Finding Your Passion

Have you ever known someone who put their passion into their work, or better yet worked their passion?  I’d like to introduce you to my friend Kevin.  

Kevin and I have known each other for about 12 years now, meeting as we worked together in project management.  I was new to the department and to project management; Kevin became my training buddy.  I shadowed him on his primary accounts to learn the ropes in hopes that I would very quickly take on my own project.  During that training period, Kevin and I got to know each others background to some extent, but like most work relationships, we only shared bits of whom we were and where we came from.  As time went on our careers moved in different directions, but both of us would have similar events bringing us back together.

We both became victims of downsizing and left the organization where we originally met.  Within about a year, we met up again at another company with me, ironically, taking over the role Kevin had as he moved to another division.  I was a consultant and as my project ended, Kevin got caught in yet another downsizing.   We both left that company at about the same time.  

With both of us looking for our next career move, we connected and decided to form an organization on our own.  This organization was called Rise Above and with three others, we helped people who were downsized.  We put on free seminars providing hope along with practical skills around networking, writing resumes and interviewing.  As with any other training, we found that we learned as much by presenting as the audience learned from us; and I learned more about Kevin.

Over the next 9 months, Kevin shared more about his time in the Navy, his childhood years with his sister, mother and stepfather in Ohio, how he met his wife Beth and stories from his alma mater, the Ohio State Buckeyes hated rival of my Wisconsin Badgers.  What really became evident to me during that time was Kevin’s passion for helping others.  How he could make a career out of this inner need, we didn’t know yet. 

 

I’m a big fan of the Buddhist proverb, “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.”  We are not all ready to learn at the same time, but when we are ready, it is amazing how quickly our teacher shows up.  This proverb fit Kevin perfectly.  What Kevin didn’t know at the time was that the teacher he needed was he himself.  

As he continued to provide insight to others about how to understand their passion through stories of his own career, Kevin gradually realized that he also needed that advice.  One day he told the story of a meeting he had with one of his leaders.  The leader asked Kevin what he wanted to do with his career.  Kevin answered, “I want to help people.”  

“Well, you’re not helping people here in this role,” was the response to Kevin.  

As he told that story to the audience, it hit him and he looked at me and said, “We have to talk.”  We sat down for coffee and he relayed his newly discovered passion.  

“I’ve made a decision,” he said.  “I’m going back to school to become a nurse.”  

You can imagine my surprise.  My initial thoughts were mixed with excitement and joy for him along with a little bit of doubt.  After a 20-year career in the Navy and business world, this was a significant change.  Could Kevin really make that big of a shift as he entered his forties?  

Within a few weeks, Kevin had completed his research, enrolled in some foundational courses and gotten accepted in an accelerated program through Bellin College of Nursing.  Just two weeks ago, almost 2 full years from our meeting at the coffee shop, Kevin got the news that he passed his board exam.  

Kevin would describe himself as a fairly average guy.  He’s not a Bill Gates, Michael Jordan or Donald Trump, yet he has, in my opinion, made lifestyle changes as dramatic as they have.  Many don’t know their passion or haven’t taken the time to define it.  Most who do know, don’t take actions toward that passion. 

 

What makes Kevin so remarkable is that he took actions rather than finding the excuses.  He didn’t let his age, shift in career, long nights of study, lost income or any doubters tell him he couldn’t do it.  It wasn’t easy and he went through many struggles, but Kevin never wavered on his goal.  As he confronted obstacles, he pushed through, re-planned like a good project manager and kept taking the next action.  

I am proud to call him my friend and Registered Nurse.  Just imagine the impact he will have on others as he serves them. 

Appreciation for Tegan

In my new role at a new company, I have been very fortunate to meet some wonderful people. This week I had a meeting with a lady who is helping me with financial numbers. Her name is Tegan and she has a face as lovely as her name. What I found out during our brief meeting is that she has as beautiful a spirit as well.

I waited for Tegan to get out of another meeting, I noticed a piece of paper taped to her cubicle wall. It had a picture of who I assumed was her family and the title, “Scott Niemuth Benefit”. I asked Tegan about the benefit and found a powerful story.

At age 50, her father Scott has recently been diagnosed with ALS. “Okay,” I thought, “he’s got a struggle in front of him, but that’s what makes life so worthwhile, overcoming struggles.” That’s what I thought, but I am wrong.

As Tegan bravely told me the story of his health struggles over a period of six months until he finally was accurately diagnosed, I could see the pain on her face, but her voice never wavered. She earnestly apologized that she would not be available on Fridays for a while so she could spend time with him on weekends. Finally I asked how the treatments are going. Completely composed, she told me there are no treatments. He visits a medical facility regularly just to understand how the disease has progressed, but in reality he has only 12 to 18 months left if they are lucky. I appeared more broken than she.

You see, I’m the guy who always looks for the silver lining, the lesson, the value in a bad situation. I’m the one who teaches my kids to recite the phrase, “There’s always a solution!” I’m the one who always believes there’s a bucker inside of each of us who can overcome anything we put our minds to.

 I’m the one who just learned there is no solution to this man’s struggle. After hearing the details of her father’s story, I shared the story with my wife. It helped both of us to gain further perspective on what is important in life. With 5 children age 11 and under, our days can get pretty stressed, particularly if we focus too much on what we want rather than what they want.

As I got ready for work this morning, I didn’t get angry about my 4-year-old who didn’t want to put on the shorts we picked out for him. I hugged him instead. As I drove into the office, I didn’t worry about being 3 minutes behind schedule or the long line of cars in front of me at the round-a-bout or even the driver who cut me off trying to get further in front of that line. Instead, I breathed in the cool fresh air, admired the glass look of the river, and listened to the sound of kids laughing and running down the river trail. Even though I was running late, I still stopped at my coffee shop, smiled at everyone who passed me and listened to the funny story from the girl making my coffee. Just before I reached the parking lot, I called my wife just to tell her how much I appreciate her.

These are the little things that could be taken from me at anytime and I thank Tegan immensely for helping me remember that! Her father has never met me and still he has impacted me. To help Scott and his family visit the following link:

Finding Pennies

I pulled into the gas station to fill up the truck for the first time. I shook my head at the price per gallon listed on the pump, and then fell back against the truck in shock at the total price once it was filled. Reaching to put the gas cap back on, I knocked it off its ledge and watched it roll under the truck. “Really,” I thought to myself, “on such a warm day wearing my dress pants and a white shirt, I have to get on my hands and knees to get this cap?” As I reached under the truck, there it was, resting right next to the cap, shining at me. I smiled and picked it up. I turned it over in my hands to examine it further; sure enough, it was a nickel. I hugged it in my hand, thanked God and smiled remembering what my children had suggested about finding money. Suddenly all the problems of the morning were gone. It was 3 months earlier as I drove the kids to school, Lauren next to me in the front seat, Megan and Carson in the back; Carson sitting in the middle to avoid the booster seat he feels he’s too big for. “What’s that quarter for?” Lauren asked referring to the quarter that was sliding back and forth on the dashboard. “I found it outside my coffee shop yesterday.” My innocent response provoked a conversation that changed my view of simple coins. “We sure seem to be finding a lot of money,” Carson said. “Well, I wouldn’t say a quarter is a lot of money”, I replied. “But Dad, we have been finding a lot of coins lately,” Lauren chimed in. “Why do you think that is?” I asked. Megan answered first, “I think God is giving us the money.” Carson agreed. Lauren added, “I think God is giving it to us and telling us that money is everywhere.” “Really, why would He do that?” I asked which continued a conversation that concluded with all of us agreeing on a new perspective on finding pennies. We concluded that there’s an abundance of money out there, you just have to open ourselves up to it; stop blocking it from coming to us with thoughts about not having enough. It’s as if God is saying, “You want more money, here it is. I’ve got plenty for you.” Then He throws coins in front of us to prove it. “What I can’t give to you,” He continues, “are the really important things in life that you have to earn.” Each day I hope to remember that it’s not about the money. It’s about the effects on others. It’s about love, respect, learning, teaching and growing – it’s about Family. It’s about a daughter who sends you a card stating “Father of the Year” and reminds me to start working on next year. It’s about waiting 15 minutes for a 10-year-old and her friend to catch up, and then crossing the finish line of her first 10K run holding hands. It’s about a son who goes to his first football camp and can’t stop talking about it for weeks. It’s about the 4-year-old getting his finger stuck in the truck window and needing some ice, a band-aid and a kiss to recover. And it’s about his twin brother helping him out of the truck and getting the ice for him. It’s about coming home every night to the incredible woman who takes care of all of us and being able to so gratefully call her my wife. How much do you want to bet I find a penny on the street today?

Moving On

Grandma Clara passed away this week. She was 97 years old and the matriarch of the family. She was also the home that brought us all together. She was the definition of persistence, consistency, and stability. Even up to her last days with us, she lived alone in her home, did all her own cooking and cleaning, carried her laundry up and down the basement steps, and maintained a small garden out back.

Grandma was what I would call a perfectionist. Every detail of her house was spotless. She had a way to get everything done and it was her way. Anything that strayed from her way was met with her favorite word, “Awk!” From age 6 on, I thought of Grandma as hard, insensitive and demanding. She never cried and rarely showed a soft, compassionate side. She wasn’t the grandma portrayed on many of the shows I grew up with. But she was my grandma and I loved her.

Over the last 10 or 15 years there seemed to be a change in Grandma. As I sat with her and asked her about her childhood, her family and my family, stories poured out of her. She was a child during WWI, got married and birthed 3 boys in the midst of the Great Depression. Eight years into that marriage with her oldest boy only 7 years old, she lost her husband. World War II was just getting under way and she was left to raise 3 boys on her own.

“That must have been tough,” I noted to her one day. She responded, “Well it certainly wasn’t easy, but you move on.”

After her children were raised and well into starting their own families, Grandma got remarried. Everything was going great until she got the news about her youngest son three years later. At age 28, with five children of his own, he was killed in a plane crash. It took a long time to get over that, but she moved on.

Fifteen years later, her second husband died of a heart attack. Alone again, she moved on. Then her second son died of a similar heart attack and then her third son. She had now out-lived 2 husbands and 3 sons. What did she do? She moved on. She did so not without pain, but without fear and without a why me attitude. She persevered, pushed forward and took what life was giving her.

As she told her stories to me, that belief of her from a 6-year-old mind began to break away. I began to see the compassionate heart. Her lack of hugs was not a sign that she lacked caring, but that she cared in her way. Her critical views became wisdom from years of experience. Her lack of emotion became strength in the face of my weaknesses. As I heard her stories, I began to think, “Wow, grandma is really changing.”

In my last visits during her last days, we talked more about her current interests. She loved to watch the Brewers on TV or listen to them on the radio. She was a big Packer fan, but couldn’t understand why they wore those goofy uniforms sometimes (I explained that they were throwbacks and she said, “They should be thrown away”). I saw her face light up as she watched my kids run around her house playing games. I saw the genius in her card play.

I walked out of her house for the last time to a hug and a kiss on my cheek. I thought, “Grandma really has changed.” Then I put the kids in the van, turned back to the house and saw that familiar figure looking out the screen door and that familiar wave good-bye. I felt like that 6-year-old kid again.

As I drove away, I saw her in a new light. I could put myself in her shoes just a bit and see the world through her eyes. I could feel her pain in brief moments. Then it dawned on me. Grandma hadn’t changed as much as Grandma had changed me. Forgive me Grandma if it takes me a little longer than you, but I will move on.

I never realized until it was too late how I won the lottery by being her grandson.

Nostalgia

Just what in the world does that word mean? I heard a doctor once describe this as irritating grains of sand in our memory that get covered with layers and layers of time until they turn into pearls. It seems all the bad memories we had while participating in the events of our past have turned into great memories. I remember bailing hay for my uncles as a kid and hating it. Now, as I drive in the country and catch the fragrance of freshly cut hay being raked in the fields, I wish for one more day on a wagon throwing bails around.

But there are also so many wonderful memories. During Mardi Gras day at our offices, someone brought in rhubarb pie. One bite and the pearls of the past came back to me instantly. I could smell lilacs and taste rhubarb. I could hear the rhythmic pumping of the bailer and the creaking tires and frame of the wagon as it rolled over the uneven field. I could feel the sun burning my back and the occasional breeze cooling me. And I could see my dog Misty barking by the fence with the apple trees letting go of the ripe apples behind her.

Misty is long gone; the lilac bush was cut down years ago; and the old-fashioned bailers have been replaced with modern machines that now roll the hay into massive bails. Everything changes, but our memories are the wonderful keepsakes of those seemingly lost times of our youth.

I love to watch my children now as I think back to those cherished times of my past. I wonder what memories they will cherish. What will become pearls for them? What do they hate now that they will ultimately wish they could do just one more time in the future? Most importantly, what am I doing to ensure I help create these special memories with them? As Carly Simon sings, “These are the good old days.” What can we do as servants to help create the good old days for everyone around us right now?

Collaboration with Carson

I find it very comforting to know how collaborative human beings are. We enter this world completely alone on an individual journey and we leave completely alone on a similar individual journey. Between those two primal events, we live our lives.

During the course of our lives we are continuously affected by others. We travel along a path with specific people for the predominance of our lives, while others touch us for mere instances. The great part is that everyone creates an effect. My 4-year-old son has taught me to look at these effects differently.

Carson loves apple juice. My two older daughters loved grape juice at his age, but he’s been a fan of apple juice since he was a toddler. We are a frugal family so we buy juice in the frozen concentrate containers and make it ourselves in this really cool pitcher. The pitcher has a handle on the top of the cover that can be pulled up and pushed down in a plunger motion. The insert attached moves up and down inside the juice container creating a swirling affect and mixing the juice. It’s one of those great inventions I wish I had created.

Ever since Carson was big enough to hold the empty container, he’s wanted to make the juice himself. He pulls his stool up to the freezer door, pulls down a frozen juice container and sets it on the kitchen island to thaw. For the next 30 minutes he asks, “Is it ready yet Dad? Is it ready yet? Is it ready yet? How about now? Is it ready now?” He’s learning patience.

Once it’s ready, Carson puts the pitcher on the table and opens up the juice container. He pours the concentrate into the pitcher, and then fills the now empty juice container with water from the faucet. He dumps the water into the pitcher with the concentrate and repeats this until the pitcher is full.

“It’s done Dad; oh wait. It needs just a little more,” he states with excitement, his little eyes wide open and focused on the next bit of water trying to ensure he doesn’t spill any.

When the container is finally filled to his satisfaction, I put the top on that has the little plunger part. “Can I do it Dad?” Carson begs.

“You bet.” He pulls the plunger up and down watching the water and juice mix together with bubbles and splashes of golden light mixing as well.

I think the enjoyment of making the juice is more satisfying to him than actually drinking it. I enjoy the process and the time with him. But as he enjoys the achievement gaining responsibility and having fun, I enjoy the lesson.

As we pour the water from the juice container into the pitcher of juice, I watch the two components interact and mix. I notice that once the water from the container is poured into the pitcher, there is no way to separate the water out again. Surely, you can evaporate the water and see the remains like the old grade school science project of mixing sugar and water then letting it evaporate with a string in the mix. The string becomes caked with sugar once the water has evaporated.

What I mean is that you cannot pour the contents of the pitcher back into the juice container and get out the exact water molecules and only those molecules that you just poured into the pitcher. Once water from a cup is poured into other water, it cannot be separated. Even if you pour colored water into a clear water pitcher, you cannot extract the exact colored water again. You can see the separate colors but you cannot dip the cup back in and pull out only the colored water. It mixes instantaneously and cannot be extracted. That’s what collaboration and networking are about.

Throughout our lives we ‘mix’ with many people. We do this intentionally at times and seemingly by accident at other times. We never really know what that other person has to teach us, but whatever it is, we find that we are never the same again. We cannot be. Just like the water cannot be separated, we cannot pull out the lesson or the memory of that instance. We can avoid it, try to forget it, but our subconscious, powerful minds will store that and keep it with us. We cannot reach in and pull the memory out like we can delete the page from our computers. Learning to leverage the collaboration process is one mark of successful people.

As we mix with others, we can add too much of ourselves and try to dominate them. We can add too little and not provide the benefit they need and we have in abundance. We can mix the wrong way – too violently or too passively – causing the messages to be missed. Then there are the wonderful moments when we mix exquisitely with another and teach both an incredible lesson. I have been fortunate to mix just that way recently with many new teachers.

Every time I make juice or just pour a glass of water, I will think about all the people I will meet today who will become a part of my life. I will think about how I will become a part of their lives. And I’ll think about how I will win the lottery with how we will mix.

Savannah who?

Once a year in the summer, my wife’s sister takes her 3 children on a 15-hour drive from Arkansas to Green Bay, Wisconsin to visit us. The family stays for about 2 weeks sharing time and fun with all of our kids. The event allows all 13 cousins to spend some quality time playing, camping, water skiing and generally getting reacquainted. For the adults, it’s a 2-week family reunion that provides a break from the Johnson’s absence before their whole family (including their dad) travel back for the Christmas holiday. This summer’s trip was no exception.

With all the fun and activities going on, I was provided some neat insight from one of the seemingly forgettable events. It happened during a routine phone conversation with my sister-in-law; a call that normally would be quickly dismissed as a humorous error.

While the four sisters in my wife’s family were making plans for the events we would all participate in, I was home getting my twin boys to sleep. A phone call interrupted the boys’ bottle time. I answered with the usual hello followed by, “I am great. How are you?” By the sound of her voice, I could tell the caller was my wife’s twin sister Kelly.

She quickly got to the point of the call stating, “We are planning for the week and want to know what Savannah’s schedule is.”

It was a seemingly simple and earnest question; however, neither of my daughters’ names are Savannah. Kelly had mistakenly called my house when she intended to call her other sister Brenda, who happens to be the mother of Savannah. Not a big deal. We had a quick laugh and ended the call. What continued to intrigue me for several days was the pattern of thought that my mind went through in an instant of hesitation after Kelly posted the question.

I first examined the name Savannah to determine if I had heard her correctly. Next I reviewed the voice to determine if I had mistaken Kelly for my wife Tracy. Finally, I reviewed why she might be asking me about Savannah before clarifying with her what she asked. That seems pretty normal and simple. Now review the details of what my mind went through all in the split-second hesitation between the acts of hearing “Savannah” and responding verbally to Kelly.

My mind raced through all the names of my children – Lauren, Megan, Carson, Aiden, Owen – and my wife’s name, Tracy. This was to determine if any of those names rhymed with Savannah. If they rhymed, maybe I misheard her. None of those names rhymed with or resembled Savannah, so I didn’t misinterpret the name.

Then I recalled other names stretching beyond my immediate family thinking that Kelly might know the group I generally meet with – Kevin, Rob, Emily, Carl, Natalie, but none of those names resembled Savannah either. Satisfied that I had confirmed I heard Kelly correctly, my focus switched to who was asking the question.

I replayed the recording of the question in my mind to verify whether this was Kelly asking or my wife, Tracy. (Why that was important, I don’t know. Some other part of my mind was in control.) It took about 2 reviews before I determined it was indeed Kelly.

I then looked for logical reasons as to why she would be asking me about someone else’s daughter. “Did she think I had talked with Brenda or James? Did she think my wife was home and I would turn and ask her the question? Did we talk about this earlier at her mother’s house?” No was the conclusion to each of the questions.

Satisfied that I had no logical reason for being asked this question, I asked, “Who?” And when Kelly repeated the name Savannah, I said who I was and Kelly realized her mistake. We had our quick laugh.

The insight I got was on how quickly our minds’ relational database zips through all possible scenarios trying to make reason of a situation; even one that is a clear mistake. It likely takes 10-12 seconds to read through all the possibilities, but our brains on auto-pilot will conclude the task almost instantaneously. The more amazing part is that it seems to happen in an involuntary way. I didn’t stop and ask myself all those questions as though I was in an interview. Some part of my brain just reacted – like one of those on-line search engines that just miraculously pops the correct result. It reinforced to me the incredible power our brains possess.

The question for me now is how can I better condition and use that power to continue helping others in a greater and greater manner?