No More Weekends, Please

The weekend was incredibly hectic, not to mention like a bad episode of The Twilight Zone, and I'm glad it's over. In fact, I am tempted to declare a moratorium on weekends for a few weeks. I don't think I can handle too many more of these.

But we got to the play, although about 15 minutes late. There was very little sleep Friday or Saturday nights. There was lots of driving around Indiana. We saw lots of relatives and old friends we haven't seen in a very long time. And I now have new brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews. It can make for interesting family holiday gatherings.

But I don't know when I've felt more helpless or hopeless.

No more weekends. Work is easier. I can hole up in my office where at least it's safe.

On Careers and Such

This post is inspired by something other than my own musings. About careers and the everlasting question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

I remember when I was a kid that was probably the question almost every adult I met asked me. And I never really knew the answer. When I was very young, maybe up to around 4th grade, my answer usually shifted between "cowboy" and "teacher". My favorite books at the time were about cowboys, and the only other profession I had any clue about was my Dad's (teaching).

So I went to college without a clue about what I wanted to do. I had a vague idea about entering some sort of music-related business. It might have been running a music store or recording studio, but there wasn't a concrete career idea there.

So I started out as a freshman with a tentatively declared Business Management major. In the meantime, I joined the band and took trombone lessons, started voice lessons, and took some freshman-level music theory and history classes. Oh yeah, I took some freshman-level business classes too.

By the end of my Freshman year, I noticed that
a. Business Classes were incredibly dull
b. I was spending almost all my time in the Music School
c. I was dating mostly music majors
d. I just got into University Singers
e. I was having a great time (in music)

So, voila, I became a music major. Actually, I still held onto the basic plan of entering some part of the music business, but at that time it seemed as far away as retirement does today.

Fast-forward to my senior year. I was finishing up a BS in Music Education, Area Music Major. That meant I was theoretically qualified to teach any music to K-12; band, choir, orchestra. But I did my student teaching and began to seriously question my choice. It really was pretty much clear to me by this point that being a music teacher wasn't a good fit for my personality, interests, or abilities. I found out that just because I enjoyed singing and performing, that did not mean I was intended to lead kids in those ventures.

As I finished my degree that Senior year, I seriously considered staying in school another year or so. Because I made a discovery that year - computers! I found out that they fascinated me, and I could spend an entire day writing programs in the computer lab and not even realize that I had been so wrapped up that I lost track of time, even to the point of skipping a meal. (If you know me, that's big.)

But I was already married. And tired of being a student. And tired of being broke. And ready for a change of scenery.

So, I found a teaching job and began what turned out to be one of the most stressful and painful years of my life. I was a square peg in a round hole. And the pay was so bad, we struggled more to eke out a minimum living standard that year than at any time while we were still in school. By Christmastime, I knew that this wasn't right for me. At the end of the school year, I packed up and left the high school, and never looked back.

I went back to school, selling real estate and working various part-time jobs, and in no time settled into a new career as a computer programmer. I loved it. And it actually paid a decent living wage.

But I wasn't a computer programmer all that long, if you take the view from up here at age 48. Management beckoned, and as time went on the distance from the computer programming start widened. Today I'd say it's been around 15 years since I wrote a significant amount of code. Sure, I'd do a little maintenance programming or write a simple interface now and then over the years just to keep my hand in, but generally my job in all those years has had little to do with that "computer programmer" tag.

Now that I'm self-employed and becoming aware that my most productive working years may be falling behind me, I find myself reassessing the whole issue of career. Once again, the pertinent question in my life is, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" To answer that, I'm now asking other questions, such as, "When am I grown up?", and "What does 'to be' refer to? Does it necessarily have to refer to what I do, or is it more important to focus on who I am?"

Take a poll of adults you know. How many of them are working today in the field they went to college to get into? You might be surprised. I'm not. Almost every member of my extended family is not. Many of my friends and acquaintenace are not.

Engineers have become company owners, entrepreneurs, high school math teachers, real estate salespersons. Teachers have become factory workers, bank tellers, psychologists, computer sales and repair people. History majors have become lawyers. Musicians have become salespersons, real estate investors, or ministers.

Life and change are fundamental. Every one of us is walking along a path that is full of alternatives and detours. Whenever the path arrives at a major intersection, we have to make a decision. Stay straight, turn right, turn left, go back? Those decisions are made more difficult by the fact that we really don't know what's ahead. We've heard rumors and hints, but no matter which way we choose, there is no way we can know for certain whether it will turn out to be the right choice.

So ultimately we just have to rely on our faith, family, and friends to give us insight, then choose our path. Whatever the path we choose, we must be prepared to discover whether it was right. Today I can look back and say that some of the paths I chose were not right, but they led me to where I am and showed me people and places and experiences I would never have known otherwise. So how can I really say any of my choices were wrong? They just were part of the journey.

What I will do is choose the path that looks right - not easy, not popular, not impossibly difficult. Just the one that looks like it's the right one for me. Whatever I find along that path I will simply deal with as it comes and keep moving forward.

Have faith.

October Dreaming

Had a long trip through the Indiana countryside yesterday. The fall colors were inspiring, especially in the rural hills of Southern Indiana.

The driving and even the meeting yesterday served a good personal purpose. Both gave me a chance to reflect on my life's direction. Although I can't say there was any great revelation taking place, I can say that it helped me separate the important from the unimportant.

I returned with a new resolve to double my efforts toward those things that are important, and stop worrying about those that are not.

In the meantime, here are some things I miss from my younger days:

1. Playing sports, especially basketball and football.
2. Seeing women I don't know do double-takes, smile, even flirt with me in random places.
3. Performing in front of large audiences and getting enthusiastic response.
4. Hanging out with "real" friends, having "deep" discussions.
5. Laughing so hard it brings tears.
6. Hugs.

Fun Friday

How about some things I think would be really fun, or funny:

For one week, everyone on television has to go without makeup. News reporters, actors, singers, reality show participants, everybody! I think it would be great fun to see what they all REALLY look like.

I want to see a golf tournament where the golfers can't have caddies. They have to lug their own bags, figure out their own distances, and keep their own scores. And the gallery doesn't have to shut up for each shot - they can make all the noise they want.

Each NBA team has to play all of their games for a week using only players under 6 feet tall. Good old-time basketball.

Every NFL team has to cut any player who's been charged with domestic abuse or any felony offense, tested positive for drugs, had out-of-wedlock children with more than one woman, or participated in that Viking's lake cruise last week. I wonder how many players would be left? How many teams would have to forfeit?

Staying with the same theme, how about this weekend in College Football, only players with a 2.5 GPA or greater, who are within one semester of being on track for their degree, can be on the field. And the GPA standard becomes 3.5 for those players taking stupid majors designed for no purpose other than keeping them academically eligible. Let's do the same this winter for College Basketball. Only the true "student/athletes" can participate.

For a whole week, every tv news program has to do only positive stories. No negatives, controversy, or protesting allowed. Just an entire week of stories, delivered by reporters sans makeup, devoted to charitable people, successful people and organizations, inventions, etc.

Have a hat day, where everybody everywhere wears their favorite hat all day long. It would be fun to walk around and see all the people and their crazy hats.

Finally, a random act of kindness day. Everybody has to anonymously do something nice for someone else. Like paying the toll for the person behind you. Or picking up the tab for a stranger's lunch. Or raking leaves for an elderly person when they're not around. Or any other random act of kindness, the rules being it has to be anonymous and done for a total stranger.

Generation Gap

When I was young, there was a lot of talk about the "Generation Gap". It was a real thing, and not surprising given the Hippie generation's rejection of their parents' values, embracing of socialist and communist political philosophies, wearing ratty jeans and tie-dyed t-shirts, abusing dangerous drugs and abandoning all sexual mores.

But the Hippies were actually in between my generation and my parents', and those of us in the 70's generation didn't really buy into that whole 60's "scene". From my personal experience, I didn't see the sort of confrontational intergenerational conflict of the 60's. I'm sure the end of the VietNam war was part of the reason for the narrowing of that generation gap.

Today there is a new generation, and although there clearly aren't the same issues between generations that we saw in the 60's, there still are a number of things that I don't understand.

I don't understand video gaming obsession. I'm sure that video games are very entertaining, but how could they replace playing sports or games with one's friends? I fear the video game generation is becoming increasingly detached from other people and much more self-absorbed.

I don't understand courtship rituals. The approach I was familiar with of a casual date to get to know someone before jumping into a "relationship" seems to have all but disappeared. I'm mystified by how anyone can establish a strong and meaningful connection without a gradual and casual get-to-know-you dating process.

I don't understand the casual attitudes toward marriage. Today a huge percentage of households are either single-parent or blended families. What part of "till death do us part" don't people understand? If Hollywood's example is any indication, it seems that marriage today is the equivalent of "going steady" 30 years ago. People change spouses like they change shoes.

I don't understand the music. I can't remember the last time I heard a new popular single I liked. So-called "recording artists" can't even sing anymore; they are vocally challenged, but the new generation snaps them up like crazy. Lots of artists don't even bother to sing anymore, but just "rap". Since when is that music? I want to hear a well-written song that isn't vulgar and has a story or message I can identify with and is performed skillfully and musically. Is that too much to ask?

I don't understand the vulgarity. Why does every sentence uttered by this generation have to include a vulgar reference to a sex act or bodily function? Have we done such a poor job of educating these kids that they no longer have enough vocabulary to make an impactful statement without using epithets and vulgarity? It's embarrassing.

I don't understand the dress. When did it become acceptable for girls to dress like prostitutes and guys to dress like gang bangers?

I don't understand piercings and tattoos. Why mutilate and permanently mar your body? What happens to that barbed wire tattoo around your bicep when you're 70 and no longer have a bicep? What happens to all those facial piercings when you get old and your skin loses its elasticity and your cartilage grows larger?

I don't understand the sexual free-for-all. It seems monogamy is disappearing from the language. When did virginity become a joke, even for young teens? Where is the concern for STD's and AIDS, pregnancy, and the emotional baggage that comes from casual sex? Maybe this is one of the most negative outcomes of the 60's generation; anybody who even suggests sexual restraint at all is held up to ridicule, while STD's approach epidemic status, babies are aborted or born to parents who can't raise them properly. And married partners don't think adultery is a big deal. I suspect this problem is tied closely to the courtship issue I discussed earlier.

I don't understand the selfishness. From my perspective, this may be the most selfish and self-absorbed generation in history. The focus seems to be on each individual's personal happiness. Constant complaints of "I'm not happy", "I'm bored", "My needs aren't being met", and the like suggest a complete lack of empathy and understanding or any spirit of helping someone else just because it's the right thing to do.

Am I wrong about any of the above? Certainly everyone's an individual, and I'm sure there are plenty of individuals who don't fit into the above descriptions. But have I accurately described this generation as a whole?

Anyone from this generation is invited to set me straight, if you can.

Incivility

There isn't anyone who hasn't been angry with someone else at one time or another. Anger is fine, but the response to that anger is the real test. And from my experience, most people fail that test. Miserably.

I know that I have disappointed and angered people in my life, much more often than I would like. But has anyone ever responded to their anger with me in a positive way? Not that I can remember - at least not very often.

When people get angry, they generally resort to these basic responses:

• Sullen and Uncommunicative: When I'm the subject of this response, I have no idea what caused it, and start racking my brain for what I might have done to offend. When I do wheedle an answer to "what's wrong?", it usually is "If you don't know, then we have an even bigger problem". Great, what did I do now? But if this approach is used too many times, I will just ignore the silent treatment because I don't have the energy to play the game anymore.
• Attack: A verbal barrage laying out every one of my faults and past sins, real or imagined, designed to batter me into complete and total submission. I end up feeling completely worthless, and don't even remember the original transgression. Besides, I've just been told I'm the scum of the earth, so there's not much point in trying to do better.
  
• Sarcasm: A chilly attitude with plenty of little barbs and digs designed to inflict pain. This is similar to the sullen and uncommunicative in that I still have no clue about my offense. But the sarcastic treatment is more likely to cause me to avoid contact, just like you might avoid the neighborhood bully when walking home from school.
• Whispering Campaign: A particularly nasty approach to dealing with a pique is to avoid the subject completely in my presence, but proceed to tell everyone else in the country about my horrible offense. The offended has given no indication of anything wrong at all in person, and I'm going about my business as usual until suddenly I hear from a completely unexpected third party about what a terrible thing I did. Huh?

Why do people use such destructive methods to manipulate and humiliate those who have upset them? Why can't we just approach the subject openly and honestly with the other person without subjecting him or her to a torturous ordeal?

How about responding in a way that doesn't punish the other, but actually might succeed in getting a change in behavior? Let's use a scenario that comes partly from my own experiences way back when:

A couple has just returned from a party. During the car ride home, the woman is clearly icy with the man for reasons he can't begin to fathom. He thinks the party was pretty good, they got to catch up with lots of old friends, and can't figure out why she's suddenly angry.

She saw him talking and laughing with an attractive female at the party who she believes may have been a former girlfriend, and is fuming about his gall in flirting with her at the party.

So rather than going through a combination of the four destructive responses listed above, what if she did the following:

1. Open up to the man by telling him about what she saw him doing at the party and how it made her feel.
2. Suggest a specific and realistic solution to the problem, such as introducing her to his old friends and including her in party conversations.
3. Allow open discussion and listen carefully to what he has to say, and give him positive feedback for suggesting his own ideas for solving the problem, listening to her, and caring about her feelings.

Of course, if the man show himself to be a jerk, dismissive of her feelings, or his behavior at the party went beyond just friendly conversation, all she needs is to inform him why she's ending the relationship. But if he's worth it, she can try the positive approach or test for how many times he'll put up with the four destructive reactions.

It's just tiring.

Welcoming Work

It was sort of nice to get back into the office today, knowing I have a solid pile of work ahead of me. Too bad it doesn't all pay - in fact, some of it specifically costs me money. Anybody want to join me in a tax revolt?

Anyway, despite the beautiful weather, it was not a pleasant weekend. It's not possible to get into the reasons, but it left me fighting to avoid a deep and lasting funk. I think I succeeded to a degree - I got up and came into the office this morning, where I'm moving ahead slowly but surely on the pile.

There was a good sign this morning in an actual phone call from the software company that owes me a pile of money and seems incapable of just processing the invoices. There is an actual person assigned who actually talked to me over the phone and actually gave me a fax number for sending all of my open items. That's only about the third time I've re-sent the same stuff, which they seem to have lost each time. Dare I hope after all this time that something might actually get done there and I might see a check before Christmas? We shall see.

Chris and I went to see Wallace & Gromit. There were some funny moments, and I was surprised at the multiple levels of humor woven into the story. It was sort of fun to notice the little kids laughing at the slapstick, then the adults taking their turn laughing at the more subtle adult-oriented lines.

Gotta get back to work.

Sharing a Major Pet Peeve

A major irritant for me may not be shared by a lot of other people. Then again, maybe it is, and I just don't hear it much from others. It's women doing bathroom stuff in public (no, not the waste function).

Some already know of my sensitivity to strong odors. Perfumes, hand cremes, hairspray, cologne, and other similar stinky stuff make me physically ill. The worst recent experience was on a flight; I was sitting in first class as the plane descended to land at the Indy airport, when the woman next to me pulled out her perfume bottle and proceeded to douse herself liberally. A few seconds later, I emptied the contents of my stomach into the airsick bag. It wasn't until I walked outside and gulped greedily at the fresh air that the nausea began to dissipate.

What's so difficult for women to understand - some of us don't appreciate their favorite scents. Especially when they bathe in them. Have they been dousing so much of the stuff on themselves that it completely burned out their olfactories? The same women probably don't appreciate cigarette smoke being blown in their faces, so why wouldn't they understand that applying strong and offensive odors to their own bodies can be just as objectionable to someone sitting near them?

During my last project, there were two women who made things difficult. One I had to work with fairly closely, and it was made very difficult by the hand creme she slathered on several times each day. The routine went something like this: We'd be working on something, and she'd pull out the bottle of creme and dump a big gob on her palm. Then I'd excuse myself, get up and leave the area, spend about 10-15 minutes out in the unpolluted air, then return, hoping the worst of the odor had dissipated. Once I wasn't quick enough or didn't notice what she was doing, and began dry-heaving as I quickly turned my back and headed for the restroom. She either never caught on to my subtle hints or didn't care to catch on.

There was another woman who worked in an adjoining cubicle to the one I was assigned for awhile. She had some sort of fruity body spray product that she would apply at random times throughout the day. The odor conjured up the purple cloud I used to remember from cartoons, which as soon as it comes in contact renders the victim unconscious. Well, for me not unconscious but very nauseous. So, once again, I would get up and leave as soon as the malodorous toxic cloud reached my nostrils, returning after I figured enough time had passed for it to dissipate.

On my trip home this weekend, fortunately this didn't happen close enough to me to cause any ill effects, but it did irritate me. A woman was sitting in the gate area awaiting boarding for the Indy flight. She got out her bag, and right there in front of all the other waiting passengers, proceeded to paint her face. She applied all sorts of products, none of which I really care to understand well enough to describe, apparently in an attempt to transform her face into whatever illusion she desired.

So maybe it's some sort of social requirement for women to wear lots of makeup. But my general philosophy is that pretty women don't need it, and ugly women can't get much help anyway. But even if I grudgingly agree that women feel social pressure to plaster stuff on their faces, shouldn't they do it in private? Why couldn't this woman get up and walk the 50 feet to the nearest ladies room to trowel on all that stuff, rather than subject everyone in the area to her attempt at facial artistry?

After all, if women and their makeup are all about illusion, shouldn't the secrets of that illusion be kept private?

I feel better now with my rant over. I'm also breathing deeply to appreciate the complete lack of obnoxious odors in my private refuge of the office. (Let me check - no, even my armpits are fairly odor-free. I won't take off my shoes, though.) Ahh.

Object Lessons

If anyone needs a first-hand example of why socialism doesn't work, just spend some time with an Indian tribe. The irony isn't lost on me that Americans feel guilty about what our forefathers purportedly did to the natives 150 years ago; you know, stealing their land, killing them off with desease and rifles, sending them to desolate reservations, etc. So what did we do? We let them open casinos.

Another thing we did was give the tribal governments relative autonomy. They get tax breaks and are exempted from many federal and state regulations. For example, you can buy gas on this particular reservation for about 30 cents less than anywhere else.

But in working for a few of these Indian casinos over the years, I've observed a microcosm of what socialism is really like. The tribal members are virtually guaranteed a job, either at the casino or at one of the other business enterprises operated by the tribe. Tribal members are also given special consideration over non-native counterparts when it comes to promotions and job perks. Even if they have no qualifications whatsoever for the job.

The results of these kinds of policies are predictable, and mirror what I observed during my visit to the Soviet Union back in the 70's. Alcoholism and drug abuse are rampant. People who are guaranteed a job generally don't worry too much about showing up for work on time, when they show up at all. Tribal members demand and often receive promotions to management positions for which they have no qualifications. Many of the tribal members end up in a continuous cycle of being hired, going on a drunk and failing to show up for work, getting fired, going to their uncle or father-in-law on the tribal council asking for reinstatement, being reinstated usually to a job in a different department, then repeating the cycle. Until they've been fired by every business and department in the tribal world, when the least powerful department manager will be saddled with a second round and forced to find a non-essential position for the person.

For example, there's a tribal member who has very strong family connections to influential tribal council members. She started work in an entry-level job, and was rapidly promoted all the way to a top managerial position. Once she got there, she went on a drinking binge and was nowhere to be found, missing some very important events for which she had primary responsibility. Once they finally found her, she was fired. About a month later, she was reinstated under instruction from the tribal council, although to a lower-level position in another department. But the manager, at significant risk to his own job, insisted that she would not be reinstated at her previous manager-level salary, but at the prevailing rate for the new position.

There's a popular description of how tribal casinos operate, which is on "Indian time". Projects move at their pace, which means the project I've been working on has been postponed. Postponed not for any reason other than the Indian managers involved became uncomfortable that things were moving too fast. There's no way any project will be allowed to cause anyone to put in extra hours, which includes Friday afternoons, when generally the place is empty - especially on payday. Then there's deer season coming up, Thanksgiving and Christmas, and of course the conclusion is that it's impossible to make staff members work on a project this time of year.

All of this explains why the non-Indians here tell me that this casino is generally known as a last resort for anyone who needs a job. Between the institutionalized discrimination on promotions and wages, tolerance for poor performance by tribal members, and general lack of urgency or motivation, anyone with pride or ambition would find it a torturous place to work.

Don't misunderstand, I have no issues with the tribal people. I find them friendly and pleasant, and am somewhat fascinated with their focus on their heritage and traditions. They had a drum ceremony while I was trying to meet with them for our initial planning meeting, which even though it was disruptive and cost valuable information-gathering time, I kind of enjoyed experiencing.

I don't know when the project will be finished, but most definitely not on the originally planned timeline. It may take a year and cost 2 or 3 times what it should, but I suppose that's the only way to get things done in any socialist society. Of course, I've seen very similar issues in projects for governmental organizations in general, so it's not just the tribes. You should see what it's like to work with a city government; it's different in many ways, but very similar in terms of the unnecessary extra time and cost due to the political structure.

My theory is that socialist-minded people are generally those with very little ambition and a desire for the best lifestyle they can achieve without effort or accountability. Are you attracted by the idea of a job for life, where you only have to show up 30-35 hours per week, can take a day off whenever you feel like it without consequence, and can't be fired no matter what your behavior?

If so, I'm guessing you're a socialist and vote Democrat.

So You Think Travel is Cool

The trip began yesterday morning. I got up at 5:30 and was on the road to the Indy airport by 6. It was a foggy morning, and visibility was a little dicey until the sun came up, but otherwise I had a pretty normal drive to the airport.

I arrived, parked in the Tiger lot, and jaywalked across the road to the terminal because I don't like riding the bus. The check-in went smoothly, where I handed over my bag oblivious to what was in store. Then I got through security without being strip-searched, and settled in with a good book until we boarded the flight to Minneapolis.

Even on boarding there was no hint of the problems to come. I received my upgrade and enjoyed a cold orange juice while the rest of the passengers came on board. We pushed away from the gate, but shortly afterward found ourselves parked on the tarmac.

The message from the pilot boiled down to this: Minneapolis was getting stormy weather, and was slowing down incoming traffic for safety reasons. We would have to wait on the ground in Indy until we got cleared to take off for MSP. That's not a terribly unusual event, and I was unconcerned, so I put the book down and began to nap.

Eventually we took off for MSP, but I really didn't know how long we had waited, because I'd been sleeping. I continued to doze through the flight, waking up when we were about 20 minutes away. I re-immersed myself in the book (which was one of the best I've read in some time, by the way - if you have a chance to read "The Rule of Four", do so!) and didn't check my watch until we landed and began the taxi to the gate.

Oh-oh. We were pulling into the gate at 11:00, and my flight to Hancock was scheduled to depart at 11:10. Knowing that the trek from concourse G to A was about as far a walk as you can possibly do at Minneapolis, I thought there was no way I would make that flight.

Nothing to do but try, though, so I took off at a speed walk (fast for me, anyway), and actually walked up to my gate at A3 by about 11:15. The flight was gone. The gate agent told me I could either wait about 10-15 minutes to get assistance from her when she finished closing out the flight (yes, the one I was supposed to be on), or I could call the 800 number to rebook.

So I tried Northwest's 800 number, figuring with my elite status they would take good care of me. But it wasn't very reassuring when the guy on the phone came back from researching my options to say, in what I interpreted as a rather embarrassed tone, that I would be better off to see an agent there at the counter.

So of course, I go back to my (un)friendly gate agent, now one of about a half-dozen people who missed the same flight. Given that the plane only holds about 20 people, I immediately began to wonder out loud why they couldn't hold it 20 minutes to get the rest of us on who came in on delayed flights. Not a good way to make friends with an already sullen gate agent.

Anyway, we all get the following news from our sullen and increasingly hostile and unfriendly gate agent: There are no seats on any flight to Hancock (MI) before Friday night. I thought I detected a note of triumph in her voice when she made that statement. "Take that, you idiot passengers!"

So I asked, as nicely as I could and trying to disguise the smoke that was most certainly pouring out of my ears, whether there was a flight available that could get us to Marquette (because I already knew that was the nearest airport other than Hancock to where I was going). And thanking God for small favors, a second gate agent appears to help the first, who is much more pleasant and actually smiles at me when she says "Let me check on that!"

So my new best friend is able to quickly find me a seat on the flight to Marquette. She also entered data into her computer about re-routing my luggage. All I needed to do was call Avis to switch my car rental reservation, then see if I could get the return flight changed to Marquette as well to avoid a drop charge on the car. True to form, the other agent heard me ask to change the return flight, and responded "you will have to do that online or through the 800 number. And they will charge you a $100 change fee".

I couldn't help myself: "You mean I'll get charged a change fee for a change that wasn't my fault?". She snorted, "It wasn't our fault either; complain to God."

Unbelievable.

Anyway, I had about 5 hours to kill in the MSP airport before the Marquette flight. It only took one of those hours to finish off the book (let me know if you want to borrow it!), so I took a walk to find a bookstore to buy another. Without reading materials, 5 hours stuck in an airport could be torturous.

The flight to Marquette loaded up after they asked for 3 volunteers to give up their seats. Fortunately, 3 giggling college girls immediately took the airline up on the deal.

As we taxied toward the runway, the pilot came on the air to announce that the weather in the area was pretty rough, and there was a chance we would not be able to land in Marquette. Our alternative airport was Stevens Point, Wisconsin. Oh great, I thought, getting stranded in Wisconsin is worse than being stranded in Minneapolis.

Fortunately, we made it to Marquette. It was after a roundabout flight that took almost twice as long as scheduled, as the pilot flew around the storms. Even so, it was a pretty bumpy ride.

We got to Marquette, and I checked in at Avis to get my rental car keys. A Hyundai Santa Fe. Oh well, it's transportation. Then I waited for the bags. And waited. And waited. Strange how tiny airports are sometimes the slowest to unload luggage.

Once the carousel stopped moving, I headed over to the Northwest ticket counter to report my lost luggage. How did I know that my friend at the gate in MSP wasn't going to be successful at re-routing my bag just by entering it in the computer? Does it maybe have something to do with the fact that the gorillas who handle baggage couldn't use a computer if their life depended on it? Or that entering baggage information on the computer system is only for show, to mislead customers into thinking there actually is some sort of system for tracking luggage? I knew better, but what can you do?

So even though I was tired from an extremely long and frustrating day of absolutely no productivity, I stopped at Wal-Mart in Marquette to buy some essentials. Bathroom stuff, socks, underwear, a pair of slacks and a shirt. I figured the jeans and ratty golf shirt wouldn't go over too well at the client the next morning. At least I got checked into the hotel before midnight. I believe I got in around 9:30. How's that for a trip - 15 and a half hours to travel to an adjoining state!

I just got off the phone with the agent at the Hancock airport. She confirmed for me that my bag had indeed shown up there today, on the first flight from MSP. She is calling a taxi to bring it to me at my hotel. Let's hope it shows up tonight - I'd rather not have to wear the same outfit to work tomorrow.

So, after this long story, would anybody like to sign up for job that requires extensive travel? Anybody?

Thought so.

Is Empathy a Strength or Weakness?

Empathetic could be near the top of the list of words that describe me. In my relations with other people, I nearly always find myself working hard to understand their point of view or the basis for their opinions and actions. It's part of understanding the person, sort of like an associated strongly-held belief I have that no problem can be solved without first understanding it fully.

What I wonder, especially in business, is whether my empathy is a strength or weakness of character. There certainly seem to be plenty of very successful people who seem to have very little empathy for others.

I've had some opportunities recently in encounters with other people to exercise my empathy by asking open-ended questions of people who express opinions and beliefs at odds with my own. In most cases, I am able to partially understand their viewpoint but am left wanting to dig deeper. It's not possible in the context of a casual conversation to prompt someone to reveal to me their deepest and possibly most secret painful experiences, which I theorize must be the root of their dark attitudes.

Mostly I seem to find people who view the world 180 degrees from my own perspective have a terrible bitterness as an undercurrent. That's what makes me want to explore in more depth. For example, an atheist will inevitably express a profound hatred for people with an evangelical, or "born-again" Christianity worn proudly on their sleeve. The hatred seems illogical, so I want to ask what terrible evil deed was perpetrated to make this individual so disillusioned with all Christians, just because one or two have had the gall to proselytize?

To the degree we are all formed by our life experiences, I can't help but wonder if the bitterest and angriest people were formed by some awful event or series of events in their young lives that they were never able to move beyond. I'm not angry or hateful toward atheists in general, but instead find myself mourning for them in a sense. Because something very foul must have happened in their lives to give them such a terrible lifelong simmering anger toward people of faith, and whatever it was is denying them the peace and comfort that can be found in a simple and trusting faith.

Too many people are living self-destructive lives, and I've met too many of them. It amazes me how often individuals I know behave in ways that they think are rebelling or getting even with people that have hurt them somehow, yet ultimately they are only harming themselves with those behaviors. Unfortunately, I don't have any magical answers I can give to such embittered people that can help them climb out of the deep, dark hole they have dug for themselves. But I hope that someday maybe I can at least help show someone the path out of that hole.

Maybe that's all God really wants from any of us.