Pivotal

Published
by
cdeagle
on March 30, 2009
in Writing
. 2 Comments

This is part of a larger story, a slice from a wider dialogue, without any context.  I banged it out over lunch, and plan to edit it into the larger work.  Anyway, this should prove that, no matter how crazy life is, you can find time to write.  You just have to not have anyone to go to lunch with. 

 

 

The bench was perched atop a hill, all covered in heather, swathed in snow.  The flowers were impossibly vibrant, defying winters bite.  Tomas was proud of this, it had taken a considerable amount of work and energy to accomplish the feat, and it had made her smile, which was more.

They sat, side by side, looking out over the city.  Their bodies touched more than was necessary, neither making any effort to withdraw, both quietly enjoying the closeness as a knee or an arm brushed against each other.

“What do you call it?” she asked, her eyes roving across the surface of the hill, taking in the patches of snow and the purple flowers.

He tilted his head and thought for a moment, then said, “I hadn’t named it.”

She looked at him finally, her deep brown eyes knocking the wind from his chest.

“You made it for me.” she said, her mouth turned down in a frown.

He stared back at her, saying nothing, and then felt her shift, breaking the contact between them.

“You can’t, Tomas.  You can’t do things like this.” her voice trailed off, and her last words were hardly more than a whisper “It’s dangerous.”

“I was careful,” he replied, looking down at his creation, at what he had wrought. “I did it in small patches, I didn’t overextend myself, I…I listen, Sarah.  I’m not one of your first years, I’m responsible.”

“I know what you are,” she said, her voice growing cool, “but this kind of thing draws a lot of attention.  You know that.  We could be in danger, Tomas.  They could be coming here, right now.”

A small smile crept onto his face and he shook his head, lifting his arm to point to a series of high rise towers, barely visible on the horizon. London’s Financial district.

“I did it from there.” he said, making no effort to hide his pride.

Sarah remained composed, though she wanted to gape.  She shook her head, and steeled her voice.

“That was incredibly dangerous.  You will not attempt anything like that again.  Do you understand the dilemma of distance and dispersion?  Forget your own life, if you’d missed you could’ve killed someone!  How could you risk that?” 

His arm dropped and he met her eyes, and her accusation, with fire of his own.

“I didn’t miss.” he growled. “I made sure-”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand and said, “I’m very disappointed in you.  When we get back, you’re to write an essay on Distance, and one on Ethics.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Always the instructor, never the woman.  You know what this is, Sarah.” his voice softened, and he said “I’m sorry I got angry, but you keep pushing.  The closer we get, the more you push.”  His hand dropped down to lightly rub the side of hers, and he frowned. “Please, if you love me, let go.  Stop pushing.”

She swallowed, her jaw clenched and she said, “If it seems like I’m pushing, it’s because you are getting more and more inappropriate, and I’m trying to keep our student teacher relationship intact, Tomas.” She withdrew her hand, and stood, stepping away from the bench.

“It’s normal to have these feelings for your instructor, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.  I still care about you, Tomas, but you know there can’t be anything between us.” she said, working to keep the tremor out of her voice, willing him to stay away, praying that he couldn’t see her hands shaking.

“Do you love me?” it was the barest whisper, if the wind had been blowing the other way she wouldn’t have heard it at all.

Her stomach writhed and her heart ached at the pain she heard in his question.  She straightened her back, keeping her voice level, and said “No, I don’t.”

Tomas couldn’t see the tears streaming down her cheeks, couldn’t feel her determination wavering, crumbling slowly.  All he saw was her straight back, her small, squared shoulders, her soft hair.  He rose to his feet, shaking, and pushed out of himself.  Finding the thin fabric of reality all around him, he ripped his way into it, aligned himself with it, reached forward, and pushed.  Between he and Sarah, a pinprick of dull grey light appeared, and then knifed downward, forming a rent in the air.  This fissure widened, expanding to reveal a world of shadow and fog.  He stepped through it.

She thought she was going to die.  Nothing is worth doing this to him, she told herself.  I’ll leave.  He’ll leave with me.  What oath can be allowed to cause this much pain?  I won’t abide by it.  She spun around, resolved to give up everything to him, and for him.  To give up her position, her way of life, all of it, just to hold him.  She spun around, ready to fling herself into his arms, to kiss him as she’d been longing to do for months.  She spun around, and found herself alone, on a violet hill, swathed in snow.

 

Not for the last time, Sarah wept.

 

December

Published
by
cdeagle
on December 14, 2008
in Uncategorized
. 1 Comment

Winter comes in fits and starts, tenative and unsure of itself.  Like a high school freshman, its first advances are clumsy and ill conceived.  It’s no wonder, this sun drenched land is the domain of summer.  Even in November, hot desert winds rush over the mountains, sucking the moisture from the air and chapping the skin, “red flag warnings” caution us that the fire risk is high, in the last month of fall.

There are those who prefer summer, and it’s natural that they would live here.  I wonder sometimes if, like an old god from european mythology, summer is strengthened by the worship of those who inhabit this place.  In this age, when science is the most globally revered of all gods, Winter must advance.  It cannot disobey the directive that we call the natural order, but Summer is strong here.  This is one of its strongholds.  A bastion.

When Winter comes to a hostile land, it must first try its opponents defenses.  It feints and lunges, and sometimes it batters back a sword, weaves past a shield, and lands a glancing blow.  A cool weekend in October grants hope to those of us that long for icier climes, but it simply isn’t to be.  Summer rallies, it gathers itself and makes a valiant last stand, pushing back the cold breath of frost, beating it back with sun and fire and those blistering winds.  

There is a time in early November when I despair.  My coffee is uncomfortably hot in my hands, and if I stand outside for too long sweat beads on my forehead.  There’s no pleasure to be found in soup, and nothing but bitterness at the enduring warmth of the sun, it’s rays falling violently from the heavens.  Jackets hang in the long shadowed hallway, morosely watching as we pass by, in the swish and rustle of a sleeve I hear the question, “Perhaps tomorrow?  Tomorrow…?”  And still they sit, and wait, and hope.

Invariably, when it does come, it catches me by surprise.  I can never look back and say, “There.  There was the moment that winter began.”  If such a moment exists, it is too subtle to notice.  It isn’t the way of Winter to clobber her enemy, to plunge sword through chest and into heart, ending Summer’s reign in a fount of gore, or a bellow.  No, insidious as frost she creeps into joints, into muscle and bone and sinew, and as the days grow shorter and the nights grow colder, the Sun, distracted by her frontal assault, fails to notice.  Though the fight is bitter, there is no violence in her victory.  The cold triumphs, Summer is frozen in place, and winter, stepping around her vanquished oponent, is.  

So it happens, one day, perhaps a day such as today, I walk out of the grocery and as I pass the carts I see a tree, it’s leaves mottled with gold and yellow and red, a final salute to the dying glory of summer.  Looking through it’s leaves, I see that the sun is hidden, locked behind a curtain of gray clouds, heavy with the threat of rain.  A chill wind may blow, kissing my neck, and the shiver that comes may cause me to hold closer my coffee, to take a drink for warmth and comfort.

That was today at any rate.  In that moment, breathing the smell of rain, feeling the fingers of winter across my face for the first time in months, finding comfort in warmth, I realized that she’d won, again.  Of course, with the collective population of the entire world believing in the natural progression of seasons, it may have been impossible for Winter to lose.  And yet, and yet…if any battleground offered Summer a chance at victory, it would be this place.  With the support of these people, these sun worshippers. 

Winter is my patron season.  Who can write in the heat?  No thank you.

Calling All Bibliophiles

Published
by
cdeagle
on November 28, 2008
in Writing
. 4 Comments

I have a deep, abiding love for books.  It’s true that I get frustrated with some authors, and I’ve been known to throw a book across the room in a fit of pique, but in general I love the institution of literature, and I’ll give just about any book a fair shot.  I attribute this to three people in my childhood, who encouraged and fostered the love of reading.  

My mother, who created a rule which went as follows: “You can stay up as late as you want, provided you’re reading and that you’re able to function in the morning.”  My dad, who taught me to love knowledge and reason and to value the ability to understand.  I remember watching the way he thought about things, the way he saw through things, and thinking that I would never be able to find flaws in logic, to see through charades, as easily as he did.  I don’t know if I’m there yet, but it’s a part of my mind that I’ve cultivated, and which is sharp.  That’s because of him, and because of the books he brought to me.  The last person is my grandmother, who was an example, and also a source.  She had many, many books, and I think I’ve gotten some of her eclectic taste.  She read everything from murder mysteries to fantasy, political opinion pieces to sappy love-stories.  She provided me with an endless supply of pleasant reads, and reinforced that books are not just a collection of words which we can use to deepen our understanding…They’re also places to get lost.  Filthy with tyrants and heroes, blackguards and victims and SEALs and talking mice.  Books exist to sing to a part of the soul that our lives rarely awaken.

I was thinking about my love of books, and I thought I’d query my meager but loyal blog audience.  Blodience?

First a question of tactile preference.  Do you prefer hardcover or paperback, and is there a reason for your preference?

Second, Jennifer I already know the answer to this one.  Everyone else: What is it about a plot that most engages you?  For Jennifer it’s the love story, and if I’m being honest, that’s probably a big part of it for me too.  Anyone in love with Dialogue?  Characterization?

What style of writing do you most like to read?  Wordy and “literature”y, clean and minimalistic, or poetic?  Or something in between?  There are no wrong answers to these questions.

Finally, what do you hate in books?  What plot device, characterization, or theme drives you crazy?

Changing diapers in the dark

Published
by
cdeagle
on November 11, 2008
in Uncategorized
. 0 Comments

Some months ago I posted an entry about my imminent fatherhood.  The condensed version is this: I wasn’t concerned.   I was ready.  Oh sure, challenges were bound to arise, but I didn’t for a moment feel like I was in a free fall.  No, I felt like an able captain aboard a seaworthy ship, sailing into narrow straits perhaps, but with a full moon at my back and a good map in hand.

Here I am, 5 months and three weeks later.  Have I run up on shoals?  Have I hit a reef?  Lets put the marine analogy to bed for now.  I consider the process of taking inventory one of the more important disciplines in life.  A big part of that process is looking at how far you’ve come.  Looking at how far you’ve come helps you keep things in perspective.  Often, taking time to really consider where you started will give you a more realistic appreciation for where you stand today.  In order to do this, you need to set aside a few minutes, take stock of where you are, and compare it to your memory of your first day at whatever it is you’re trying to assess.  For this post, I’ll be comparing where I’m at as a father today to my first day as a father.  This process is one that I’ve been engaged in for the last week or so, but I can sum up the results anecdotally.

There was a period, after the family had been ushered out of the room, before my wife and I really became acquainted with our new child, that comes to me only in disjointed flashes.  I can’t find the thread of its chronology, all I know is that, for a some time I slept while awake.  I have memories of the things I did in my sleep, but I know I was unconscious.  The move from the labor and delivery room to the recovery room is one such vignette, I can remember carrying bags while walking down a hallway, but I don’t remember picking the bags up or setting them down.  In this way several hours went by, some of them in waking dream, others in a place of exhaustion so raw that I was insensate.  By the time I regained my faculties it was late morning on the day of my daughters birth.  I remember laying in the hospital bed next to my wifes, awake for some time, at first unable to open my eyes, and then having opened them, unable to move any part of my body.  I did eventually win free of this paralysis, of course, but I was sluggish.  My thoughts were encumbered by a thick fog for several days.  It was in this state that I confronted the mechanics of fatherhood for the first time.

Everyone loves babies.  Loving babies is a biological imperative.  It is not rooted in the part of the mind where opinions make their nest.  It is not a choice for most humans, or in fact for most animals.  It’s impossible not to love babies.  If asked, most people would love a baby.  To hold, to look at, to be cooed at by.  But to raise?  That’s a different thing.  The biological imperative is harder on some than on others, and I often said during my wife’s pregnancy that you had to be quite merrily insane to subject yourself willingly to that highest calling.  However, by the time the child had made her inglorious entrance into the world, I felt most of the insanity had passed.  Carrying and birthing a child may be madness, but loving and raising one?  That’s a much more rational experience.

There I stood, looking at a hospital push tray that contained the entirety of my legacy; any good that I had ever done.  I knew then that it was more good than I had anticipated, or could have imagined, though I still don’t understand the depth of it.  As I stood and stared in wonder (My darling, what wonder have we wrought here?) a nurse bustled into the room.  We chatted amiably for several minutes, she checked on my wife but not me, and then she asked if we had changed BG Eagle (Baby Girl, who had no name).  Changed?  What would we change, if we could?  Meaning took time to penetrate the fog, and by the time I realized she was talking about a diaper, the callous woman was already unswaddling my only child, waking her up, exposing her tiny hands, her sensitive skin to the cool air.

Up to this point, I had never in my life changed a diaper.  Not one.  Don’t get me wrong, I had no problem with the process from an ideological standpoint.  I’m not one of those mysogynists who thinks that handling the “baby” is the mother’s responsibility.  To be honest, I had never known anyone with a baby well enough that I would be in that situation.  It had never presented itself.  Abigail’s first diaper change was mine, as well.

It didn’t go badly.  I was uncomfortable with the process, I used too many wipes, and it took some time to get her buttoned back up, but nobody lost any limbs and there was a bare minimum of crying on either side.  I think most parents will be able to remember the time before diaper changes were second nature to them.  That’s not to say you were poor at it, but it wasn’t instinctual.

A few nights ago, Abby lay in her crib, fussing.  Her fuss didn’t say, “I’m bored, get me” but, “I’m tired, I can’t get comfortable.”  Three months ago, I didn’t know the difference.  Then again, there may not have been a difference three months ago.  I took her out of her crib and carried her to the changing table, because I wanted her to go to sleep in a fresh diaper.  In the pitch black I unsnapped her onsie, undid her diaper, cleaned her with two wipes, applied the requisite lotions, balms, powders and poltices, and began securing a new diaper in place.  As I closed the last strap on the clean diaper I flashed back to my first diaper change, that fumbling, excruciatingly insecure episode played through my mind.  In a few short months, to go from discomfort with a process to doing it literally blind isn’t all that impressive, but taken as an analogy for parenting it resonated with me.

I was fooled, all those months ago, with my map.  There’s no map.  Those books, they aren’t a map.  After 5 months I disagree with more of them than I agree with.  But they do help to create a frame of reference.  Was I right?  Was I prepared, despite my ignorance?

Yes.  Having a child isn’t about having all of the answers.  It’s about being willing to try.  What I had 5 months ago was a willingness to take, in stride, whatever became of my life as a result of having a child.  That, coupled with the desire to give your child the best in everything, is all that there is to being a parent.  Every stage is different, every day is a transformation, and there’s no knowledge that will carry you through it all.

Was I prepared to be a father, when I wrote those words?  Yes.  Am I prepared for what fatherhood will call of me in the months and years to come?  With all of my heart, yes.

Do I fear the future?  No more than I’ve feared any future thus far, and my expectations have all been met.

NaNoWriMo, Day 1

Published
by
cdeagle
on November 1, 2008
in Uncategorized
. 0 Comments

I think I’m done with Day 1.  I wrote a whopping 434 words.  To hit 50,000, I want over 1,300 words per day.  I can’t count the 1,890 word sermon that I also wrote today as part of my NaNoWriMo wordcount, but I AM counting it as part of my total daily wordcount, which tops out at around 2,200/day. ;)

Is there a writer in the house?

Published
by
cdeagle
on October 29, 2008
in Life and Writing
. 3 Comments

It’s a blessing that October, which is historically recognized as the month that preceeds November, has 31 days in it.  Had it only 30, we would be at this very moment poised on the cusp of the National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo.

Fear not.  We have an entire extra day of procrastination.  For those of you that don’t know, the participants in  NaNoWriMo are a collection of individuals devoted to a singular purpose: The writing of a novel, being no less than 50,000 words, in thirty consecutive days. 

This year, I’ve cast my lot with that happy band of lunatics.  I’ve got a thumbnail sketch of a plot, a loose idea of some characters, and a vast wilderness of unmapped territory.  My goal isn’t riches, it isn’t literary praise, it isn’t glowing reviews.  It’s simply to finish, and finish I will.  I firmly believe that a human being can endure any torture, however grim, if he only knows that there is an end.  It is because of this belief that I am not terrified by the prospect of writing a novel in 30 days.  It will require sacrifice for a period of time, but the cost can be measured, weighed, and quantified.

I’ve never taken on any creative effort of this scope, though I’ve dreampt of it.  Inspired by a love of reading, and by a father who is a writer, the title of ‘novelist’ is one that I’ve always quietly revered.  To be published is a secret dream.  It’s taken years, and concious effort, to bring myself to a level of comfort where, despite an abysmal lack of self confidence, I can even talk about that desire.  To be honest, I feel foolish, even now.  Then there’s the fear.  Fear of failure, fear of ridicule, fear of being revealed and, having been revealed, having revealed oneself, being mocked.  I know that courage isn’t a lack of fear, but what one does in the face of fear, and while my life isn’t at stake, my pride is on the chopping block.  I’d almost rather risk my life, than reveal as much about myself as I undoubtedly will writing a novel.

Why do it?  If you’re a writer, you probably already know the answer.  Paddy Gillard-Bentley famously said, “The play is the thing!”  and I think that sums it up nicely.  We write because the novel is the thing.  We write because it’s something that we want to do, and are compelled to do, by some part of ourselves which we don’t rightly understand, but which wants us to be miserable.  In the defense of the craft itself, I’ve found that I’m only miserable when I’m thinking about writing and not doing it.  Like climbing a mountain, it’s the last breath before you start that is the most torturous.

That being the case, maybe I should be lamenting the 30 days which this month is comprised of, instead of exulting.  Perhaps if it were only 28 I could have attributed these words towards my 50,000 word goal.  

I’ll leave you with this invitation: Join us.   Lose yourself in a totally new experience.  Take thirty days of your life and convert it into a novel.  To quote William Shakespeare, “Be great in act, as in thought.”

What we’ve become

Published
by
cdeagle
on October 9, 2008
in Business, Economy and Life
. 2 Comments

“It isn’t like it used to be” I said, “You can’t just get an IT job because you have a ponytail and a Unix shirt.”

There was a bubble several years ago, fueled by the misapprehnsion that the internet was a magic portal to riches.  Companies created a visionary product that they would deliver over the internet, they pitched this idea to investors who knew it would make a killing, and invested heavily.  They put real money into an idea because they thought that the future of that idea was profitable.  Venture Capitalists, people who risked money for a living, did this.

During that era, we’ll call it the DotCom bubble, it was easy to be in IT.  In fact, for a period of time the mythos of the “IT Guru” rivaled that of the Lawyer or Doctor.  To say that we had ‘arrived’ would be an understatement.  I say “we” because this time was validation for a subculture which had been broadly and harshly denigrated up to that point, and with which I freely identify: the computer geeks.

It isn’t that we hadn’t been respected in our fields prior to the dotcom bubble, but the width and breadth of our desirability knew no bounds between 1998 and 2000.  We were rockstars.  No expectation was out of reach, no demand went unmet for the expert who knew everything and could get your idea on the internet.  Armed with a Dungeons and Dragon player guide, a witty and incomprehensible t-shirt, and a hairstyle nearly as surly as the affectations of it’s arborist, the Guru’s will was law.

But it wasn’t just the dedicated in our field who benefited during this time.  In conjunction with enrollments in nearly every collegiate Information Technology program increasing, anyone who knew how to turn on a computer was able to easily land a job as an “IT” guy.  

This situation was fueled more by ignorance than the Law of Supply and Demand.  It isn’t that there weren’t enough IT people to get the job done, but that no one knew exactly what kind of IT person they needed to do the job they wanted done.  Lacking clear direction, businesses hired the smartest person they could, allowed that person to set the agenda, and then hired several less competent (sometimes completely incompetent) people to shore up any possible holes in their infrastructure.  

And they should have known better.  Business ought not to allow any support personnel to set its agenda to the extent that IT people were allowed to call the shots during the Dotcom bubble.  That’s not why the bubble burst, but it is a lesson to be learned.  We exist to serve business, business does not exist to fuel interesting ideas, convoluted technologies, or hobbies that we couldn’t otherwise afford.  I digress.

The outrageous pay, the wide respect, and the perks lead even more people to declare themselves Computer Science majors.  Maybe we should have put up signs, but probably it wouldn’t have helped if the gateway to MIT and Rensselaer Poly-Tech said “Abandon all hope, ye who enter”.  The lure of promising, well paid positions in a new, exploding field was too much for some people.  They went, they got degrees, invariably they were given jobs that they either loved or hated, and either did well or failed at.  Because they came to the game late, because their motives were not “pure”, should they be dismissed?  That’s ridiculous.  And it is, again, beside the point.  The point is this: For a period of time, IT was the field to be in.  People flocked to it.

We know what happened next.  The dotcom bubble burst.  Suddenly, it wasn’t enough to have unfortunate hair and know how to work a computer, or say nonsensical things to your boss.  From 2000 to 2002 it was as if corporate America woke from a deep sleep, shook its head to clear its thoughts, and realized that it was being ridiculous.  Information Technology was standardized.  Expectations were laid down.  The attitude of entitlement was no longer accepted.  The technical workforce, no longer the golden child of industry, was forced to grow up and become professional.  

There are fewer of us now, because hundreds of thousands of people couldn’t cut it, or didn’t want to cut it.  Those who never really understood their jobs, or who felt that they were being treated appropriately during the ‘boom’, were the first to go.  Who was next and last are irrelevant, but who stayed matters.  The sharpest, the most reliable, those who integrated well with the business side of the shop, those who had a degree of professionalism, took their jobs seriously, and were committed to the work of Information Technology.  Oh, we still have our laughs.  Though we’ve gotten haircuts and wear ties, we haven’t changed all that much.  We still get more excited about technology than anyone should.  We still feel more alive in a humidity controlled room that’s 68 degrees fahrenheit, and too loud to converse comfortably in, than anywhere else.  And the ties carry the encrypted inside jokes that the t-shirts once did.

What’s the point?  After the dotcom bubble sorted itself out, there was another bubble, fueled by the misapprehension that home values would increase indefinitely, and that it was safe to buy a home of whatever price you could get a loan approved for.  During that era, it was easy to be a Realtor…

 

Autumn

Published
by
cdeagle
on October 7, 2008
in Business, Life and Writing
. 1 Comment

The sun shone down, turning the leaves to fire. We walked through their blaze, hand in hand.  Through the autumnal air rich with the scents of the small town, of lavender and somewhere in the distance a wood fire. We walked, as we had every day for the last 50 years, and though our bodies protested more now, our hearts soared as ever.

—

I’m leaving for Virginia tomorrow, on a business trip to coordinate one of the most difficult tasks of my career thus far.  I’m excited.  I mean, excitement is the primary emotion.  There’s a bit of trepidation in there as well, but mostly, excitement. 

It occurs to me that the things I do now, in the springtime of my life, are meant to prepare me for the greater victories that autumn will bring.  I can only hope that those victories require less labor, and reward me not with material things, but with the respite that I already long for.

I’m up and out the door in six and a half hours, so I’d best be off to bed.

Chasing the wind

Published
by
cdeagle
on August 30, 2008
in Life and Writing
. 0 Comments

I’ve recently realized that I love the smell of dogs.  Not the musty, stale and dirty pet smell, but the real smell.  There’s a difference in odors, and I think it’s based on lifestyle.  Your grandmothers Pomeranian has a specific smell that it developed as a result of hours indoors.  A lifetime spent sleeping under the dining room table and being stroked by old, leathery hands is bound to engender a certain scent.  This is certainly not pleasant, and not what I’m talking about.

To smell like a dog the animal has to have a little freedom.  They have to be allowed to roll in dirt, run through sprinklers, and chase the wind.  They have to be allowed to eat sticks, and wrestle, and dig in mud.  When this dog comes to you, not because he knows he’ll get a treat from you, but because he wants to teach you something about wildness, he is not, in any way, unpleasant.  Though he may muddy your tile, may shed dust on the floor next to your bed, may even, in his exuberance, plant filthy paws on your chest, there’s nothing unclean about this animal.  When you bury your face in his coat you’ll smell three things; the warm scent of a living thing, the green vividness of the world outside your door, and the soft, cool smell of contentment.  Of these things, which can you object to, or what’s not to love?

I suspect that this difference in smell is as much about the healthiness of the animals spirit as it is about their specific living conditions.  How can you flourish when you are not whole?  How can you be whole when a part of your nature is denied?  I’m not advocating complete freedom, or a life without rules by any means.  But dogs, like boys, have a wildness in them which must be encouraged.  To deny it in either species (and I don’t think any of you will disagree that a human boy is its own unique and challenging species) is to deny an essential part of them.

The Importance of Culture and Vision in Industry

Published
by
cdeagle
on July 8, 2008
in Business
. 2 Comments

I’ve read a few Jack Welch books.  I want to talk a little bit about one point that he makes in a few different places.  I’ll summarize here.  Imagine you have two employees.  One of these employees is your star performer, beats every deadline by several days and turns in projects to spec every time, though his attitude about the company is cavalier.  The other employee is a middle-of-the-road employee, who is fully bought in to the Vision statement of the company, and is well integrated with its Culture.

I guess I should step back for a moment and define some terms.  A Vision statement describes the goal that a company has set for itself.  The Vision is the purpose that the company exists to serve.  A great example of this is the Vision statement of Google, which reads, “To organize the world’s information and make it universally accessible and useful.”  A Vision statement is a “high level” document, it does not describe the steps needed to accomplish any goal, it simply sets the goal in writing for all to see.  It is then the duty of every employee to function with the company’s Vision in mind, and particularly of Management and Product Development to drive the organization toward its Vision.

The term corporate culture (”Culture”) describes the attitudes and beliefs of a business.  As it does for individual people, it is the belief system of a company which determines how it behaves.  From how it hires its employees to how it interacts with its clients, the beliefs and attitude of a corporation, the “culture”, give it the ability to respond consistently in a myriad of different situations.

These two elements are critical to the success of large businesses, and must be clearly and purposefully defined.  Within smaller organizations, there is more room for error, because the head of the organization is still well connected to the lower ranking members, and by proximity he or she is able to pass on goals and a framework of behavior that take the place of a Vision statement and corporate culture.  When numbers of employees and layers of management increase, Vision and Culture are critical tools in communicating corporate goals and standards of behavior to employees at all levels of the organization.  An understanding of these two key elements should give employees a good handle on how to behave in situations that may not be documented in their employee handbooks.

Back to our two employees.  The super-star understands the Vision, but doesn’t care for it.  He constantly bucks corporate culture, ignoring it when it interferes with what he wants to do.  On the other hand, the mid-level employee, who consistently meets his deadlines and may make one or two little mistakes here or there, believes in the Vision, and is fully invested in the corporate culture.  Downsizing requires that you lay off one of these employees.  Which one should you lay off?

While it may seem that the super-star is the obvious keeper because of his superior production, the human element must be considered.  The mid-level guy loves not just his job, but what his company stands for.  He is able to take pride in what he does and who he works for.  The super-star doesn’t care, and is only coming to work for a paycheck.

The result?  The mid-level employee is more likely to invest personal energy in his job than the super-star.  This may take the shape of studying and recommending new technologies, becoming more invested in the Research or Planning phase of projects, or suggesting better, different, or new ways of doing things.  The super-star will do better at what’s expected of him than is expected because it fans his ego, but without any real reason to stay with the organization he will likely leave at the first sign of a better offer.

Retaining the person who is a better fit for the organization is always a better choice, even if that persons performance is not as strong as the performance of the top player in the department.  Making this choice is very difficult for managers at any level, because they see only the loss in productivity.  To be successful you must look beyond what you are producing, selling, and designing now.  How will it be sustained in a year?  2 years?  Over any longterm time-frame, an employee who is more invested in what your company stands for will contribute more to the overall success of the organization.

People can be trained.  People can gain skill through experience, and a mid-level guy today might be a super-star in a year, but a super-star today can never be convinced to believe in what you stand for unless he wants to.

Your responsibility?

1. Stand for something.

To have a Vision that means anything to anyone, you have to mean it.  Googles’ Vision aims to serve the world, and it’s clearly something that they believe in.  Something that simultaneously transcends and gives meaning to the relatively simple idea of “indexing web pages to be searched.”

2. Say it clearly

The best way to get your Vision ignored is to take a long time explaining it.  One sentence works best.  If it takes more than three sentences, you’re probably not talking about your actual vision, but about how you plan to accomplish it.  Move to a “higher level”.

3. Put it in front of your employees, every day.

These are the people that need to believe in it.  If they believe it, they’ll communicate it to the customers.  If they don’t see it, how can they believe it?  Every employee in your company should know where the Vision statement is located, and should be able to communicate the gist of it.

4. Decide how you want your company to behave, and behave that way yourself

Culture only happens from the top down.  If you want a company that’s loose on dress-code and strong on innovation, encourage an open-door policy amongst your managers, give credit where it’s due, and don’t stress the small stuff.  If conforming to an image of professionalism is important to you, enforce that idea with your managers, make sure they understand what the standard is, and that you expect it to be met.

Vision and culture are very easy to ignore, and very important.  By forgetting about them you can get into a lot of trouble, by spending some time thinking about them you can help your organization find an identity that yourself and others can identify with, and  really get behind.