On being ...

On being … a rhetorical question

noreply@blogger.com (Ingrid Sapona) — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 10:36:00 +0000

By Ingrid Sapona

Talk about a no brainer. I mean, really. Trick or treat? Who chooses trick?

Though Halloween isn’t until tomorrow -- Halloween candy has been in the stores since Labour Day, so I’m sure you have yours by now. I’m told we don’t get kids coming to the door here, so I didn’t buy any. The fact that I “helped” my mother pick out what she’d be handing out -- you know, just in case there are leftovers that I might have to “help” her get rid of the next time I’m home -- doesn’t really count.

Every year there are two things that surprise me about Halloween candy: how early it appears on the store shelves, and the tremendous variety produced. I suppose I should be embarrassed to admit this, but over the last month I’ve spent more than a few minutes perusing the Halloween candy aisles. I love checking out what variations of the old standards they’ve come up with. This year, for example, I noticed Mint 3 Musketeers and Dark Chocolate Rocky Road Snickers. What will they think of next?

The process of choosing what Halloween treats to hand out is interesting. I couldn’t believe my mother was indifferent to what she gave out. She grew up in Europe so she never developed a taste for Snickers bars, Reese cups, M&Ms, or any of the other North American favourites. But even so, I couldn’t believe she didn’t care what she handed out.

My approach to choosing Halloween candy is very much like my approach to gift giving: if you know the recipient really well, by all means, give them something that is to their liking. But, if you don’t know the recipient well (and of course, anonymous ghouls and goblins knocking on your door generally fit in this category), I’ve always believed you should give something you’d like to receive.

I’m not sure when or how I developed that philosophy, but it’s been the rationale behind my giving for some time. (As I write this, I can’t help wonder how many of you have just mumbled, “well, that explains why she gave me -- (fill in the blank)!”) Anyway, regardless of what you think of that philosophy, vis-à-vis Halloween candy there’s little down side to it applying it – and a potential up side if there’s any left over.

My recent forays into Halloween candy land got me thinking about what I consider a treat. Like many, for me there are certain foods that always constitute a treat. As odd as it may sound, the first thing that comes to mind in this category is fresh figs. To me, there’s something divine about them. I often wonder whether part of the reason they’re such a treat for me is because I don’t live in a fig-growing climate, which means they’re relatively rare here… In any event, without a doubt, if I’m somewhere and figs are available (whether for sale, or on a menu, or whatever), I’m a happy woman.

But treats aren’t limited to food items. There are many non-food things that qualify as treats to me. Something as simple as a shower after a weekend on the boat, or a mid-afternoon nap, can also be wonderful treats. Interestingly, the extent to which I appreciate something as a treat has nothing to do with the cost -- it’s about how it makes me feel.

I don’t remember when I realized this, but once I did -- it didn’t take long for me to figure out that -- unlike when we you are a child -- as an adult, you don’t have to rely on anyone else to provide you with treats. Indeed, one of the great things about growing up is the fact that raising your spirits is often as easy as treating yourself to a little something. Doing so is empowering on many levels.

Of course, there’s no denying that there’s something extra special about being treated to something by someone else. But even in this regard, my appreciation of what constitutes a treat has evolved. As I get older, the types of treats I appreciate most from others usually don’t involve an object or anything that costs money. Instead, the best treats have to do with the person spending time with me, or doing something for me that I may not like doing.

Well, there you have it -- my two cents on treats. Not only do treats can come in all shapes, sizes, and flavours, they can take the form of an act or action. The key is that their effect is as a little pick-me-up that helps reminds us of how sweet life can be. So clearly, as between a trick or a treat -- the choice is obvious.

That said, I have one last word of advice on the topic. On Halloween, if someone dressed kind of funny asks you: “Trick or treat?” don’t bother with a lengthy answer -- they’re asking it in a strictly rhetorical sense. Instead, give them some candy and they’ll be gone. Trust me.

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... attached

noreply@blogger.com (Ingrid Sapona) — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 11:56:00 +0000

By Ingrid Sapona

I get attached to things and I have a hard time parting with things I’m attached to. I’m not talking about pack rat things, like magazine clippings or old love letters (as if…), or even things that normally folks are sentimental about, like photos. I’m talking about things I use regularly and that still serve their purpose, but that are not quite as good as new or that might even be described by some (one sister in particular) as worn out.

My couch is a prime example. I love my couch. I inherited it from my parents in 1989. Yes, that’s almost 20 years ago – and, if you must know, the couch was about 15 years old when I got it. It’s long (a grand 90 inches) with three cushions on the bottom and three along the back. One of the things I like best about it is how well it doubles as a bed: just remove the back cushions and tuck a sheet over the bottom cushions – and voila – it’s more comfortable than a pull out couch any day!

Recently, when I was rotating the couch cushions, I noticed a hole developing on the corner of one of them. My heart sank, knowing that was a telltale sign of the inevitable: the need to get a new couch. (Reupholstering it is not in the cards. Four or five years ago I looked into having it done and it was going to cost from $2,000 to $2,500! Friends and family persuaded me a new couch would be a better investment.)

My desk (actually a computer armoire) is another item that has seen better days. I bought it in 1996, when I started my business. Given that my dining room doubled as my office, it was important that I have an armoire, and it took me a long while to find. Though I still love the functionality of it, the veneer is peeling (badly) and now that I have a proper office, the need to hide everything behind armoire doors is less urgent.

So, I’ve started thinking about replacing the armoire. But, the prospect leaves me weak – not just because it’ll be difficult to duplicate all the features I love (there’s space for a printer, shelves for books and supplies, a drawer for pens and such, and a keyboard platform that’s at the perfect height) – but also because it’s seen me through so much, it’s really been like a partner in my business.

My realization that it’s time to replace my couch and desk is forcing me to face the fact that I get inordinately attached to things. I’ve thought a lot about why it is so hard for me to replace things and I don’t think there’s a single explanation. First off, it’s not the money. I wouldn’t even consider replacing these items if I didn’t think I could afford to.

Though it may sound odd, part of my anxiety relates to the fact that I don’t enjoy shopping. I tend to find shopping frustrating because I rarely find a particular item with all the features I’m looking for. So then you have to compromise, trying to visualize how different items might fit, and thinking about whether the differences will matter, etc. If you combine this with the fact that I’m not the type to grow tired of things, you can understand why most times what I’d really like to find is just an unworn version of what I already have!

I also think part of my trepidation comes from feeling a bit self-conscious buying big ticket items. Replacing something that’s old and worn out may not qualify as conspicuous consumption (at least not by North American standards), but the fact that many others make do with much less does cross my mind. So does the old adage: waste not, want not.

Of course, over the years I’ve come up with coping mechanisms that have helped me let go of stuff. For example, there are the tried-and-true bromides, like the idea that these items don’t owe me anything. They’ve served me long and well, so replacing them isn’t wasteful or frivolous. I should note, however, that not all such platitudes work for me. One of my sisters often blithely justifies her getting rid of things that still seem perfectly useful to me by saying she’s simply “setting them free”. Despite my attachment to inanimate objects – given that we’re not talking about Elsa, the lion cub – I find the idea of “setting things free” simply ludicrous.

If the item isn’t embarrassingly worn, another way I cope is by trying to find it a new home, for example, by donating it. Of course, there’s always the issue of, “if it’s not good enough for me, why would anyone else want it?” Well, beside the fact that you never know who else might want, or need, it – there’s always the fact that charities can sometimes sell things for scrap, making a bit of money on it even if it isn’t put to its original use. (Clothing is a prime example: it’s often sold by the pound and it can end up as stuffing in futons, etc.)

I suppose you may be thinking the real way I come to grips with things like overcoming attachments is by writing about them. But that’s not the case. The truth is, by the time something ends up in On being …, I’ve pretty much worked through it. Proof of this is the fact that last month I took the plunge and ordered a new couch – it should be here a few weeks. Mind you, I’ve cleared space in my office for the old couch. But, there’s method to my madness. You see, I’m sure that, before long, the clutter in my office will get to me, which will accelerate my desire to find a new desk and redesign the office and, no doubt, a huge (old) couch won’t fit in with the new look.

All the same… did I mention it’s a great couch???

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... urgent

noreply@blogger.com (Ingrid Sapona) — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 11:14:00 +0000

By Ingrid Sapona

It’s just after 10 a.m. on September 30, 2008. That means the New York Stock Exchange (NYSE) has been open for a little over half an hour. At this moment, according to the NYSE’s web site, the Dow is up 195. It’s anybody’s guess what the markets will be when I finish writing this, but I’ll let you know.

Oh, before I forget – Happy New Year! Yes, it’s the Jewish New Year. A time for celebration, for reflecting on the past year, for making resolutions, etc. It’s also an opportunity for the U.S. Congress to take a few days to chill out, regroup, or whatever, after defeating the financial bailout package yesterday.

Now, I know this will shock you, but I’m kind of relieved that Congress defeated the bill. It’s not that I’m against the bailout – it really isn’t. The simple truth is, I don’t know enough about the whole financial mess – or the proposal that was defeated – to be in favour or against it at this point. (Sadly, I don’t have much faith that even a handful of the 433 members of the House or Representatives do either, but that’s another story.)

The reason I’m relieved about the outcome of the vote is because I’m not in favour of rushing into things (especially things with price tags with an extraordinary number of zeros on them!). This fiscal crisis – and I do believe it is a crisis – is (fill in your descriptor(s) of choice) worrisome, troubling, and frightening – but panicking won’t help, nor will non-stop warning of dire consequences, or artificial deadlines for negotiating deals or passing legislation.

All the news the past few weeks about the pending collapse of this or that institution and the need for the government to act swiftly have gotten me thinking about the nature of “urgency”. Before I go on (no, I’m not going to update you on the stock market again!), I have to tell you that I’m a firm believer that there are some things in life that are urgent. I think it’s important to say this up front because my belief in the idea of immediate action has informed various important actions I’ve taken in my life.

Put another way, I believe that swift action can be the difference between life and death. The best examples I can give relate to getting my father to the hospital on a number of occasions in the last few years of his life. Unlike my father, who didn’t seem to believe it mattered whether someone got medical help within the first few hours of an apparent heart attack or stroke, I have always believed that, in certain circumstances, every second counts. So, there were a handful of times those last few years where I took the “do not pass Go” route directly to emerg with Dad.

I can also think of urgent situations that humans can prepare for, but not really control. Giving birth is a good example. When those contractions start you’ll want to try to get to the hospital as quickly as possible (or at least get the midwife over), but it’s going to pretty much happen when it happens. The same thing is true with certain natural disasters, like hurricanes. We might know they’re coming and so swift action (whether it’s boarding up the windows or getting out of town) can help, but the storm will come regardless.

It seems to me that man-made crises – like the financial turmoil we’re in – are different, and so is the nature of the “urgency”. In this case, while complete inaction might prove fatal, taking a few extra days (or maybe even weeks) will not result in irreparable harm. The fact that someone set a deadline and that deadline has come and gone with no solution is not the end of the world. Indeed, given the complexity of the problem, maybe we should all be thanking our lucky stars for the defeat, as it gives people time to analyze the problem and try to come up with a well-reasoned, appropriate, workable solution – one that we won’t have to spend years trying to unravel!

It’s just after 3 p.m. – less than an hour before the market closes. FYI, the Dow is up 365. Does that make you feel better? Me either, because I know it can swing back and forth so many times before the close of the day, I get dizzy just thinking about it.

And finally, for those who are swept up in the idea that the most urgent problem facing the world right now is the financial crisis, I say look around at all those suffering through war, famine, and disease. Kind of makes our financial woes seem less urgent, doesn’t it?

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... a student

noreply@blogger.com (Ingrid Sapona) — Tue, 16 Sep 2008 10:30:00 +0000

By Ingrid Sapona

Last week I was thinking about the fact that this is the first year I didn’t feel that old “back to school” pang that used to kick in just before Labour Day. (You know, that feeling that was a strange combination of anxiety and excitement.) I know it sounds odd that I even remember that pang (given that I’ve not been to school in September since 1984), much less that I miss it – but I do. Not feeling it made me feel old.

I chalked up the fact that I didn’t feel the pang to a combination of things. It could have been the fact that our summer was so soggy it barely seemed started, so it couldn’t be over (which is always the case when school started). It could also have been the fact that I didn’t see or hear any back to school sale ads. (I guess Staples’ right to the Andy Williams version of “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” has run out.) Or maybe it’s that I no longer live across the street from an elementary school.

Anyway, a few days after lamenting that I no longer feel like a student (for better or worse), a couple incidents reminded me of an old Buddhist proverb about learning. The first incident had to do with something I read. A friend recently gave me a book entitled, “The Secret of Successful Failing”*. (I know, I could read all sorts of things into what a friend giving me a book about dealing with failure says, but I’ll leave that for a future column!)

From the title, I figured the book would be about learning from your mistakes. Hardly a new idea, I know, but believing there’s no harm in being reminded of good advice, I started reading. I plowed through the first chapter quickly, not finding anything new or surprising. But I kept reading – and I’m glad I did. Fairly early in Chapter Two I read something that struck a chord: failure … is not a judgment that proves our inadequacy.

I re-read it a number of times and thought about it for a long while before I realized that I’ve pretty much always emotionally connected failure and inadequacy, but I never really saw the judgment aspect. Indeed, though I’ve always taken to heart the idea that there’s lots to be learned from failure, I’ve never been able to see failure as simply something you learn from. (The author puts it quite plainly, saying that failure is just feedback.)

Now, having read and understood her point, I realize the reason I’ve probably not learned quite as much as I could have from past failures is because I’ve always had failure served with a heaping portion of judgment of inadequacy. To maximize the lesson from failure, clearly I’ll have to learn to disconnect it from my feelings of inadequacy. Anyway, this column isn’t about failure (honestly) – it’s about the fact that that author’s putting it in those words helped me see things in a way I hadn’t before and helped me learn.

The other incident relates to something my nutritionist said – in passing – in a voice mail. A number of years ago I went to her to help me lose some weight. I still see her quarterly because I’m keen to not re-gain. I was fairly indulgent this summer and I put on a couple pounds and so I promised myself that come Labour Day I’d better begin dieting. I had an appointment coming up in mid-September, but I decided to move it back a few weeks. (Lest her scale prove too revealing of my recent indulgences.)

So, I left her a message seeking to reschedule on a particular date a few weeks later. She then left me a voice mail saying the day I chose wasn’t good because she doesn’t see clients who are “on maintenance” that day of the week. I was struck by her use of the word “maintenance”. I remembered she had used that word before, but I never thought about what it means in terms of me.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that’s precisely what my continuing to see her is about: it’s about maintaining the weight I want to be at – it’s not about still being “on a diet”, which is how I had always seen it. Looking at it this new way isn’t just a refreshing twist on words, it’s a completely different motivation. Not a bad revelation from a voice mail!

Anyway, as for why I hadn’t before viewed watching what I eat as maintenance, or why I hadn’t before realized that failure doesn’t equal inadequacy, well, I think the answer lies in the proverb I referred to earlier. It goes something like this: when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. I guess I was simply ready to learn these things now…

Oh, there’s one other wonderful thing these two incidents reminded me about: just because you’re not going back to school doesn’t mean you can’t be a student – you just have to be open to letting the teachers appear!

*”The Secret of Successful Failing”, by Gina Mollicone-Long

On being ... maybe

noreply@blogger.com (Ingrid Sapona) — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 21:47:00 +0000

By Ingrid Sapona

Fish, or cut bait. That’s an expression my contracts professor in law school used to use.

The first time he used that expression, I’m sure mine wasn’t the only confused look he got. His explanation for what it meant was something like this: when you’re a kid into fishing (or, more accurately, a boy growing up in the south who’s into fishing) you learn early on that on any given summer day you have to decide whether you’re going to go fishing that day, or whether you’re going to cut bait. You couldn’t do both because one was an on-water activity and one you did on land.

I imagine that for a kid, the decision was sometimes hard, as it depended on a lot of factors. You had to consider the weather and the water conditions, you had to figure out whether you’d have enough bait to last you the day without cutting more, not to mention thinking about what you really felt like doing and, if other kids were involved, what they wanted to do probably came into play too. But the bottom line was if you didn’t decide, you’d end up squandering the day.

The older I get, the more I dislike the word “maybe”. I know, to many, the concept of “maybe” represents hope. After all, it (literally) reminds us of all that “may be”. Indeed, as a child, “maybe” was often music to my ears. Maybe we’ll stop for ice cream on the way home. Maybe if you’re good, we’ll go to the movies. Maybe there’ll be so much snow on your birthday, you’ll have no school. (Being a February child growing up in Buffalo, that last one was an annual “maybe” I particularly relished.)

But even as a child, I realized that “maybe” also carries with it the possibility of disappointment. Maybe we won’t have time to stop for an ice cream. Maybe your parents said that to bribe you. Maybe you should have seen through that…

For me, “maybe” has lost whatever charm it once had. I realize there are times when “maybe” is an appropriate, or necessary, response. For example, you may have to check your calendar to confirm whether a particular day or time is open. Or you may have to check on something or check with someone else before you can commit one way or another. Or you may just want time to think about it – you know, mull it over – before making a decision.

But, in many cases, I think people hide behind “maybe” because it’s easier to say than “no”. People I’ve spoken to about this have told me they think saying “maybe” is more polite than simply saying “no”. I honestly don’t understand how a “maybe” is more polite than an outright “no”, especially when you have no intention of saying “yes” (Of course, like anything – politeness is as much about how you say it, but there are polite ways of saying “no”.)

As a response, “maybe” holds the possibility of a “yes”, and the possibility of a “no”. But if you have no genuine intention of saying “yes”, or of finding a way to say “yes”, how is it more polite to mislead someone with a “maybe”? Sure, being on the receiving end of “no” can be disappointing – but at least you know where you stand and you can then plan accordingly. “Maybe” keeps hope alive and when others are involved, it keeps them dangling.

I find it equally odd when someone says “maybe” when they have every intention of saying “yes” – after all, “maybe” is not the same as “yes”. “Maybe” is a hedge that provides the person saying it with a way out, but it leaves the person on the receiving end wondering whether the ultimate decision might rest on a change of circumstance or change of desire. (Are they waiting to see if something better comes along before they commit to my invitation?) Again, it leaves the person on the receiving end hanging.

If you intend to say “yes”, you should. Everyone knows that occasionally, things come up that require a change in plans – but by saying “yes” instead of “maybe”, your commitment to keeping your word will often help dictate how you handle any unforeseen issue that might interfere with whatever you said “yes” to.

Lately I’ve also come to see “maybe” as detrimental to the person saying it. I’ve seen friends tormented by the uncertainty inherent in “maybe”. When I ask them why they choose “maybe”, invariably they say they’re trying to keep their options open. But, as they’re weighing their options – or waiting for something that will be the deciding factor – they aren’t moving forward (or in any direction, for that matter). And often, in the interim, they miss out on other opportunities because of a pending “maybe”. Indeed, in such cases, more often than not, “maybe” ends up being neither.

I understand the desire to keep one’s options open. Many of us work hard to create a life where we have options – and I’m all for that. But the mere availability of options doesn’t make for happiness. It’s not all the “maybes” that you had in your life that will be your fondest memories – it’s the things that went from a “maybe” to a definite that you’ll remember.

So, I urge you – next time you’re tempted to respond with “maybe”, think of my professor instead and decide which it’ll be: fish, or cut bait?

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... a positive force

noreply@blogger.com (Ingrid Sapona) — Sat, 16 Aug 2008 11:15:00 +0000

By Ingrid Sapona

I had two e-mail interactions this week that got me thinking. They weren’t related and neither was noteworthy when considered on its own, but the contrast between the way they left me feeling was rather startling.

The first interaction was with someone I work with on a volunteer committee. His e-mail (to everyone on the committee, not just me) was about the wording of some by-laws we had been working on. A few of us had gone back-and-forth about the wording, finalizing it while he was away on vacation. I hadn’t heard anything more about it until his e-mail this week.

He started his e-mail with: “I’m not a lawyer and I don’t play one on t.v, but….” and he went on to explain that someone had pointed out to him a potential source of confusion in the wording and he suggested alternative language. I realized right away that his opening was a variation on a line from ‘80s t.v. commercial for cough syrup that featured an actor who played a doctor on a soap opera. In the commercial the guy says, “I’m not an actor, but I play one on t.v. …” and he goes on to endorse the product. (I guess the line was meant as a disclaimer in case any viewers thought he was a real doctor.)

I know people jokingly throw that line around, but when I read it in his e-mail it struck a nerve. I couldn’t help think that it was a barb aimed at me since, as far as I know, I’m the only lawyer in the group that had worked on the by-laws. I realize I might have been misinterpreting the comment. He could have just been trying to be funny, or it could even have been a reflection of some insecurity on his part (if he was self-conscious about recommending different wording).

I resisted the urge to ask what he meant by the comment and, after I regained my composure, I considered the issue he raised. There was an ambiguity so I proposed new wording. Those on the committee who bothered to weigh in agreed with the fix I proposed but he wouldn’t let the matter rest until he and I went over the rationale for every single word and he was satisfied. The interchange was par for the course, as most of my dealings with him have left me frustrated and zapped of energy. (The interchange was useful, however, because it reaffirmed my desire to wind-down my involvement on this committee.)

The other e-mail exchange was with my friend Pam. Another friend had asked me if I could recommend a consultant to help her with something. I didn’t know anyone in that field but I thought Pam would know someone. Unfortunately, Pam is away (taking in the Olympics in Beijing), so I explained to my friend that I’d get back to her as soon as I could.

As luck would have it, later that day I was in touch with a colleague of Pam’s and I mentioned I planned on asking Pam for a recommendation for a consultant. Though I didn’t intend for her to, Pam’s colleague e-mailed Pam my question and the next morning I had an e-mail from Pam.

Pam’s response made me smile -- and not just because I thought it was thoughtful of her to take time to respond while on vacation halfway around the world. She gave me two names, adding, for emphasis: “both are very good”. The response was vintage Pam -- she always goes out of her way to describe people in positive terms. (She could just as easily have given me the names and not commented about them -- the fact she was recommending them would have been praise enough because I know she has high standards and is quite discerning -- but it’s not her style to mention someone without singing their praise.) Pam and I ended up exchanging a few brief e-mails about it and though her entire response was only four short sentences, as I passed on her recommendations and comment to my friend, I realized how my interchange with Pam left me feeling really positive.

Immediately after realizing how energized I felt after dealing with Pam, the sharp contrast between that and the previous day’s interchange came to mind and got me thinking. First, I felt gratitude that I have people in my life that exude positive energy, like Pam. Indeed, I thought about how blessed I am because I’ve got more energy-giving people in my life than energy zappers.

Then I wondered why that is -- and more importantly -- how to keep it that way. I think one reason I don’t have many negative people in my life is because I tend to distance myself from them. (My decision to tail off my involvement on the committee is a case in point.) But there has to be more to it than that. So I thought more about Pam and why -- or how -- it seems that everyone she knows is, as she would undoubtedly describe them: talented, outgoing, energetic, and positive.

That’s when I realized it -- it’s the law of attraction. Pam attracts high energy, positive people because she is energetic and positive. Now, don’t misunderstand. I’m not implying that just because I’m a friend of hers, I’m nearly as positive as Pam is (if I were, I probably wouldn’t have taken that comment about playing a lawyer personally). But I daresay I’m more positive than some (certainly more positive than my fellow committee member) and now that I realize that I’ve witnessed, first-hand, the law of attraction, it sure makes me want to work hard at being a positive force myself, in hopes of surrounding myself with others like Pam.

On being ... inspirational

noreply@blogger.com (Ingrid Sapona) — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 12:50:00 +0000

By Ingrid Sapona

I used to be active in an international law group. One of the most interesting people I met through that group was a Mexican lawyer named Eduardo. To be honest, I don’t remember how or why we got to know each other, in particular. What I do remember, however, is that one day, more than a dozen years ago, I got an invitation from Eduardo’s wife to a surprise party for his 40^th birthday. I was quite surprised I was invited, because I didn’t know him that well. But, I was intrigued (the party was in Mexico) and I went.

The three-day event was more like a wedding than a birthday party, with a couple hundred guests. It was easily the most magical celebration I’ve ever attended, with a bull fight, a parade, multiple mariachi bands, and even fireworks. I could go on-and-on about it, but that party is peripheral to this column.

Having had such a wonderful time in Mexico, I was tickled when I got an invitation the next year to a surprise party for Eduardo’s wife’s birthday. The invitation was in Italian and was adorned with a wooden coin featuring the profile of what looked like a Roman goddess. Though my Italian was minimal, I figured out that it was an invitation to a toga party at a villa on the Appian Way. So, a few months later I packed my toga and sandals (I knew Eduardo well enough to know that it was a costume affair) and off I went to Rome. At the party I found out that the profile on the coin was of Eduardo’s wife – yes, he had them specially made!

In the years since, I’ve gotten many other invitations to parties hosted by Eduardo. Every time I see his name in the return address on an envelope, I catch my breath in anticipation. Besides choosing locations that engage one’s sense of adventure, the invitations themselves are creative and inspiring.

The parties always have an underlying theme -- like celebrations of love (that was a trip to India, featuring a visit to the Taj Mahal), friendship, family, and spiritual journeys. The themes are always elaborately addressed in words, poetry, pictures, and even music. The Africa trip, for example, was called a Journey to Neverland. The idea behind that celebration was a reawakening of your soul and the invitation was on a DVD wrapped in a leopard-print fabric.

Though I haven’t been to one of Eduardo’s parties for some time, we’ve stayed in touch. Over the years I’ve realized that Eduardo has a rare talent for connecting with people and once you’ve made a connection -- it’s for life. He has a generous spirit and he shares his life, his zest for living, and his spirituality with everyone he meets.

A couple weeks ago I got an e-mail from Eduardo with a subject line that simply read: Incredible! On first reading, I had a hard time understanding it. He said he felt compelled to share with me an e-mail that someone sent to him because -- given that I’m in Toronto -- the thought somehow I was “partly responsible”. Not having a clue what he was talking about, I scrolled down and read an e-mail from a woman in Toronto.

Apparently, at a garage sale last summer that woman bought a DVD -- Eduardo’s “Journey to Neverland” from 2006. She went on to tell a moving story about how Eduardo’s heart-felt writing inspired her to resurrect her childhood dream of going to Kenya. She also mentioned how the timing of her “finding” the DVD was particularly significant to her, as she had lost her mother recently. She tracked Eduardo down and e-mailed him to thank him for inspiring her and touching her heart.

In reading that e-mail, I was intrigued but I didn’t think it had anything to do with me because, until this year, I had never sold anything at a garage sale. Not only that, I was pretty sure I had saved Eduardo’s DVD, so it couldn’t have been mine she bought. To prove it to myself, I went to find my copy of it.

I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find it. When my search turned up the leopard-print fabric it came wrapped in but no DVD, I realized that in the spring of 2007 I had probably thrown the DVD away when I was packing in anticipation of moving later that year. But, she said she bought the DVD at a garage sale. So, the only explanation is that someone pulled my copy out of the trash and sold it. I know it sounds far-fetched, but given that in my old building we put our trash in a shed at the back of the building, not a dumpster, it’s quite possible someone garbage picked it. So, Eduardo’s assessment of the whole being incredible is not just apt, it’s an understatement.

Clearly, there were a number of things I could have titled this column, starting with On being … unbelievable, because, as Eduardo said, the story certainly is. It could also be On being … interconnected, because it shows how technology is bringing the world together (given that Eduardo’s inspiration to that woman was transmitted via DVD and given that she tracked him down and thanked him via e-mail).

Ultimately, however, I decided on the title I did because I agree with Eduardo’s assessment that this story shows how in everything we do we have the power to change, impact, and move the world -- and I find that thought pretty inspiring!

On being ... diplomatic

noreply@blogger.com (Ingrid Sapona) — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 12:43:00 +0000

by Ingrid Sapona

As a rule, I don’t tell friends the title of On being … as I work on it -- I like it to be a surprise. The rule isn’t carved in stone, however, so the other day when a friend asked, I told him today’s column would be: On being … diplomatic. Without skipping a beat he said, “but you aren’t”. About all I could muster in response to that was, “Gee, thanks”. (In thinking about it later I took comfort from the fact that, clearly, I’m not the only one sometimes lacking in the diplomacy department.)

Undaunted (as I’m sure all my friend would agree I am -- even if some don’t agree about my diplomatic skills), I’ve stuck with it as my topic because it’s been on my mind as a result of recent of situations where I’ve struggled with the issue of what it takes to be diplomatic.

For a long time I thought that to be diplomatic you have to get along with everyone. It also seemed that an almost dispassionate approach helps, as well as a tremendous amount of tact. Based on these parameters, I’ve sometimes felt I come up a tad short on the diplomatic front. For starters, in terms of likability, I realized long ago that the simple truth is some people like me and some people don’t.

And, because I rarely get involved with things I don’t feel passionate about, I find it hard to even feign dispassion. Worse still, I suspect that my passion and enthusiasm are sometimes misperceived. For example, after a certain amount of discussion and planning on a project, I’m keen to start the ball rolling. I think this sometimes leads people to believe that I’m wedded to a particular method or goal. This often isn’t the case at all -- it’s just that I’m more willing than most to try to do something to break free of the inertia that often weighs a project or group down.

As for tact, it’s not that I completely lack it -- it’s just that my first (private) reaction sometimes isn’t particularly tactful. (I’ve often thought that one of the best things about working alone is that there’s no one to hear me mumble “you’ve got to be kidding”, or “Pa-LEEEEEZ” in response to a particularly stupid or irritating idea.) Fortunately, I’ve learned to count to ten -- or higher -- before even considering how to respond publicly.

Given that I’m not a natural diplomat, I’ve developed a technique that seems to compensate for some of my weaknesses. I’ve tried this in a number of situations where I’ve been annoyed as all get out but where merely showing my annoyance will not do -- both because I’d look like a jerk if I did so and because it’s clear that saner minds (and actions) must prevail.

Perhaps the best way to explain my technique is to give an example of how I use it. Right now I’m involved with a group that’s trying to start a local chapter of a bigger organization. Though I genuinely like all the people, there’ve been a number of times when people have floated ideas that I found so ridiculous I figured no response was required. To my amazement, however, others took the ideas seriously. So, despite my fear of forever being branded the naysayer, I’ve sometimes felt compelled to respond, lest the group go off in a ridiculous direction.

When this happens, I wait until I’ve calmed down and then I figure out all the reasons the idea is dumb or unworkable. (Did you ever notice that most dumb ideas are dumb on many, many levels?) Then I come up with rational-sounding reasons that rebut every aspect of the idea (without ever saying what I’d really like to, which is usually: “It’s just a dumb idea!”).

Though this approach of explaining chapter and verse about why an idea is unworkable is somewhat painstaking (and often overkill), I think it works because – even though you’re refuting the idea -- by offering a very detailed response, you’re giving credence to the idea. (So long as no one perceives any sarcasm in your words – which is why I say hallelujah for e-mail!)

I can’t tell you how many times -- especially with this group -- within minutes of sending out an e-mail outlining my reasons against something, others have responded with simple, straightforward e-mails agreeing with some or all of the points I made. Indeed, my approach even seems appreciated because others who might also have thought the original idea was stupid don’t have to try to craft a polite response, and they sound agreeable and supportive of someone else in the group (yours truly).

Despite my interest in the greater goals of this group, I’ve grown tired of worrying about not offending anyone and of being perceived as a contrarian, so I’ve decided to become less involved. Though I didn’t intend to raise this with anyone, when asked, I did tell one person that I plan on withdrawing for these reasons and I was floored by his response. He sent the most thoughtful e-mail encouraging me to stay because, in his words, “there have been many occasions when you have made a comment that brought us back to reality”.

So, this brings me back to my friend’s comment -- kidding or not -- about my not being diplomatic. After much analysis, I do think that others (perhaps people that don’t know me too well?) find my input useful and presented with enough tact to at least make me seem diplomatic. That said, I do think it’s best that -- early on -- I vetoed the idea of applying for a job in the diplomatic corps, and that I carefully pick and choose the situations I get involved in that may require diplomacy.

On being ... in a jazz mode

noreply@blogger.com (Ingrid Sapona) — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 17:30:00 +0000

By Ingrid Sapona

A girlfriend who’s a jazz lover invited me to a show at the Toronto Jazz Festival this week. The concert was at the main stage, a huge tent set up on the plaza of City Hall. It was general admission seating, but my friend had been to a performance there earlier in the week so she knew both the lay of the land (or tent, in this case) and “the drill” (when they start letting people in, etc.).

She wanted to get there early for good seats and she knew that once we had seats we could leave to find something to eat. Not being much of a fan of street meat (hot dogs) and other delicacies available from street vendors, I offered to bring a bit of a picnic. Since most concert venues don’t allow you to bring in food (other than whatever they may be selling on site), I packed things we could try smuggling in and that we wouldn’t feel to bad parting with, if confiscated at the door.

I was surprised at how much was going on at City Hall. I hadn’t been to the jazz festival in years and boy has it grown. Besides the main tent there was a huge sound stage with free performances, and lots of kiosks and booths selling everything from CDs and souvenirs, to arts and crafts. There was a decent variety of foods available too. (Oh well, who’d have guessed.) One of the most surprising things was that people were walking around the plaza drinking beer – usually that’s only allowed in cordoned-off, “beer garden” areas. Though the plaza was crowded with people enjoying a warm summer evening, the atmosphere was very relaxed.

While we were waiting in line to get in, festival volunteers came around to tear our tickets and stamp our hands so that we could come and go from the tent. I’ve never been to an event where the ticket-takers come to you in line! This system worked great because when they let us in, the line moved exceptionally quickly since our hands were already stamped. Another noteworthy difference between this and other ticketed events I’ve been to the past few years is that no one was checking purses, knapsacks, etc. Clearly, you could bring in whatever you wanted, so our picnic was safe.

The seats were just plastic bistro chairs, but the rows were nicely spaced and the aisles were wide, so navigating through the tent was easy. Bars were set up at the far ends of the tent and once we found seats, I went to get us something to drink. The selection was decent and the prices were reasonable -- none of the extortionist prices you pay at movies and ball parks. I got us some beverages and headed back to our seats only to notice that I could have saved myself a trip because waitresses were coming around taking orders! How civilized …

During the concert folks sat and enjoyed the music, admiring the skill of the musicians as they took turns riffing off each other. The tent sat 1000, so it wasn’t small, but it felt quite intimate. There were no big screens or fancy light shows to distract you. Looking around it seemed that most everyone was watching the hands of the guitar players, admiring their technique and the speed their fingers moved.

Every now and then a hand would rise above the crowd, periscope-like, as someone took a picture with their cell phone, but they were quick and unobtrusive. A few were braver, scurrying up the aisle to take a quick photo. Unlike at rock concerts where such action might trigger a quick response from a bouncer or security guard -- or at the opera where you aren’t even allowed to take a photo of the inside of the theatre during intermission -- here, no one minded.

Though we were in a tent, the sound was as good as at any stadium or outdoor amphitheatre. And for $30 we sure got a lot of music -- there were three groups that evening and each played for a solid hour and at the end a few of them jammed together for a couple songs.

On the way home I was thinking about how long it’s been since I had such a nice time at an event like this. It’s been a LONG time. I tried to figure out what it was that made it so relaxing and enjoyable. (It wasn’t as simple as having enjoyed the music -- I did, but not all of it. In fact, the last group wasn’t my cup of tea at all, but even that didn’t put a damper on my enjoyment of the evening.)

I think what made the jazz festival so enjoyable was that, for a change, security and commercial concerns didn’t trump the audience’s right to enjoy the evening. I’m sure there was security -- after all, we were at City Hall -- but we didn’t have to suffer through airport-like scrutiny as you usually do at big events. And, though there were a wide variety of corporate sponsors, the festival didn’t have an exclusive food vendor, which meant there was a variety of foods to choose from, not to mention the freedom to bring your own. And there seemed to be a happy medium struck regarding liquor -- it was readily available but not pushed on you (like it is in bars that feature live bands) and if you did imbibe, you weren’t restricted to certain areas.

I don’t know if it was intentional or not, but I think by simply letting folks be, festival organizers put us all in an the easy-going, free-flowing jazz mode. How cool is that?

On being ... taken with a grain of salt

noreply@blogger.com (Ingrid Sapona) — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 13:20:00 +0000

By Ingrid Sapona

One of my sisters is particularly rule bound. If someone tells her she can’t do X, she doesn’t do it. I, on the other hand, am not particularly rule bound. Indeed, this difference has become a running joke between us: behaviour I rationalize as fulfilling the spirit of particular rules she’s more likely to see as simply breaking the rules. That said, if I agree to do something, or to join some organization, my inclination to follow the rules fairly strictly is much stronger.

Recently a business contact invited me to her business networking group. The group meets weekly over lunch. Though I’m not fond of support-type groups, her casual “come on, everyone eats lunch, so why not join us one week?” seemed reasonable, so I agreed to go.

Shortly after I arrived, I realized the group was a chapter of an organization I had been completely turned off by a few years ago. Since I couldn’t very well leave, I decided to make the best of it. The meeting had some of the flavour of the previous session I had attended (for example, we all had to stand up and describe our business in 60 seconds or less), but the demographics of the people and their businesses was much more aligned with me and my business than that other group was.

As the lunch unfolded, I was impressed with how results-oriented the group and the individuals were. The stated purposes of the group are to provide business referrals to other members (at each meeting, each member is expected to stand up and tell of the referrals they made or received that week) and to provide moral support for each other. All the members seemed self-motivated, yet they also seemed to relish the support and encouragement of the others. As importantly, they seemed collegial, open, and non-competitive with each other.

After the meeting I was given an application, but there was no pressure put on me, and no sales job. All the way home my head was spinning, thinking of the pros and cons of joining. I found the idea daunting because I’ve never been big on setting specific monetary or growth targets for my business. I also wondered whether, and to what extent, I’d be able to make referrals to the others. At the same time, I felt that if I’m open to it, I could probably learn a thing or two from them.

A couple things on the application gave me particular pause. I was especially concerned by questions about what I’d be able to contribute to the group, and whether I could commit to attending every week and to finding a substitute to attend in my absence. As well, the fee for joining is rather high. Clearly, if I were to join, I’d have to rationalize it as an investment in my business.

I also went on-line to learn more about the organization. As I thought, members are expected to adopt various business and marketing strategies it has developed. The methods are, no doubt, tried and true, but, historically, I’ve always shied away from such approaches. That said, I couldn’t help but think that maybe it’s time I try a more formalized approach to building my business. I also had to be honest with myself and consider whether I’m truly willing to commit the time and energy it will take to learn and apply their methodologies. (After all, I do believe there’s a direct relationship between the energy you put into things and what you get out of them.)

A few days later I spoke with the woman who had invited me. I told her of my concerns about the commitment to make referrals and about finding people to sub for me. During our conversation she casually mentioned she wasn’t able to go to the next meeting. On hearing this, I blurted out that I’d be happy to go in her place.

She accepted my offer and thanked me. I was surprised that she hadn’t already found someone else, and that made me wonder about how seriously they take the commitment to finding a sub. At the next meeting I paid attention to whether others had sent subs. Though it was noted that one member not attending hadn’t sent a sub, I was a bit relieved when no further comment was made regarding the apparent breach of that rule.

My previous impressions were reinforced at that second meeting, and after a bit more thought, I decided to apply. I figure there’s a 50/50 chance they’ll accept me into the group. When I submitted my application I was anxious, but excited. I was nervous about the commitments I was agreeing to regarding the group, and about the commitment I was making to myself regarding adopting the organization’s approach.

The application made it clear they’d check my references (trying to determine, I guess, whether my business is as established as I claim) and it also said the membership committee would notify prospective members of their acceptance or non-acceptance before the group’s next meeting. Fair enough, I thought.

Well, it’s been almost four weeks since I applied, and I’ve not heard anything. Out of curiosity, last week I phoned my references to see whether they’ve been contacted, and they haven’t been. Hmmm… so much for their rules, procedures, and commitments!

This little lapse in procedure has left me feeling conflicted. Part of me thinks I should withdraw my application because clearly they don’t do as they say. For now, however, I’ve decided to hold steady. As I see it, if they reject me, that’s life. If they take me, I’ll do my best to live up to what I’ve committed to, but I won’t worry too much if I fall a bit short on some of the rules some of the time. After all, as I’ve often said to my sister, some rules are meant to be taken with a grain of salt…

On being ... enough already!

noreply@blogger.com (Ingrid Sapona) — Sat, 31 May 2008 16:06:00 +0000

By Ingrid Sapona

I went to the National Ballet of Canada’s production of Cinderella the other night and when a friend asked me the how it was, I told him it was good, but that there was a little too much dancing. He laughed and asked what time I got home. I explained that it wasn’t that I got home late -- it’s just that some dances went on a bit too long.

For example, at one point a dozen ballerinas came out (on their toes, of course) and they were sort of flitting about, waving little fans. In fairly short order I figured out that they were fairies and they were casting a magic spell that would transform the mice into coachmen to take Cinderella to the ball. In terms of staging, I thought the ballerinas with their fans were an inspired way of portraying this action. After about three minutes of their flitting about, however, I was ready for the story to advance. But the fairies kept flitting and flitting. Granted, maybe it took others in the audience a bit longer to get the idea, but at one point I just felt like shouting, “enough already!”

Actually, dances or arias that go on too long are one thing (after all, I realize the directors and choreographers want to give the performers a chance to show off their talents), but curtain calls are a whole other matter. It’s not that I object to showing appreciation for the performance and performers -- I truly am in awe of their talents (that’s why I paid as much as I did to get in) and I certainly believe in showing my admiration by offering a rousing round of applause, or even a standing ovation when especially moved by a performance.

But, I’ve always thought that curtain calls should be reserved for those times when the audience just can’t get enough of the cast or particular performers. More-and-more it seems, however, that even when the applause has subsided and people are starting to put on their coats, up comes the curtain again, obliging the audience to continue (or, in some cases resume) the applause. Why is it that the person in charge of the houselights never seems to have the same sense of “enough already” that the audience has?

But it’s not just the ballet and opera that I find often go on too long. Chase scenes in movies are another common culprit. They often go well past the point of entertaining and into the realm of “I can only suspend my disbelief so long people!!” I mean really, the idea of 007 hanging off a chopper with one arm for five minutes is a bit much -- 30 seconds maybe, but more than that presses my “enough already” button big time. And I’m sure you’ve sat through comedy routines that go on to the point that they’re no longer funny.

It happens in non-entertainment contexts too. I was in a seminar the other day when someone from the audience asked a question and they kept reiterating the point they were making. I just kept wishing that the speaker would politely interrupt and answer. From the squirming and sighing of others around me, I know I wasn’t the only one who thought, “enough already … get on with it!” And the network news does it all the time -- they glom onto a story and repeat it and repeat it and repeat it. But at least with t.v., when the “enough already” point comes, you can change the channel or turn it off.

In all these situations where I have the urge to yell out “enough already”, I realize the common denominator is me. So, I’ve spent a fair bit of time thinking about whether it’s just me. I’ve considered, for example, whether I’m just more impatient than most directors, producers, stage managers, speakers, etc.? I don’t think I am. After all, in this Google age all of us have been conditioned to measure time in nanoseconds, not just me. And yet, when some people have other peoples’ attention they seem to lose all sense of time (and timing).

Could the all-too-frequent triggering of my “enough already” sense be the result of a particularly short attention span? Or maybe I bore particularly easily. I don’t think I suffer from either of these conditions. Indeed, I think my friends and family would attest to the fact that I have more staying power than most. (It’s a product of the never-give-up gene that I seem to have been born with.)

I also considered whether my “enough already” reaction might be some sort of misdirected anger stemming from an underlying feeling that I’ve got better things to do, or out of unspoken resentment that I’m attending something under duress. I can honestly say that neither of these seem to apply because I’ve been blessed with a charmed life and there are few (if any) places I go, or things I see or do, other than by choice.

After due consideration, I’ve concluded that the problem is that there are people who just don’t have a sense of when enough’s enough and those people never seem to ask the rest of us for our opinion on the matter.

Anyway, I’m sure you get my point so I’ll end this before anyone starts muttering, “enough already!”

On being ... questioned

noreply@blogger.com (Ingrid Sapona) — Fri, 16 May 2008 13:45:00 +0000

By Ingrid Sapona

One day last week I went down to the boat to rig it. The first few years I had the boat, every fall I carefully labeled every item as I took it off, noting exactly where and how it was connected. Those first few springs, with the help and patience of some girlfriends, I managed to re-rig it. Eventually I realized I can do most of the rigging myself, but there are a few things -- like attaching the boom -- that do require a second set of hands. Fortunately, there’s usually someone nearby when I need a quick hand.

The boat came with a furling jib. I love having it, but the mechanics behind it are still somewhat of a mystery to me. That said, over the years I’ve had to troubleshoot some problems, so I’ve learned a thing or two about it. One of the main things I learned is that my furler isn’t a particularly common brand (at least at my club) and there are some very distinct differences between mine and some of the more popular makes and models. In other words, I’ve learned the hard way that what works on other furlers doesn’t necessarily work on mine.

Anyway, the other day I was contentedly puttering away, attaching the jib. Some of the steps are a bit finicky, but everything was going well. As I was raising the sail, a friend stopped and asked if I needed a hand. I had everything under control, but it is a bit easier with two -- one person to hold the line (him) and one person to cleat it off (me). So I said sure and handed him the line.

As I bent down to cleat it, he asked why I was doing it there. I told him that that’s where the line goes. He said, “Why don’t you cleat it off at the mast? That way, if you want to adjust it later, it’s easier to reach it.” I told him that though it was somewhat inconvenient, this was where it had to be cleated. He then asked, “Why?” I said I didn’t know why exactly, but I assured him it was cleated there for a reason.

To my less-than-informative response he then said, “I’m sure you could cleat it off at the mast -- that’s where I cleat mine”. A few minutes later I remembered why I can’t cleat it at the mast -- it has to do with one of the significant design differences between my furler and most other brands (including his). So, as I started on the next step (attaching the jib sheets -- the lines that control the jib while under sail), I explained the reason I cleat it where I do.

Attaching my jib sheets happens to be one of the particularly finicky steps. The sheets are quite thick and every spring it’s a struggle to get the two of them through the clew (a metal ring at one of the bottom corners of the sail). I know they both fit through, it’s just a matter of muscle and patience.

When he saw me struggle with the sheets, he asked why I use such thick lines. My answer, however unsophisticated, was because they are the jib sheets the sail came with. I assured him the sheets fit and I continued working. As I struggled with them, I figured the next question would be, “Why is that clew so small?” Fortunately, he spared me that question!

Next, I wanted to test to see whether the jib furled and unfurled. At this point I ran into a problem -- one that I’ve encountered before. After cursing it, I proceeded to start fixing it. This immediately provoked further questions and suggestions. I didn’t have answers to all the questions, but I rejected all of his suggestions, explaining that all I know is that my method -- though painstaking -- worked, so that was how I intended to proceed. At this point, sensing my exasperation with his “help”, he took leave.

Left alone, I eventually managed to finish the job. All the way home, I replayed the conversation in my head, trying to figure out why I was so annoyed at the questions. If there’s anyone who should be open to questions, it’s me. I’ve always lived by the rule that there’s no such thing as a stupid question and that, as my father used to say, “questions are free”. And yet, if he’d have asked me one more, I think I’d have completely lost it.

I know part of my reaction was because I somehow took the exchange personally. But why? Sure, some of the questions were a pretext for offering unsolicited advice. But why couldn’t I just take the advice or leave it? After all, I know this guy pretty well and I think he meant well.

I realized that every time he asked something that I didn’t have a specific, reasoned answer for, I felt stupid. And, even though I knew what I was doing, in the face of question after question that I didn’t have a ready answer for, I felt inadequate, which was absurd. Sadly, this wasn’t the first time I’ve had this type of exchange and have experienced these feelings, which is why it was important for me reflect on it. Eventually it dawned on me that though I may not have lacked skill or knowledge, what I did lack was self-confidence.

In reflecting further on this type of interchange, I’m happy to report that I’ve come up with the ultimate response -- one that’s so straightforward and definitive, it’s bound to end the discussion right then and there. (Frankly, I’m embarrassed that I haven’t come up with this before -- but maybe it has something to do with the fact that I don’t have children.) Anyway, I think you’ll agree -- in some situations, the best response is the tried-and-true, “Because I said so.” Go ahead, give it a try -- I’ll bet it works!

On being ... back in the saddle

noreply@blogger.com (Ingrid Sapona) — Thu, 01 May 2008 10:30:00 +0000

By Ingrid Sapona

The subdivision I grew up in was called – believe it or not – Green Acres. (It was built long before the hit TV show of that name.) One of my favourite recollections of childhood was riding my bike all over Green Acres. My bike was a hand-me-down: a pink, girl’s Schwinn. It had one speed (unless you peddled really hard!) and to brake you simply peddled backwards.

I’ll never forget the first time I rode to my friend Donna’s house. She lived on a street that was not on my walk-to-school route, so finding it was a triumph of my navigation skills and stamina. After that success, I felt sure I could find my way anywhere in the world. (I know that sounds ridiculous, but at 11, Green Acres WAS the world!) Oh how I loved my bike and what it represented: the ability to explore.

Eventually I graduated to four wheels and I didn’t ride again until I was living in Amsterdam in the mid-80s. Shortly after I arrived there, I realized I’d be missing out on the Dutch experience if I didn’t have a bike. So, when a heard a co-worker was selling one for $50, I snapped it up.

When I took delivery of it, two things surprised me: it was red and it had more than one speed. Neither of these may strike you as noteworthy, but all the other bikes in Amsterdam (at least at that time) were black one-speeds. Nevertheless, my red 10-speed made me feel oh so Dutch.

I thought I’d have a hard time adjusting to having more than one speed. I soon realized, however, that given Holland’s geography, there was no need to ever change gears. So, the only thing I had to get used to was using handbrakes instead of peddling backwards. As it happens, I didn’t have time to get too used the brakes because someone stole it about a month after I got it.

In the short time I had it, however, I did manage to take one memorable trip. I decided to cycle to Delft and Gouda and back. A one-day trip may not sound that adventurous, but given that I didn’t have a map, it seemed it. But, I had heard you could get almost anywhere by bike by simply following the signs, so I thought I'd give it a try. So, one morning I simply set out. Lucky for me, the routes were very well marked.

Of course, given of my lack of map, I didn’t realize how far Delft and Gouda were. It turns out doing both in one day was – let’s just say – “ambitious”, especially for someone who hadn’t ridden much since junior high. (Did I mention the bike’s seat wasn’t particularly cushioned?)

After Holland, I didn’t get back on a bike until the early 90s, when I went mountain biking – or mountain braking, as I prefer to call it. A bunch of us attending a conference in Whistler, B.C. rented bikes and took them two chair lifts up the mountain. (For those not up on Canadian geography, Whistler will be the site of the 2010 Olympic down-hill events.)

Though the afternoon didn’t end up being as fun as I hoped, I did come away with an important insight: I need to be in control (and going down a mountain on two wheels is not easy to do in a controlled manner). I also learned that riding the handbrakes down a steep hill is really hard on your forearms.

Of course, my mountain braking adventure wouldn’t have been complete without a little insult to go along with my aching forearms. At some point, a mountain ranger came up to me and asked if everything was ok. I assured him it was – I just wanted to take it slow. Turns out, that was going to be a problem because they wanted to close the hill for the day. I had two choices: either speed it up or take the next lift back down. All I can say is the view from a chair lift is even more breathtaking on the way down!

Five or six years ago I won a bike. I was tickled with the thought of having one, but the idea of riding it in a city of 2.5 million people (and who know how many cars) terrified me. So, it went straight into storage – I never even tried riding it. But, when I moved, I made sure the bike came with.

My condo is along the lake with direct access to the City’s extensive system of bike paths. Many friends who visited over the winter commented on how great it’ll be to ride around here. Sure, I thought – if I have the nerve.

Well, the weather finally warmed up this week so the time had come to try the bike. Only thing was, the tires were flat. So, a friend came over and helped me pump them up; then she dared me to get on. I was a bit nervous and a bit wobbly at first but the old adage proved true – you never forget how to ride.

The next day I decided to go for more of a test drive. I cycled to my sail club, which is accessible via one of the bike paths. I couldn’t believe how easy it was and how much I enjoyed it! Though I did have work to get back to, since the club’s not very far, on my way home I varied my route to stay out a bit longer, much as I used to do when riding around Green Acres as a kid.

That night I was still quite high from my ride to the club and I started getting excited about being back in the saddle again. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ready to forgo my four-wheels for two. Hell, I’m not even sure I’ll ever be ready to get out on real roads on my bike. But I have to say, I’m excited by the fact that there are so many new paths to explore and by the fact that you’re never too old for new adventures.

On being ... negotiable

noreply@blogger.com (Ingrid Sapona) — Thu, 17 Apr 2008 00:35:00 +0000

By Ingrid Sapona

The other day I was in Canadian Tire, a big box chain that’s a combination Wal-Mart, Kmart and Sears hardware and automotive. I’m not sure why, but it seems many Canadians have a soft spot for this store. I suspect it has something to do with the fact that many of them probably got their first pair of hockey skates there, or their first bike, or the bulk of their camping gear. (Canadians love camping gear.)

Anyway, though there are things about Canadian Tire that I really don’t like (for example, the fact that you have to go through a turnstile to get into the store -- I find that completely dehumanizing), I often end up there because there are just certain things you can be sure you’ll find there. The other day I was looking for an indoor/outdoor thermometer.

I was surprised at how many different kinds there were. After a quick comparison, I realized a digital wireless one would best suit my purpose. Beyond that, I didn’t really know what was different about each model, other than the prices, which ranged from $18.99 to $32.99. The one that appealed to me most was $24.99, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend that much.

Then I noticed a sign on the display that said certain models were on sale for 25% off. I couldn’t tell if the $24.99 one was on sale. Fortunately, a sales associate walked by. I asked whether the one I was holding (the $24.99 model) was 25% off. I handed it to her and followed her as she checked it on a nearby computer. After keying in the number she said, “No, it’s not,” then she added, “but it was on sale two weeks ago for $9.94.” Just my luck -- I missed the sale.

Then, unprompted, she added, “So tell the cashier and she’ll give it to you for $9.94.” I had never heard of such a thing and I was highly skeptical, so I asked her to explain exactly what I should say to the cashier. She reiterated that I should say it was on sale two weeks ago for $9.94.

I then went to the furthest cashier, hoping no one would get in line behind me so my request for the two-week-old sale price wouldn’t be overheard. The cashier scanned it and it came up at $24.99. I then mentioned that another clerk said I should tell the cashier that it was on sale awhile ago at $9.94. Then, without a word, the cashier walked over to the service counter and looked it up on a computer there. She came back and voided the $24.99 and rang in $9.94 – simple as that.

Of course, I was delighted to get the thermometer for $10, but the incident left me feeling oddly unsettled. I don’t know if it was because I couldn’t help wonder if there were other times at Canadian Tire that I might have benefited from the application of this policy, if I’d only thought to ask. (The policy is not widely publicized, mind you -- I had certainly never heard of it, nor have any of the friends I’ve told this story to.)

In thinking about it since then, I’ve come to the conclusion my uneasiness came from the fact that I’ve never liked negotiating prices for things. I’ve been to countries where everyone will tell you you’re “never supposed to pay the asking price” -- and I hate that. I always feel like either I’m taking advantage of them, or that I’m being taken advantage of -- hardly a win/win, if you ask me.

I realize that being given a previously-determined “sale” price by a large retailer isn’t exactly haggling, but I know I got that price only because I (innocently) asked if that model was on sale and because I mentioned the previous sale price to the cashier. I’ll bet that if someone went to buy that same thermometer later that day, odds are they wouldn’t have gotten it for $9.94. So how different is that from two unsuspecting buyers paying vastly different prices for the same item at some third world bazaar?

I know many people love bargaining for things, but I don’t. I find it stressful, not to mention time consuming. To enjoy it, I think you have to know what you want and what you’re willing to pay for an item, and you have to be willing to walk away. Invariably, I waiver on at least two of those criteria. (The thermometer is a classic example: when I arrived at the store, all I knew was that I wanted a thermometer. Had the model I was considering not been one on sale, I probably would have just gone with the $18.99 model, mainly because I didn’t want to spend more than $20 for one.)

I don’t know, maybe it’s just me, but I think life’s complicated enough without always wondering if you could have gotten a better price on everything. I’m not opposed to things going on sale – I just want to know what the price is upfront. Then I’ll decide if I want it and, if I can afford it, I’ll take it!

On being ... detail oriented

noreply@blogger.com (Ingrid Sapona) — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 16:02:00 +0000

By Ingrid Sapona

Personality tests sometimes categorize people as detail oriented or big picture types. I don’t really agree with that distinction because I personally feel I pay attention to both. The way I see it, the big picture is important, but it doesn’t happen unless you attend to the details. I know, you’re probably saying, “that outlook makes you detail oriented, Ingrid”. Well, fine -- there are worse things to be called -- and besides, I don’t mind admitting I’ve often found details quite fascinating.

My earliest recollections of paying particular attention to details go back to my teenage years. I once decided to make a needlework pillow based on a design on a Persian carpet I liked. At the needlework shop (a very good one) I found all the colours I needed, except black. When I asked the owner for black wool, she said they didn’t carry black. Then she asked what I wanted it for. I explained I needed it to outline parts of my design.

She told me I should use dark brown wool instead. She could tell I wasn’t too keen on the idea, so she went on to explain the reason: black outlining creates a visual distraction that pulls your attention to it. Instead, by using dark brown (almost black), the outline effect is achieved, but the rest of the design doesn’t visually recede.

I went home that day with dark brown wool and with a new attention to a minor, but important artistic detail. Since then, every time I see an old tapestry or needlework in a museum or on display somewhere, I look to see whether anything’s outlined in black. I’ve yet to see any black, which could be coincidence, but I doubt it.

Shortly after that, I was working on a sewing project when I learned about details sometimes referred to as “tricks of the trade” -- things the average user (or doer) probably doesn’t know, but that make things easier, or more professional looking. I was an avid sewer and, over time, I tackled more and more complicated projects. My goal was always the same: to make garments that others couldn’t tell were homemade.

One of my most ambitious sewing projects was a single-breasted suit. There were many steps, but none I’d not faced before, until it came time for the lapel. The pattern’s instructions for the lapel seemed unusual. It said to blind baste the interfacing to the under-side of the lapel using a herring-bone pattern. In other words, not just any blind basting would do. I had never run across this unusually specific instruction before.

So, I consulted my mother, who was a good sewer (though by then I had probably tried more complicated things than she ever did). Mom’s mother was a professional seamstress, so I thought perhaps Mom could explain the technique. When I showed her the instructions, she smiled and said she had never made a suit so she had never tried such herringbone basting, but she wistfully remembered seeing her mother doing that. Well, I tried it and -- sure enough -- that little trick of the tailoring trade helps ensure lapels lay properly.

So, as I write this, Torontonians are getting ready to mark Earth Hour (8 to 9 p.m. March 29, 2008). Toronto is one of 120 municipalities in Canada -- and hundreds more in 26 countries -- to participate in this event aimed at raising awareness of climate change. The Toronto Star -- our largest newspaper -- was one of the original local sponsors and has been writing about it daily for almost three months.

When I read the first news story about it back in January, my initial thought was that it was a clever idea but that it would have little impact. I mean, really, people turning out their lights and turning off their appliances for one hour on a Saturday night, what would that do? Frankly, it didn’t even seem like much of a sacrifice for most. If we really want a sense for how energy dependent we are and how everyone would cope with no power, why not schedule Earth Hour at 3 p.m. on a hot summer Wednesday -- when people are at work or school. Anyway, that was my initial, somewhat jaded, take on it.

As I said, the Star wrote about it day in, day out. Though I scanned the headlines of the stories, it all seemed a bit overblown to me. Until the other day, that is, when I read an Earth Hour business news story that really helped me “get” what Earth Hour is about. The story told how last year UPS saved more than 11 million litres of gas by -- get this -- “implementing routes to eliminate left-hand turns”. It turns out that simply by avoiding left-hand turns, drivers avoided excess idling waiting to turn and shaved 51.5 million kilometres off their North American delivery routes annually. What a wonderful example of a little (not to mention, odd) detail making a huge difference!

After reading that, I realized that Earth Hour will have a lasting impact if everyone who participated comes away with the realization that even seemingly minor changes can have a huge impact on the environment. In other words, the hour of darkness might end up convincing more people that if they just pay attention to a few small details, they really can change the big picture.

On being ... like Rip Van Winkle

noreply@blogger.com (Ingrid Sapona) — Sun, 16 Mar 2008 12:06:00 +0000

By Ingrid Sapona

The story of Rip Van Winkle flashed into my head the other day. You remember him -- he’s the guy who fell asleep and woke up twenty years later and was confused by how much society had changed. (I don’t remember much else about it -- and it if weren’t for Google and Wikipedia -- I couldn’t even have told you it was a story by Washington Irving.)

Good old Rip came to mind as I was searching for some explanation for why it seems to me that the rules of common courtesy that I learned growing up have changed -- drastically. Could it be that I’ve been asleep for a long time and have woken up in a very different world, like Rip? Though the place looks familiar, things have changed. People seem more focused on themselves than I remember and so it seems they don’t even know when they’re being rude -- or maybe they just don’t care.

I’m not talking about things like road rage or other types of aggressive behaviour -- I’ve certainly been awake enough to notice that’s escalated over the past 20 years. I’m talking about simple, everyday interactions you might have with strangers -- situations that require little more than acknowledgment of the someone else’s existence, but that seem to be viewed as a waste of one’s time, or even as an opportunity to assert one’s own importance at someone else’s expense. I think a few examples will help you understand what I’m talking about.

The past few months I’ve been contacting potential clients. I always start with an e-mail to briefly introduce myself and I explain why I’m contacting them. I ask them to phone me when they have a few minutes, but I also say I’ll follow up with a call to them. My experience is that no one phones in response to such e-mails. (I know -- everyone gets too many e-mails as it is… Fair enough.)

So, about a week after e-mailing, I dutifully call. Nine times out of 10 I get voice mail. (Could it be that everyone in the western world has call display? I suspect that’s the case -- heaven knows no one wants to chance having to talk to someone they don’t know.) Though I prefer not to leave a message, after about the third attempt to speak with someone, I relent and leave a voice mail.

Invariably, the first voice mail message goes unanswered. It took me a long time to accept this as standard behaviour, but now I do, in part because a dear friend once explained that at work she never responds to an initial phone call because, “if it’s important enough, they’ll call back”. With this in mind -- and mindful of my mother’s admonition about not being a pest -- I wait a week and phone again.

This business of me waiting and then calling again -- or, more accurately, the business of me waiting and leaving messages -- often goes on for quite some time. Though every unreturned call frustrates me, I soldier on, knowing that if I don’t at least make the effort, I’ll never get any business. What I find most amazing about this game is the fact that so many people have no qualms about just ignoring me. Granted, in contacting them I’m putting them on the spot, but if they’re not interested, a polite “thanks, but no thanks”, will do. I know saying no is hard for some people -- but by ignoring someone you’re not just showing that you don’t have the wherewithal to say no, you’re also demeaning them -- saying they’re not even important enough to merit you taking time to respond.

Being ignored isn’t the only form of rudeness I’ve encountered in trying to drum up business. I had one woman tell me she’s very busy and that there was “no point” in talking to me. Clearly what she meant is there’s nothing in it for her so she saw no reason to give me the time of day. Then there have been people who say they’ll find time to speak with me but that our conversation must be scheduled, so we e-mail back and forth trying to set something up. Then, when the appointed time comes, I phone and they’re not in. (When that happens I console myself with the thought that they’re not the type I’d want as a client anyway…)

But it’s not just in business that I’ve noticed more-and-more people going about as though other people don’t exist, or as though they don’t matter. When I use the cardio equipment in the gym I like to read. If someone’s in there when I get there and they’re watching t.v., so be it. If I get there and no one else is in the room, I leave the t.v. off and read in peace. I can’t tell you how often it’s happened that I’ve been alone and reading and someone comes in and flips on the t.v. without so much as asking if I mind if they turn it on, much less if I have a preference as to what channel they tune in. What’s with that? On those rare occasions when someone does ask if they can turn it on, I always say sure, partly just to reward them for being courteousness enough to ask!

I know these examples may seem trivial, but I think they’re symptomatic of increased disregard we have for one another. Extending common courtesy is acknowledgment of the fact that we’re all human beings and is a way of connecting with others. It seems to me that one of the hallmarks of a civil society is people being courteous to, and respectful of, others. I know everyone’s under all sorts of pressure and life is hectic. But tell me, am I the only one who believes that our overall quality of life would improve if folks just showed some common courtesies to others?