Monday July 27, 2009 
Monday July 27, 2009 “The blue bowl broke.”
I still remember how irritated I was when I came home from work and found my housekeeper’s note next to the remaining shards of my favorite casserole. “Who are you kidding,” I muttered to myself, tossing bits and pieces of blue ceramic into the trash. “Yeah, the blue bowl broke. All by itself. It must have grown little legs and in a suicidal moment, thrown itself off the counter.”
I was still ranting and raving (these were in my pre-Paxil, unmedicated days) when Scott got home. “What's wrong with you? Why are you making such a big deal out of a $40 piece of cookware, “ he asked me. A good question, I had to admit. And when I got down to it, my temper tantrum really had little to do with the dish (although in my own defense I must point out that it was the casserole I bought to replaced its deceased twin which met a similar fate a few months ago). In the end, it wasn’t the dish - it was the note. The note in which, as I saw it, our housekeeper took no responsibility for the act. “The blue bowl broke.”
Scott proved once again that he is both wiser and more compassionate than I. He reminded me that our housekeeper was from El Salvador, and her note was not avoiding responsibility – it was simply a translation from the Spanish way of explaining what happened. In this case, it was the bowl that broke, not her.
Oh fine. That’s what speaking another language will do for you, I grumbled to myself. Prove me wrong in both English and Spanish…
Fast forward to a few weeks ago, when Scott saved an article for me out of Scientific American about language. He gleefully pointed out that the article used an almost identical example to illustrate how grammar and culture shape communication.
This confirms for me that people who speak more than one language have a real advantage in life – not just in getting around the globe but in thinking through problems and understanding others’ perspectives. Carolyn and Juan Carlos are raising Lucas to be bilingual, that lucky baby. JC speaks only Spanish to him, and Carolyn speaks only English to him. That way the baby will learn to speak with correct accents in both languages. (Although heaven knows how growing up in England will play all this – Spanish with a British accent? Brilliant!)
Words are the heart of how we relate to each other, and I’m quite grateful that I’ll be able to communicate with my grandson in English (American with a slight Midwest twang). Because heaven knows I’ve already insulted enough people with my poor Spanish.
So in a rather clumsy segue weakly linked with words and their reflection on the communicator and audience, I'm doing some name changes. Because words, rather than my company, are what I’m identifying with these days, I’ve changed my twitter name from tmacatsun to tmacwords. And I’m going to be moving to a new blog on Wordpress called tmacwords. Stay tuned for the URL once I get it up and going (and a thank you to all of you bloggers who have been offering advice on how to transfer our blogs from Sun to a new site).
Until then, continue to tune in here for McKenzie adventures, warped insights and editorial comments. But no Spanish. If we're both lucky.
Posted by terrymckenzie ( Jul 27 2009, 11:41:34 AM PDT ) Permalink Comments [4]
Monday July 20, 2009 Terry Through the Looking Glass
I lived a dual life the past two weeks. Part-time Sun employee, as I have been since February 1, and part-time communication consultant.
I feel so darned good about it, because I actually did something instead of just talked about it. And I feel as though I’m breaking out of the uncertainty that acquisitions bring to the life of the soon-to-be-acquired and took back control of my life. For someone blessed (or cursed, depending on your perspective) with the eye of the tiger and a strong streak of determination, this first step from what was to what will be felt like coming home to a very good place.
Which is why I posted this photograph on my profile picture in Facebook:
This rather lovely sculpture can be found right outside the grounds of Guildford Castle in Surrey. Lewis Carroll spent many years in Guildford, and local folklore has him writing Alice Through the Looking Glass while in residence at the house that stands behind the sculpture garden.
This sculpture captures where many of us are today, I think. Part of us in one world, part of us in the next, frozen at a moment in time. Not knowing if we’ll have a job with the new administration, or if we’d want one.
In retrospect, my going part-time last winter, with the agreement that I could pursue other consulting jobs during my non-Sun time, was such a blessing. It gave me time to spend with my daughter and new grandson. It gave me time to spend with my Mom, who is not doing so well. It gave me time to campaign for gay marriage and help support my son. And it gave me time to think about what I want do next in life.
In the past two years, I’ve turned down four jobs at four different companies. The jobs were amazing, the companies top notch, and each time I thought that this was it, this was the magic position for me. And each time, I got cold feet. Now a brighter person might have figured out by offer #2 that there was just something unappealing about devoting her life to another company full-time. But I was a little slow on the uptake. But with almost six months of relief from constant stress and long work schedules, I was able to get some clarity around what I do want. And it is not taking another corporate job.
I was in love with the old Sun. This company was the only place I wanted to work. My work was appreciated, I was valued, my team was fabulous, my boss was fun, and the challenges were varied and exciting (if sometimes a little overwhelming). I believed in our company passionately, and felt as though I was part of something important. I had the opportunity to work closely with our co-founder, Scott McNealy. It was a dream gig.
I don’t believe I will find all those pieces again in one place. And I don’t think I want to try. So I’m going back to my roots – consulting. I hope I can keep my current job with Sun, and I would find it fascinating if Oracle would take me on the same terms. But if not? Well, I’m ready to step all the way through that looking glass and explore the world on the other side.
Posted by terrymckenzie ( Jul 20 2009, 02:32:14 PM PDT ) Permalink Comments [0]
Wednesday July 15, 2009 According to Malcolm Gladwell in his recent book, Outlier, 10,000 hours of practice is what it takes to become really good at something. Or at least to be considered experienced.
Hmmm. Persistence, it seems, pays. So as I sat aboard a long Air Canada flight this week, I was inspired to put together my own list of things that I quit before reaching the state of experienced expertise.
Waterskiing. As a young woman, I tried doing this sport a lot. I was dragged through the water in Sarasota, Florida, drinking more salt water than I really wanted. I was dragged through the water at Georgetown Lake in Montana, freezing my butt off. I was dragged through the water at Flathead Lake in Montana, embarrassing myself in front of my more athletic in-laws. One day I had a revelation: I don’t have to do this. No one was holding a gun to my head. (Unless you count hours of harassment by my spouse’s family.) Nope, didn’t get in my 10,000 hours there. On the other hand, I stopped drinking gallons of unfiltered lake water, likely avoiding a parasite infestation. Perhaps.
Skiing. Is there a pattern here? Something to do with strapping long boards onto your feet? I think snow skiing is even scarier than waterskiing because I find water friendly (I’m a good swimmer) but consider ice-covered steep mountain slopes terrifying. However, as a new bride married to a Montana boy, I was a good sport and tried ever so hard to learn to how to slalom down those hills. A couple of problems. First, the ski lift. While I was pretty good at the rope tow (hey, my cat would be good at the rope tow – no talent or practice required there – just stick your claws in and hang on), the lifts always struck fear in my heart. Yes, I could get on. No, I didn’t fall off. But exiting? Do you know you’re supposed to jump gracefully from the ski lift at the top of the mountain and ski without poles to the landing area? Are you joking?? I fell more often than not. But I was still game until the day I was heading downhill and found myself going too fast and unable to stop. I crashed into a group of hapless skiers at the bottom of the hill. No one was injured. And it being Montana rather than California, no one sued me. But I was done. I might have gotten 100 hours of skiing in but I couldn’t risk anyone else’s life by going for my 10,000.
PTA parent. Before I made the wise decision to go back to work and practice my wit with those better equipped at handling my biting edge, I spent a number of years as a stay-at-home mom (something my children have NO memory of. Not that I’m bitter). I tried so hard to fit in with the other moms. I went to PTA (Parent Teacher Association) meetings like a good parent. I tried to be attentive. I volunteered. I donated time and money. But I found so many parents ridiculously over-focused on whether or not their little first grade genius (90 percent of parents believe their child is above average) would get into Harvard or Stanford that I just couldn’t take it. The turning point for me was when our district was opening up a new elementary school that our kids were slated to attend, and one mother hysterically proclaimed that she heard ALL the good books were staying in the original elementary school’s library and we would get NOTHING. An extremely sarcastic (I know, there’s a shocker) response almost escaped my lips. In a rare moment of self-control, I managed to keep my trap shut but I was so outta there. Another place where I wouldn’t make 10,000 hours. Or even close.
On the other hand, I realized, busily typing in a cramped economy seat, I have spent well over 10,000 hours flying for business. And I want to say that I am extremely good at this. I don’t freak out in turbulence – rather, it rocks me to sleep. I get along with even the surliest flight crews. I check my seat assignment in advance to make sure I won’t be stuck next to the bathroom (that is living hell to me on a long flight). I get to the airport early enough so I don’t generally miss flights. And I bring my own food so I don’t have to worry or care about what yellow or brown meal the airline will be providing me (at $6 meal). I try really hard not to be a diva and to be keep my sense of humor (I don't always succeed but I keep working on it - may need another 10,000 hours to achieve perfection here). Overall, experience really does count in helping me get through airports and flights without meltdowns, temper tantrums and blood-pressure busting stress. Persistence. Perhaps it's time to take up skiing again. Or maybe we should just leave well enough alone...
Posted by terrymckenzie ( Jul 15 2009, 08:00:00 AM PDT ) Permalink Comments [0]
Thursday July 09, 2009 As I was out walking the Boo this morning, I had the video reel of Michael Jackson’s last dress rehearsal playing over and over in my head. Which was really irritating because the first time I saw it, I knew I’d be very tired of it before long.
Now before you jump all over me telling me what a genius MJ was and what a loss to the world he is, let me hastily admit that I was a huge fan during the 80’s. I owned and played his music on occasion for years.
Do I believe he was disturbed, troubled and had engaged in highly questionable behavior? Yes, I do. I think that truth was carved on his face and in his public persona over the past ten years. None of which takes away from what was, and all of which contributes to the tragedy of what could have been.
So getting back to the video. Once I got over being annoyed that it was still playing in my head, I stepped back and realized that I was “watching” a 50 year-old fragile has-been reinventing himself. And that reinvention required physical strength, creativity and a large dose of courage. He wasn’t taking the easier route of his pop star brethren by doing a greatest hits of the 80s tour – which would have easily sold out. He was trying out new material, new staging, new ideas.
And for that I have to give him his due. Because reinvention is hard, especially as you get older. And harder when you’ve been on the wrong side of press clippings for years. And perhaps hardest of all when you have very high standards for your professional performance.
This struck home with me because I spent two days this week doing some pro bono communication consulting and group facilitation work for a friend – and it was hard! Fun, wonderful, energizing and exciting. But hard, hard work. And with a lot lying in the balance as I likely will be phased out of Sun completely and dropped into my next life.
As I’m not (or at least hope I’m not!) disturbed, troubled and engaged in questionable behavior, and I’m just little old me, not anyone famous, reinvention isn’t quite as a visible a task for me as for a Michael Jackson. But kid yourself not – reshaping your life is risky and hard work.
Let the joy be in the journey.
Posted by terrymckenzie ( Jul 09 2009, 02:45:10 PM PDT ) Permalink Comments [1]
