Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 57

Tattle tails cause even more problems

When you complain about a colleague’s behavior to a supervisor with the intention or even suspicion that the boss will then speak to your colleague about the complaint, you’ve done a very stupid thing.

Exceptions to this rule exist, of course. Criminal, unethical, and threatening behavior should always be reported, and employees should feel safe enough to do so. I’m referring to the more minor, less pertinent stuff:

A missed deadline. Substandard work. A perceived slight.

The kind of problem that grownups should be able to handle on their own.

By reporting these matters to your supervisor, you’ve essentially transformed your boss into a conduit for your complaint, thus establishing an awkward, unsettled, potentially hostile scenario between you and your colleague.

You and your colleague both know that you lodged your complaint with the boss, thereby establishing a chasm between you two that will certainly not be productive. At the very least, it will be awkward.

More than likely, it will produce resentment and animous.

You’ve essentially placed your colleague in an impossible situation:

“I know you told our boss that I did a bad thing, so the boss told me to stop doing the bad thing, but I also know that you told the boss about the bad thing, so now what? Pretend it never happened? Confront your colleague about the complaint? Apologize in what is almost certainly a forced and inauthentic way?”

None of this is any good.

It’s akin to conducting a parent-teacher conference with the child outside the room.

Also counterproductive.

The teacher tells the parent about the child’s performance, and then the parent relays the information to their child on the drive home, but the teacher and the student never communicate directly.

Why?

Why not just have the teacher, parent, and student sitting together? Why say something to the parents that the student can’t hear since the comments are about them?

This, of course, also has exceptions, so relax, you niggling exception police.

You know who you are.

It precludes children who are too young to process the information and the occasional bits of private information that teachers and parents might need to share. But if the child is old enough, why not have the kid join the meeting?

It’s odd if you don’t.

The suggestion I would like to make is this:

Situations exist in which an employee must report on a colleague’s inappropriate behavior. But in many cases, a direct, honest conversation between the two colleagues is a far more productive way to settle the conflict. It increases the chances of maintaining a positive, productive relationship in the future and avoids creating a chase of potential awkwardness, resentment, and animosity in the future.

All of this seems fairly obvious to me, but based on my experience in the workplace and as a consultant, it is not. Many people seem to prefer the short-term ease of avoiding the conflict entirely by passing it off to a supervisor, followed almost certainly by the long-term degradation of a professional relationship.

Addressing a problem head-on can be challenging, but this is what grown-ass people are supposed to do.

A back bend changed my life

I told the story of my first backbend at Speak Up last night.

If you missed the show, you missed a good one.

Here’s what I wrote on May 5, 2018, about the moment, including photographic proof of the moment:
_____________________________________

I did the impossible this week. I did a backbend.

Maybe you know me well and agree that this is impossible to imagine. Or perhaps you don’t know me as well and think that a backbend hardly constitutes a significant achievement.

Either way, it was a moment I’ll never forget, and it’s no exaggeration to say that it changed my life.

I was wandering around the playground at recess earlier this week when I saw some students, including a pair of twin sisters, doing backbends.

From a standing position, they bent all the way down and all the way back up.

When a student trying to learn to do a back bend finally managed one, I applauded. Then I joked with them that a backbend was no big deal and that I could do one whenever I wanted. When they challenged me to do one, I came clean and admitted I had never done one in my life and never would.

That was all these girls needed to hear. In an instant, they surrounded me and encouraged me to try. I laughed again, assuring them I was not built to perform a backend.

When the sun casts my shadow on the ground, it’s a rectangle with a box on top.

My friends once referred to me as a neckless stump with legs for arms.

I don’t think there was ever a time when a back bend was possible.

But they persisted, insisting I try. Eventually, I agreed to attempt the first step—raising my hands over my head and looking backward—thinking this would placate them.

Instead, it emboldened them. Through a level of persistent positivity and a torrent of encouragement that I have never experienced before, they continued to insist that I try. They did not harass, taunt, or tease. They simply expressed an unwavering conviction that if I tried, I would succeed.

I fell. They helped me up. I fell again. They spotted me, two girls on each side, wisely fleeing when I started to collapse. One girl took an elbow to the head and shook it off like it was nothing. Over the course of 15 minutes, I went from a man who would never do a backbend in his life to a man trying like hell to do a backbend because the positivity and encouragement of these girls had pierced my belief that this was impossible.

They had turned me into a believer.

Then I did it. Starting from a standing position, I reached back and continued bending until my feet were on the ground and my hands touched the ground behind me. I looked back and saw my heels, as they said I would.

I had done a back bend.

I couldn’t believe it. I had done something that I had thought impossible just minutes before. I had thought it impossible for my entire life.

I’ve been walking on air ever since.

I know. It doesn’t seem like much. And I’ve certainly done difficult and even seemingly impossible things before.

For more than four years, I managed a McDonald’s restaurant full-time while simultaneously attending two colleges full-time (earning two degrees and finishing near the top of my class), launching a business, working part-time in the school’s writing center, serving in school government, and writing for the school newspaper.

Honestly, I don’t know how I did it. I was just so happy to be off the streets and making my dreams come true that I would’ve done anything to succeed. The work seemed like nothing compared to all that had preceded it.

Even more impossible, I somehow convinced Elysha Dicks to love and marry me. And to keep on loving me more than a decade later. A woman who I desperately admired from afar but never dreamed of dating somehow agreed to spend the rest of her life with me.

Astounding.

Even the publishing of a shelf full of books once seemed impossible. So, too, did my success in storytelling and my unplanned career as a storytelling and communications consultant.

A backbend might not seem like such a big deal compared to those achievements, but you would be wrong. The actual backbend might not be as momentous as my other accomplishments, but the way I had been transformed from a nonbeliever to a believer through relentless support and endless positivity was astonishing.

The way those girls encouraged me was inspiring.

They had gotten me to do something that I never thought possible. That many people thought impossible.

I will never forget that moment in the grass beside the tree. I walked away thinking about all the other possibilities that I had closed off from my life, wondering what other impossibilities I needed to tackle.

I did a backbend under a tree on a spring day, and now I feel my potential is boundless.

Benjamins

A fact that astounds me:

There are more $100 bills in circulation today than $1 bills.

Also:

Of the total value of all currency in circulation today, 80 percent are $100 bills.

Admittedly, cash is quickly disappearing as we evolve into a cashless society, so this is skewing things a bit, but the $100 note overtook the $1 note seven years ago and has been outpacing the competition ever since.

Where are all of these $100 bills?

I always have cash on hand, but it’s rarely more than $100, so carrying a stack of Benjamins would not work for me. But where are people even getting these bills? Most ATMs don’t dispense $100 bills, so you either need to be paid in $100 bills or walk into a bank and request them.

Who does that?

Unless, of course, you’re stuffing money under your mattress to avoid a digital trail because you’re conducting illegal business or avoiding taxes.

Oh. look… I think I found my answer.

Academy Awards for other people

I think the Academy Awards are great.

Acting is great. The movies are great. Even movie popcorn is great. I love it all. Truly.

My life is better because of great filmmaking.

Yet I also can’t help but think:

The Academy Awards are really just “The Best Person Pretending to be Another Person, Filmed Entirely Out of Order, With Lots and Lots of Second Chances to Get It Right, and Later Edited to Perfection.”

Acting is certainly a profession that demands skill, hard work, and talent, but still… we make a big deal out of something children also do quite well and have actually won Academy Awards before, defeating adults in the same category.

More importantly, I wish we’d provide equal fanfare for people who don’t spend their lives presenting to be other people:

Scientists, nurses, teachers, Little League coaches, veterinarians, Scoutmasters, firefighters, social workers, soup kitchen volunteers, and the like.

I think the Academy Awards are great.Acting is great. The...

I think the Academy Awards are great.

Acting is great. The movies are great. Even movie popcorn is great. I love it all. Truly.

My life is better because of great filmmaking.

Yet I also can’t help but think:

The Academy Awards are really just “The Best Person Pretending to be Another Person, Filmed Entirely Out of Order, With Lots and Lots of Second Chances to Get It Right, and Later Edited to Perfection.”

Acting is certainly a profession that demands skill, hard work, and talent, but still… we make a big deal out of something children also do quite well and have actually won Academy Awards before, defeating adults in the same category.

More importantly, I wish we’d provide equal fanfare for people who don’t spend their lives presenting to be other people:

Scientists, nurses, teachers, Little League coaches, veterinarians, Scoutmasters, firefighters, social workers, soup kitchen volunteers, and the like.

Crocuses are back!

First crocuses of the spring. Every year they emerge from the same spot on our front lawn.

I adore these tiny purple flowers. They are lovely. but it’s what they symbolize that I love most:

The emerging of spring.
A return to long, warm days.
Baseball.
Golf.
The promise of summer.
Renewal.

A few years ago, I stepped outside and saw the crocuses for the first time. I returned inside to grab my phone to take a photo, and by the time I returned, a neighborhood kid had torn them up with glee.

Children possess zero sentimentality.

Opportunity taken. Outcome outstanding.

This is a parking sign in the lot behind TheaterWorks in Hartford, CT, where I performed my solo show this summer and last week in “Matt and Jeni Are Unprepared.”

I love this sign. I love it for obvious reasons, but I also love it because when we choose to communicate in any form, we make a choice:

Will we be utilitarian, ordinary, and forgettable, or will we attempt to be different, daring, and memorable?

Most opportunities are missed or, more tragically, ignored because of fear. As a result, most communication – written, spoken, or recorded – tends to be round, white, and flavorless because that is precisely how it is designed. Rather than being different, creative, and unforgettable, most people choose to be tragically typical and ultimately forgettable.

Rather than breaking from the pack, they prefer to travel with the herd.

This parking sign demonstrates the opposite. It represents a willingness to be different, amusing, and memorable. It demands to be noticed. It was a small opportunity to do something different, and whoever designed it took advantage of that opportunity.

It also matches the ethos of TheaterWorks:

A place for creative people to produce wildly memorable, keeping moving, and occasionally experimental entertainment. It establishes a mood and a vibe before the audience member even arrives at the front doors.

Whenever we communicate – in any and every way – we have an opportunity to do something different and special. We have an opportunity to send a message, establish a vibe, and speak to our core beliefs.

Most people do not, which happily makes those who do even more noticeable and memorable.

Star Trek stinks

Sometimes I encounter a person who claims Star Trek is better than Star Wars. While there are many, many ways to refute this utterly ridiculous claim, I like to point to this video clip.

It says it all.

Confidence is key. Also elusive.

The more I work with people—students and adults—the more convinced I’ve become that confidence is the most important quality a person can possess.

Confidence is often the difference between performing well and stumbling along.

It’s the difference between being able to defend your idea with force and skill and faltering under pressure.

It’s the difference between believing that you can solve a problem and doubting yourself every step of the way.

I spend my days consulting with professionals on storytelling and communication, but over the years, I’ve also been asked, again and again, by many people to teach workshops on four other topics:

HumorLeadershipArgumentation and debateConfidence

But the request for lessons outpaces the others by a wide margin, probably because the other three require a great deal of confidence to succeed.

You can’t be funny unless you think you’re funny.

You can’t successfully argue and debate without a certain degree of fearlessness.

You can’t lead others unless you believe in yourself.

Confidence makes everything easier. It allows for less preparation. A greater willingness to enter uncertain and potentially fraught situations. A genuine desire to tackle the toughest of challenges.

Confidence reduces stress. Squashes worry. Destroys fear.

Confidence also allows mistakes to simply be mistakes. Confidence prevents errors from defining self or threatening ego. Confidence allows for the productive reception of critical feedback alongside the easy deflection of unwarranted, unjustified, and useless criticism.

Confidence makes the days easier. Turns uphill climbs into downhill glides.

As an elementary school teacher, I teach many things to my students over the course of the school year:

Reading. Math. Writing, Science. Social studies. Social and emotional health. Conflict resolution. Cursive. Sign language. Listening and speaking. Problem solving. Shoe tying. Internet safety. Table manners. The value of hard work. The importance of kindness. The necessity of independent thought and action.

So much more.

But I’ve become convinced that the most important thing I help my students achieve is confidence—a belief in themselves.

I mentioned this last week to my students, and many of them immediately and vigorously signed the word “Agree” to me.

They, too, feel the value of their budding, growing, blooming confidence.

But here’s the thing:

When an adult asks me to consider teaching a course on confidence, I’m at a loss. How is this even possible? Confidence is born from many things, but it primarily comes through life experience:

Climb enough mountains, slay enough dragons, and survive enough disasters, and confidence is likely to bloom.

I’m likely confident (and perhaps overconfident) simply because of the challenges that I have faced over the course of my lifetime. When you’ve been taking care of yourself since you were 18 years old, jailed and tried for a crime you didn’t commit, homeless for a period of time, robbed and tortured at gunpoint, and brought back to life via CPR twice, most problems seem fairly insignificant by comparison.

You start to believe that if you can survive those things—and many more—you can do anything.

Thus confidence blooms.

But how does one teach this?

In school, I can present my students with mountains to climb and support their ascent. I can offer them dragons in need of slaying and help sharpen their swords. I can support them through their daily disasters and help them see the light at the end of their tunnels. I can assist them in finding their authentic voice.

But adults?

Human beings who don’t spend seven hours a day, five days a week with me?

I’m not sure it’s possible.

Confidence is perhaps the most valuable thing a person can possess, yet I’m not sure if it’s teachable.

How annoying.

Museum of Endangered Sounds

The Museum of Endangered Sounds is a website dedicated to preserving the sounds made famous by my favorite old technologies and electronic equipment.

Dot matrix printers. Dial-up internet. The Windows 95 startup music.

All the sounds of my past, as well as the sounds of pasts before my time.

Clever idea. I’m happy that someone has chosen to preserve these sounds for future generations.

For my part, I would like to see (or hear, I guess) the sounds of:

The tone signaling a television channel has gone off the air for the night (preceded by the Star Spangled Banner)The sound that Q*bert makes when hopping from cube to cubeThe hum of a cassette tape rewinding inside a cassette playerThe clatter of a VHS tape landing in a large bin of tapes at BlockbusterThe thump of car locks being triggered from the driver-side doorThe beep of an in-school film projector, signaling a teacher or student to change the imageThe blare of a telephonic busy signalThe thunk of the dial changing channels on a TV without a remote