Some days, the technology wins

Today is one of those days.  Actually, it's one of those weeks.  How much I appreciate technology when it works is exactly how much I am frustrated when it doesn't.  And here's the thing that should give us all pause: We are far too dependent upon technology for our day-to-day existence.

I'm not a Luddite, nor am I an innovator...not even an early adopter.  Technology of any form should, I believe, make my life easier or better in some way.  Some times it does.  I'd put the electric iron, air conditioning, telephones, and electricity squarely in the corner of Easier or Better in Some Way.  Computers and the attendant peripherals tap dance all over the line between Easier-Better and something best spelled with far fewer letters.  And as cell phones become more computer than phone, they, too, slip further from Easier-Better.

There was a time when we all knew the telephone numbers of our parents (or children, depending upon our age), neighbors, local businesses, and close friends.  Far too many of us don't know the work or cell phone numbers of our spouse or closest friends; when the cell phone stops working, we are frighteningly helpless.  As a friend of mine asks frequently, what will happen when someone unplugs the cord?

The source of my pique today is a recent issue with my home modem, which seems to have stopped working due to a storm-related power surge.  These things happen (though not, I might add, to my books, pens, or paper....just sayin') and the modem was still under warranty.  Installed the new modem and...the wireless router won't allow a connection. After close to an hour on the phone with the helpful (yes, they really were) people at A.T.&T., we reach the end of the support they can provide.  Only when I am left on my own to do the requisite research do I learn that the router has been "phased out" (that's Greek for "we are now making something else that costs a lot more") and is no longer supported.  Would have been nice to know that when I replaced the decrepit modem two months ago.  In order to have wireless access, I am now forced to buy another piece of technology.  All I get to decide is which piece and at what cost.

Lest you think I am overstating the case of our tech-dependency and helplessness, here's what happened when I previewed this post mid-way:

Today, the technology won.  We'll see how tomorrow goes.

"Self-expression over excellence, confidence over perfection."

I read and copied it (by hand) without attribution many years ago.  There's a sadness in my inability to attribute authorship to words powerful enough to write about some 15 or so years later.  A significant learning in the intervening years is the wisdom of always noting the source, whether a book, a lecture, a website, a speech, or a private conversation. If it's important enough to remember, it's important enough to remember the source.  Though I've tried, I've not yet been able to find the source (and, yes, help is welcome).

What I do remember is why I kept this quote for (re)discovery.  It captured much of what I wanted to convey to my now-grown daughter about the difference between striving for perfection (by some external standard) and accepting who we are. Striving to achieve the unrealistic goal of Perfect derails the very efforts that lead to excellence, as well as the efforts that lead to failure--the failure required for learning.

This doesn't excuse mediocre work or cutting corners or accepting less than our best effort.  What it does, however, is free us from the debilitating effects of chasing a perfection we will never reach.  It frees us from the tyranny of perfection, the tyranny that most often blossoms as procrastination.

Knowing we cannot reach perfection, we fail to reach at all.  Far better to start with an honest assessment and acceptance of who we are and what we know, then find the people and the opportunities to challenge us to personal excellence.

Eloquence (be)heard

I'm not an expert in technology.  I'm not.  Just ask anyone who is an expert, whether in hardware or software (including how to use either or both to accomplish specific tasks) and you'll hear a chorus of agreement. Not. An. Expert.

Now that we've established my credentials, read on.

After talking with a peer about a specific technology we both use and for which we are planning a short presentation for faculty, I was baffled when I received an email that said: "I want to thank you for our conversation Tuesday; I think I learned more during that time than in many many (name of technology) seminars all rolled into one!!!"

I have no idea what I did.  So I asked my peer what was different about the "babbling" (my word, because that's pretty well how it felt) and received this reply:

My first impression is that the technical stuff wasn't the focus, rather, the focus was on interesting stuff we can do and (how) this technology can assist us.  It was--we can use this technology to make our teaching better. Also, it was a willingness to go outside the confines of (the technology) to achieve the goals we want to achieve in our teaching.

Then there was that confident, knowledgeable tone you have when we speak about this stuff. The sort of "of course you can do this" attitude didn't hurt either.

And here are vestiges of my first corporate job, where I found unexpected allies in the technology group of the insurance company where I worked.  Allies who offered solutions to problems I had and critiques (often accurate) of the other business problems they could have solved, had anyone bothered to ask. What intrigued me was how helpful I found the tech folks to be, how willing they were to share what they knew, and disenfranchised they seemed to feel. Even in our language, there was Technology and there was The Business, as though they were distinct factions, rather than intertwined and interdependent elements of mutual success.

Fast forward almost 30 years and the dialog is similar between Technology and The Faculty.  The vast majority of what I shared with my peer last week was shared with me by technology experts on campus. If I'm confident in the use of any technology, I owe much of my comfort to the people who've answered my questions, fixed the things I have (frequently) broken, laughed when I challenged them to explain it in terms that even I can understand, and generally provided solutions to my problems.

Courage

I've been reading John F. Kennedy's Profiles in Courage and I can't help but notice the stark contrast between the United States Senators profiled for acts of political courage and the high-profile political shenanigans in any newspaper this week or month. 

What impresses me most about the courage of conviction  (or Kennedy's "grace under pressure," borrowed from Ernest Hemingway) is the willingness to stand.  To be clear and articulate about a well-reasoned position taken up only after much thought, analysis, and consideration of the common good. To know full well the political and personal costs. To be willing to pay the price.

Only history determines with accuracy whether a courageous stand was valid on the merits.  I can be courageous and right; I can be courageous and wrong.  In the midst of sincere and passionate advocates on both sides of any issue, time and distance are required to assess with any accuracy the decisions made and the positions taken. Sadly, the vituperative attacks on character and reputation are but one price to be paid, well in advance of any vindicating historical record.

What I am seeing today is comfortable courage, a courage of convenience. A courage that allows personal safety, careful scripting of commentary, and skillful manipulation of the press. It makes me wonder about the progress we've made.

In search of readers

Teachers have said, read, or heard it multiple times: good readers make good writers.  In fact, a quick search via Google yields about 46,800,000 results, all attempts to illustrate, explain, or build programs around the need for getting students to read and to write--whether more, a little, or at all.

This week, one of my classes (college seniors) is working on a written change management plan.  The students understand the concepts, can describe the organizations facing the change, and can answer my questions about the what, why, when, how, where, and who.  As a group, they struggle with writing.

I hear myself using phrases such as "narrative thread" and "tell the story" and "lead me to the conclusion," all of which make sense to readers. And I wonder if these phrases have any resonance for my students.

Somewhere during the week, I happened to actually see (as opposed to passing without noticing) one of the many stacks of books in my house.  I read.  A lot. Sometimes, I read mindless fiction (clay feet) but, far more often, I read texts that require my full attention. Authors who use metaphors I may not grasp immediately, words I rarely read or use (another trip to the OED, still my favorite dictionary), complex sentences that make me slow down or read twice (at least), concepts I don't understand, or premises with which I disagree.  Poetry, history, mythology, religion, political commentary, humor, biography, autobiography--whatever the genre, I've read it and I probably have it.

Fortunate enough to be raised by readers, taught by readers, and befriended by readers, I recognize good writing when I see it.  I may not be able to articulate why a particular phrase lingers well beyond the reading or what it is about a poem that beckons me to return (some of the best reading is well beyond the second or third go-round), but I know it when I read it.  Just as a catcher knows a good pitch, through a combination of experience, training, and practice, a reader knows a good writer.  And both good reading and good catching require work.

I don't have an easy answer for my students. Perhaps searching for an easy answer is, in fact, part of the problem.

"Just a reminder"

"Reader will not be available after July 1, 2013. Please be sure to back up your data." 

This is the message reminding me that Google Reader is going away. Did I mention that I am not happy about the demise of Google Reader? I think I did. And I may have written about my fondness for Reader. On more than one occasion.

I have been diligent in my research for a replacement for Reader. I have downloaded my data from Reader. And I have selected and downloaded a "replacement" (which is so far from adequate as to be undeserving of recognition by name) to Reader. I have also come to the sad conclusion that there is not an adequate substitute for the Reader I have made a part of my morning routine.

And so I find myself teaching a course this semester in organizational change, talking about the reasons why people resist change, encouraging students to remember that a compelling vision plus WIFM (what's in it for me?) will appeal to the early adopters and the early majority...and I confess to a wee bit of hypocrisy. I am futilely resisting the inevitability of this particular change. And should any of my students wonder about my humanity, this is just a reminder.

It's rarely the one we think

Sometime within the last few weeks, I had one of those days...the days when everyone wants something and there's not much left to give them. By the afternoon, I found myself wandering through another cemetery, composing and taking photographs.  This time, all I had with me was my cell phone, which is far from perfect on a sunny day.  In fact, many of the shots I composed in my head disappeared the moment I tried to look through the viewfinder, leaving me with a shoot-and-hope perspective that somehow seemed appropriate for the day.

Today, when I finally had the chance to download and study the photographs, I was pleasantly surprised.  Some I liked a great deal; others, not so much.

The intention, for me, is not to work overly hard at composition, but to trust the urge to capture a particular image.  Since I have, over the course of my lifetime, visited countless cemeteries in various locations (including multiple countries and continents), I tend to trust the urge.  If something is unusual or shadows catch my eye or I am intrigued, I take a photograph. Sometimes they turn out well; sometimes, well, they don't.

But what I noticed today, and not for the first time, is that the photograph I am most pleased with is rarely the one I worked the hardest to compose or capture.  In photography, as in life, what captivates us most (if we are honest) is rarely the one we think, plan, or intend.  That favorite pair of shoes we bought on a whim, the book we struggled to get all the way through and then could never forget, the friend we found buried beneath the initial dislike...it's rarely the one we think it will be.