Taking Root

I was never a gardener. I didn’t have time. Or didn’t make the time. As a retiree, time is not an issue. We surely have the location.  According to my green-thumbed neighbors, our new yard has the best soil they’ve ever seen.

So certain of our soil, they pick out plants, deliver them, and plant them for us. Our soil is now nurturing several newly acquired oxygen generators – a fig tree, a bay tree, and four laurel bushes. I’m especially watching to see if the four laurels take root; they are supposed to grow tall and fast.

At the same time, I wonder how quickly and firmly I will take root in our Tar Heel soil.

Did we find our garden spot? And, can I, will I, take root here, especially after decades in one area and an extensive root network so many miles away?

With the laurels, it should be clear-cut. Taking root requires the essential ingredients of soil, light, and moisture.

For a person, it’s more complicated, but you can substitute a plant’s soil, light, and moisture with home, health, and heart.

Hearth, or home, is shelter and, ideally, more than protection from the elements. We feel safe and secure in our stone house surrounded by trees and, more importantly, surrounded by friendly neighbors, notably those experienced, helpful gardeners.

Two, health, and that’s a big challenge for us as it is for our entire cohort. We are working on it. My husband got a new hip “installed” right after the laurels arrived. I’m exercising my creaky knees. My eyes are on the prize:  mobility.

Three, heart. We are lucky. Ira Gershwin had it right about “Someone to watch over me.” My husband and I are together and working at riding these waves of transitional waters.

But, back to the laurels and soil, light, and moisture. Scientists and researchers are learning there may be more to plant sustenance. There are mysteries still.  Right now, there’s an experiment about talking to plants. Except it’s modern talking and the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, along with an ad agency, are calling for people to Tweet to a plant. Fortunately, there’s some traditional communication involved, the Tweets are read out loud to the plant – no propped up smartphones; they might block the light.

The Denver experiment provides an important lesson. As I strive to take root in new soil, I need Tweets or any communication, traditional or trendy, to sustain me as I explore my new territory. That takes work and me texting, calling, emailing, even writing my friends who are important to me, wherever they are. My smartphone has been an unexpectedly valuable lifeline.

Lesson two comes from earthworms.  A recent report in Science Magazine said scared earthworms help plants grow. When beetles are nearby the worms migrate deeper, breaking up the soil and bringing water and nutrients. 

Perhaps the earthworms are telling me, “Get out of your comfort zone!” Confront the unfamiliar. Dig deeper. Both may be needed to take root in unfamiliar soil. In short, I’ve got to put myself out there if I am to meet new people and start new pastimes. 

And, that’s scary.

Yet, the piano teacher, the photography instructor, the political activists, and others … none are going to come knocking on my door to ask if I would like to participate.

It’s on me. I’ve got to turn toward the light.

So, I started with two of my “Ps” (October 3, 2013) – Pilates and politics. Okay, I substituted yoga for Pilates, but how could I resist the opportunity to work on balance and flexibility and strength at the aptly named Yoga with an Edge.

It’s a start. 

And, like our laurels with their nurturing soil, my new community's warm and welcoming people encourage me. 

While it may take a growing season or so, I am hopeful the laurels and I will both fully take root.

Syntax, Semantics, and Style -- Finding My Voice

I worried I wouldn’t be able to find it. After all, I’d ghostwritten for a baker’s dozen of clients over 35 years.  Among others, I’d written for lawyers, a baggage handler turned airline executive, an Italian-American former NYC cop, a female executive from the deep (really deep) South, and most intimidating yet, a former English teacher. I’d written for people twice my age, with far more life experience, and then for those nearly half my age where I held the life experience advantage.

I knew my clients’ preferences and priorities. How one always inserted “you know” every few paragraphs and specifically requested it appear in the prepared text.  (It sounded fine delivered.) How another liked quotations. Lots of them. From current to historical figures. Another client liked stories – meaty and metaphorical stories. Still another client liked both quotations and stories and a big theme with bold use of repetition.

For my first client, a Harvard-educated lawyer, I spent long summer drives listening to recordings (audiocassettes!) of his speeches to learn his voice. 

To capture a voice, you must hear it.

For subsequent clients, it came easier, but always required access.  (Yes, gatekeepers, here comes that pesky writer again.) Two minutes face to face with a client and well-chosen questions such as, “What do you want the audience to think when you leave the room?” could replace hours of recordings and easily replace many minutes with minions.

It’s been a privilege to help leaders articulate and advocate their policies.

Still, I worried about the solo scribe in the windowless room. (Yes, dear managers, writers, like plants, need daylight.)

What would the scribe say if she had a platform? Would she say anything? Did she have anything to say?

I may have completed one journey – moving 400 miles away from 40 years of personal history. As for that other journey of finding my voice.  Why, it is just beginning.

Daylight and inspirational scenery on my bike commute.

P is for Pause

There is no operator’s manual for retirement.

Ralph Warner’s Get a Life (Nolo Press, 2004, 5^th edition) comes darn close. My copy is a gift from a dear friend who taught retirement planning. There’s only one chapter on the crucial topic of financial planning; the other chapters cover equally vital subjects:  health and fitness, the importance of family and friends, and pursuing personal interests.

Jeff gave me the book several years before I was even eligible to retire. My husband was doing a great job with financial planning, I had health and fitness pretty well covered, and we chose to move down the street from dear friends.

I turned my attention to pursuing personal interests. What would fill my days with as much focus and fun as work and colleagues?

What could come close?

I chose the letter P. After all, it took care of writing (prose), which had provided so much satisfaction and a living for so many years.  The 16^th letter also covered many activities and interests: pedaling my bicycle, paddling (the kayak I want to buy), re-learning photography, local politics, piano lessons, Pilates, and spending time with my puppy.

Wasn’t this enough Ps for a plan?

Nearly two months after leaving work for the last time, I find myself adrift. Sure, there’s plenty to do.  I hadn’t realized how much was involved with relocation. That’s another P:  packing and unpacking.

I also had no idea of the time and energy and focus that it takes to help a spouse recover from surgery. He is my priority.

I need to shift gears. Neutral would be nice. I need to accept that retirement will mean redefinition and it’s okay, even necessary, to take time for reflection.

Here’s a new P word for my list:  Pause. 

P is for puppy

Birds of a Feather

Yesterday, I bought a bird feeder. Sited, assembled, and loaded it with freshly purchased food. Then, an anxious wait for winged dinner guests, who never showed up.

Long ago I was a birder, but the bird feeder is more about new friends. While I'd prefer to sight my earthbound friends from 40 years, with last month's move they are 400 miles away. I know, and practice, today's many ways to communicate -- text, email, FaceTime, Facebook, and the time-honored phone.

I miss proximity. Years ago, I wrote for a client in the travel business that you can't email a handshake. Nor can you FaceTime a hug.

It's not the same.

This morning, I woke to a brighter day. And, my new friends came for a breakfast of seeds and nuts.

Relocation = Dislocation or Who Moved My Keys?

Billy Crystal’s new book is called “Still Foolin’ ‘Em: Where I’ve Been, Where I’m Going, and Where the Hell Are My Keys?”

I can relate. Like Billy, I’m an aging boomer (wait, that’s redundant).

And, where are my keys, Billy?  My husband and I moved a month ago and precious unpacking time has been spent on key quests or looking for the iPhone charger, or seeking any number of other misplaced possessions.

Our patterns are disrupted.

Totally.

There’s a reason for this. We moved our keys 400 miles away from their usual places. Yet, according to the Holmes – Rahe Stress Inventory Scale provided by the American Institute of Stress (I’m glad I didn’t work there!), changing residences is only #32 on the list of life’s most stressful events. I also retired last month; retirement is #10. So, if you take the move, the retirement, add my age, and divide by the average mean temperature you get … no closer to finding my keys or the phone charger.

The good news is we put up a key rack. Now, to remember where it is and to use it.

Speaking Out on the Silent Profession

When I was the speechwriter at a large federal agency, I felt as if I had a large “S” branded on my forehead. People would see me as speechwriter and only speechwriter, not as a seasoned professional with a host of skills and years of communications experience.

But, a big S on a blue bodysuit might be appropriate for members of the silent profession. We ghosts slip into our windowless workspaces and, like Clark Kent stepping into a glass telephone booth (remember those?), transform ourselves into our alter egos – corporate executives, high-ranking government officials, politicians, and more – and deliver sound bites faster than a speeding bullet, craft metaphors more powerful than a locomotive, and develop messages to help our clients leap tall buildings in a single bound.

 

Halloween 2012 with Chairman Hersman and Strunk and White.

Well, that’s how this mild-mannered reporter views the silent profession of ghostwriting.

Like Superman in his never-ending battle for truth, justice, and the American way, there are many positive results that can come from well-written speeches – policy explained, people persuaded, politicians elected, to name just a few.

Even in today’s era of constant and immediate and telegraphic (to use a previous century’s term) communications, oratory remains a powerful means to capture hearts and minds.  Speechwriting as a career path is not going the way of telegraph operators.

And, it’s fun.

(1) You can be creative. Most writing can be creative, but the speech form allows you to really spread your wings.  There’s more to it than anaphora, triads, and rhetorical questions, among the techniques in writing for the ear. It’s choosing and developing a theme. It’s providing a fresh way at looking at an old issue. It’s weaving a taut tapestry of words and images.

(2) You get a seat at the policy table. It’s your work that helps articulate, and can even sometimes shape, the client’s thinking and the organization’s policy.

(3) To borrow from the good Dr. Seuss, “Oh, the places you’ll go.” Ghosting got me to the White House Roosevelt Room, New York City’s Fraunces Tavern for a briefing with financial analysts, and the back seat of a government vehicle for a four-block speech meeting with a cabinet secretary.

(4) … and the people you’ll meet, notably your clients who may be the smartest and most dedicated people you will ever know. That’s been my public-service experience. There are also the experts whose brains you’ll pick for research, like Admiral Cathal Flynn who graciously tutored me as I researched a post-Sept. 11, 2001, FAA speech on the evolution of aviation security and Johns Hopkins’ Susan Baker who helped me for an NTSB speech on “Vanquishing the Dragon of Alcohol-Impaired Driving.”

(5) Best yet, your work can make a difference. At my last stop before retirement I wrote for NTSB Chairman Deborah Hersman. My work helped her advocate for measures to address key safety issues, including distracted and impaired driving, which are responsible for thousands of deaths each year.

Yet, the silent profession comes with its own Kryptonite. There’s pressure to perform. You are only as good as your last speech. You often fly solo. In many organizations, there’s little backup for such a specialized skill set, not to mention specific client and organizational knowledge.

And, you need thick skin.  One client proclaimed, “This is boring” and flung a ten-page draft to the floor. (He gave it word for word two days later.) Special assistants half my age have specified sophomoric language to go in the draft. And, of course, I’ve had the experience common to everyone for whom words are their livelihood:  critiques from amateurs who think they are writers.

There’s also the awkward dance with the client until your relationship is established.  (With some clients, especially those with differing worldviews, it may never be established. Move on.)

A speechwriter’s role is to save the client time, deliver accurate material, and help him/her soar at the podium to get attention for the topic and the organization.  To do this, you must step into her shoes, climb into his brain, and even get under her skin. This personal tiptoeing can be awkward, that is, until a trusting relationship is formed. 

It’s all a ballet -- of words and ideas, images and issues, personalities and priorities, situations and circumstances. When it all comes together, the speechwriting craft approaches art and we silent professionals are delighted to wear an S on our foreheads or even on blue bodysuits.

Postscript: The Fifth Element in the Work Universe

My post earlier this week was about four hard-learned lessons from 40 years in the workplace, sort of a 532-word survival guide.

But, as I reflected, I realized there can be as much sun as shadow in the office … and I’m not talking about windows (though they are highly coveted among government workers). Light and warmth brings me to the fifth element, which you can pursue or luck into. 

And, like in the science fiction movie starring Bruce Willis, the fifth element can seem like a visitor from another world or some other rare species.

What is it?

A great boss.

What makes a boss great?  Here’s how an article on the job search website Monster.com defines it.

My definition is briefer. A great boss challenges you, supports and enables your growth, takes responsibility and knows that growth in the workplace, like baseball, is not error-free (note to reader:  if you mess up, fess up). To extend the sports analogy, a great boss coaches you privately and recognizes you publicly. Loudspeakers are nice.

All of which can come together to make the employee (almost) be willing to walk on hot coals for the boss.

Why are these bosses so few and far between?  Lack of good training, yes. But it also takes interpersonal skills and intrapersonal knowledge. But, most importantly, it takes a desire to develop and support people. And, that, gentle leader, takes time – time to learn and time, a lot of time out of the day, to do the right things by and for your people. Such as listening. As my mother says, “listening to hear.”

This is the boss, the great boss, I had at my last job, which made retirement even more bittersweet.  My hope is that Congress gets its financial act together and my retirement opens a spot so a young person can learn, thrive, contribute to the mission, and have fun. 

It can, and does, happen.  

I know.  Thanks Boss!