truly customer obsessed. The second principle is that as large as Nordstrom is, it is still a family business. The Nordstroms sit on the board, are key stockholders, and hold chief officer roles. More than that, though, they have a genuine care for us as employees just as when their great-grandfather began the store. My first meeting as a Nordstrom manager was with all the other engineering managers, over 200 of us, in a ballroom in the Four Seasons in Seattle overlooking the sound. Blake Nordstrom reminisced about how that meeting had been previously held as a barbecue at his home and lamented a bit that it couldn't still be that way. (The Four Seasons doesn't suck, though.)

Like other corporations, Nordstrom is beginning to think about what the workplace will look like post-pandemic. I believe it is certain to say that we are not all going back to our prairie dog villages of cubicles in big office buildings. As a manager, I am looking to fill open developer positions and am not just looking local to Denver here. I already support contractors in every timezone in the U.S. not to mention in India, and don't see a reason to change that. My belief is that many companies will adopt some sort of hybrid solution with employees "hot desking" (a number of employees co-sharing a group of desks) and making use of conference rooms for meetings where collaboration is especially effective, but otherwise working remotely. 

Like I said, Nordstrom has a very specific culture. A culture unlike other places I've worked. With our group being in Denver and Nordstrom HQ in Seattle, we used to have engineers go out to Seattle almost expressly so they could get a better sense of what the Nordstrom corporate culture is. Now that kind of travel is no more, and likely won't be again. Plus  with even many in Seattle contemplating working remotely and with us finding tech talent in other areas of the country, the question put forward today was, how do we continue that culture in the future? We had a breakout session on this topic, and after 45 minutes the surprising answer I think we came to is "We don't." We don't continue this same culture; we evolve it. We keep what is good, we throw out what just won't work anymore, and we evolve the rest to fit our new environment.

I sort of joked with my Seattle counterparts that part of the Nordstrom culture, being an outsider from a corporate perspective, is wandering around downtown Seattle trying to figure out in which building you are supposed to be meeting someone. The buildings are One, 805, 864, and 865. One is easy: That's the flagship store and there are offices above that. 805, 864, and 865 are not addresses. Those are "store numbers" as well. You would think that at the very least 864 would be next to 865, but you would be wrong! 865 is next to 805, and 804 is a good fifteen minute walk away. (Twenty if you are going in the other direction because it is uphill!) I mean, how are we ever going to replicate that sense of frustration that every Nordstrom employee must have realizing they are in the wrong building for a meeting starting NOW?!

I think we go back to the essence and the principles that made Blake wish he could invite us all back to his place. We start with being customer obsessed. As internal service providers and as people managers we recognize that being customer obsessed means being obsessed with making sure that our store employees can do their very best job and that our digital storefront performs its very best. Then we continue to treat each other as family as we've tried to manage staying close to our own families through this time. We get creative in including them even when we can't all be together. We take time out to check in on each other. We recognize that sometimes we are just going to have some bad days, and that is okay. 

There WILL be a new environment coming whether it is this summer or fall and we need to evolve with that changing environment.

You, Super Hero

 A couple weeks ago, I had the thought that I hadn't really followed up with just how I was doing after my last blog post. I had heard from a good number of people, particularly co-workers expressing sympathy, empathy, and a surprising amount of gratitude for having spoke out about my troubles with depression and alcohol. I thought then that I should give an update saying I am doing well and that everything was going marvelously. It seemingly was, but after 78 days sober I fell off the wagon. Fell off the wagon and hit every branch on the way down, if I may mix metaphors.

Humbling. "That isn't going to be me! I've got this thing licked! I'm not like other people who inevitably go back to drinking." I'm sure all those people tell themselves the same thing. There is a lot of shame, A LOT, not only when you can't keep a promise to yourself, but can't keep one to people who love you and people who believe in you. And you wake up the next morning with your head pounding and sweating out whatever water still remains in your body and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it.

So you start a new streak. 

Every day we are afforded new opportunities. We can wake up with that hangover and we can choose to pour ourselves a screwdriver, a little hair of the dog, to make it through, or we can steel ourselves, make ourselves better and fight on. We can choose to procrastinate that task we just don't want to do one more day, or we can roll up our sleeves, get up on that ladder, and finally get those Christmas lights put away. (Am I getting too specific here?) 

They called my grandparents' generation the Greatest Generation. Why was that? They lived through one if not two world wars, a Great Depression, a bunch of other depressions or recessions that weren't so great, and a Cold War. They weren't great for not making mistakes, but man, they sure owned up to them. (As a generation, I mean. Individual results may vary.)

There are still a lot of people hurting from this pandemic. A lot of people I know feel pretty isolated. A lot of people who are angry and a lot of people who are sad. Keep reaching out to people. Your super power might be as simple as texting someone that you are thinking about them. Something so simple can save a life.

Man's Search for Meaning

 I spent last weekend in the hospital, a psychiatric center to be more precise, for "suicidal ideation". First of all, I'm okay, am back home, and am in an intensive outpatient program getting the help I need. In the words of Robin Williams playing the role of John Keating in "Dead Poets Society", let me dispel a few rumors so they don't fester into facts. (Not that I think there are rumors flying about, but I just like the opportunity to quote that movie.) I did not hurt myself nor anyone else. I did not attempt to hurt myself nor anyone else. I was severely depressed exacerbated by drinking too much the night before. I did not know what to do and Jen did not know what to do, so I asked her to take me to the Emergency Room. No psychotic break, no craziness per se, just overwhelming depression, and I knew I needed professional help.

I'm afraid to post this anywhere. I am afraid of what my family will think. This isn't the first time my close family has witnessed this struggle with me, but mostly they are much further away now. I am afraid of what friends and acquaintances will think. I've burned or singed a number of friendships in the past by throwing alcohol on smoldering depression. I'm afraid of what of what my coworkers will think, particularly those I support as a manager. Coincidentally, or perhaps not so coincidentally, last Thursday I attended a meeting through Nordstrom keynoted by the CEO of the National Alliance on Mental Illness, Dan Gillison. The idea was that though there is still a strong stigma with mental health, we need to provide a work environment where it is safe to admit you live with a mental illness, whether it is the employee themselves or someone they care for. I'm also looking at the "Nordstrom Competencies" and smack in the middle are two: "Has Courage" and "Develops People". So I think it is important to admit that I live with chronic depression.

While I am not ready to discuss details of my own experiences, including those of the last week, I want to turn this into something ultimately positive. I know people are struggling with working at home, maybe with a job change, maybe just not being able to see friends and family, maybe with this upcoming election that seems to have everyone depressed. Looking back now I realize what a dark place I was in, but it was as if someone just gradually dimmed the lights over the past six or seven months since the Covid lockdowns began. If you are in a similar place I encourage you to reach out to family, friends, or a crisis hotline. I have to admit I've used those in the past, and the people on the other side of the line are very good at just listening.

I'm sorry. I am not apologizing that I have this disease or that I ended up in the hospital because of it. I am sorry because I knew I had a problem, and I thought I could deal with it on my own. I thought I was better than every other person that has had to deal with depression and alcoholism, and that wasn't fair to my wife, to my family, to the friends I lost, to the friends that stuck by me, and to my work. I am fortunate and glad I have people who do stick by me and glad I have the means to fight to get better. There are people out there who don't. Send up a prayer for them.

Someone Will Make a Political Post of This

There's something just very liberating about riding a bike. I'm sure that's not the first time someone has started off a missive with that initial sentence. I'm re-reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, and he explains the same thing about a motorcycle, a different kind of bike than what I am referring to. But unlike a car, either "bike" makes you a part of the scene. In a car, you just see the scene through a frame. A motorcycle is probably a better comparison against a car. You travel the same distance more or less and go more or less along the same routes. With a bicycle you are maybe more in the scene but travelling slower and going places a gasoline powered engine can't take you, which was my experience tonight. There really is no wonder that learning to ride a bike is one of those key moments in most people's childhood.

I'm really in love with my bike and wish I rode more. Today was really the first day I've had it out all year thus far. Bicycles, like motorcycles, take a certain amount of maintenance. Bike maintenance takes a certain amount of patience. Something was wrong or is wrong with the way they seated my tubeless tire on the rim when I bought it. It has a slow leak. I was taken back to trying to replace the tubes on my previous road bike and going through three or four tubes, pinching the sidewall each time, before I gave up. Over the winter the tubeless tires on my new bike went flat (You shouldn't allow that to happen.) and I was afraid to really touch them. Plus, I've gotten back into running.

I like running. I mean, I don't really like the act of running. I like how it makes me feel afterwards. The release of endorphins and serotonin makes me feel as I imagine normal people who don't suffer from chronic depression feel. I HATE getting started running, though. Frankly, after two or three miles I start to feel a lot better. It makes it rough getting started, though, and rough getting motivated to even put on running shoes.Once I'm going, I usually like being out seeing the neighborhood. Really, though, that's about as much as you are going to see - the neighborhood. Unless you are marathon training, a run isn't going to take you much beyond what a run to the grocery store would do. A bike, on the other hand...

And getting going on a bike is actually fun! I kind of race to get out of town. Automobile drivers in Brighton aren't super keen with sharing the road with bicyclists I've found. From where we live smack in the center of town, however, one must make one's escape along the main streets. Tonight it was out Bridge St for me, which turns into Highway 7 as you leave town. Just beyond the outskirts of town, though, is Veteran's Park where you can pick up a trail that goes down along the South Platte.

This trail used to go down through Brighton along the river and then into one of those subdivisions that was new when someone thought that having biking/walking trails MIGHT be a good idea. I'm thinking 1990's. And MIGHT be a good idea was as far as anyone got with the idea, so the trail ended after about two miles.

For the past couple years, the City of Brighton has been working on extending that trail down out of town, to where the Adams County Fairgrounds, now the Adams County Regional Park, is and hooks up with another system of trails that runs all the way up the Platte to Denver and beyond. I watched the progress on that seemingly inch along until all of a sudden it was done!

It's worth the wait. Like I said, it goes along the South Platte, but also runs around these man-made lakes that are used for water retention.If you don't know Brighton you may not realize it is a very agricultural community that was essentially built on the high desert. Water is very important here. It would not surprise me if half the laws on the local books related to water rights. So there are these important little reservoirs built to feed water into a series of ditches for the surrounding farms. The new path runs along a series of these that are privately owned. However, Brighton has negotiated either to buy or work out rights to allow public access to some of these. That opens up fishing along at least one. We have A LOT of people in the area who like to fish and not a lot of area to do it, so this is really welcome. 

Also there are some nice gravel paths. I have a gravel bike. I didn't even know they made gravel bikes until a couple of years ago. I really like riding a road bike. Yes, sometimes I like imagining I'm in the Tour de France, but really I just like going from point A to point B without any fetters and doing it rather quickly. Also, for me, there isn't usually a mountain standing between point A and point B, at least not without some road winding up it. So mountain bikes are fun, but we are out here on the plains. I mean, when I go out on runs, sometimes the max elevation change is twelve feet. It is very flat out here.

So the gravel bike... you just get this feeling you can go almost anywhere. Almost anywhere. Maybe not quite up the sides of mountains. I actually found that when you try to get down to the river, the sand gets too soft for the tires I have on. However, when you are in a park and can just zoomdle diagonally across the grass, it's pretty liberating. I mean, I could fly right through a frisbee golf course, interrupting the Jack Nicklaus of frisbee golf, "Frolf" if you will, and no one would be able to catch me.

I did an easy ten miles, about five down and five back. I say "easy" though the wind blew a couple of times that I may not have really thought it was so easy. I will need to work up to the twenty-something miles it will take to get down into Denver for some Little Man Ice Cream. (UGH! Not to mention the twenty-something miles back!) And if we ever get back into the Nordstrom office again, I think conceptually I could make it down there. Starting my commute at 5 am may not be PRACTICAL however. We'll see.

Of Redskins and Irishmen

I never understood how people backed the Redskins name. It's so obviously racist. I've heard the argument that it isn't necessarily derogatory. Certainly it isn't "nigger" or "kike", and not even "wop" or "mick". But we don't have the "Cincinnati Darkies" nor the "Atlanta Whiteys". Why should we ever lump an entire group of people all in by skin color? You can do your own research on the etymology of the name, but it boils down to making a mascot out of an entire race of people by their skin color. I never understood that. It's (past) time for it to go.

I have mixed feelings about using Native American iconography at all. For example, I understand that Florida State has a very good relationship and open dialog with the Seminole tribe in using their name. I know that the University of North Dakota abandoned the Sioux name after it could not get approval from all neighboring Sioux tribes. ( I have to note here that 'Dakota' is literally one of the linguistic divisions of the Greater Sioux nation, so one of the suggestions in their entire naming controversy was to just call the teams 'North Dakota' as 'North Dakota Sioux' was simply redundant.) I can understand arguments both for and against the Blackhawks, the Braves, the Indians. Those aren't blatantly racist and contemptuous. I could even attempt to hear an argument for the "Tomahawk Chop" cheer of Braves fans. (I dunno. I'd listen, but I'm pretty close-minded to those particular shenanigans. "The Indians" kind of too - I wouldn't really understand the argument behind that mascot. I'd try. [No, I wouldn't.] I like that "Caucasians" t-shirt one can buy that mocks the Cleveland Indians.) Redskins, though, is a racist, pejorative term. It may not have started that way (again, feel free to do your own research) but it has been used that way for over a hundred years. Has to go.

In a Facebook post I brought up the fact that everyone seems to completely ignore "The Fighting Irish". It broke down into a thread about the merits or lack thereof of the Redskins moniker. I should know better. (I should know better than to say anything slightly political in a Facebook post. Though how this is even a political issue is absolutely stunning to me. [I should say, it WAS stunning until I thought about it more and realized I shouldn't be so surprised.] I should also know better than to say anything that goes a slight bit against the tide of the social discourse of the day, which has turned into more tide than actual discourse. Don't say anything against it nor even something tangential to today's topic - you'll just be trying to swim across an overwhelming current. Just nod your head and go with it.) The Rice name is Orange Irish. I'm pretty sure our family went over to the Emerald Isle and beat (and worse) the Catholic into servitude. So I'm not going to feign any sort of indignation at the name "Fighting Irish". What perplexes me is that I don't understand why people ignore the mascot of Notre Dame but are incensed that North Dakota would use "The Fighting Sioux".

The Fighting Irish is no less a pejorative than the Fighting Sioux (though both, to me, are much less so than Redskins). One of the stories of how Notre Dame athletes gained the moniker is that Northwestern students taunted their team with "Kill the Fighting Irish" during a game in 1899. (There have been many proud days in Northwestern history, but that doesn't sound like one of them.) Another is that Notre Dame's own coach used the stereotype when he said to his team during a game in 1909, this time against Michigan, "What’s the matter with you guys? You’re all Irish and you’re not fighting worth a lick.” In 2005 the NCAA went forward with sanctions on just about anyone with a Native American mascot including the Fighting Sioux of North Dakota, but said nothing about Notre Dame.

Anytime the NCAA does something about anything I first assume it's about money. Why doesn't anyone else take notice of it, however? What doesn't anyone, Irish or otherwise say, "Hey, why are you holding onto that old stereotype anyway?" (I have my personal suspicions.) You will notice that the media hardly ever adds the "Fighting" part in anymore, particularly NBC, simply calling them "The Irish" more often than not. But Notre Dame's athletics web page is titled "Notre Dame Athletics | The Fighting Irish". I realize that I've written a lot about Notre Dame now on the day the Washington Redskins gave up their mascot, but here's the reason - It makes doing something that is completely right, like standing against the Redskins name, look hypocritical. It smacks of political correctness instead of simply what it is - Correctness. I'm not suggesting that we change every athletics mascot name that might offend someone in someway. I'm saying that if we are going to have a conversation about removing racially or ethnically disparaging names and The Fighting Irish doesn't even enter the conversation, people need to ask themselves why.

Juneteenth

I am reminded today, June 19th --Juneteenth, Freedom Day -- of the visit that Jen and I made to the Whitney Plantation when we went to New Orleans. It is a trip I would recommend anyone visiting New Orleans should make. In fact, I'd recommend it as the focus of a trip that every American should make. 

It isn't a trip to be made lightly. National Geographic compares it to making a trip to Auschwitz . I would imagine that the contemplation of any human being treated as less than human is going to evoke similar emotions in anyone with a shred of empathy. For as much reading and learning of slavery we have had in schools, it doesn't prepare you for the gut punch of seeing a price list of people.

There is, I think, this myth that we white Americans like to hold onto that slave owners actually treated their slaves relatively humanely, and that it was really only some particularly cruel owners that treated them badly. After all, a dead slave was no good to the owner, right? The truth that one learns at Whitney is that in almost every case, slave owners simply treated slaves as a commodity, cogs in a wheel of a machine that, in Louisiana, was used to turn sugar cane into sugar, a grueling and particularly dangerous process. Yes, while plantation owners did not want their machinery to wear out early, they were horribly practical in the life-expectancy of those cogs. People did not live long while working the cane fields, a handful of years maybe, ten to twelve at most. The phrase "being sold down the river" came from the slave experience of being sold down into the cane fields of Louisiana from cotton plantations further north. 

I compared the entire explanation of slave ownership by our guide at Whitney to my experience owning a car: I don't want to treat my car poorly. I'm really pretty fond of my 2012 Ford Fusion. It was a pretty dear investment. At eight years old, though, I know it's getting to the end of its lifespan. I know I'll move on and get something else in a couple years. To think, even now, that this is how plantation owners felt about people, and that I could conjure up such a comparison now, quite literally nauseates me.

I was very impressed with our guide at Whitney. A young black man, he gave us what I believe was really the unvarnished truth and a horrible sense of what it was like to live at Whitney. There was no need to embellish the awful facts. They were laid out before you like the price list I mentioned or the tiny slave quarters or the "hot box" chamber mentioned in the National Geographic article. Stands of the sugar cane with its razor-like leaves were right there, and the treeline past the fields that led away into the swamps that would beckon slaves to freedom or death, either way escape from their condition, still stands out there. 

This is the story of my slave benefactor at Whitney, Chris Franklin. I say benefactor because Mr. Franklin paid a very costly price in order to provide me a single afternoon of education. I am very grateful. Reading that story, one might say, "It wasn't all THAT bad. They even got extra potatoes and egg nog at Christmas." Then you compare that to Mr. Franklin's impression of how well he felt the master kept his hounds. Slaves were treated no better than dogs. The master was fine to marry off a couple because he knew it meant additional litters of slaves for him.

None of us are free until all of us are free. That is a great sentiment to carry forth today. In a literal sense I'm sure we are all appalled at the idea of a man, woman, or child being manacled in an iron box on a hundred degree day. We have a ways to go to stamp out ignorance and injustice still, however. The focus, of late, has been on the police profession. The police do have the ability to use force that is immediately apparent. However, discrimination still pervades every industry in America. It is still apparent in the retail industry, for example. For, as progressive a company as Nordstrom is, I am still reminded that only two years ago black teens looking to buy clothes for prom were racially profiled by Rack employees. Even so, I believe that the discrimination in the legal, medical, and especially the media is as damaging, if not more so, than by police.

So we need to look at ourselves and our own sense of humanity. My religion is built on empathy and loving-kindness. In just writing that I am reminded also that I am a sinner. I need to practice.

Divided We Die of Typhus

I woke up this morning needing a pep talk. With no Knute Rockne there nor drill sergeant, I turned to myself for some inspiration. I didn't exactly find a Rockne speech in me. I was able to remind myself that our current situation is not normal, nor is it the "new normal". The current situation is not normal, yet we try as try might to seek "normal". For work, even though people are all working remotely, even though they are all dealing with their personal issues regarding dealing with the virus, we are still asking teams to deliver as if things are normal.

So I reminded myself that this is not the new normal and thought I'd pass on that message to my team at work. I also thought I'd try and enhance my inspirational message with some historical inspiration. Where in time, besides the oft-cited Spanish Flue Pandemic, were people cooped up for months at a time. Valley Forge came to mind. They were cooped up there for an entire winter, right? That must have been like three whole months, right? 

So, like I do, I looked up what I could about Valley Forge. They weren't there three months. The Continental Army was camped out there for six months! Dec. 19, 1777 - June 19, 1778. Okay, granted, they could leave their huts -- And it's a good thing they could since an entire squad of twelve enlisted soldiers typically shared a stone hut, sometimes with wives and children as well. Also, the winter wasn't as bad then as we were made to believe in elementary school. (Apparently the winter encampment two years later in Jockey Hollow was much worse and was the root for the myth of the horrible Valley Forge winter.) Still they suffered typhus, typhoid fever, dysentery, influenza, pneumonia, and smallpox (because a group of the soldiers had not been inoculated the year before when General Washington ordered it), not to mention the starvation. (Yesterday, I ordered DoorDash from one of the local Mexican restaurants.) About 1000 of the 12,000 soldiers encamped there did not survive the winter. About 8% mortality.

Anyway, it could be worse... I guess. It wasn't exactly the inspirational message that I was looking for, so I decided to play it. Plus, what did those men have to look forward to? America lost almost every major battle for the next several years until Nathanael Greene took the fight to the Southern theater. 

There is a battle to come for us, probably many. For Nordstrom there is going to be a much smaller pool of higher-end retail shoppers. We're going to be battling other retailers for those customers. For us as a nation there is going to be a battle of words over how and when to come out of this mess and get the economy going again. For many of us individually it is going to be a struggle just trying to get back to normal, to find jobs again, to restart some semblance of a social life, to just get back to a routine. One thing that I think this pandemic has shown us is that we accomplish much more when we can work together rather than apart. The phrase, "United we stand; divided we fall," comes to mind -- something to keep in mind.