In preparation for this weekend's snarky&nbsp;#Deadpool,&nbsp;@madam_sloth is workin' her magic:
<img style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" src="http://res.cloudinary.com/leath-group/image/upload/v1456612922/fuevvdrf8pc6qroneldc.jpg" alt="" width="177" height="266" />
&nbsp;
She's an unsung hero (if you ask me), and in a Kardashian/Trump/self-promoting America, I just think it's cool how she stands to the side and allows her bold art to speak for itself.
In that vein, I offer these observations from watching her work recently: 
At the absolute ZENITH of her inspired, creative, then fastidiously methodical real-time sketching, chalking, and painting the latest one-of-a-kind knockout mural upon the busy corridor wall of @LOOKCinemasLLC (as in-plain-sight as Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel), (1) One obnoxious passerby touches his popcorny finger to a fresh chalk-line while making an awkward attempt at impress-his-girl date-humor by suggesting a change. Unflappable Gura smiles warmly, thanks the man sincerely for his [unsolicited] feedback and remains unfazed but is surely left to wonder, "What would I do without you?" (2) Another passerby will inevitably inquire, "Did you draw that?" (3) A third (in what now resembles a Boston St. Paddy's Day Parade of Interrupters&mdash;myself included&mdash;so I really must go!) will predictably stop and ask, "So, are you an artist?"
<img src="http://res.cloudinary.com/leath-group/image/upload/v1456613164/otmxhovdwuq4e0brd5lw.jpg" alt="" width="243" height="181" />&nbsp;
&nbsp;
She kindly indulges everyone, and eventually me, too, with a request for a parting photo (perhaps commemorating the last time I will mess with her mojo).
She remains, then as always, cool as a beatnik yet warm toward all who pause and marvel and photograph her and her work (and she knows all too well that what makes these creations so dang cool is their materializing under her spell and right before our very eyes, only to vanish a few weeks later like butterflies). 
It gives me pause: were I as artistically talented&mdash;and obligated by the very nature of the task at hand to perform it in public (where customers, critics, jokesters, hecklers, interrupters, peers, admirers, zealots, and outright fawners may as well be one and the same)&mdash;would my capacity to suffer fools be so elastic? My outputs so reliably quick, yet great? Would I be able to retrieve and refocus my linear concentration in the face of such distraction, whatever its source or intent? I doubt it. Seriously doubt it. I would probably beg for a key and permission to paint&nbsp;at 3AM, or take a friend to behave as my "assistant" (aka bouncer) during peak hours, or wear a passive-aggressive t-shirt with the words MAN AT WORK: WET PAINT HERE printed loudly across my back in an attempt to broaden the psychological and physical barriers. 
Alas, Unflappable Gura remains steady, replies as if all questions are novel, logical, and fair&mdash;equivalent to those asked earnestly by youths considering art for their career&mdash;then mashes her buzzing earbuds back in, grabs a napping paint pen from the pile at foot, rattles it awake, and merges effortlessly back into her zone, having never missed a beat.
<img style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" src="http://res.cloudinary.com/leath-group/image/upload/v1456613286/vwfoby4qgvoynfabtvxr.jpg" alt="" width="237" height="185" />&nbsp;
<a href="http://lookcinemasart.tumblr.com">lookcinemasart.tumblr.com</a>
#jlhart&nbsp;#muralist&nbsp;#thrivingartist&nbsp;#trapezeartist&nbsp;#lookmanonet&nbsp;#performanceart&nbsp;#lookcinemas&nbsp;#captainobvious&nbsp;#womanatwork&nbsp;#inspiringtomorrowsgeneration&nbsp;#noquestionisastupidquestionunless

Unflappable Artistry

Public Speaking, Stage Fright, and Beyond

True Thanksgiving

The hotel calls a cab for me, which arrives promptly.&nbsp; Early, in fact.


My host&nbsp;escorts me from the&nbsp;ballroom where I&#39;ve&nbsp;just concluded a talk,&nbsp;through the lobby, and out to the curb where the taxi awaits on a gorgeous Friday afternoon.


My escort and I&nbsp;shake hands,&nbsp;ultimately man-hug, and off he goes as I turn my attention to the&nbsp;cab driver&nbsp;who has popped the trunk.&nbsp; Oddly, though, once the trunk is open, he hops back in the cab.


Hmmm.&nbsp; That&#39;s sorta rude.


Self-service, I guess.&nbsp;&nbsp;


Undeterred, I heave my rolling bag into the trunk with one hand, close it with the other, gather my squirrelly posters under&nbsp;one arm, toss my&nbsp;shoulder bag&nbsp;across the backseat, and slide&nbsp;in.


&quot;Airport?&quot;&nbsp;


&quot;Yep.&quot;


And vroom,&nbsp;off we go.


&nbsp;


Within seconds, he is singing at the top of his lungs.&nbsp; Wailing, really.


He&#39;s a small fella, maybe 5&#39; 5&quot;, with&nbsp;obnoxious Bono sunglasses that hide a&nbsp;third of his face.&nbsp; He has&nbsp;wavy black Elvis hair,&nbsp;black button-up shirt, and blue jeans.&nbsp; He&#39;s probably 40 with deep dimples that remind me of&nbsp;some soap opera actor.


With his left hand out the window, he is conducting an imaginary orchestra.&nbsp; Thumb and index forming an O, palm out, flick, snap, twist.&nbsp; His right hand is struggling to drive, inconvenienced&nbsp;by doing&nbsp;so, what with the feverish tapping, thumb-drumming, snapping and so forth that is required by this apparent anthem.&nbsp; 


The&nbsp;wild, whooshing&nbsp;air is blowing through four open windows, and I&#39;m an afterthought to this possessed, soprano-ing man-banshee en route to hell.


&quot;Oh dear,&quot; I think to myself, &quot;this is going to be one long ride.&quot;


&nbsp;


But then, after a few beats and bars, something miraculous happens: I actually recognize the upbeat riff from 2008&#39;s Slumdog Millionaire.


&quot;Jai Ho,&quot; I whisper to myself.&nbsp; 


He stops mid-scream, bolts upright, whips his head &#39;round so fast I thought it was gonna snap plumb-off his shoulders and shouts, &quot;You know Jai Ho?&quot;&nbsp; (It&#39;s not really a question, though, coming more in the form of a revelation&mdash;and delivered accordingly.)


&quot;Jai Ho.&nbsp; Sure, I know it.&nbsp; Slumdog Millionaire.&quot;


He is beyond jubilant.&nbsp;&nbsp;Words do not suffice.&nbsp; I simply cannot describe his countenance and behavior.&nbsp;&nbsp;He is now euphoric, rapturous, even happier than when singing.


With a smile so&nbsp;wide&nbsp;it tears at his cheeks, he stares at me and says, &quot;No one knows Jai Ho.&nbsp; How you know Jai Ho?&quot;


&quot;I love movies,&quot; I say.&nbsp; The universal language of cinema, I think.


&quot;Latika!&quot; he growls.&nbsp; &quot;You know Latika?&quot;&nbsp;&nbsp;


&quot;Of course,&quot; I reply, recalling the female lead in the film.&nbsp; &quot;She was beautiful.&quot;


&quot;Latika, Latika, Latika,&quot; he announces to the world.&nbsp; Hilarity ensues.&nbsp; He is laughing uproariously, hands waving and dancing about, his head bobbing and bounding as if he&#39;s found water after a week&#39;s thirst.


&nbsp;


&quot;Where are you from?&quot; I ask.


&quot;Mumbai.&nbsp; Then Queens.&quot;


&quot;What brought you here?&quot;


&quot;My Latika,&quot; he says.


Wow, I think.&nbsp; He found his Latika.&nbsp; That&#39;s awesome.&nbsp; 


I mine for more, awaiting his love story, but then he says, &quot;Ex-wife.&quot;


&quot;Ex-wife?&nbsp; I don&#39;t understand.&nbsp; You moved here for your ex-wife?&quot;


&quot;She was not my ex-wife then!&quot; he exclaims, still bobbing and laughing and dancing in his seat.&nbsp; 


We are weaving through traffic like a video game, everyone else seemingly in reverse while we pulse along at forty through downtown snarls.


&quot;We are divorced now.&nbsp; I go home soon.&nbsp; No more games.&quot;


&quot;How did you meet her?&quot;


&quot;Online.&quot;


And so it goes for several minutes.&nbsp; My curiosity and confusion, his broken English, and our slapping meaning together brick by brick, often through arcane movie references, Bollywood and Hollywood converging as one.


&nbsp;


At first, when the unattended, yawning trunk greeted me, I hadn&#39;t liked this fellow very much.


And then, the singing.


But then, Jai Ho, and we were off.&nbsp; Laughing and commiserating about one thing or another like two boys do.


Now, we had ebbed again, in light of what I thought was a rather cavalier way to think about marriage.&nbsp; He made it sound&nbsp;so transactional, disposable, like a lottery ticket expired.&nbsp; He&#39;d found her online, moved to America, it hadn&#39;t worked out, and off he&#39;d go, soon enough, back to India to fish again.&nbsp; 


But he was extraordinarily charming.&nbsp; He had studied Economics, once worked at Compaq, then&mdash;to hear him tell it&mdash;had ditched working &quot;for the man,&quot; as it were, equating full-time employment with &quot;slavery of another kind.&nbsp; Too many games.&quot;


Life, apparently, seemed to have many games, marriage and employment among them.


Oy vey, what to do, what to do.


&nbsp;


But then, another surprise.&nbsp; 


As we were visiting, his cell phone rang.


He was exceedingly polite, kind, tender-hearted with his caller.


&quot;Yes.&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp; Twenty minutes.&nbsp; I will be there, do not worry.&nbsp; We will make it.&quot;&nbsp; His voice so chirpy and sing-songy I could listen to it all day long.


As he hung up, I inquired.&nbsp; I just had to.&nbsp; Normally I wouldn&#39;t.&nbsp; But he seemed game.&nbsp; &quot;Is everything okay?&nbsp; Do you have a fare you&#39;re late for?&quot;


&quot;No, no,&quot; he says.&nbsp; &quot;No one else will drive him, so I do.&quot;


Pause.


Beat.


What?


&quot;He is in a wheelchair.&nbsp; Other side of city.&nbsp; He has no money.&nbsp; Appointments.&nbsp; I drive him for free 3 to 4 days a week.&quot;


&quot;Wow,&quot; I say, &quot;that&#39;s a really nice thing to do.&quot;


&quot;Sure.&nbsp; Well.&nbsp; I would hope someone would do it for me, no?&nbsp; I take care of him; help him.&nbsp; Maybe someone will pray for me some day.&quot;


&nbsp;


At which point I am stopped in my tracks.


&quot;Pray for you?&quot;


&quot;Sure.&nbsp; He cannot pay me, so maybe he will pray for me.&quot;


&quot;How much is his fare?&quot;


&quot;$38,&quot; he says.


He knows it by heart.


He does it all the time.


&nbsp;


His mind appears to wander for a moment, drifting to another place.&nbsp; Praying perhaps.&nbsp; Or wondering.


And with this proclamation, he is back: &quot;Karma,&quot; he says.


&quot;Excuse me?&quot;


&quot;Karma.&quot;


&quot;What about karma?&quot;&nbsp;&nbsp; 


&quot;I do good, maybe good things happen to me.&quot;&nbsp;&nbsp;


If only it worked that way, I think to myself.&nbsp; And also glad it doesn&#39;t.&nbsp; 


&quot;Well, it&#39;s a really nice thing you&#39;re doing.&nbsp;&nbsp;I think it&#39;s just great.&quot;


&quot;Thirty-eight dollars&nbsp;is not so much. If I do it for him, I&#39;m not poor.&nbsp; If he paid me, I&#39;m not&nbsp;rich.&nbsp; I&#39;m same.&quot;&nbsp;


&quot;I&#39;m same,&quot; I repeat, as if I&#39;m hearing a philosophical mantra&nbsp;for the first time.&nbsp; A chant I can visualize cross-legged monks repeating over and over again in some faraway hilltop monastery.&nbsp; Transcendence by way of perspective.&nbsp; Material neutrality by way of selflessness.&nbsp; The tributaries flow for several seconds....


And like him before, I find that we are now both deep in thought.


The sing-songy way he said, &quot;I&#39;m same&quot; is a lilt in my mind.


He continues, his left hand riding a wave that appears to&nbsp;permeate the windshield.&nbsp; &quot;Flow like water.&nbsp; God will sort it out.&quot;


Huh.&nbsp; A surprisingly seamless juxtaposition and combination of east and west, yin and yang, this and that to create&nbsp;his sweet marmalade.


&nbsp;


Just then,&nbsp;his horrifically annoying squawk box squealed to life as the dispatcher made some sort of terse announcement.&nbsp; 


The cabbie snorts and guffaws.


&quot;See?&nbsp; Karma!&quot; he howls.


&quot;Karma?&quot; I ask.&nbsp; &quot;What happened?&quot;


His sedan is floating on a cushion of air as we coast into the airport and approach the entrance&nbsp;for my departure gate.


&quot;I have co-worker,&quot; he says.&nbsp; He raises both hands in the air and balls them into fists and shakes them.&nbsp; &quot;Bully.&nbsp; A bully.&nbsp; He takes good fares.&nbsp; He had a $200 fare.&nbsp; Would have been mine, but I lost it.&quot;


&quot;Why?&quot;


&quot;Wheelchair.&nbsp; Will be getting man in wheelchair.&quot;


&quot;But...?&quot;


&quot;But dispatch says $200 fare has cancelled.&nbsp; Got a ride with someone else.&quot;


As it turns out, the bully had apparently usurped my driver (poaching his fare while&nbsp;he prepared to perform&nbsp;his Samaritan act of altruism), only to arrive at the pick-up location and depart empty-handed because the impatient customer caught a ride with someone else.&nbsp;&nbsp;Out the two-hundred bucks as a result.


It had apparently become a rather good afternoon after all, and my driver wore the beautiful expression of vindication like the Joker wears lipstick.


The tires squealed us to a stop, he threw it into neutral, bounded to the trunk like Tigger...Gollum&#39;s happy twin...Disney&#39;s Quasimoto...or Frankenstein&#39;s Igor (as played by Marty Feldman)...enthusiastically grabbing my bag and walking me all the way to the door.


&nbsp;


In fifteen minutes we&#39;d covered nearly&nbsp;five miles in heavy traffic.&nbsp; I paid him my fare, a generous tip, and handed him two twenties and said, &quot;For driving the other man.&quot;


He stood before me, a few paper bills in his hand, fanned-out like cards.


With tears in his eyes, he looked up and hugged me.&nbsp; 


&quot;It&#39;s okay,&quot; I whispered.


&quot;I will&nbsp;pray for you,&quot; he says.&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;What is your name, so I can pray for you?&quot;&nbsp;


&quot;Blake,&quot; I said, and he told me his.


&quot;Poor, rich, same,&quot; I chuckled.


&quot;Karma,&quot; he said, and the maestro turned to walk back to his cab,&nbsp;a surprising carriage filled with hope and overflowing with music, one destined for&nbsp;a very important&nbsp;passenger waiting on the other side.

Karma Cab

Good grief, has it really been five months?
Life is flying by.... That, and the fact that&mdash;as I joked with a client months ago&mdash;"Blogging feels so...long-form." (Anything more than 140 characters seems like such a colossal imposition on folks' finite reading allowances these days.) Alas, I have not written you since August.
But I'm in a "writerly" mood, finding myself eyeballs-deep ghostwriting for a client and needing a twenty-minute brain-break over lunch. So I'll turn to something simpler: my own thoughts.
&nbsp;
Here it is...January 7th, 2014. As a dear friend at a New Year party commented, "2014 can't help but be a better year than one with a thirteen in it." Who knows. 2013 was awesome, but it's always a crapshoot, isn't it?
Or, as the philosophical-Oreo-center&nbsp;might say, "Calendars are just arbitrary, mechanistic, ill-fitting templates&nbsp;designed to make sense of seasonal rhythms in ways that nature never intended, so there's no point resolving that the next twelve whatevers would be any different than the last twelve."
But sure, 2014 certainly sounds more fun than 2013. I'll give her that.
&nbsp;
I sincerely hope that 2013 was a wonderful year for you, and that 2014 will be even better.
I find that as I grow older, my wants and wishes have become simpler.
I still pump and pedal, search and strive, reach and run, but it's fair to say that The Serenity Prayer best captures my heart's desire: "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference."
Most of the time, I don't pray FOR&nbsp;THINGS so much as for everything. Rather than some animated Aladdin, I instead view Christ as the one with whom I must be aligned. "Lord, may I seek and see and serve your will today." I pray for contentment, peace, and sometimes understanding, but mostly contentment and peace, because I know that understanding is a bit of a stretch, particularly in this broken world where war, starvation, disease, hate and genocide rage.
I cannot explain 99.99% of what occurs, but I can pray that when it happens, it would somehow be well with my soul. Or that when I cannot reconcile a particular splinter with my nail, that I might find tweezers or some other suitable instrument designed to make things healthier for all involved.&nbsp;
&nbsp;
Regardless, I&mdash;and we&mdash;likely have one goal or another for 2014.
Sure, I pray that if they are God's will they would come true.
But more importantly, I pray that if or when you get some lemons, you can find an outlet for that juicer.
&nbsp;

A Serene 2014 to You & Yours

Quite simply, why I love Teddy Roosevelt&#39;s &quot;Man in the Arena&quot; is because the world needs more resilient, scrappy doers and fewer critics.






His comments are presented here, with unique audio (will play on everything but iPhone).&nbsp; Depending on your connection speed, please allow 15-30 seconds for the file to load, then click the green play button beside Teddy&#39;s photo:






<a href="/blogging/file.axd?file=2013%2f1%2fPresidentTeddyRooseveltManInTheArenaInteractiveAudio11-16-2012_LeathGroup.pdf">PresidentTeddyRooseveltManInTheArenaInteractiveAudio11-16-2012_LeathGroup.pdf (4.24 mb)</a>

Teddy Roosevelt's "Man in the Arena" (with audio!)

What a clean, simple little <a href="https://charlierose.com/videos/14409" target="_blank" rel="noopener">interview by Charlie Rose this past week with Danny Meyer</a>, one of NYC's most successful restaurateurs.&nbsp; (And all around nice fella.)
Danny&nbsp;tells a neat story about a doctoral student who, years ago, approached him and asked, "Why do I feel a certain way in your restaurants, that I don't feel anywhere else?"
"Come work for me," he proposed.
She did.
And ultimately, some 10-12 years later, her dissertation became the foundation of <a href="https://www.ushgnyc.com/creatingraves/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">a new company</a>&nbsp;(predicated on the notion of 'hospitality quotient'),&nbsp;whose sole desire is to propagate hospitable cultures.&nbsp; Into all sorts of organizations.
Cool stuff.&nbsp; 
I hope you'll check it out.

Need More Hospitality?

Earlier this week, perhaps our most beloved client expressed the difficulty their organizational leaders have "incorporating strategic thinking into their daily routine."
Because this challenge is more universal than unique, I thought I would offer up some suggestions that might remind each of us how to do this&mdash;and more consistently.&nbsp; After all, it&rsquo;s tough to see "the theatre of war" within the fray and fog of it.
Attached is a <a target="_blank">seven-page, 3000 word summary with 15 recommendations</a> for how you can be Strategic...Now.
<a href="../../blogging/file.axd?file=2012%2f4%2fBeingStrategicDaily_v3.2.pdf">BeingStrategicDaily_v3.2.pdf (449.10 kb)</a>
Tally-ho!

Being Strategic—Now!

The following (also) comes to me via email from a dear friend and client.&nbsp; In the words of Mark Twain, "I am repeating it word for word as I heard it."&nbsp;&nbsp;I hope it informs you as much as it informed me. &nbsp;Happy Reading, &mdash;blake.
-------------------
&nbsp;
Fortune has good piece about Amazon.com, noting that &ldquo;If such a thing as corporate DNA exists, it has animated the rise of the last decade's most successful technology companies. Google had a relentless focus on data, Apple a Zen-like obsession with simplicity, and Facebook a world of social connections to mine.&nbsp; Amazon has relied on an altogether more prosaic trait: thriftiness.&rdquo; The theory is that by being frugal internally, Amazon can charge its customers less, which becomes one of its keystone competitive advantages. &ldquo;For Amazon, savings are more than a competitive matter,&rdquo; the story says.&nbsp; &ldquo;Indeed, the company holds &lsquo;frugality&rsquo; up as one of 14 leadership principles.&nbsp; (It &lsquo;breeds resourcefulness, self-sufficiency and invention,&rsquo; the company says on its corporate site.)&nbsp; That goes back to 1994, when CEO Jeff Bezos jump-started the e-commerce company and jury-rigged a desk out of a door.&nbsp; &lsquo;Door desks&rsquo; became a popular staple within the company years after it went public, and remained &lsquo;the quintessential example&rsquo; of Amazon's frugality, ex-employee Greg Linden explained in 2006.&nbsp; The company still hands out the &lsquo;Door Desk Award,&rsquo; a title given internally to select employees who have a &lsquo;well-built idea&rsquo; that creates a significant savings for the company and enables lower prices for customers.&rdquo;
&nbsp;
KC's View: The complete story is worth reading by <a href="https://fortune.com/2012/11/16/amazons-jeff-bezos-the-ultimate-disrupter/">clicking here</a>. Frugality is not a new corporate virtue; it certainly has been a core value at Walmart for decades.&nbsp; But at a time when there are a lot of stories out there about companies where top executives seem more concerned with their own compensation packages and the trappings of office than they are with the people on the front lines and the very real day-to-day problems that they face, maybe it is fair to suggest that some folks ought to rethink their priorities.

The Power of Frugality

Cock-a-doodle-do &amp; Happy New Year to You!


This morning, five &quot;articles for 2012&quot; jumped out at me.&nbsp; Because I thought they might &#39;speak&#39; to you, too, I have assumed the responsibility of &quot;aggregator&quot; by combining them into one PDF.&nbsp; (I have made zero efforts to modify, clean-up, or edit any of them, of course, so caveat emptor.)


I believe you will enjoy them.


Reading them in one brief swath, you will see a common thread: more and more, the Customer-Client-Student is CENTER.&nbsp; Not peripheral, but front-and-center.


Now, of course, this is a multi-millenia reality, but never as focused as today.&nbsp; The magnifying glass has found the sun, and the diffused light has become a laser beam.&nbsp; I can see the smoke and smell the sizzle.


The first article, &quot;Physicists Seek to Lose the Lecture as&nbsp;a Teaching Tool&quot; describes the transition from &#39;Sage on the Stage&#39; to &#39;Guide on the Side.&#39;&nbsp; In short, students who are required to answer questions and wrestle with reason&nbsp;via &#39;peer instruction&#39; learn 3x more than those who sit idly by&nbsp;and listen to a professor pontificate.&nbsp; Historically (e.g., before Google... &quot;BG&quot;), the&nbsp;&#39;gathering of information&#39; was the hardest half of learning, when compared to&nbsp;&#39;making sense of information.&#39;&nbsp; Today, gathering information is easy--it&nbsp;almost happens passively, as we are immersed and&nbsp;awash in it hour by hour.&nbsp; This allows, therefore, professors to invest their time&nbsp;provoking, guiding and leading inquiry and understanding...rather than transmitting data.&nbsp; While this is no great epiphany, it will ultimately upend the teaching model as we&#39;ve known it, challenging all of us to &#39;adapt or become extinct.&#39;&nbsp; (Read it to see how the student, not the professor, should be at the center of the learning process.)


The second article, &quot;The Seven Habits of Spectacularly Unsuccessful Executives&quot; speaks to the importance of humility (respect), boundaries (character), curiosity (followership), receptivity to disagreement (retention), authenticity (vs. attention), reality (vs. hype) and change (vs. worshipping the past).&nbsp; It&nbsp;is an interestingly nuanced and subtle&nbsp;juxtaposition to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1451648537/ref=s9_simh_gw_p14_d0_g14_i1?pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&amp;pf_rd_s=center-2&amp;pf_rd_r=0031AAGVAN6CMZH4DPQA&amp;pf_rd_t=101&amp;pf_rd_p=470938631&amp;pf_rd_i=507846" target="_blank">Walter Isaacson&#39;s biography&nbsp;about Steve Jobs</a>, describing why&nbsp;(perhaps) several of Jobs&#39;&nbsp;core behaviors were&nbsp;exceptions--not&nbsp;the rule.&nbsp; (Read it to see a balanced view on market, customer, and leadership vision and strategy.)


The third article, &quot;Five Resolutions for Aspiring Leaders&quot;&nbsp;outlines simple-yet-transformative things you can tackle in 2012 to continue your&nbsp;professional development.&nbsp; (Read it to see how &#39;gaining knowledge,&#39; not &#39;defending it,&#39; will keep you&nbsp;front-and-center...and relevant in the months ahead.)&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;


The fourth article, &quot;What Americans Keep Ignoring about Finland&#39;s School Success&quot; describes something I tackled in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cultivating-Strategic-Mind-Visionary-Architect/dp/0979883016/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&amp;ie=UTF8&amp;qid=1325784691&amp;sr=1-1" target="_blank">Cultivating the Strategic Mind</a>: the&nbsp;value of cooperation&nbsp;rather than competition.&nbsp; Equity vs. Excellence.&nbsp; I know, I know, it sounds heretical!&nbsp; (Read it to&nbsp;see &#39;the bigger picture&#39; and understand how--and why--putting EVERY student at the center of an educational process makes Finland a North Star.)&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;


The fifth and final article, &quot;Five Predictions for Higher Ed Technology in 2012&quot; shows, by way of Stanford and MIT, that online learning is here to stay and, given that more and more college students are drowning in debt and questioning the value of diplomas in a soft economy, universities must find alternative delivery methods.&nbsp; From &#39;peer&#39; and &#39;distance learning&#39; to replacing bulky, back-breaking-backpacks&nbsp;full of&nbsp;anachronistic, outdated and overpriced textbooks with iPads and tablets, the future is here.&nbsp; And now.&nbsp; Once universities get their own act in gear, the dam will burst, the watershed will overflow, and those &#39;lockers&#39; we all experienced from K-12 will be about as useful as a hitching post at your local watering hole.&nbsp; (Read it to see why, once again, the customer--aka student--is king.)


<a href="/blogging/file.axd?file=2012%2f1%2f5ArticlesFor2012.pdf">5ArticlesFor2012.pdf (235.13 kb)</a>

The Student is Center

Not quite, but my promise to you today is one of pithiness.
Of all the words that have been written about leadership, performance and the like...of all the 'ornamentation' we hang here and there to garnish the tree, it always comes down to this:
CONNECTION &amp; CONTRIBUTION within RELATIONSHIPS defined by TRUST.
End of story.&nbsp; Period.
We all desire a sense of connection--to others, to purpose.&nbsp; To make a difference, to contribute something.&nbsp; To buzz the work and get 'r done.&nbsp; To see, as Steve Jobs wrote, "a dent in the universe."
"I made that," the credit rolls...
If we can truly connect to someone and something--and be trusted to&nbsp;achieve worthwhile outcomes, life is good.
Don't believe me?&nbsp; Read any study, particularly longitudinal ones like Harvard's 70-year-old 'Happiness Study.'&nbsp; Or&nbsp;faster yet, ask an unemployed person why he or she is periodically depressed.&nbsp; "I'm drifting, untethered.&nbsp; I feel emasculated and small.&nbsp; I want to engage and provide and be counted."
Whether we look at it as a parent, sibling, child, employee, citizen...it makes no difference.
To reach our potential, to sing our song, to paint our masterpiece, to live life to the fullest--this organism requires connection and contribution within relationships defined by trust.
Now go get yourself some air, water, sunlight and soil.&nbsp; Plug-in and power-up.
And if or where you struggle, don't lose hope or give up the fight.
Even weeds find sunlight through concrete, and so&nbsp;do we.
Connect and contribute in even the smallest of ways and, like a spark in the night, the rest often takes care of itself.

An Entry to End Entries?

I had one of those &quot;if it weren&#39;t so dang painful, it&#39;d be comedic&quot; sort of weeks last week.&nbsp; 


It culminated at the rental car counter where the attendant pronounced, &quot;Wow.&nbsp; It sucks to be you.&quot;&nbsp; (He was not smiling.)&nbsp; 


Needless to say, though practically everything did seem to be working against me, I got a kick out of the comment (though the &#39;customer service critic&#39; in me flinched at his...honesty?). 


We all have our ups and downs, but I don&#39;t live in flooded Pakistan right now...or another war-ravaged 3rd world&nbsp;country...or in a dark corner of the&nbsp;globe where personal liberties are non-existent and beautiful, innocent young women&nbsp;suffer having their bodies mutilated at the hands of savages.&nbsp; 


Have I got problems?&nbsp; Duh.&nbsp; Who doesn&#39;t?&nbsp; But there are &#39;problems&#39; and there are p-r-o-b-l-e-m-s.&nbsp; 


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As I walked through a parking lot earlier today, I came across a woman&nbsp;spilling out of&nbsp;her car with this bumper sticker--and couldn&#39;t help but laugh...and wonder, &quot;Huh.&nbsp; Where does she park her car at work and how&nbsp;do her colleagues feel when they&nbsp;read the sticker?&quot; 

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<img src="/blogging/image.axd?picture=2010%2f9%2fLab+Rat+bumper+sticker.jpg" alt="" /> 
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There are so many days that stink; so many days when we might be inclined to feel absolutely microscopic and insignificant. 


Days when we envy even the lab rat. 


But buck-up, little camper, because there is hope: 

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<img style="width: 238px; height: 201px" src="/blogging/image.axd?picture=2010%2f9%2fgoingtodie.jpg" alt="" width="222" height="350" /> 
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Pretty funny, no?&nbsp; Can I get even a&nbsp;snicker or a giggle?&nbsp; 


I aim to please.&nbsp; And to remind you: laugh every now and then, will &#39;ya?&nbsp; It releases neato endorphins, puts things in perspective and helps you remember, you ain&#39;t all that and this too shall pass. 


Just like Grandma&#39;s fruitcake or Aunt Emmie&#39;s deviled eggs. 


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See?&nbsp; 


I told you.&nbsp; Endorphins.