Diane M. Simard's Blog, page 3

Pause to Reflect, but Keep Moving Forward

“You will never find time for anything. If you want time, you must make it.” ~ Charles Buxton, Philanthropist

Autumn is my absolute favorite time to ponder and heal forward.

The brilliant colors and woodsy chill create a mood that can’t be matched by the innocence of snow or even the unique freshness of spring. I recently overheard someone describe the season this way: “Fall feels like coming home.” To me, it’s apple cider, pumpkin doughnut, and cinnamon stick blanket weather.

My husband, Rene, and I spent last weekend in Breckenridge, Colorado, for the annual new class retreat for the Leadership Aurora program he manages at the Aurora, Colorado, Chamber of Commerce. I have tagged along the past few years because I benefit from hours of peaceful mountain breezes wafting through the open windows of our hotel room. It’s usually the only time during my year when I get to do nothing but write. On this trip I worked on my next two books, embracing the work life I have always wanted and now have. What a thrill it is to launch into my next projects that will be unveiled 12-18 months from now while still celebrating the completion of my most recent self-assigned assignment

Some have understandably suggested I take a long break and punch out until January. But I can’t. I have been itching, no aching for months to get back into creative mode.

Why the eagerness? Cuz I gotta keep moving forward, creating new memories and stories. Some authors are using artificial intelligence to “write” a book a day, chiding old-fashioned wordsmiths like me who don’t fully embrace the wondrous efficiencies of AI technology. In the articles I have read about AI, no one seems interested in asking—let alone answering—that annoying question: “Do you honestly think anyone is going to actually read all the 250 or so books you’re releasing this year?

Quantity does not always equal quality. Efficiency does not always equal excellence. And speed doesn’t matter nearly as much as making progress, improving your craft. Moving forward.

I believe Teddy Roosevelt got it right when he said, “. . . the best thing you can do is the right thing, the next best thing is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing.” I would add, “No wait. The absolute worst thing you can do is lose sight of why you’re doing it in the first place.”

May you take time this season to heal forward and contemplate your future while basking in vivid shades of red, orange, and gold.

Rick Crandall and I Take on Ode to Billie Joe

“There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception.” ~ Aldous Huxley

Book schmook. Let’s do a hard break right and talk about one of life’s greatest mysteries.

Just what did Billie Joe McAllister and Bobbie Gentry throw off the Tallahatchie bridge?  

First, the set-up. Ode to Billie Joe is a haunting head-scratcher of a song released in June 1967 that was written, produced, and sung by Bobbie Gentry. She is retired and reportedly hasn’t been seen in years, but at the time was a country singer-songwriter from Chickasaw County, Mississippi. Her Bambi eyes, 1960s catapulted false eyelashes, and luscious dark brown hair that cascaded over her shoulders were mesmerizingly gorgeous.

Okay, so her stunning looks were captivating, but they didn’t match the tone of her gloomy song about . . . a young man committing suicide. Which I now believe is an intentional part of the intrigue and irony.

The bluesy tune tells the story of a family’s reaction to the suicide of Billie Joe McAllister through the eyes of the narrator, Ms. Gentry, as she and her family are sitting around the dinner table in rural Mississippi. Her smoky Delta vocals are accompanied by a sole acoustic guitar and background strings that provide eerie color commentary. Bobbie Gentry – Capitol Records publicity photo in 1969.

The family’s mother shares the news about his death during typical rural farm family dinner table banter, which includes unfavorable references to Billie Joe and dialogue about what’s for dinner. Near the end of the song, the mother mentions how a young local preacher stopped by earlier in the day and mentioned he saw a young girl that looked a lot like Ms. Gentry with Billie Joe, and they were throwing something off the Tallahatchie Bridge. The same bridge from which Billie Joe jumped to his death later that morning.

Obsessed listeners questioned what had been thrown off the bridge, with theories ranging from a baby to an engagement ring to a draft card. But Gentry later said she wanted her song to be a “study in unconscious cruelty,” attempting to portray the family’s indifference to the suicide and adding that the object thrown from the bridge was not relevant to the message. She also wanted the reason for Billie Joe’s suicide to be left open to interpretation.

Seriously? Every time I hear this song now, I pause to listen intently, hoping to pick up on clues I might have missed. And every time, I come up empty.

Then I remember my inability to understand or come up with a rational explanation is exactly the reaction Gentry was seeking.

I fall for it. Again and again. Is the joke on me? Or is she intentionally making me stop to reflect? Or perhaps more important, to listen intently?

Since I still can’t let this one go, I reached out  to our good friend, Rick Crandall, who is founder and executive director of the Colorado Freedom Memorial foundation, which recently launched its “Forever Remembered” capital campaign to build a visitor and education center at the memorial site in Aurora. Rick is the former program director and Breakfast Club host on AM 1430-KEZW radio, back when the station played timeless music—including Ode to Billie Joe—from the World War years up through the 1970s. Trust me, he knows his music.

“It seems lots of people over the years have tried to unravel the mystery of what Billie Joe McAllister and his girlfriend, who looked like the Pastor’s daughter, threw off the Bridge,” Rick says. Was it a still-born child, was it a wedding ring, was it a love note? Bobbie Gentry never revealed what it was, only saying she knew but wouldn’t tell because that wasn’t the important part of the song. She was more concerned that none of the characters in the song seemed sad or concerned about Billie Joe jumping to his death rather who was he with and what did they throw in the water. As for me, put me down for it was a wedding ring, he did jump, and she lost her appetite because she was sick about it, and that’s why she still drops flowers off the Tallahatchie Bridge.”

So there you have it. Slow down and listen. Reflect. Reach out to a friend to ask questions about the stuff that haunts you.

On that note, I’ll leave you with these wise words from my medical oncologist:

“Sometimes there just aren’t answers. Instead, focus on living.”

Think Like a Farmer

"I love this line from Diane’s last blog: 'I have managed to heal forward from the dysfunction of corporate America.’” ~ Colorado State Sen. Mark Baisley

Where I grew up in the heart of corn and cattle country, Nebraska, life was all about the weather. Weather was so important that at least one local television station covered weather details before they got to the day’s news or sports.

To me, farming is a reflection of life. Plant. Nurture. Harvest. Rest and make necessary repairs. Repeat. Add unpredictable elements like weather and the volatility of crop and livestock prices to the mix and you’ve got the makings for an extraordinarily challenging—and at times rewarding—way to make a living.

Farming ranks at the top of my list of hero professions, alongside first responders, medical professionals, educators, and members of the armed forces. Farmers are resilient, hard working, and dedicated, plus they know when to push hard and when to take advantage of the opportunity to catch their breath.

Several months ago I was intrigued by a post on LinkedIn that compared growing crops to growing a talented group of engaged team members. The accompanying image was a slide from a PowerPoint presentation titled Think Like a Farmer. My next thought after, “Hmmmm . . . I should steal this for a future blog,” was, “My entire life is based on these same principles of agriculture.”

How blessed am I to have been raised in an environment that embraces the foundational principles of planting, nurturing, and harvesting, constantly preparing for unthinkable—yet inevitable—challenges.

I get the most satisfaction out of watching a living thing grow and flourish. Whether I am coaching a first-time author, planting cucumbers in my garden, outlining my next book, or advising a business executive, I apply the same discipline and finesse.

The best part of my life is not celebrating the accomplishments. My favorite part—and most of my time—is spent strategizing and visioning, then planting the seeds that will germinate two weeks or months or years from now.

Just like a farmer.

My Mother’s Timeless Wisdom

My late mother, Donna Anderson Faaborg Moravec, left us over 20 years ago. She was a fun, beloved woman who many of our friends also referred to as “Mom.”

She was also supportive, approachable, and tolerant, and she had timeless wisdom. Although she was protective, she encouraged us to learn by experiencing – even if the outcome was failure or some other painful lesson.

When I was in high school, Mom never set a curfew time for me. All she said was, “I won’t stop worrying about you until you get home.”

Gulp. Apparently, she recognized that I required structure and loved schedules, plus I hated the thought of being a burden to anyone.

So how did I address my dilemma? I simply brought parties with high school friends home with me, which went over surprisingly well. Talk about a win-win!

Those of you who know me know I love a good in-depth conversation. Mom was not great at those types of conversations, so the half-dozen or so times I attempted to go deep with her, she masterfully deflected my questions. She had experienced several traumatic events she simply did not care to talk about.

Like the sudden death of her first husband, Carl, my three siblings’ father. I shared the full story in The Unlikely Gift of Breast Cancer, but Mom was never able to answer my questions about what it was like for her to raise three children under the age of five on a music teacher’s salary in 1962.

“I honestly don’t remember,” she would always respond. “I didn’t have time to grieve, but I did what I had to do for all of us to survive.”

Although Mom was not one to get philosophical, she often reminded me of her most favorite piece of timeless wisdom—something she learned from her own mother:

Oh, but I have failed my mother’s advice. Not because I enjoy putting others down. Rather, because I have reached middle age and survived menopause. And, thankfully, I have managed to heal forward from the dysfunction of corporate America.

I now speak my mind and no longer confuse “nice” with “honest.”

Thanks, Mom.

My Non-conformist Future

“Just as in driving a car, you look in the rearview mirror to learn from the past. But you look through the windshield to keep driving in the present, aspiring for and moving toward the future.” ~ Ellen DuPont

As much as I enjoy reminiscing about days gone by through the lens of middle age, I don’t obsess about the future. Perhaps I should. Nah, there are way too many variables.

Sure, I set goals, plan, and know where I want to go next, but figuring out the best way to get there is what challenges me to keep moving forward.

Aesthetically, one of my favorite works of art is a painting by René Magritte that hangs in my office (shown here), titled La Clairvoyance. Magritte is known as an artist of the surrealism period, which began in the late 1910s and attempted to harness the “unbridled imagination of the subconscious.” What intrigues me most about surrealism art is how it communicates in a dream-like state. Much of the imagery is recognizable, yet bent or warped or in an illogical place. One of the most familiar paintings of the surrealism period is The Persistence of Memory, by Salvador Dalí. Remember the melting clocks?

La Clairvoyance, on the other hand, is a self-portrait of Magritte, who is seated and staring at an unhatched egg; however, he is actually painting a bird. One definition of the word, clairvoyance, is the ability to perceive matters beyond the range of ordinary perception. Magritte, in essence, painted himself painting his perception of the future.

Deep, right? This will likely not come as a surprise, but many artists during the surrealism period were influenced by the psychological theories and dream studies of Sigmund Freud. Consequently, the organized Surrealist movement in Europe faded with the onset of World War II.

For years, I was intimidated by future’s unknowns and the tendency for my perceptions of the future to never go to plan. But I settled down once I took control of and accepted responsibility for my destiny. Some of my most productive time in recent years was focused on self-reflection and declarations of not just who I am, but why I am. Those who understand me best know I don’t exist to conform. Thankfully, I’m finally comfortable with that.

For example, I am a matter-of-fact realist who is no longer infatuated by things I don’t have. What a relief. I have plenty of stuff, and much of it is intentionally timeless. The walls in our house are painted in colors that range from deep lavender to navy blue to royal blue to peach to coral to silver and gold. Like surrealism, the color scheme doesn’t make logical sense. More than one visitor has quipped, “I would never think of putting all these colors together, but it’s so you.”

Bingo. 

Aspire to Deserve to be Heard

Enough with all the noise. I seek quality content like most, but I am losing faith in my ability to find information that inspires me to take action.

A few weeks ago, I watched a free webinar from a notable book marketing executive who was fortunate to have over 500 interested authors like me tune in to learn his best practices. His presentation was clear and comprehensive, and throughout his remarks he kept hinting that the secret to successfully marketing a book was a well-executed book launch.

I took notes and wondered how long it would take for him to get to the arc of his message about a rockin’ book launch before he left me hanging. When the time came, he announced he would not be giving away the most valuable content for free, which became his sales pitch. I was not upset by his understandable desire to be compensated for his most valuable information. Rather, I was offended that he thought so little of my time and intelligence that he wasted an hour building up to an ask for hundreds of dollars for his month-long course.

Which made me wonder . . . why are dated sales tactics making their way back to mainstream? Perhaps because they apparently still work? Maybe they never left? No, I didn’t sign up for the course.

One of the least memorable books I ever read was Who Moved My Cheese? The book has sold over 28 million copies to date and was all the rage in the mid-1990s. Although I managed a marketing department at the time, my company bought copies for the entire sales staff and bought extra copies for all of us in marketing. I knocked out my required reading assignment on a flight to Washington, DC from Dallas in an American Airlines 757, which I remember because I got upgraded to first class using points. I drank three glasses of their complimentary wine while I read about two mice, two humans, shoe choices, and cheese hidden inside a giant maze.

In reflection, I was too self-absorbed as a 30-year-old at the time to appreciate the timeless wisdom of the book’s theme about embracing and adapting to change.

What a revelationary gift to relearn old lessons.

The hour of free webinar advice prompted me to rewrite this self-promotional tagline: 

          “I deserve to be heard.”

No, first I’ve got to earn the right to be heard. Therefore:

          “I aspire to deserve to be heard.”

Cheers,

Look to the Eagle in the East

In August, I spent part of a weekend participating in an equine vision journey retreat at a ranch near Evergreen, Colorado, about 40 miles from our home.

Over two days, we spent time with horses, reflecting on our lives and vision-casting for the future. The retreat was part of a year-long marketing mastery course I recently completed.

Through many hours of self-reflection, self-assessments, and feedback I requested from those who know me best, I decided if my brand was an animal, it would be a bald eagle for these reasons:

Inspiring messenger able to soar to heights higher than other birdsLooks closely at the most minute details to see life from a broader perspectiveBrings clarityBuilds durable nests and renovates them every year

That last bullet is intentional. I always joke that our home is like the Golden Gate Bridge, which is constantly being re-painted a color known as “international orange.” I enjoy decorating and renovating—keeping things fresh so they don’t go stale.

One of our assignments during the mastermind course’s branding exercise was to put together a branding mood board, and I knew mine needed to include an eagle.

On the first day of the equine retreat, we worked with a medicine wheel, which represents the alignment and continuous interaction of one’s physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual realities.

During my time at the medicine wheel, I faced in each of the four directions, seeking reflection. When I faced east, which represents fire, dawn, and growth, I actually saw an eagle soaring above the mountain tops. It was an electrifying moment I will never forget.

I share this story now, because the equine retreat leader had us write letters to ourselves about where we wanted to be six months later. Mine arrived in the mail a few weeks ago, and I was amazed to read what I wrote:

“Publish a book this year.” My first book was released over four years ago. Heal Forward (working title) is scheduled to be released this fall!

“Live in peace.” Yes. Finally.

“Be the leader you’ve never been allowed to be.” This, too, is happening. I am collaborating on projects with some amazing leaders. What a welcome gift.

“Be sure to make 2023 the year of you!” We are only a fourth of the way through, but so far I am focused like never before on self-care.

My thanks to those who continue to inspire and encourage me to keep moving forward.

Fly high and free like an eagle,

Meanwhile, 64 Blog Posts Later…

“When you’re young and trying to figure out what to do in life, you start looking for a role model and a mentor. Diane’s writing skills, combined with her big heart and generous attitude, make her an accessible mentor whom everyone can learn from, given her amazing life experiences. She has so much to share and writes in such a relatable way, it’s easy to apply her life lessons. I cannot wait for her next book!” Nick Rizzi, Denver Realtor nick@nickrizzi.com

Well, well. Apparently, I am so wrapped up in my new project-based work life that I failed to realize I have been doing this blogging thing for five years.

What’s even more embarrassing? I googled the history of blogging and came across this:

“2002 was a big year for blogging, but 2003 turned out to be even bigger.”

                                                -Dianna Gunn
                                                  Themeisle.com Contributor

Confession:  I love being 20 years behind, not doing anything trendy or hip. Some find me annoying, which I also love. I’m just being me. Unfiltered and estrogen free, thanks to breast cancer. Middle age is so liberating.

I think the problem rests with the now-ancient term “blog,” which was first used in May 1999 as a joke, apparently a shortened version of the term “weblog,” which was coined in December 1997. Early blogs were etched on cave walls, then broadcast to the general public via smoke signals.

So, if blogging is so uncool and outdated, what is it I do?

I write 400 words once a month about whatever comes to mind. Think Seinfeld for the 2020s. The process takes me all of 60 minutes to write, pick out images, and set up in MailChimp to blast into your inbox the last Sunday of the month at 5 a.m. MST.

The secret is out. I write a monthly column about nothing. Let’s turn this into a classic if/then statement.

If:

           monthlycolumnaboutnothing = moncolabno

Or even better:

            monthlycolumnaboutnothing = moncolabnot

Then:

           monthlycolumnaboutnothing = colabnot

 

            (applying the same logic as weblog to blog)

There. You are reading the Middle-age Moxie Colabnot.

Let’s keep our little ecret-say on the ownload-day. Eh?   

 

Thank you for hanging in there with me!

P.S. The picture of me above appeared in my first blog post in January 2018. Which, by the way, would not have been possible without the assistance of Nick Rizzi, who provided such a generous introductory endorsement to this post. Nick is a long-time mentee and now highly-successful realtor in the Denver metro area.

All my posts are available at https://www.dianemsimard.com/blog-archive/ for your insomniatic reading pleasure. Someday I’ll be taking them down, publishing them in a “best of” book and charging buyers to read them. Isn’t capitalism a beautiful thing?

God Bless America.

My Best Advice List

“What a lovely way to start the New Year! You are such a good writer, Diane!”
 Carter Anne Prescott
President & CEO
Carter Communications International, Inc.

It has been brought to my attention that many in our age group enjoy “best-of” lists—thinking in soundbites, knocking it out in a couple bullet points.

Is this really true? Let’s see. For fun, let’s go back to this week in the year 1975 and see what 10 pop songs were topping the charts:

We had funk, bubble-gum rock, more funk, the Carpenters AND Donnie and Marie? “Free Bird” by Lynyrd Skynyrd was No. 19! Honorable mentions go to “Your Bulldog Drinks Champagne” by Jim Stafford (No. 25) and “Kung Fu Fighting” by Carl Douglas (No. 43).

Best-of lists are great, because they stimulate memories, morphing us back to a place in time.

My best-of lists, on the other hand, typically aim to improve efficiencies. That’s because I’m a fixer, doling out advice when no one asks for it. I can be annoying that way.

For example, I began observing dry January six years ago, before it became a big to-do. This year, Rene joined me in my annual post-holiday detox. What helps get me through it? Drinking non-alcoholic beverages out of wine glasses.

On that note, here are some other productivity tips that help me maintain maximum efficiency and achieve my goals.

Ask for advice, not a meeting.
When I want to meet with someone I barely know.

Put your non-dominant hand to use.
To stay alert and stimulate a part of my brain that doesn’t typically get used.

Establish clear expectations.
To avoid being vague and misunderstood.

Make laser-focused eye contact.
Those unable to maintain eye contact during in-person conversations make me doubt their trust and sincerity. If this happens, ask if the situation or conversation is making the person you are communicating with uncomfortable.

Get to the point quickly and succinctly.
I have up to seven seconds to make a memorable first impression.

Write it down.
There are notepads and pencils scattered throughout our house in the event I don’t have my phone. Why pencils? You can write with a pencil and notepad on a vertical surface (tip from one of my college journalism professors).

So, what was the last thing I typed in my phone notes? This tip from one of my astute mentors: 

“Focus on things that provide you energy, not those that drain your energy.”

I’ll not drink to that!

Find Your Way Home

“To me, music is about where you were at the time.” -Rene Simard (yes, THAT Rene Simard) Happy welcome to 2023!

This year is gonna be the one. The best yet. Why? Cuz apparently, we may or may not finally have the recession Wall Street types have been predicting for months, plus interest and tax rates are on a trajectory to Saturn. Eye roll.

I’m feeling chippy. 2022 sucked the big one at times, but I survived. I got Covided in February, shockingly laid off from my job of 14 years in June, and vasovagaled in October. Through it all, I wrote a book of my life and business principles, started outlining and writing stories for another book, launched a podcast and monthly newsletter, put together a speaker reel, finally finished watching all the Gilmore Girls episodes, visited my husband, Rene’s, family in New England for the first time in three years, and hosted my entire family for four days over Thanksgiving. We had a blast during both family visits, sharing stories and tears. The magnitude of a family’s love is tremendous.

Ultimately, I realized downer events are part of the spinning carousel of chaos called life, with plenty of dysfunctional thrills thrown in. So, what am I supposed to do about it? Write about the experiences—which I refer to as unlikely gifts—then share them with whomever is interested.

Speaking of, my cherished list of interested readers and listeners grew by 135 percent in 2022! My heartfelt thanks to you for coming along for the ride. I appreciate feedback, so please reply to this email (your email reply will come only to me) or reach out through the contact link on my website.

What I’m STILL Loving Right Now

A few years back, I declared how much I enjoy the Netflix series, Firefly Lane. The script is crisp and the acting superb, but the music is what speaks loudest. Not since The Sopranos’ incredible run on HBO have I been so impressed with how something as simple as background music can complete a show. The first half of season 2 of Firefly Lane is now streaming, and episode 2 features the original acoustic version of “Can’t Find My Way Home,” written by Steve Winwood and performed by Blind Faith.

Back in 1969, Blind Faith came together in England after Eric Clapton’s former group, Cream, and Winwood’s former group, Traffic, split. They were joined by Ginger Baker and Ric Grech and produced only one album and a three-month summer tour as Blind Faith. “Can’t Find My Way Home,” from the group’s self-titled album, is melancholy folk rock at its absolute finest. Think about how things were in the world in 1969 and where we are today.

2022 was a year of bumps and letdowns, but many had it much worse than me (that’s a special shout-out to my followers from Ukraine who are reading this).

After floundering for a few months, I am grateful to have found my way home.

 

To Auld Lang Syne,