Although this is NOT about bass, it IS about me, and since this is MY blog, I guess I should be able to write anything I want. Right!?
I recently posted something on Facebook about a wacky idea that came to me while on vacation in Mammoth last August. That idea became a reality this week and I wondered out loud where exactly did those glimmers of inspiration come from and how I could get another one. Several people were curious about what the inspiration exactly was so I’ve directed them here to read about it.
For those who don’t know, I own and operate a dental x-ray lab in Huntington Beach. Our lab serves an average of 25 unique patients each day and we use several types of fairly specialized equipment. If one of our machines goes down, the minimum time to get a service tech out, diagnose the problem, order the parts and do the repair is three days. That’s the MINIMUM! So, if we break down, that’s close to 100 patients that need to be rescheduled. While our equipment has been very reliable over the years, I’m uncomfortable with that level of risk.
Consequently, about a dozen years ago I decided I needed redundancy! So I bought backup equipment for every x-ray machine I had. My philosophy was that if I NEVER needed it, that meant my machines always worked properly and my life was smooth. However, if I DID need it, I’d be the smartest guy on the planet to have planned ahead so smartly. This was back in the days when we used film and equipment was fairly reasonable to purchase.
In the last year and a half, my lab made the conversion to 100% digital. Digital x-ray equipment is quite a bit more expensive than film, plus it all has to be new (used technology of this type is pretty rare) so this was quite a costly endeavor. I sold or abandoned some of my film based equipment, but held on to a few pieces just in case of emergency. After over a year of not being used, I started to wonder about the wisdom of holding on to the old machines “just in case”.
Early on the first day of my vacation last August (prior to leaving for Mammoth), I had a meeting with an x-ray school, during which they expressed a desire to pick up some film based x-ray equipment. I offered to give them mine (it really had no value and I’d rather see it go to help educate the next generation of technicians). They accepted, we said goodbye and I headed off on my vacation. Over the first few days, as I thought about this decision I became increasingly uncomfortable. By giving away my old machines, I was putting myself in the same position I was in over a decade ago, and if redundancy was reasonable then, it was even more reasonable today. But what should I do? Back out of the deal? Go “bare” with no backup? I was at a real loss.
About the third day of vacation, as I waited half asleep in bed for the sun to rise, I was pondering my dilemma when the wacky thought came to me, “Buy another digital machine as your backup”. This was a crazy idea, not only from left field but maybe even from the parking lot in left field! These machines are quite expensive (along the lines of a nice Mercedes or BMW). Owning ONE of them placed me at the leading edge of my field. Having TWO qualified me as a wacko! But it did kind of make sense. So I did some research, made some measurements, walked through the different scenarios, got some bids, looked at my books, and decided to go for it.
There was a lot of work to do to get ready for the new machine, including moving the old equipment out, repairing and repainting the walls, preparing the new installation site, moving a computer and some shelves, all the while carrying the burden of wondering if I had made a huge mistake.
Two weeks ago the machine arrived and the installation was smooth and uneventful. A few days later when the service tech came out to do the calibration, he informed me that my idea of using two machines would not work, even though I had been assured by tech support that it would. In order to do what I had envisioned, I would need to use two computers, one for each machine. This was NOT what I had in mind, especially considering the amount of money I spent for the machine. I was quite disappointed and wondered where I had gone wrong. Did I misinterpret the spark of inspiration? Was I living in fear rather than faith, trying to protect myself from every possible problem? Was I just stupid? After a brief crisis, I put the ball back in his court and informed him that while this was not his problem, I was making it his problem, and I commissioned him to find me a solution. He gave it a weak try and came up with a pretty lame workaround then left with a promise to look into it a little more.
More than once in my life I’ve found myself at the mercy of a service tech who didn’t really care about my problem and was unable to think outside the box for a solution, so I decided, if it was going to BE, it would have to be ME! I started trying different workarounds and very quickly came up with a simple yet effective one. I hoped that my service guy would come back with a simple solution but just in case he didn’t, I was armed and ready. He returned to my lab on Monday with the bad news that no one had any ideas on how to solve my problem. I thanked him for his effort, asked him to keep working on it, and sent him on his way. I then implemented MY workaround and waited for my first patient.
The next day was the day I posted my comment on Facebook. My workaround performs perfectly, my lab runs very smoothly (better than it ever has), and I sit here today in awe of how a thought can be conceived in the human mind at the most unexpected moment, and with a little time and perseverance (and some money) it can come to life in a matter of weeks.
As some have suggested and I most firmly believe, the spark of inspiration can certainly be the evidence of the hand of God. But I also believe that humans, being made in the image of God, contain a natural spark of creation. While some have more than others, I believe all humans possess that spark. After all, how many monkeys do you see playing the violin? Or, as creative as cats are, how many of them paint pictures? Or sing songs? Or write poetry? Or design web sites? Or envision water treatment plants? (You get what I’m saying.) I’m ready to believe with gratitude that God gave me that spark of inspiration, but I’m also a bit awestruck that my species, the human race, has been given such an incredible gift, the gift of creation, using the things that God created to make new and amazing things. Wow!
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
NAMM Show
I went to the NAMM show last weekend and in addition to seeing a lot of very cool gear, I picked up a couple of Christian Worship magazines. It's interesting that 3 of the articles in one of the magazines were written by people I am acquainted with. That doesn't reflect directly at all on me except to show that I have had the good fortune to rub elbows over the years with some pretty accomplished people. That's Cool!
Most of the information contained in the magazines was of little value to me in my role as a bass player. However, there were two articles that spoke directly to me, especially at the point where I find myself today - with no home church to do my ministry, and no visible hope for one in the near future.
The first dealt with the "Bass Player Psyche". In it, Gary Lunn says, "Being blessed to have played with some of the finest musicians in the world (and some not-so fine), I have figured out that I almost always play more inspired parts whenever I am playing with inspiring musicians - and especially drummers. If I am not playing with a drummer who will lead with authority, steadiness, and consistency, it creates a struggle, because the roles are reversed. The added tension and added responsibility costs the band a right, solid foundation and everything becomes a challenge." He added, "Bass players have a sensitivity and perception of time (rhythm) unlike anyone else's in the band. They also have a nature to follow unlike any other band member." At this time in my life where I occasionally get to play with some of the finest drummers in the world, I really identify with his observations. The tension and struggle he talks about is so distracting and can be very discouraging.
Which brings me to the second article, dealing with "Building Teams". Heidi Todd relates her experience of being invited to be part of the worship team at the age of twelve. She shares, "The first worship leader to seek me out challenged my walk with God. The whole team kept prayer journals. We had accountability within the team and our leader. We were expected to come prepared and with the right attitude. He was committed to prayer, being in the word, fasting, prayer, and prayer. What a great beginning. It was natural to assume all worship teams were like that and I came away with a new level of spiritual discipline and work ethic."
I have to admit my first real worship team experience was similar to that. Unfortunately it wasn't at my home church. The desire of my heart is to be involved in an experience like that in my home church. Today that seems unlikely. But my hope rests in the promise of Luke 1:37, "Nothing is impossible with God."
Most of the information contained in the magazines was of little value to me in my role as a bass player. However, there were two articles that spoke directly to me, especially at the point where I find myself today - with no home church to do my ministry, and no visible hope for one in the near future.
The first dealt with the "Bass Player Psyche". In it, Gary Lunn says, "Being blessed to have played with some of the finest musicians in the world (and some not-so fine), I have figured out that I almost always play more inspired parts whenever I am playing with inspiring musicians - and especially drummers. If I am not playing with a drummer who will lead with authority, steadiness, and consistency, it creates a struggle, because the roles are reversed. The added tension and added responsibility costs the band a right, solid foundation and everything becomes a challenge." He added, "Bass players have a sensitivity and perception of time (rhythm) unlike anyone else's in the band. They also have a nature to follow unlike any other band member." At this time in my life where I occasionally get to play with some of the finest drummers in the world, I really identify with his observations. The tension and struggle he talks about is so distracting and can be very discouraging.
Which brings me to the second article, dealing with "Building Teams". Heidi Todd relates her experience of being invited to be part of the worship team at the age of twelve. She shares, "The first worship leader to seek me out challenged my walk with God. The whole team kept prayer journals. We had accountability within the team and our leader. We were expected to come prepared and with the right attitude. He was committed to prayer, being in the word, fasting, prayer, and prayer. What a great beginning. It was natural to assume all worship teams were like that and I came away with a new level of spiritual discipline and work ethic."
I have to admit my first real worship team experience was similar to that. Unfortunately it wasn't at my home church. The desire of my heart is to be involved in an experience like that in my home church. Today that seems unlikely. But my hope rests in the promise of Luke 1:37, "Nothing is impossible with God."
Thursday, December 25, 2008
"Imitate, Assimilate, Innovate"
In response to some recent dramatic happenings in my life, I have been reminded of the importance of the "process" in coming to some level of competence in any area of life. As I pondered my own "process", the words in the title above came to me in a clear way this morning. In my vocation (dental x-ray) I am considered by some to be an innovator. As a musician, I am still very much an imitator and am in the long slow process of assimilating the information and skill that I have been exposed to over these many years.
Recently a close friend introduced me as a "Renaissance Man". I actually had to research what that was to determine if I should accept or decline the title. I determined that in general terms, I guess am something of a Renaissance Man. However, in the purest terms, I am at best a "wannabe" and at worst an imposter. However, I am honored to be seen by some in that light and accept it as a fairly accurate description of me in the most general sense.
As a person who dabbles with some success in both the arts and the sciences, I can clearly see several people in my life who were key in establishing me on these paths. The first was my boss and mentor, Jim Everett. He brought me under his wing, taught me, trained me, nurtured me, and gave me great examples to "imitate" as I was learning and growing in the field of dental radiography. As I moved to the "assimilate" phase, he was always there to direct me, challenge me, catch me, or even let me fall. Without the valuable experience of the many years working as an apprentice under such a master craftsman, it is clear that the labels "Innovator" or "Renaissance Man" would not enter peoples minds as a description of me.
In a similar manner, my main influences in the arts were Walt Harrah and Stan Endicott. Walt was the first real worship pastor that I worked with as I began my journey as a bass player in the early 90's. He, like Jim Everett, gave me much to imitate, and allowed me to learn my craft literally at the expense of himself, the close friends that made up his worship band, and his congregation (who he served so selflessly.) Walt always gave clear instruction and was gentle in his correction. He knew what he wanted and it was always easy to follow him as he led with passion and confidence. He also understood the value of prayer and study, insisting on 30 minutes of spiritual preparation prior to any worship service, even if it meant cutting the rehearsal short. Walt was truly an innovator, as more than once he came up to the stage following a message and passed out a hand written chart that he had quickly created in response to what he had just heard preached. I will remember forever the joy he (and we) experienced in hearing one of his compositions played for the first time by his friends and co-laborers in the worship team. The years I spent as an apprentice working under Walt were invaluable in my pursuit of musical competence.
Stan on the other hand, was very much the opposite of Walt. As an innovator in a completely difference sense, Stan was never one to "play the ink". He was a master at leading the band (and the congregation) from section to section in an almost free form style. More than once he would turn to us with a smile and a "thumb up" indicating he wanted to take the song up a step. On the fly, the team he had assembled would follow his lead, take it up notch, and watch the energy soar to a new level. Knowing that he had that level of confidence in me to follow his lead was an incredible gift he gave me many times. He also had the amazing ability to simply look over at me and communicate with his eyes the words "you're doing great!". I miss working with Stan.
I also miss working with Walt, and with Jim. The 3 of them have left their mark on me in more ways than I can describe on this page. Yet that mark has been critical in helping me move from imitator, to assimilator (is that a word?) and in some respects, innovator (of sorts.) It's humbling to look back at the Hand of God on my life, and it's equally humbling to look forward to how God may want to use what I've imitated, assimilated, and possibly innovated, for His purposes and His glory.
Recently a close friend introduced me as a "Renaissance Man". I actually had to research what that was to determine if I should accept or decline the title. I determined that in general terms, I guess am something of a Renaissance Man. However, in the purest terms, I am at best a "wannabe" and at worst an imposter. However, I am honored to be seen by some in that light and accept it as a fairly accurate description of me in the most general sense.
As a person who dabbles with some success in both the arts and the sciences, I can clearly see several people in my life who were key in establishing me on these paths. The first was my boss and mentor, Jim Everett. He brought me under his wing, taught me, trained me, nurtured me, and gave me great examples to "imitate" as I was learning and growing in the field of dental radiography. As I moved to the "assimilate" phase, he was always there to direct me, challenge me, catch me, or even let me fall. Without the valuable experience of the many years working as an apprentice under such a master craftsman, it is clear that the labels "Innovator" or "Renaissance Man" would not enter peoples minds as a description of me.
In a similar manner, my main influences in the arts were Walt Harrah and Stan Endicott. Walt was the first real worship pastor that I worked with as I began my journey as a bass player in the early 90's. He, like Jim Everett, gave me much to imitate, and allowed me to learn my craft literally at the expense of himself, the close friends that made up his worship band, and his congregation (who he served so selflessly.) Walt always gave clear instruction and was gentle in his correction. He knew what he wanted and it was always easy to follow him as he led with passion and confidence. He also understood the value of prayer and study, insisting on 30 minutes of spiritual preparation prior to any worship service, even if it meant cutting the rehearsal short. Walt was truly an innovator, as more than once he came up to the stage following a message and passed out a hand written chart that he had quickly created in response to what he had just heard preached. I will remember forever the joy he (and we) experienced in hearing one of his compositions played for the first time by his friends and co-laborers in the worship team. The years I spent as an apprentice working under Walt were invaluable in my pursuit of musical competence.
Stan on the other hand, was very much the opposite of Walt. As an innovator in a completely difference sense, Stan was never one to "play the ink". He was a master at leading the band (and the congregation) from section to section in an almost free form style. More than once he would turn to us with a smile and a "thumb up" indicating he wanted to take the song up a step. On the fly, the team he had assembled would follow his lead, take it up notch, and watch the energy soar to a new level. Knowing that he had that level of confidence in me to follow his lead was an incredible gift he gave me many times. He also had the amazing ability to simply look over at me and communicate with his eyes the words "you're doing great!". I miss working with Stan.
I also miss working with Walt, and with Jim. The 3 of them have left their mark on me in more ways than I can describe on this page. Yet that mark has been critical in helping me move from imitator, to assimilator (is that a word?) and in some respects, innovator (of sorts.) It's humbling to look back at the Hand of God on my life, and it's equally humbling to look forward to how God may want to use what I've imitated, assimilated, and possibly innovated, for His purposes and His glory.
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Bass Playing
The most recent issue of Bass Player Magazine (Holiday 2008) has some amazing quotes that I desperately need to get written down. Some of them have been literally transforming (#1 for example) while others simply inspiring. Either way, here they are.
"...when five people are having a conversation, usually one person speaks at a time while the other four listen. When five people are playing music in a conversational manner, everyone's speaking and listening all at once. You have to listen more than you play to make sure what you' re "saying" fits in with the conversation as a whole and provides both relevance and consonance." "...music occasionally allows itself to be channeled by certain members of society for the betterment of the whole." - Richard C. Cushing, Memphis, TN
"The bassist is the lighthouse AND the sea." - Joe Iaquinto
"...bass players have the unique opportunity to live inside the song: really listening to what's going on, reacting to the chords, applying thought, partnering with the drummer." - Steve Peete, Chandler, AZ
"I know very few bass players now who have weak personalities. Cats playing bass are pretty outspoken human beings!" - Will Lee
"(in the next 20 years)... an era of threadbare culture, already descending, will worsen. Case in point: the appallingly corrupt American Idol and Making the Band (where there is no "band" and the "singers" - few if any of whom can sing without the intervention of AutoTune - are clearly unconcerned about music only the thrusting asses and spastec dance steps) point to a future that will worsen before it improves." - Anthony Jackson
"We need to communicate a need for sincerety, depth, and originality, and we can do this by simply being those things." - Tal Wilkenfeld
"...when five people are having a conversation, usually one person speaks at a time while the other four listen. When five people are playing music in a conversational manner, everyone's speaking and listening all at once. You have to listen more than you play to make sure what you' re "saying" fits in with the conversation as a whole and provides both relevance and consonance." "...music occasionally allows itself to be channeled by certain members of society for the betterment of the whole." - Richard C. Cushing, Memphis, TN
"The bassist is the lighthouse AND the sea." - Joe Iaquinto
"...bass players have the unique opportunity to live inside the song: really listening to what's going on, reacting to the chords, applying thought, partnering with the drummer." - Steve Peete, Chandler, AZ
"I know very few bass players now who have weak personalities. Cats playing bass are pretty outspoken human beings!" - Will Lee
"(in the next 20 years)... an era of threadbare culture, already descending, will worsen. Case in point: the appallingly corrupt American Idol and Making the Band (where there is no "band" and the "singers" - few if any of whom can sing without the intervention of AutoTune - are clearly unconcerned about music only the thrusting asses and spastec dance steps) point to a future that will worsen before it improves." - Anthony Jackson
"We need to communicate a need for sincerety, depth, and originality, and we can do this by simply being those things." - Tal Wilkenfeld
Monday, September 08, 2008
The "Desire of my heart"?
Yesterday was a great day at our church. We started a new "band-led" contemporary worship service, and I am in the band. The worship elder came up to me before the service and commented that we have waited 7 1/2 years for this. I thought to myself, "I have been waiting a lot longer than that." Doing the math, I determined that I started playing Saturday nights at Irvine Presbyterian Church about 15 years ago, because there was no contemporary worship at Trinity. In the years since then, I have played at many MANY churches, looking for a place where Martha & I could worship and minister in the unique ways that God has gifted us. I have spent many MANY quiet times questioning God on how he puts the desire and passion in our hearts in the first place, then he promises to give us the "desire of our heart", then he delays so long in actually giving us that desire. The "desire of my heart" that I've articulated many times is to be in an "effective and meaningful worship ministry in my home church". It seems I may finally be on the brink of experiencing the fulfillment of that desire after over 15 years. I don't want to get too excited but I have to admit that yesterday was an exciting day for me. I am very hopeful.
Now, the real question is, do I really know my heart and what it desires? I've heard it said many times, "Be careful what you ask for because you might just get it." Lord have mercy!
Now, the real question is, do I really know my heart and what it desires? I've heard it said many times, "Be careful what you ask for because you might just get it." Lord have mercy!
Saturday, July 19, 2008
We are all in this together!
“In the long run, there can be no real joy for anybody until there is joy finally for us all.” Frederick Buechner
One morning last week, Dana Charter (who works for my good friend Matt Montgomery) stopped by my lab with coffee and donuts. He had a few questions about my digital camera and since it’s the one I recommended they buy, he thought I might be able to help him out. As we were chatting, my first patient arrived, so I started the photos on him while I continued my conversation with Dana. After a few minutes I felt a bit uncomfortable that I was ignoring my patient so I explained to him what was going on, and I introduced Dana to him as a “competitor”. Before I could qualify that his lab is 20 miles away so we’re really NOT competitors, Dana interrupted with the declaration, “I’m offended by that! We are not competitors, we are colleagues!” I smiled sheepishly, acknowledged my mistake, and we continued on with our “collegial” discussion.
Jump back in time with me. It’s about 30 years ago. My lab was located about 10 miles south in Newport Beach. It never really was a successful venture and eventually the owner moved it to the area around Huntington Beach, where he thought it could do better. Shortly after the move, a group of Newport Beach doctors decided to fill the void by opening a lab for their patients, but soon realized that there just wasn’t enough business in the area to support it. So they decided to offer “deep discounts” to patients who would be willing to drive the long distance to Newport Beach. I started getting calls from patients and doctors asking me to “match” the Newport price, which I declined to do. I don’t mind a little competition, I just want it to occur on a level playing field. The patients from Newport Beach won’t come to my lab to save money because their doctors refer them to the lab where they are financially invested. Since my doctors have no financial interest in my lab, they are tempted to send patients where it the cheapest.
Needless to say, this concerned me. I have always felt “collegial” to the labs that are around me and have no problem sending a patient to lab that’s closer to their work or home. But this situation with Newport had moved us from colleagues to competitors. I looked into what I could do to “level” the playing field but discovered I had very few options. I would sigh when patient would come in with a Newport slip, or when a doctor would call about a patient’s x-rays only to discover they had gone to the Newport lab. Time went by, the doctors divested themselves and eventually the lab was sold to a gal I know and considered a colleague. Relieved, I hoped that she would see the “error” of their “dual tier” fee policy and do the right thing. Unfortunately she didn’t, she couldn’t.
Not long ago, another lab moved into her area, giving her some stiff competition. As the economy in Orange County lagged, she eventually had to relocate to another area. The new location did not solve her financial problems and yesterday was her last day of business. I stopped by her lab today to see if she had anything for sale that might be useful to me. When I left, I shook her hand and told her that I was sorry things didn’t work out for her. But I wasn’t really sorry. Inside I was happy. After all these years I was vindicated. But why did I feel bad for her? Why was it so hard to enjoy this “victory”? I remembered the scene in the movie “You’ve Got Mail” where the female character verbally rips into her competitor, then experiences the regret that often goes along with verbal outbursts. I remembered the line from that movie, “It’s not personal, it’s business!” Even though my competition had been defeated, I felt bad that a friend had failed, had been hurt, and would continue to hurt over the next weeks, months, even years.
As I write this, I’m wondering if there isn’t a way we can compete with each other and still remain colleagues. Many of us succeed in doing this. But some don’t. The rules of business don’t always mesh cleanly with the rules of collegiality. I do feel bad for my colleague, the same way I think an athlete feels bad when their arch rival forfeits an event due to an injury. It’s nice to win but it feels so much better to win in a fair fight. And when you lose in a fair fight, it motivates you to work harder, do better, come back to fight another day. In an unfair fight, there are no winners, only losers.
The quote at the beginning of this story is from my favorite author. His words ran over and over in my mind today as I drove home from my colleague’s now defunct lab. We are all in this together. In the long run….
One morning last week, Dana Charter (who works for my good friend Matt Montgomery) stopped by my lab with coffee and donuts. He had a few questions about my digital camera and since it’s the one I recommended they buy, he thought I might be able to help him out. As we were chatting, my first patient arrived, so I started the photos on him while I continued my conversation with Dana. After a few minutes I felt a bit uncomfortable that I was ignoring my patient so I explained to him what was going on, and I introduced Dana to him as a “competitor”. Before I could qualify that his lab is 20 miles away so we’re really NOT competitors, Dana interrupted with the declaration, “I’m offended by that! We are not competitors, we are colleagues!” I smiled sheepishly, acknowledged my mistake, and we continued on with our “collegial” discussion.
Jump back in time with me. It’s about 30 years ago. My lab was located about 10 miles south in Newport Beach. It never really was a successful venture and eventually the owner moved it to the area around Huntington Beach, where he thought it could do better. Shortly after the move, a group of Newport Beach doctors decided to fill the void by opening a lab for their patients, but soon realized that there just wasn’t enough business in the area to support it. So they decided to offer “deep discounts” to patients who would be willing to drive the long distance to Newport Beach. I started getting calls from patients and doctors asking me to “match” the Newport price, which I declined to do. I don’t mind a little competition, I just want it to occur on a level playing field. The patients from Newport Beach won’t come to my lab to save money because their doctors refer them to the lab where they are financially invested. Since my doctors have no financial interest in my lab, they are tempted to send patients where it the cheapest.
Needless to say, this concerned me. I have always felt “collegial” to the labs that are around me and have no problem sending a patient to lab that’s closer to their work or home. But this situation with Newport had moved us from colleagues to competitors. I looked into what I could do to “level” the playing field but discovered I had very few options. I would sigh when patient would come in with a Newport slip, or when a doctor would call about a patient’s x-rays only to discover they had gone to the Newport lab. Time went by, the doctors divested themselves and eventually the lab was sold to a gal I know and considered a colleague. Relieved, I hoped that she would see the “error” of their “dual tier” fee policy and do the right thing. Unfortunately she didn’t, she couldn’t.
Not long ago, another lab moved into her area, giving her some stiff competition. As the economy in Orange County lagged, she eventually had to relocate to another area. The new location did not solve her financial problems and yesterday was her last day of business. I stopped by her lab today to see if she had anything for sale that might be useful to me. When I left, I shook her hand and told her that I was sorry things didn’t work out for her. But I wasn’t really sorry. Inside I was happy. After all these years I was vindicated. But why did I feel bad for her? Why was it so hard to enjoy this “victory”? I remembered the scene in the movie “You’ve Got Mail” where the female character verbally rips into her competitor, then experiences the regret that often goes along with verbal outbursts. I remembered the line from that movie, “It’s not personal, it’s business!” Even though my competition had been defeated, I felt bad that a friend had failed, had been hurt, and would continue to hurt over the next weeks, months, even years.
As I write this, I’m wondering if there isn’t a way we can compete with each other and still remain colleagues. Many of us succeed in doing this. But some don’t. The rules of business don’t always mesh cleanly with the rules of collegiality. I do feel bad for my colleague, the same way I think an athlete feels bad when their arch rival forfeits an event due to an injury. It’s nice to win but it feels so much better to win in a fair fight. And when you lose in a fair fight, it motivates you to work harder, do better, come back to fight another day. In an unfair fight, there are no winners, only losers.
The quote at the beginning of this story is from my favorite author. His words ran over and over in my mind today as I drove home from my colleague’s now defunct lab. We are all in this together. In the long run….
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Do I Want People to Like Me?
The head of the music department at Irvine Valley College (where I play bass in the Jazz Ensemble) sent the following email yesterday. "Colleagues, The 5th annual IVC Jazz Picnic was a smashing success. The band played better than they ever have for the picnic, the guest ensemble was terrific." This was a very encouraging word with only one exception...I didn't play for the concert! Because of Tina's college graduation, I had to miss the concert and the director found a sub for me. I'm pleased that the concert went well and I hope the reason they did so well was because they worked hard over the last few weeks of the semester. But the thought that nags me is that this is virtually the same band that played all year EXCEPT for me. Was the substitute bass player the reason they did so well? Was my absence a catalyst for their excellence? Or was this just a nice encouraging note to the band that would have read the same even if I had played? There's no way to know.
I've been reading a book by Donald Miller (author of Blue Like Jazz) and in the chapter I read yesterday, he answered an interview question about why he wrote his most recent book with the following statement, "I am broken... I like to write... but basically, subconsciously, I just want people to like me." Is that statement true of me? Do I play music because I want people to like me? I know I am broken...I like to play music...I want people to like my playing...if they like my playing does that mean they like me? I know I've often felt out of place around many of the musicians I play with. Most of them are professionals with experiences that only happen to me in my dreams. But I've always felt my life experience validates me and that I have experiences in work, home, family, faith, etc. that they may never have. So I try to make up for my lack of professional musical experience by trying to connect with people on a more relational level. I want people to accept me, to value me, because of who I am as a person and not hold my lack of musical professionalism against me. I guess I DO want people to like me.
After hearing Miller's response to his question, the interviewer leaned back in his chair, paused for a moment and said, "You aren't alone".
I've been reading a book by Donald Miller (author of Blue Like Jazz) and in the chapter I read yesterday, he answered an interview question about why he wrote his most recent book with the following statement, "I am broken... I like to write... but basically, subconsciously, I just want people to like me." Is that statement true of me? Do I play music because I want people to like me? I know I am broken...I like to play music...I want people to like my playing...if they like my playing does that mean they like me? I know I've often felt out of place around many of the musicians I play with. Most of them are professionals with experiences that only happen to me in my dreams. But I've always felt my life experience validates me and that I have experiences in work, home, family, faith, etc. that they may never have. So I try to make up for my lack of professional musical experience by trying to connect with people on a more relational level. I want people to accept me, to value me, because of who I am as a person and not hold my lack of musical professionalism against me. I guess I DO want people to like me.
After hearing Miller's response to his question, the interviewer leaned back in his chair, paused for a moment and said, "You aren't alone".
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)