One of my best friends started seminary this term. He recently emailed me (his atheist friend) the following:
Want to help me with some homework? I'm taking a class on Poetry and the Religious Imagination. This week, we're to strike up a conversation with a friend outside class about the creative moment over a poem by Wallace Stevens.
"The Poem That Took the Place of a Mountain"
There it was, word for word.
The poem that took the place of a mountain.
He breathed its oxygen.
Even when the book lay turned in the dust of his table.
It reminded him how he had needed
A place to go to in his own direction,
How he had recomposed the pines,
Shifted the rocks and picked his way among clouds,
For the outlook that would be right,
Where he would be complete in an unexplained completion:
The exact rock where his inexactnesses
Would discover, at last, the view toward which they had edged,
Where he could lie and, gazing down at the sea,
Recognize his unique and solitary home.
So, maybe the question to ask regarding creativity or the creation of a poem is why? What does the poem, the creative act of "recomposing" and "shifting" give us? Hmm. I think of Stevens as modernist in the sense that he's looking for wholeness, but recognizes the world as fractured. He doesn't have God out there somewhere to whom he can go for reassurance. He goes to the poem, "turned in the dust of his table," to find his home. Hmmmm. What do you think?
Be well!
Here’s my response:
This is a great assignment, especially that you must get outside input. The last of the demons preventing Buddha from enlightenment was his own ego. This is among the most revealing statements ever written about spirituality. Some things just can’t be seen from ourselves.
I’ve climbed a lot of mountains. When I needed to get into a difficult issue, to solve a troubling problem, to sort out which things were important, I went climbing. Walks, while peaceful, don’t accomplish this in the same sense. Nor is it the view--driving to the top is not equivalent. Six/eight hours of tiring climbing, however, clears the mind, leaving choices and situations apparent, courses of action clear. Some of this is activity, perhaps, but long hikes aren’t the same either. Some of it is activity mandated by survival--a very effective way to focus priorities. But most of this is getting outside one’s own mind. The experiences and memories it yields are deeply meaningful, so clear I can revisit the summit at will (and do when I need this focus), something very personal that cannot be taken away but something not mine nor me, now or then. It is more than such things. As Lao Tzu observes, “Those who know do not tell; those who tell do not know.” It is beyond telling. It is a knowing that is more whole than the knowing we speak of day to day. And I immediately recognized this in Stevens’ poem.
When a Zen or Taoist painter shares his work with a friend (a work born of a moment of meditation, the painter anticipates that the friend will add a poem born of meditation on the image (this is why Chinese/Japanese painted scrolls typically have so much writing on them). Similar to what you’re doing now, the viewer gains perspectives outside his own mind (and even his own mindlessness). I see poetry this way too. A poet shares a fresh perspective, a different way of viewing our world, our experience, our nature, or even just the possibility of those other perspectives, that there indeed CAN be “thirteen ways of looking at a blackbird,” for example. This too takes us outside of our own minds, beyond our experience into views we cannot see alone. I think of an amoeba-shaped lake, its shores heavily wooded, with observers standing at various points and coves, unseen by each other, all looking at the same lake, but seeing in each case a very different lake. For a more complete view at any given moment, they will need each other’s descriptions. They simply cannot view all these perspectives at once themselves. A poet can shift through these in time.
You turn to literary theory, a tool which, though I understand it (as a musician, for example, I recognize technically everything happening in a performance), I’ve always found limiting. Yes, it can inform the context. It can also posit the arbitrary. While I notice the technical aspects, it’s not what I hear--it’s not the music, in the way that I see the world as a musician, in the way that I write like a musician, that I see “mountain” in the same sense as I see music, as who I am, yet not me nor mine. When on stage, reaching down for that difficult passage, 3000 people listening quietly, expecting perfection, counter-intuitively calming my breathing to met the challenge, pressure on, knowing it will flow of its own accord, fruits of all my years of practice and yet from a place that’s not me nor mine--this is what I hear when I listen to such a poem. It’s the “It” described in “Zen and the Art of Archery” by the Zen masters, fruits of their skill, but nothing to their credit, beyond them. Questioning the nature of language and exploring it by writing is from the inside, and yes, worthy of a theoretical examination. Seeing how the movements of our age might measure such a piece is an exercise.
The creative moment? That moment is long past. The poem itself is all past tense. When, amid all the work and angst and struggle did those difficult parts of music become “easy” for me? I missed the moment. When did complicated literature become apparent? I didn’t notice the day. These things happened far before my awareness of this--outside my mind and perception. When I did notice, they were already long established history. Why write? Why create? Reminds me of “Why climb mountains?” Modernism “in the sense of a search for wholeness” would really be wishful thinking, a preconceived “connect the fractured dots” exercise possible somehow whatever the dots, if pointless beyond fiction once connected. But that captured moment of mountain, that point in music that freezes time even as it moves through it, that meditative glimpse recorded on a Taoist painter’s scroll, that snapshot of poem--these are moments past our daily post of ego driven mind.
Ever hear of the Johari window? It’s a communications construct exploring the importance of others’ perceptions in understanding ourselves. I can see some things about myself, but not other things. You too, can see some things about me, but not other things, yielding four quadrants: things we both see, things I see that you don’t, things you see that I don’t, and things we both miss. Point is--I cannot truly understand myself by myself. I need the perspectives of others as well. No one truly understands how the world looks to you--not your family, not me, not your wife. The moments you can capture are enlightening insights, parts of creation otherwise unavailable to us. Why indeed? Those most personal moments also tend to be most universal. Capturing them for others shows them to ourselves--along with their significance. It’s a process, a journey up the mountain, not the view, the recomposed pines and shifted rocks pointing their direction during their transition, not once composed, that yields this completeness “in an unexplained completeness.” Inexact and exact merge. Even though the book lays turned it yields its oxygen. The poem is mountain.
I’m always saddened when people-of-faith lament that atheists don’t have God to turn to for reassurance. How much they are missing! How many can truly live their truth? How many know with certainty anytime, anywhere, they can reach down for that difficult music passage? How many are on that mountain every moment of every day? And why would such people need reassurance, or to label it anything, God or otherwise? As Joseph Campbell told Bill Moyers when asked whether he had faith: “I don’t need faith; I have experience.” Those who know do not tell; those who tell do not know. Mountain, music, zen painting, poem.
I see a poem as a crystal. Multiple observations and experiences are condensed, pressed tighter and tighter, until they crystallize in “the view toward which they had edged, / Where he could lie and, gazing down at the sea, / Recognize his unique and solitary home.” Physics tells us we are not slaves to time and space. Such creations let us glimpse the timeless. That’s why it cannot be told--the mountain isn’t really the point, even as it’s entirely the point. It’s why I’ve never shared this with you before, and why I don’t talk to people about my understanding of music in that sense. It is beyond telling, so we create art.
The museum has a great show, “Turner to Cézanne,” a collection on loan until Jan. 3. I haven’t seen it yet, but I will make it a point to do so, and more than once. Why? Not simply because they are very well done paintings. Paintings like these go beyond craft. Painters like these aren’t simply about superior technique, but about capturing that element of the timeless. I’ll be going to see music, mountain, poem, the fractured pieces that already are the whole--and “a place to go in my own direction.”
Writer
Showing posts with label theory. Show all posts
Showing posts with label theory. Show all posts
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Friday, August 3, 2007
Why I Stopped Consulting
When I left my last management position some years ago, I had certainly covered a lot of ground, working in that capacity for a range of private, government, and non-profit organizations. I had bookshelves lined with a progression of management books, and since I had seen theory after theory gain popularity only to die at the hands of the next, I focused my career on approaches producing reliably demonstrative results—and successfully so, especially how to effectively build cultures to boost productivity, morale, superior customer satisfaction and bottom-line results for stakeholders.
So, knowing I was walking into an already overpopulated field, I became a consultant, differentiating my business by serving small businesses normally unable to afford consultants. My fees would be created by eliminating the inefficiencies attributable in part to labor relations and inadequate business plans, drawing on work from Drucker to Oncken along with my own practical experience.
To publicize my new endeavor, I offered to write a regular column for local newspaper’s business page, much to the delight of the editor, and then to readers. Business was good.
And not. I was perfectly happy to offer free initial visits and consultations (probably a must given my clientele anyway), considering it research as much as business opportunity, but many of these were completely outside of anything my services could address. My favorite is the auto parts store owner who decided to buy an abandoned warehouse and build a skating rink. Interesting idea, really—skating all through these rooms. He wanted me to consult about layout. I had no experience to offer him, and said so, but still took a look out of curiosity. He did volunteer that he was leaving management of the auto parts store to his daughter while he focused on his new venture. I offered my more applicable services there, but he wasn’t interested. The enterprise folded a few years later (I don’t know for what reason).
Lots of encounters mirrored this experience. In particular, people wanted anything but what I offered, not recognizing its importance—part of why so many businesses do those things so poorly. Most people know the statistics—4 out of 5 small businesses fail—but all too often blame the economy, the business climate, taxes, energy costs and so forth (all admittedly factors) without considering the most obvious, consistent reason—people make poor decisions.
This was the problem with my own business model. I assumed people would want to maximize profit (while earning a living in a reasonably enjoyable and purposeful work environment). Larger businesses are forced to adhere to such economic models (or at least pay some reasonable amount of attention to them), but ego and personality plays a far larger role than economics addresses. Small businesses are more likely to do things just because they want to do them, whether an odd location, a hobby commercialized regardless of markets, or brief hours serving the owner instead of the customer.
Further, however nicely I explained it, however lightly I tread, however much I noted that even Michael Jordan has a coach, another set of eyes, the simple reality of consulting is this—some smart ass who just walked in is going to tell you how to run the business you’ve spent years building. Sure, you called the consultant, and because you can see you have problems you can’t solve alone, but still, mainly you just want to be right, and to make the best use of consulting services, you have to be wrong. Ticklish indeed. The extreme, though, was the Brooklyn Pickle.
This popular sandwich/soup shop, located in the next county, was a referral. As I usually did, I stopped by unannounced and anonymous before meeting the owner, bought a sandwich, sat down and just watched, making notes. Several points were obvious—customers waited in a long line before splitting to order from two sandwich lines, then served by a single person who both made the sandwich fresh and walked back to serve up soup. Chips and drink coolers lined the walls of the dining area—these could be moved along the line of waiting customers, or an employee could be taking orders and fetching them. Lunch crowds don’t like to wait, as they have little time, and this could increase sales too. More importantly, EVERY server along both serving lines had to wait to conclude each sale until a single manager could ring up the sale—a major bottleneck.
Many areas of the business were quite good—the product was both excellent and differentiated. Both sandwiches and soups were delicious, always fresh, and featured “country style” with large chunks of veggies instead of the finely processed offering elsewhere. Further, offices or other groups could order six foot long subs, featuring multiple types of meat, protected with long, colorful toothpicks for easy carving, and presented in a sturdy, well designed box—delivered, of course. Lots of good material here.
Best of all, the owner wanted help to address EXACTLY what my services primarily offered—he trained employees one way, but turned around and they disregarded their training, despite repeated redirection. A personnel culture issue. The owner was going on vacation for a few weeks, but we arranged a meeting for the day he returned.
On that day, I arrived early, met the managers (who were expecting me) and spent considerable time chatting with various employees as I wandered through the operation. When the owner arrived late in the morning, we introduced ourselves, exchanged brief small talk, and he offered, “We’re having a staff meeting in 15 minutes. Would you like to come?” Indeed I would! Perfect start. We gathered.
“Hi everybody!” he announced. “First, I want to thank you all. I had an absolutely delightful time in London and Paris. It’s been a lifelong dream of mine to go, and thanks to all of you, I was able to fulfill that dream!” Then on to business.
Yikes. Work hard, and one day this will all be mine. No wonder my notes were filled with accounts of seemingly hard working people who were very unhappy, including several who said, “I hope you can help us.” I didn’t feel any better about the situation when the owner welcomed me into his office, shut the door, and offered me a chair. “I just don’t get these people,” he started. “I do so much for them, and they just don’t appreciate it. Take today—I left a cake for them in the break room!” This was not going to be an easy job; the problem started at the top.
“Well, anyway…” he went on, describing in detail his problems, all of which revolved around uncooperative employees. He needed my help getting them to behave as trained. After all, he walked around, yelling at anyone not doing things exactly his way, but still they didn’t learn!
Then he leaned back, folded his arms, and proclaimed not unkindly if certainly firmly, “But before I can employ your services, I need to be convinced. How do I know you can help me? Why should I hire you?”
“Well, first, thank you for showing me your operation and giving me the opportunity to look around and talk to your staff.” He nodded in acknowledgement of the courtesy. “But Sir, frankly, I don’t think you should hire me. I don’t think I can help you. I’m very sorry.” One hard learned lesson I had forged from past experience is when not to waste time on a dead end.
He sat up straight, eyes sparkling. I had caught him completely off-guard. He was intrigued. We chatted at length, and now, largely out of curiosity I suspect, he offered me a several week deal. Greatly against my better judgment, and largely because I thought what a coup it would be to turn around such a difficult case, I accepted his proposition.
Thus started a few months of hell. He completely rejected my concerns about the logistics, arguing that “people expect to see me in the center of things at the cash register.” His employee problems stemmed from strict expectations, with no rewards for doing them, but scoldings for violating them, so people naturally just learned to avoid him, inventing and taking their own shortcuts, policy be damned. The epitome of this travesty was a long time employee he complained about the most—whose past long term job was at Disney. Now, few if any organizations train better than Disney. This was just the largest of the red flags.
I wrote a preliminary report, including that as things stood, I didn’t think the problem could be solved. Not only did it flow from the top, but also he had appointed one hard working but young and inexperienced kid as a manager. Not surprisingly, power went to the kid’s head, adding a fresh layer of hatred to an already bad situation. I added several recommendations and their rationales.
We met a few weeks later. “I went over your report,” he said. “Much of it was very hard to hear.” I nodded gently, knowing it had to have been. “I even went over it with a close business friend. He noted, ‘I can see where he’s coming from, but…’” and so forth, ultimately opting for the status quo. “So really, you’ve failed,” he proclaimed. No argument there. I suggested we settle up.
Instead, he asked me to do one more thing for him. Since I was clearly able to get people to open up and talk freely, and since he wanted to know what was really going on with his staff, he asked me to undertake a series of official interviews. I agreed, on the grounds that each interview would remain anonymous, and that I would summarize the findings as the group’s feelings. He agreed, and I proceeded.
In fact, I liked this arrangement. He was right—I WAS good at this sort of thing, and it could potentially help improve the labor climate. I enjoyed the interviews. Enter a new snag, however. The kid manager, perceiving me as a threat to his position (probably correctly), could never spare the two key employees (including the ex-Disney worker), the “ring leaders” of the opposition to management, so I never got to interview them. Finally, I gave up and completed the report without them. I sent it, along with my bill.
The owner responded with a few notes, emphasizing that since I hadn’t interviewed the key employees, the report held limited value. No kidding. But he also included a check, paying the account in full.
I decided there were more satisfying ways to earn a living.
Writer
So, knowing I was walking into an already overpopulated field, I became a consultant, differentiating my business by serving small businesses normally unable to afford consultants. My fees would be created by eliminating the inefficiencies attributable in part to labor relations and inadequate business plans, drawing on work from Drucker to Oncken along with my own practical experience.
To publicize my new endeavor, I offered to write a regular column for local newspaper’s business page, much to the delight of the editor, and then to readers. Business was good.
And not. I was perfectly happy to offer free initial visits and consultations (probably a must given my clientele anyway), considering it research as much as business opportunity, but many of these were completely outside of anything my services could address. My favorite is the auto parts store owner who decided to buy an abandoned warehouse and build a skating rink. Interesting idea, really—skating all through these rooms. He wanted me to consult about layout. I had no experience to offer him, and said so, but still took a look out of curiosity. He did volunteer that he was leaving management of the auto parts store to his daughter while he focused on his new venture. I offered my more applicable services there, but he wasn’t interested. The enterprise folded a few years later (I don’t know for what reason).
Lots of encounters mirrored this experience. In particular, people wanted anything but what I offered, not recognizing its importance—part of why so many businesses do those things so poorly. Most people know the statistics—4 out of 5 small businesses fail—but all too often blame the economy, the business climate, taxes, energy costs and so forth (all admittedly factors) without considering the most obvious, consistent reason—people make poor decisions.
This was the problem with my own business model. I assumed people would want to maximize profit (while earning a living in a reasonably enjoyable and purposeful work environment). Larger businesses are forced to adhere to such economic models (or at least pay some reasonable amount of attention to them), but ego and personality plays a far larger role than economics addresses. Small businesses are more likely to do things just because they want to do them, whether an odd location, a hobby commercialized regardless of markets, or brief hours serving the owner instead of the customer.
Further, however nicely I explained it, however lightly I tread, however much I noted that even Michael Jordan has a coach, another set of eyes, the simple reality of consulting is this—some smart ass who just walked in is going to tell you how to run the business you’ve spent years building. Sure, you called the consultant, and because you can see you have problems you can’t solve alone, but still, mainly you just want to be right, and to make the best use of consulting services, you have to be wrong. Ticklish indeed. The extreme, though, was the Brooklyn Pickle.
This popular sandwich/soup shop, located in the next county, was a referral. As I usually did, I stopped by unannounced and anonymous before meeting the owner, bought a sandwich, sat down and just watched, making notes. Several points were obvious—customers waited in a long line before splitting to order from two sandwich lines, then served by a single person who both made the sandwich fresh and walked back to serve up soup. Chips and drink coolers lined the walls of the dining area—these could be moved along the line of waiting customers, or an employee could be taking orders and fetching them. Lunch crowds don’t like to wait, as they have little time, and this could increase sales too. More importantly, EVERY server along both serving lines had to wait to conclude each sale until a single manager could ring up the sale—a major bottleneck.
Many areas of the business were quite good—the product was both excellent and differentiated. Both sandwiches and soups were delicious, always fresh, and featured “country style” with large chunks of veggies instead of the finely processed offering elsewhere. Further, offices or other groups could order six foot long subs, featuring multiple types of meat, protected with long, colorful toothpicks for easy carving, and presented in a sturdy, well designed box—delivered, of course. Lots of good material here.
Best of all, the owner wanted help to address EXACTLY what my services primarily offered—he trained employees one way, but turned around and they disregarded their training, despite repeated redirection. A personnel culture issue. The owner was going on vacation for a few weeks, but we arranged a meeting for the day he returned.
On that day, I arrived early, met the managers (who were expecting me) and spent considerable time chatting with various employees as I wandered through the operation. When the owner arrived late in the morning, we introduced ourselves, exchanged brief small talk, and he offered, “We’re having a staff meeting in 15 minutes. Would you like to come?” Indeed I would! Perfect start. We gathered.
“Hi everybody!” he announced. “First, I want to thank you all. I had an absolutely delightful time in London and Paris. It’s been a lifelong dream of mine to go, and thanks to all of you, I was able to fulfill that dream!” Then on to business.
Yikes. Work hard, and one day this will all be mine. No wonder my notes were filled with accounts of seemingly hard working people who were very unhappy, including several who said, “I hope you can help us.” I didn’t feel any better about the situation when the owner welcomed me into his office, shut the door, and offered me a chair. “I just don’t get these people,” he started. “I do so much for them, and they just don’t appreciate it. Take today—I left a cake for them in the break room!” This was not going to be an easy job; the problem started at the top.
“Well, anyway…” he went on, describing in detail his problems, all of which revolved around uncooperative employees. He needed my help getting them to behave as trained. After all, he walked around, yelling at anyone not doing things exactly his way, but still they didn’t learn!
Then he leaned back, folded his arms, and proclaimed not unkindly if certainly firmly, “But before I can employ your services, I need to be convinced. How do I know you can help me? Why should I hire you?”
“Well, first, thank you for showing me your operation and giving me the opportunity to look around and talk to your staff.” He nodded in acknowledgement of the courtesy. “But Sir, frankly, I don’t think you should hire me. I don’t think I can help you. I’m very sorry.” One hard learned lesson I had forged from past experience is when not to waste time on a dead end.
He sat up straight, eyes sparkling. I had caught him completely off-guard. He was intrigued. We chatted at length, and now, largely out of curiosity I suspect, he offered me a several week deal. Greatly against my better judgment, and largely because I thought what a coup it would be to turn around such a difficult case, I accepted his proposition.
Thus started a few months of hell. He completely rejected my concerns about the logistics, arguing that “people expect to see me in the center of things at the cash register.” His employee problems stemmed from strict expectations, with no rewards for doing them, but scoldings for violating them, so people naturally just learned to avoid him, inventing and taking their own shortcuts, policy be damned. The epitome of this travesty was a long time employee he complained about the most—whose past long term job was at Disney. Now, few if any organizations train better than Disney. This was just the largest of the red flags.
I wrote a preliminary report, including that as things stood, I didn’t think the problem could be solved. Not only did it flow from the top, but also he had appointed one hard working but young and inexperienced kid as a manager. Not surprisingly, power went to the kid’s head, adding a fresh layer of hatred to an already bad situation. I added several recommendations and their rationales.
We met a few weeks later. “I went over your report,” he said. “Much of it was very hard to hear.” I nodded gently, knowing it had to have been. “I even went over it with a close business friend. He noted, ‘I can see where he’s coming from, but…’” and so forth, ultimately opting for the status quo. “So really, you’ve failed,” he proclaimed. No argument there. I suggested we settle up.
Instead, he asked me to do one more thing for him. Since I was clearly able to get people to open up and talk freely, and since he wanted to know what was really going on with his staff, he asked me to undertake a series of official interviews. I agreed, on the grounds that each interview would remain anonymous, and that I would summarize the findings as the group’s feelings. He agreed, and I proceeded.
In fact, I liked this arrangement. He was right—I WAS good at this sort of thing, and it could potentially help improve the labor climate. I enjoyed the interviews. Enter a new snag, however. The kid manager, perceiving me as a threat to his position (probably correctly), could never spare the two key employees (including the ex-Disney worker), the “ring leaders” of the opposition to management, so I never got to interview them. Finally, I gave up and completed the report without them. I sent it, along with my bill.
The owner responded with a few notes, emphasizing that since I hadn’t interviewed the key employees, the report held limited value. No kidding. But he also included a check, paying the account in full.
I decided there were more satisfying ways to earn a living.
Writer
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