The Tayasu Mon (Tayasu Gate) is one of the remaining portions of Edo Castle (now the Imperial Residence). Originally built in 1607, the gate that we see today was built in 1636.
I have to start this posting out with the kindest of comments.
One of the more recent posts to which I have had a surprising reaction is my recent post on the Mazda5. I thought it was good enough to send to my friend of 20 years Rainbow, an actual writer. She sent back the following comment: "The people who leave comments on your blog...wow...you've created quite a lovely community."
To be clear, I did not create the community; at best I curate it. Thank you all for being stellar human beings. If anything, my friend's comment encapsulates precisely what I had hoped to create.
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Spring is springing in the slow manner it seems to here in New Home 3.0, a bitter struggle where Winter seems quite reluctant to give up its grip until leaves, clawing and gripping the whole way. Having now been here for over a year, I begin to get the sense of the season: it is not so much that Winter disappears as it is that is slowly fades away.
We are not quite there yet, but the 10 day forecast now has more sun than rain and days about above 60 F/15 C than below it. And we have already surpassed 12 hours of daylight a day (one of the blessings of being much farther North).
I am looking forward to the Spring/Summer/Autumn here, now that I have my relocation sea legs under me.
As long time readers know, I have struggled for most of my life - certainly the life of this blog - with my, and I put this quotes, "calling".
If you were to ask me what I really wanted to do, I likely could not define it for you. At one time I thought I had different callings - teacher, entertainer, pastor, writer, businessman, even agriculturalist - but each and every one of these failed to pan out for different reasons. Some of them became the hobbies that they were likely ever going to be, others faded away into the background of "jobs I have held".
The one more or less constant for the almost of my post-college employment history has been the industry I am currently in, biopharmaceutical/medical devices.
This was not the industry I ever intended to be in - in school I was mediocre math and science student at best and in college I took the least amount of course I needed to in these fields to get my degree. Yet for every other things I thought I was meant to do, it is only this industry that has provided me with steady employment and a more than generous salary and benefits.
Then an odd thing happened to me in my recent application for a new position in my department: I suddenly felt like this was my "calling".
That may not sound like game changing thought that it is, at least for me.
Literally all of my life I have somehow had the belief that I was meant to do "something important or noble" (and yes, that feeling was just as undefined as it sounds). Likely that was a combination of an inflated feeling of self importance as well as the fact that certain things came pretty easily to me; thus, was I not destined for greatness? And yet, that "greatness" somehow always eluded me, and I found myself "slogging" away at a career that felt was just a pit stop on my way to my actual calling.
Mind you, it was a very good career in the sense it was financially rewarding and allowed us to make decisions like The Ravishing Mrs. TB being able to stay home when Na Clann were young and even when they got older, to work a part time job to be able to stay involved in their school and activities. It allowed us to buy a house (more than once) and travel and get out of debt and pay cash for things instead of financing them.
But always in the back of my mind was the idea that this was "not it", that the Great Thing lay out there and I was somehow always on the precipice of finding it.
If only, I thought, I could just get out of this career.
And yet when I wrote my letter to go along with CV for the recent application, I found my attitude had completely changed.
For the first time that I can remember, I was not applying for a position merely because I needed one or that I wanted make a change to a higher level or better pay. I applied because I truly thought that I could make a difference in my workplace - not a scientific difference of course (no sane person wants me in a laboratory or manufacturing space), but a difference in the way work, in the way we communicated, in the way the site does the business that it does.
Somehow, almost accidentally after 25 plus years, I had found my calling. Perhaps even more ironically (but just like every major romantic or life change Hallmark-style movie), it was under my nose the whole time. I just had to humble myself to realize that "Greatness" and "Great Importance" were not something I had been called to; making things better and being a better servant of others was. A far humbler task, to be sure, but apparently the one that actually needed to be done.
Sometimes humbling ourselves before God means ignoring what we think we are called to do and asking "What would You have me do?" And sometimes in that answer, the obstacles that previously beset us may be moved aside - not that they allow us to go our own way, but rather that they allow us to go in the way He always desired for us.
You may recall approximately two months ago I had applied for a managerial position at my current place of employ: same department, some of the same duties, same people. The process took a bit longer than I think anyone had anticipated, partially complicated by the fact that I had hauled off and gone out of the country for two weeks.
I received a job offer last week.
The offer is for a manager level position; I would be primarily responsible for a certain subsection of the activities that we do - although still doing a lot of things; we are too small a department for true specialization. I would be "managing" five of my current peers - I say "managing" as they all know far more than I do of the operations and the history behind them. Beyond the potential increase in bonus and stock option structure, a somewhat nice thing is that due to my "years of managerial experience" (or less delicately put, I am old) they were able to increase the amount of increase between levels. As a result, combined with my annual raise it is almost a 23% increase in the little over a year since I started here.
While I am pretty pleased with the outcome - from one of the interviewers, a friend (I actually knew and had worked with every single interviewer I had), the other candidates were credible so it was not just a slam dunk - it did strike me as a little odd. After all, most people do not go from individual contributor to managerial level in a year. I checked with my "new" reports about how they felt about everything, mostly because I was once assigned to a former coworker when they got promoted rather hurriedly and it was not a great experience (in fact, I ended up leaving that position about six months later). No-one seemed particularly concerned about that aspect, hopefully because they know me now well enough that a change in level is not of any concern (I remain, as I tell them, exactly as you know me now: What You See Is What You Get).
I have to confess I feel the tiniest bit of satisfaction at this news - not just because of the promotion, but because I feel that it validates my strategy of taking the position originally: rather than apply for a managerial position that I might or might not make the initial intake scan because of my background and lack of a scientific degree in a science field, I applied for an individual contributor role, hoping that I could demonstrate my value and eventually things would change.
In that sense, my strategy worked out better than I had hoped.
My official new role starts next Wednesday (beginning of the pay period). Nothing really changes in practice, other than the fact that I will have even more e-mails and more meetings (the sign of "rising in the modern corporate world). But I do enjoy my job and my coworkers.
And for the first time in a very long time, I neither have to drive to a new place nor learn new systems (or move to new locations!) to start a new role. All in all, not a bad way to "start" a new position.
Anyone of a certain age will remember the ending of the Disney movie "Mary Poppins" where the father of the household, George Banks - a rather gruff figure who is the paragon of a British Banker in the early t20th Century - has been disgraced and his career cashiered, suddenly realizes the joy that he has missed for so many years. At the end of the movie find him, bowler hat with a hole in it, flying a kite joyfully with his children (cue "Let's Go Fly a Kite" here), having restored joy not just to himself, but to his household.
A fictional story, writes McKeown, but based in an idea that play can restore a great many things - joy, camaraderie, delight - to our lives.
One never has to teach a child to play; they seem to figure it out on their own. Their imaginations take over, spinning tales and activities in their mind. It becomes as spontaneous and free form - and it is not just us as humans: young animals love to play as well. Go to any shelter or barnyard or zoo and one will find young animals - and older ones - engaging in activities that make no sense except that they are...well, playful.
But something happens to us humans over time as we grow up: "We are introduced to the idea that play is trivial, that it is a waste of time. Play is unnecessary. Play is childish. Unfortunately, many of these negative messages come from the very place where imaginative play should most encouraged." Schools, posits McKeown, are a large contributor. Based on the work of Sir Ken Robinson, a researcher of creativity, he notes "We have sold ourselves into a fast-food model of education and it's impoverishing our spirit and our energies as much as fast food is depleting our physical bodies...Imagination is the source of every form of human achievement. And it's the one thing I believe we are systematically jeopardizing in the way we educate our children and ourselves."
Nor, McKeown notes, is the workplace any better: companies tend not only to not foster the concept of play and creativity, but actively undermine it. Not surprising, he suggests, based on the fact that modern corporations are a product of the Industrial Revolution which focused on efficiency in the mass production of goods and used the military of its day as a model for organizational purposes.
"Play", as McKeown defines it, is "...anything we do simply for the joy of doing it rather as a means to an end." Play matters, he suggests, as studies show adults who engage in some form of play see results in anything ranging from "personal health to relationships to education to organization's ability to innovate." Play, he states is critical to firing up the brain.
So how do Essentialists handle this? How does play provide inputs to the pursuit of the vital few in the midst of the trivial many? In three ways, suggests McKeown.
1) The first way is that it broadens the range of options to us. By playing - doing something for the sheer joy of doing it - many things can happen. We see possibilities we might not have otherwise seen, we broaden our perspectives, we make connections, we learn new things. Albert Einstein valued play: "When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than my talent for absorbing knowledge."
2) The second way is that play acts as a antidote to stress. One way is fairly obvious: we move our mind to something we enjoy. The second is that the more stressed we become, the more the creative and innovative functions of our brain shut down and our thinking narrows (apparently during stress, the emotional part of the brain, the amygdala, gets stimulated while the cognitive part of the brain, the hippocampus, is suppressed).
3) The third way is that play has a positive effect on the executive functions of the brain - planning, prioritizing, scheduling, anticipating, delegating, and analyzing. Play stimulated both the careful logical reasoning side and the carefree exploration sides of the brain. As result, quoting psychiatrist Edward M. Hallowell, key breakthroughs in thinking come through in times of play:
"Columbus was at play when it dawned on him the world was round. Newton was at play in his mind when he saw the apple tree and suddenly conceived of the force of gravity. Watson and Crick were playing with possible shapes of the DNA molecule when they stumbled upon the double helix. Shakespeare played with iambic pentameter his whole life. Mozart barely lived a waking moment when he was not at play. Einstein's thought experiments are brilliant examples of the mind invited to play."
How does the Essentialist do this? Mostly it is on their own initiative: companies (on the whole) do not encourage play or the concept of play as important; if anything, they tend to emphasize The Non-essentialist's view that play is trivial. Which is a bit odd in that companies often deeply desire the creativity and innovation that moves the world (and profit) forward.
How do we start this process for ourselves? McKeown suggests we start in our own past to mine our own memories: What did you do as a child that excited you? How can you re-create that?
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Application
I have to admit that of the four items to explore, this one was the most counterintuitive and odd to me.
Do I agree with his premises, that play is valuable and that it is pushed away by institutions and well-meaning people as we grow up? I do. My mind goes back to the quote I posted earlier this week "One day, you and your friends went out to play for the last time". It happens, almost imperceptibly at first, until we find ourselves mired in a job and a home and a life that seems too often to do everything it can to remove those opportunities. "Play" becomes something we do for two hours on the weekends or thirty minutes on a evening and often has ulterior motives: the workout that is only ever in a gym, the sport that masquerades as a social event, the reading that only takes place because it is required.
Do schools also insure this? It is obviously long since I have been in school so I do not know if I can fully address that. But business? Business is the play killer: Serious stuff we are about here, no fun allowed. This can be as wide ranging as the modern open business office where no-one has space and thus no ability to display personality or fun to the groups and meetings which are only, ever slow descents into the madness of the endless discussion.
In other words, if we are going to be about play and the benefits it offers, it is up to the individual. No-one and no institution will encourage this for you.
Oddly enough, I think this is one place that I may actually be doing okay.
I tend to be whimsical at work. I hum to myself as I walk along. I happily present bad Dad jokes. My rule of thumb is "If your phone ringer is on and loud, I will dance. Even in a meeting." I have known to skip in the hall.
I try activities at home that are mostly useless in the modern world, or at least not at all profitable but bring joy to me. I collect random historical facts about specific times and periodically present them for no good reason. I continue to try to make "International Speak Like A Pirate Day" an actual thing at work.
I undoubtedly cause my managers some grief (although not of the Human Resources kind). I am reasonable sure there are those that consider me a somewhat unserious person. But I have to admit that I am usually pretty happy and can bring a smile to almost anyone I meet.
I may not be able to play as much as I used to, but I try to gamify the corporate work experience and life outside of work. Am I more creative? Hard to say. But I do tend to be on the happy side more often than not.
October 28, 20XX+1
Dear Lucilius:
Seneca has always said it was fine to write to you whenever I felt like it. He offered to let me read the letters he has “sent” you and will sometimes read part of them out loud tome. I typically do not read them without him as someone’s mail is their business and I like to respect people’s privacy. And sometimes I think he shares things with you he cannot share with anyone else here.
But I am worried about him.
I am sure he wrote to you that people here have asked him to help… I am not sure the word I would use here. It is not really lead, as he has firmly rejected the idea every time it comes up. It is not really advice, because from what he talks about to me and to Young Xerxes when he is here, it is more than strong suggestions.
He has used the word “caretaker”. I am not really sure why he chose that one, but it is the one that he keeps using.
Every since that meeting, he has been distracted and not home. I have to count on Young Xerxes or my daughter to tell me these things, because he even when he is home, he is not really home.
From Young Xerxes, I know that he has been walking – walking up and down the state highway that cuts through the town, walking around the edges of the town, walking down the handful of roads and streets that constitute the town. And then he comes back and draws at night on scrap paper. I have looked over his shoulder and it looks to be a map of the town that he has been drawing, with lines and squares and arrows written on them. He has at least a half dozen on the table.
I also know from Young Xerxes that he has now visited almost everyone in town. I think there are not more than 20 houses now that have someone living in them, and some of those are the people that think less of him after the trial. But Young Xerxes is sure he has been to every one of them, looking around, talking, asking questions.
He seems so tired and distracted when he gets home that I have to forcefully remind him to eat and drink – and even when he does that, it is less than he would usually do. When I ask him about his day, it takes him a moment to almost “come back” from some other location. He is somewhere at the moment that no-one else seems to be.
I having been giving him shoulder rubs in the evening. The tension is so much there and he seems so unaware of it. And I know he is not sleeping well, that he rises in the middle of the night so as to not wake me (he always does, of course; I don’t have the heart to tell him that as it will add just one more thing to his load) and comes out and sits in the very dim light of the fire. I don’t hear any noise when he is out there; I think he is just staring into the flames.
I love my husband, Lucilius. I just wish sometimes he had less of a sense of responsibility for others.
Your friend, Pompeia Paulina
The latter half of our training was in Tokyo.
From my hotel room at night, overlooking Shinagawa:
