Craigslist Fail

From Craigslist today:

Hmmm. This would make things much easier, I suppose. :-)

(Pssst: previous students who resisted learning basic writing skills: this is exactly why I stuck to my guns and taught them anyway. Here's to hoping you were listening.)

A pretty good strategy

I'm reading Pat Conroy these days, and I find myself laughing, crying, horrified, comforted--a wide spectrum of emotions.

Mostly, though, I find gems of wisdom in his work. This is one.

I'm cleaning house today and working on a project, and I was thinking about this quote. I would rather be doing something else, but if I have to wash clothes and dust, I might as well do them to the best of my ability. If I have to create a business plan, I might as well put my all into it.

I started the day with a text from a friend. He included a meme about luck being about the choices we make instead of chances. That's right. We might as well make our existence a minor work of art by making choices that lead us in that direction.

There are many far worse strategies than taking control and creating our own futures.

Finding kindness in rejection

Unemployment is difficult. For many of us, our work helps to define us. It provides direction and purpose, and it is a big part of who we are. Being without that is simply difficult.

Having been away from it, I also see that it can cloud our views. We become so busy with work, that we have to operate on auto-pilot in order to get everything done that needs to be done. On autopilot, though, we too often don't have the time (or, perhaps, inclination) to see the view. To stop and think about who we are, what we are, why we are and what is really important.

I've discovered that unemployment provides a much-needed course correction. With what seems like unlimited time on my hands, I find I spend a lot of time thinking about things that I never made time to worry about before.

Most specifically: the importance of kindness in the workplace.

I always thought I was a kind person.I say "please" and "thank you." I tip generously. I express gratitude, pick an angel from the tree at the holidays, help people reach the top shelf in the grocery store, chip in outside of my department at work. Just general kindness.

But I think now that my kindness is largely a habit. It is muscle memory instead of something that I do deliberately.

Being unemployed amplifies kindness and, frankly, lack of kindness, especially in business. While I don't think that people intend to be cruel, I do think that they can be unintentionally dismissive to business associates, and that can seem very cruel.

Take rejection, for example. In any place or scenario, rejection hurts, right? We tie our self-worth directly to acceptance, so when we are laid off, or we are rejected for a job, it hurts.

Some hurts are worse than others, however.

For example, I sent resumes to four companies at which I had strong connections. While I certainly don't think that, alone, merits me landing an interview, I do think that it merits a response. Any response. An email, a call, a kind rejection. Anything. But with three, I got nothing at all. No acknowledgement. No response.

That feels unkind to me and disrespectful to my connection.

I've also had several interviews, even second interviews on some. But then nothing. No email, no call. No response to my follow-up emails. Nothing.I really don't mind the rejection, but I have to wonder how much it would cost the companies to end the waiting and simply to reply.

I say this not to complain, but because I understand both sides. I am embarrassed to remember one of my own failures. I interviewed a person for a job. She was a good candidate, but I ended up hiring from within. I never called and let her know. I can make a hundred excuses: I got super busy. We were in the middle of a move. It was report season. The semester was ending. But none of them are good excuses. Then, two months had passed and I was too embarrassed to call her. My failure to contact her and to let her know that we would not be hiring her was patently unkind. And unprofessional. And I am ashamed.

We can do better.

Case in point: I recently got an email from an employer that was a rejection, but it actually made me smile.

Dear Sandie:

Thanks for your interest in the Communications Manager position at our company. We ended up moving forward with another candidate, but we’d like to thank you for giving us the opportunity to learn about your skills and accomplishments.

 

I am sorry for the disappointing news. Best of luck in your job search.

This email was so human. So personal. So KIND.

Perhaps this is the recruiter's rejection boilerplate, but, as a receiver, that doesn't matter. It took her seconds to simply acknowledge that a human submitted a resume and that a human would be receiving the rejection.

And that is kindness.

Recently, I followed up after another second interview. Within an hour, I received an email from one of the partners at the firm who apologized for the delay and let me know that they are still making decisions.

Again, writing the email took her seconds, but from a receiver's standpoint, that writing is kindness. She acknowledged that a human being wrote an email, and she responded. A simple response that means a lot to me as a receiver, regardless of whether or not I land the job.

I saw a meme on social media a couple of weeks ago. It said, "if you have the chance to be kind, be kind."

That resonated with me. How often have I had the opportunity to be kind without acting on it? How often would a smile, an email, a recognition have meant the world to someone? How many opportunities to be kind did I pass up? I certainly passed up one when I failed to contact the job applicant.

Thoreau advised us to "live deliberately." To think before we act, and to act according to our own consciences.  Behaving kindly is not something we should do out of habit. It is something we should do deliberately because it elevates not only the recipient but it also elevates us.

In the workplace, perhaps we can all try to remember our own experiences when we wish someone had been kind. Or when we regret that we were not. Perhaps we can forgive a coworker for a mistake. Or we can offer praise when we can. Perhaps when we respond to people, we can realize that our responses might make a big difference to them while costing us very little.

I hope this lesson is one that I carry with me into the future. If I can become a better manager, or better coworker, or if I can become more kind, then I believe that this difficult period of unemployment will have been well worth it.

Rejecting a stalemate mentality

I begin each day with a cup of tea and the internet. I read the news of the day, catch up on Facebook, read a few LinkedIn stories. It is a usually a good way to transition to a day of job hunting or blogging or otherwise working.

Today, not so much.

I’ve been numb since the news of the shootings in Orlando broke. I feel like, as a writer, I should have something profound to say. I should be able to offer deep insight or words of support or encouragement.

But I’ve found nothing to say that seemed worthwhile. That seemed to honor the victims and their family. That honors the magnitude of the tragedy or that doesn’t trivialize it. It is too big. Too important. Too horrible.

In scrolling through Facebook today, however, I was struck by what I needed to say. Perhaps not necessarily what needs to be said, because I can’t presume to know that, but what I need to say.

I have friends all along the political/religious spectrum, so I get to see quite the variety of posts, and, frankly, what I am seeing is mostly crap.

We, as a nation, are, once again, sharing in the aftermath of an unthinkable tragedy that was fueled by hate. Regardless of whether it is hate because of sexuality, or hate because of religion, or hate because of politics, or hate because of gender, or hate because of whatever else it is that we hate, the result is more and more the same: people have to die.

And in the midst of all this hate and sorrow, we somehow feel compelled to cling desperately to our own ideologies, believing, I am sure, that ours are the rights ones. That our outlook on the world is the correct one. That any other viewpoint is not only wrong, but that it will most definitely and absolutely and positively negatively impact our daily lives in a horrible, terrible and no-good way. And our posts overtly or, very often, covertly express that sentiment.

What I see are expressions of our close-mindedness.

Pray all you want, hold candlelight vigils until you are sick, donate blood until you are dry, but if you hold the view that only your view is the correct one and you cannot enter into a dialogue that is meant to educate rather than to proselytize, none of that matters because YOU are part of the problem.

I’ve heard countless times from family that we shouldn’t talk politics because “I’m not going to change your mind and you certainly are not going to change mine.”

That, my friends, is the definition of close-minded.

If we cannot talk, if we cannot share not only what we think but why, then we have no dialogue. We have no communication. We have no engagement.

But we do have close-mindedness. And we have no progress.

And we have no chance of growing as a society and stopping the endless stream of shootings. And rapes. And assaults. And wars.

None.

Because as long as you think you are right, and I think I am right, and we refuse to talk about our views, then we have a stalemate.

In a stalemate, nobody wins. Ever.

EVER.

The board sits and becomes dusty. The pieces don’t move. They all just stare at each other and refuse to move, preferring, instead, to remain trapped forever on their squares. But they are secure in the knowledge that, while they didn’t win, they did not lose.

We are convinced that it is more important for us to “NOT LOSE” than it is for we, as a culture or a nation, to WIN. Are we so entrenched in our hatred of THE OTHER that we prefer to stay smugly on our own little squares, and be thankful that the others stay on their squares, rather than figure out a way to protect all the squares around us?

Based on the long line of ugly, hateful, false memes I’m seeing on Facebook today, I guess the answer is yes.

I started my day planning a transition into a day of productivity, but, instead, I started one reading about hatred, seeing hatred expressed by people that I like and often love, and realizing that we are a culture that actually thrives on the hatred. We express our sorrow, but we then post memes that perpetuate the same hatred that caused the shooting. We say we want it to stop, but then we oppose any discussion on gun control, gay rights, tort reform, campaign reform, or any other move that might affect our ability to “not lose.”

We love our little squares, and it is just easier to stand on it in stalemate knowing that nobody else around us can move either, so we develop an incredibly false belief that we’re all safe.

But we forget that stalemates remain stalemates only as long as the players of the game agree that one has been reached. We forget that one of the players can get pissed off because of the loss, and that person can take his or her arm and wipe the board clear.

Or a stranger can walk into the room and decide that the stalemate makes him or her uncomfortable, or threatens their own game, and the board can be wiped clean.

Or a disaster can strike, and the board and everything around it can be destroyed.

Wouldn’t it be much smarter if we turned away from the board for just a minute and actually listened to The Other? Listening doesn’t mean acquiescing. It just means really listening. And considering the other point of view. And asking yourself if you might need to sacrifice your own square to save the entire board?

Wouldn’t it be nice to open Facebook tomorrow and see a dialogue occurring? One that aimed to heal a very broken country? And one that clearly said that we are listening clearly and allowing our own positions to be challenged?

Wouldn’t that be nice.

Lessons from a washing machine

Today, I had to get a new washing machine.

Believe me, that’s not an easy thing for me. I hate having to buy new things. I would very much prefer to fix the old and carry on.

But my washing machine broke a couple of weeks ago, and, in spite of my attempts to fix it, the poor thing was just done. I had no choice. I had to replace it.

As I was doing my first load of laundry in the new machine, with the old one still sitting sadly in the corner, I found myself seeing management lessons in the experience of the past few weeks.

I know. It sounds crazy, but stick with me here, and hopefully you will follow my nutty analogy.

My old machine was a generally good machine. It did what I asked of it, it did so with little need for oversight, and it was dependable. That really is like a lot of employees. In general, they are good and honest and will do their jobs well.

 The old machine was a good one

We got it at an estate sale years ago, and when we got it home, we found that the hose connector threads had been sheared off. The machine was in perfect working order but it had to have the threads to work. I found the piece online, and I replaced it. The machine just needed some attention up front, and it has worked incredibly well ever since.

New employees are like that. They aren’t perfect. They bring habits from old jobs, different knowledge sets, and a unique way of seeing the world. In order to help them reach their potential in our specific cultures, it is vitally important that we spend some time giving them attention up front. On-boarding is perhaps the most important training we can give our employees. Conversely, failure to do so will be costly down the road.

With my old machine, I made sure that I cared for it properly. I kept it cleaned and I removed dust and dirt from inside the casing from time to time. Every now and then, a load of clothes would become imbalanced, and it would shriek and moan, but I would just stop the machine, rearrange the wet clothes, and then let it get back to washing.

Similarly, if we, as managers, don’t care for our employees regularly, they likely will break down. Or check out. It is important to hear their cries for help and to address them. We should provide plentiful and genuine praise for jobs well done. We should be providing training regularly. We should be giving employees ample opportunity to grow. And we should do whatever we can to keep the loads balanced so that they don’t work so hard that they eventually break down.

At some point, though, all employees will have to be replaced. Perhaps they decide to retire, or perhaps they move on to a new opportunity. In those cases, we support them and make sure they understand how grateful we’ve been for the work they’ve performed.

But sometimes a part breaks and it cannot be fixed. My machine just stopped spinning. I tried replacing the coupler and the agitator dogs. Neither worked. I checked the clutch, and it seems fine. In spite of my repeated efforts to fix it, the machine was just broken beyond my ability to repair it. Once I realized that, I began immediately working on getting a replacement.

All too often these days, employers are quick to replace “broken” employees. And there are times when doing so is necessary, but I can’t help but wonder how many employees are replaced because managers won’t or can’t put in the time to try and fix the problem.

It is hard to tell an employee that he or she needs to improve, but I think most of them welcome the chance to improve (even if it hurts initially). Maybe the fix is a simple one, like retraining or just increasing awareness. Perhaps the fix takes a little more time, like developing an employee improvement plant. Sometimes, a disciplinary action works as a course correction. In general, though, I have found that investing in employees and helping them to grow is a better move than jumping to replace. It takes time and money and heart to make an employee a part of your team initially, and, if you lay the proper foundation, those efforts will help you to retain an otherwise good employee. I spent a lot of time watching YouTube videos and reading blogs to try and diagnose the washer’s problems, and I attempted every single fix I could find. It was worth it to try and retain an otherwise good washing machine.

But at times, we have to admit that the relationship is just not working. I went to a laundry mat once and realized that doing so regularly would cost me a lot of money. I spent hours educating myself and then taking the machine apart. I bought a couple of parts, and neither worked. I had to admit that hanging on to the washer was starting to cost time and money, and it was time to let it go.

But employees are not machines, and realizing that it is time to let them go is difficult—or it should be. Eventually, though, you have to weigh the best interests of the company and its clients or customers. You have to consider the needs and expectations of employees and management. You have to look at a bigger picture. When remediation no longer works, you have to part ways.

I feel sad that I wasn’t able to fix the old machine. I hope to be able to give it to someone who can fix it and who can make it useful again. And that’s always how I feel about employees who have to move on. I know that they are just the right person for some position somewhere, and I hope that they are able to land there.

In the meantime, though, I am on the third load of clothes, and, honestly, I’m thrilled that I have a machine that works, because having it frees up time for me to work on other tasks and chores. It allows me and the rest of the family time to be otherwise productive, and we can readily have the right clothes necessary for the different jobs that we do.

My new top-loader is nice to have

But, as I’ve said, employees are not machines, and if we start seeing them as such, we’ve lost our ability to be good managers. The lessons learned here are valuable, though, and I made the right decision to get a new washer. But, given a choice, I would still have the old one spinning in the background and continuing on as a productive part of this household.

It’s not easy letting it go.