Between the Lines of Daily Life

The Third Time is a Charm

by Lori Silverman

Friday was the third occurrence—the third time in as many weeks that I received someone else’s mail in my postal box at my condo. The first time, all the mail I received on a single day was for someone else. Instead of delivering it to my neighbor, I trouped over to the local post office to inform a supervisor of the problem. The second time, I re-deposited the wrongly delivered magazine into the outgoing mailbox with a note saying, “delivered to wrong address.”
    Today, I inadvertently opened the 401k statement that belongs to someone else in my complex. “Oh crap. Now what do I do? This isn’t mine. Geez! What’s going on? I don’t have time for this. I have a million other things to do before leaving for South America.”
    I set the envelope on the counter and responded to a few e-mails. Before I knew it, it was four o’clock. “Huh. Do I just put it back in the box or do I take it to the post office? If I’m going to take it back, I need to go now.”
    I neatly taped the envelope back together—and no, I didn’t look at the amount—and traipsed over to the post office. Surprisingly, there were only two people in front of me in line. I thought it’d be longer being that it was the day after Thanksgiving. After explaining what had occurred to a postal employee, I was told to speak to the manager who would join me shortly at a “closed” counter. After a few minutes, a man dressed all in black, with silvery hair prematurely gray from what I could ascertain, stood before me wearing a name tag too tiny for me to read.
    “How can help you?” he pleasantly asked.
    As I handed him the taped envelope, I emphatically stated, “This is the third time in three weeks that I’ve received the wrong mail. I’ve lived here since July of last year and this is a recent occurrence. I thought you’d want to know about these situations.”
    “Oh. You probably didn’t realize that you were secretly being auditioned for a job opening with the U.S. Postal Service. We’re short of help these days,” he replied.
    I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. So did others in line that overheard our conversation. His opening comment wasn’t what I expected to hear. How could I be upset with that sort of demeanor greeting me?
    I whispered back, ”Well, I might not be able to deliver the mail but I could surely help with increasing efficiencies and productivity.”
    He smiled and proceeded to carefully write down my name and the details of all three mistakes on a yellow post-it note.
    “I’ll give this information to the person who supervises all of the deliveries. Thank you for bringing the problem to my attention. It’s very likely that the problem is occurring because we’re using staff from another station. The note will help to alert anyone who delivers mail to your complex that a problem exists and to take special care in sorting the mail into the right boxes.”
    “Thank you and have a great weekend,” I replied.
    As I walked out I wondered if all sorts of problems couldn’t be dealt with in the same way. I also wondered if he’d been taught to respond to issues with a surprising twist of humor or if the words had merely spilled out of his mouth without him realizing it. In the long run, it didn’t matter. He’d “broken the ice” in a way I hadn’t expected and made me laugh.
    Wouldn’t it be great if others did the same when we brought them an issue? Perhaps even more importantly: What would it take for you to break the ice the next time someone confronts you with a problem?

PERMISSION TO REPRINT: You may reprint this story as long as you include the following attribution. “Learn more about Lori Silverman’s work as a strategist and keynote speaker at http://www.partnersforprogress.com. Her latest book, Wake Me Up When the Data Is Over, debuted in the top 100 books on Amazon. Check it out at http://www.wakeupmycompany.com. She can be reached at 800 253 6398 or lori@partnersforprogress.com.”

All in a Day's Work

By Lori Silverman

It was one of those days where I had a couple errands to run before an afternoon appointment. Like usual, I was running behind schedule.

I pulled out of my garage and eerily felt like something wasn’t right. But being in a hurry, I zoomed out the gate of my condo community. As soon as I turned left across three lanes of traffic I knew something was wrong. But where to pull over? I was already at a major intersection. I decided to turn left a block later, into a newly built strip shopping mall parking lot. I got out of my Honda CRV and turned to my left to walk around the vehicle. And then I saw it. A tire that was flatter than a pancake.

“Darn. I don’t have time for this. I’m gonna miss my appointment. Huh . . . I wonder if the spare’s a full tire? Yikes. Maybe I’ll have to replace all the tires. There’s almost 40,000 miles on them. Man, I didn’t plan for that sort of expense this summer . . .

I got back into my truck, turned it around and proceeded slower than a turtle to return home. It had already hit 107 degrees outside. I figured having the vehicle in an internal covered area would be a blessing to the person who’d repair it. It certainly wasn’t going to be me! I’ve no idea where to even place a jack to raise a vehicle, let alone how to get the lug nuts off the tire.

My first call was to AAA. The road saviors. It’s been years since I’d had to use the service. The last time was when my stepmom’s Cadillac stalled in the middle of three lanes of traffic during rush hour in Madison, Wisconsin. The entire electric system had shut down. Ah, yes, now that was a fun evening!

“Hello? This is Lori Silverman. I have a flat tire. Can you send someone to my home?”

“Absolutely, ma’am. Where’s the vehicle?

“In the garage. The address is . . . “

“Perfect. We’ll have someone there within the hour. Will that work for you?”

My second call was to my nail tech’s salon. There’s no way I was going to miss my monthly pedicure and manicure.

Within 30 minutes, I got a return call from AAA. “Ma’am, the repair truck is at the gate. Can you let it in?” Hallelujah. This was all moving ahead quite well.

Up pulled the truck. Out jumped a sun-darkened guy in his 50’s. No more than about 5 feet six inches in height. “Hey, I’m Nacho. I’m gonna help get you back on the road. All I need is the lock opener for the tire.”

“Do you need anything else?”

“Nah. I’m fine.”

With that, I went back in the house. No more than a few minutes later I heard, “Whoo hoo! Yes! Yeah! Ei yi yi! Yeow! Ewwwww!”

I stopped what I was doing. “Man if I didn’t know better, I’d think two people were having sex out there. Oh my gosh, I wonder if something happened to the guy?” I rushed outside. “You ok?”

“Oh yeah. It’s a beautiful day! I’m have’n a good time. ”

“Would you like a cold bottle of water?”

“Now that would be nice.”

I went back inside and the sounds continued. You’d think he was standing next to me singing directly into my right ear.

I went back outside, two water bottles in hand. One for me and one for him. After he had a swig, he set his bottle on the floor and returned to working on the tire.

“Thank you ma’am. Ahhhhhhhhh, life is good!”

“Really? You like what you’re doing?

““Ah, you bet I do! He he he!”

I love it! Yes, I love it! He he he! I started doin’ it in November, after I lost my job. Used to drive truck. Delivered computer parts all ‘round the state. Now, that was a good job. But this is good, too!

Nacho’s enthusiasm was infectious. How could I go back inside? I couldn’t. I watched him work and he taught me a few things about changing a tire.

After he left, I continued to marvel at his passion. While I love what I do, I don’t usually express it outwardly as I work. But, then again, maybe I should.

Maybe we all should. “Whistle while we work,” that is. Nacho had brought new meaning to the song from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Think about it. What would it be like if everyone in your organization whistled while they worked?

PERMISSION TO REPRINT: You may reprint this story as long as you include the following attribution. “Learn more about Lori Silverman’s work as a strategist and keynote speaker at http://www.partnersforprogress.com. Her latest book, Wake Me Up When the Data Is Over, debuted in the top 100 books on Amazon.com. Check it out at http://www.wakeupmycompany.com. She can be reached at 800 253 6398 or lori@partnersforprogress.com.”

Where's the Friendly Face?

By Lori Silverman

I like grocery shopping. In fact, I’ll find almost any excuse to go to the store. Down to six steaks in the freezer? Only 12 eggs left in an 18-egg carton? Just opened the one pound jar of almonds? Get me my car keys. It’s time to walk the food aisles!

One of my favorite stores is Fry’s. The prices are right and the place is clean. And the staff is downright friendly. From the greeter to the bagger, all of them have smiles on their faces and are more than happy to help in whatever way they can.

On this particular Saturday, I really did need to shop for my houseguests who were set to arrive that afternoon. I always ask people what they like to eat—whether it be breakfast, lunch or dinner. Most times those food items differ wildly from what I normally take in as a single woman for nourishment. It was no different this time around. Powdered donuts, egg bagels, sugar-coated cereal, baloney, white bread . . . the list went on and on.

As I stood in the checkout line with my cart filled beyond the basket brim, I had ample time to study the store staff and the customers around me. I mean, really, who goes shopping on a Saturday morning if they can avoid it? Each line was three to four carts deep and every one of them was filled to overflow.

The youngest tikes were sitting in their carts, guzzling from a juice box or eating some sort of candy bar. Most adults without kids attached to them were browsing through People Magazine or the latest celebrity rag that touted the newest and greatest weight loss program. And the staff? They were all smiley faced as usual. Except for my checker. He was noticeably glum. The most I heard him say to any of the three customers in front of me was “hi” and “here’s your receipt.” What happened to “How are you doing this morning?” and “Have a nice day?”

Now, I keynote on the topic of schmoozing. Meet and greet with ease. Make eye contact and put on a friendly face no matter where you go—except if you think it might endanger your life. Build rapport and you’ll make friends and influence people in the process. In my eyes, this guy just wasn’t cutting it. So I decided to put on my best smile and to greet him in as friendly a manner as I could.

“Hi. How are ya doin’ today?” I got no response. None. Nada.

“It’s certainly a beautiful day today, isn’t it?” Still no response.

“Have a good weekend planned for yourself?” Absolutely nothing. Not even a grunt.

I thought to myself, “Hmmm, this is really strange. I can’t imagine this store hiring someone to work up front with a bad attitude.”

Deciding to take a more humorous approach, I gently said, “You know, it’s ok to smile.” He looked up. Still glum.

“Really, it’s ok to smile. I won’t bite.”

And then he spoke. “Some young girls who work here at the store were in a bad accident. They drove out to Saguaro Lake and lost control of the car. They’re all in the hospital. It’s hard not to think about them.”

Rarely am I, the schmoozer of all times, caught without something to say. But here I was. Out of words. At least momentarily. “I’m so sorry. I take it you knew them well?”

“Yeah. I’ve worked with all of them.”

“Well, I’ll say a special prayer for them tonight. And, when I’m in here next time, you let me know what’s going on with them, ok? And, you take care of yourself, too.”

And then he smiled, ever so slightly. “Thank you, ma’am. I will.”

And he did. It took a full thirty days for those girls to recover. And it took just as long for the smile to fully return to his face.

Things aren’t always what they seem to be. For you. Or for me. And yet we continue to create our own stories about why somebody’s doing what they’re doing or why they’re acting in a strange way.  Think about it. How often are we right in these situations? Almost never.

This employee reminded me of how important it is to “take the high road.” In my eyes, there are three parts to this. To gently inquire in some way, shape or form about what’s going on. Be receptive to hearing what’s true for the other person. And understand their situation, no matter how similar or different it may be from our own.

So the next time you’re faced with a situation where you’re having trouble making sense of someone’s actions, instead of crafting your own story about what’s taking place, take the high road instead.

PERMISSION TO REPRINT: You may reprint this story as long as you include the following attribution. “Learn more about Lori Silverman’s work as a strategist and keynote speaker at http://www.partnersforprogress.com. Her latest book, Wake Me Up When the Data Is Over, debuted in the top 100 books on Amazon. Check it out at http://www.wakeupmycompany.com. She can be reached at 800 253 6398 or lori@partnersforprogress.com.”

Gaining Perspective

By Lori Silverman

It was not a good day. On Tuesday I’d promised myself that I’d get to the tennis stadium in time for the first Pacific Life Open match of the day—which had a scheduled start time of 11:00 AM. I’d made this promise because I’d missed the start time of the first match every day for the last six days. Here it was, already 39 minutes after 12 Noon and I was still in my pajamas. I hadn’t had a bite to eat or anything to drink. I’d spent the last six hours working nonstop via phone and e-mail for a client who knew last September that I’d scheduled my vacation for this time period.

“How did I let this happen to me? Amazing. I must have a hole in my head.  A really big hole. One where wisdom seeps out in favor of a bunch of dead brain cells. Grrrrrrr.”

In and out of the shower in 183 seconds. Another couple minutes to dress. Then the requisite makeup and hair styling. Pack the carrots, the celery, hard boiled eggs and almonds so I don’t go hungry. Bring two bottles of water so I don’t dehydrate. Kleenex in case there’s no toilet paper. Put the ticket in my right pants pocket. Twenty-two minutes later, I was finally ready.

“Good thing the speed limit on these streets in 50 miles an hour. I’ll be able to do at least 55 without getting caught.” My self-talk was moving at a much faster rate.

“I need a break. My brain needs a break. My body needs a break. And here I am working. Working on stuff that other people didn’t get done. I told them I was going on vacation months ago. Must have said it fifty times. I probably should have said is a thousand times. Next time I’m going to tattoo the message to my forehead.

“I need a boyfriend. Someone I can use as an excuse. Then maybe I’d get a day or two totally to myself—without having to respond to a phone call or a million e-mails. A distraction would be good. Maybe I should just go overseas. China sounds good. There’s a singles trip in November that looks really good and the price is right. Yeah . . . but I need the break NOW. Not in the fall.

“Boy, I bet I missed the opening woman’s match on the main court. And the guy’s match as well. And I really, really wanted to see them both. I am not a happy camper.”

I got to the main parking area only to find it completely filled. “Unbelievable. I better not have to park in that outer overflow parking lot again like I did on Saturday. It’s a gazillion miles away.”

But, much to my surprise, a closer lot had been opened for tardy folks like me. It was in the back of the stadium, closest to all the food and clothing vendors. I followed the myriad parking attendant neon orange wands and found myself in the middle of a grassy field near a one-story nondescript building off of Fred Waring Drive.

“Well, at least I’ll get my exercise in for the day.” Past experience had taught me it was a good ten-minute fast-paced walk to the North Entrance.

I found comfort in the fact that I wasn’t alone. From what I could see, there were at least fifty people walking from the lot to the stadium. Walking briskly, I caught up to two women who appeared to be in their early 70’s. They were talking loudly so I couldn’t help but listen in on their conversation.

“Do you know where we just parked?”

“Yes, in the middle of that large grassy area.”

“Really? No kidding! I didn’t see any row numbers. Did you?”

“Nope. But I’m sure we’ll be able to find the car.”

“How do you know that?”

“I remember what things looked like around it.”

“But, you only know what things look like as we walk towards the stadium.” And then the taller of the two turned around. “Things sure look a lot different when you look back at where we came from.”

I started laughing. Out loud. They heard me. And started chuckling too.

She was right. How many times have you run into the grocery story or the local mall to get an item only to discover when you ran back out that you couldn’t recall where you parked the car even though you’d made certain to note its location?”

For me, the experience held another lesson. Maybe there was another way to reframe what had happened to me earlier in the day. I could continue to be frustrated with what had occurred that morning and talk myself into a tizzy for working through two tennis matches. Or turn it around and own up to my responsibility in the situation and recognize that I too needed to change. To get a lot more clear on setting expectations with my clients.

I can think of several situations just in the past week where reframing the situation—viewing it from a different angle—has helped me see things more clearly. And you? Is there a situation that’s frustrating you at the moment? What if you turned it around? Would you be able to see things more clearly?

PERMISSION TO REPRINT: You may reprint this story as long as you include the following attribution. “Learn more about Lori Silverman’s work as a strategist and keynote speaker at http://www.partnersforprogress.com. Her latest book, Wake Me Up When the Data Is Over debuted in the top 100 books on Amazon in October 2006. She can be reached at 800 253 6398 or lori@partnersforprogress.com."

What Does It Take?

By Lori Silverman

What kind of weather would you expect this time of year in Palm Springs, California, one of the hottest snowbird destinations? Typically it’s in the high 70’s or lower 80’s, perfect weather for the Pacific Life Tennis Tournament, the longest running combined (WTA and ATP) tournament in the United States.

Ah, but not this last weekend. A huge storm was forecast to come in over the Pacific Coast. Saturday daytime temperature was predicted to be in the high 60’s; on Sunday it was to be even cooler.

By early Saturday afternoon, the winds were anywhere from 25 to 35 miles per hour with gusts that were even stronger. They played havoc with players’ serves and volleys. In one match on Stadium 2, where you get to be within arm’s length of the players when you sit in the front row seats, I watched Robby Ginepri put his head against the back wall, scream unrepeatable words, and pound his left fist into it multiple times in sheer disgust.

Now, before I left my condo on Saturday, I’d read several weather reports. I’d even put on jeans (a first for me during the day at this tournament) and a sleeveless top  (to catch the sun) and packed a long sleeve denim shirt and a lightweight spring jacket, planning to stay into the evening hours to watch a bunch of men’s singles matches.

I don’t know what the temperature was with the wind chill, but all I can tell you is by three o’clock in the afternoon, I had on every article of clothing I’d brought with me and was seated as close as I could be to the fans on either side of me in the stands. And I still was uncontrollably shivering. 

What caught my eye was a young girl to my left. My guess is that she was about 12 years of age. She was seated between her mom and her mom’s best friend, who was on my immediate left. She was wearing the regulation ball girl’s outfit: a shot dark blue tennis skirt with a slit on the left side, a sleeveless light blue shirt with matching dark blue accents and white piping, and a matching dark blue FILA jacket and baseball cap. On her feet were ankle length white socks and tennis shoes.  The goose bumps on her legs were the size of mini-mountains.

I learned from her mom’s friend that she’d been assigned to work a couple night matches on this court. Matches that would occur long after the sun went down. I asked her mom’s friend, “How will she stay warm? She looks so cold right now.” Her response? “They won’t let the girls wear pants. They say it looks unprofessional.”

I was incredulous. “Unprofessional? What about being comfortable and not getting sick? Can’t they wear nude-color tights or leggings like ice skaters?”

To which I was told, “That’s just the way it is around here. You have to abide by the rules or you don’t get to volunteer.”

I didn’t stay to watch this young girl work a single match. My teeth were chattering which was my cue to exit stage left.

On the bus that took me back to my car that was parked in the overflow lot, my seatmate and I talked about the weather. “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow. Yahoo’s weather site is even predicting hail,” he casually mentioned.

“Rain? Hail” Are you crazy? And, he showed me. Sure enough. It was there in black and white.

So, not to be outdone by the weather during Sunday’s matches, I packed two additional jackets on top of what I’d brought with me on Saturday. And one more time, I ended up leaving as soon as the sun crested the top of the snow-capped mountains.

“How are those ball girls going to survive the evening? I’m already frozen. I can’t even feel my toes. Even my nose is cold. They’ll freeze to death. Maybe that’s what’ll be needed in order for someone to be willing to bend the rules.”

By early Monday afternoon, the temperature had increased to the mid-70’s and the winds had subsided a bit. Finally, the weather was inching back to normal. Because I love men’s tennis more than I enjoy watching women, I once again found myself in the stands on Stadium 2. And low and behold, what did I see? Two young ball girls wearing leggings. One wore white; the other wore black. My jaw dropped open. “You’ve got to be kidding me. The temperature warms up and now they’re allowed to cover their legs?”

Another side of me felt a sense of relief. Someone with some street smarts finally saw the stupidity in the situation and bent the rules. Forty-eight hours and many screaming parents too late, I suspect.

I wonder, “How many times a day do we enforce or follow protocols that make no sense? Why exactly do we do this? Is it because ‘it’s just the way things have always been done?’ Or do we fear retribution? Maybe we think it’s not worth the air we breathe to mouth the words needed to change the situation.”

Tomorrow, as you go through your daily routines at home and at work, consciously think about whether or not the “rules” or “protocols” you and others are following make good sense. If they don’t, ask yourself, “what would it take to bend the rules?” You and those around you may be better off for it.

PERMISSION TO REPRINT: You may reprint this story as long as you include the following attribution. “Learn more about Lori Silverman’s work as a strategist and keynote speaker at http://www.partnersforprogress.com. Her latest book, Wake Me Up When the Data Is Over debuted in the top 100 books on Amazon in October 2006. She can be reached at 800 253 6398 or lori@partnersforprogress.com."

It's a Date!

By Lori Silverman

Since March 2000, it’s been a yearly ritual for me to attend all of part of the Pacific Life Tennis Tournament in Indian Wells, CA. As a doubles player in high school, I became enamored with the spectator side of the game while on a trip with my (former) husband to Australia in January 1995. We were in Sidney for the second time, after spending a month traipsing through Port Douglas, Tasmania and Melbourne. With nothing to do for the day, we asked the bellman at the Sheraton Hotel for ideas. He suggested a tennis tournament in White City. Sitting literally within yards of players like Gabrielle Sabatini, Pete Sampras and others of this era, sparked all sorts of renewed energy for the sport within me.

This year, however, was different. Instead of boarding a flight from Madison, Wisconsin to Palm Springs and standing in line for hours to get a rental car, I had the luxury of driving from my home in Mesa, Arizona. As I skirted across the lush desert—a result of lovely winter rains—I couldn’t help reflecting on what had happened 18 months earlier.

I’d been corresponding for a few days with Mark on JDate, a dating site for jewish singles. He’d caught my eye. Actually his profile had caught my eye. It started with my favorite quotation from Auntie Mame: “Life is like a banquet and most poor suckers don’t even know they’re hungry.”

Each of his e-mails drew me in closer. He’d mentioned early on that, “Dinner and drinks were on him if I were to ever be in Hollywood.”

Now, those who know me well are aware that I can be anywhere somebody wants to be in the blink of an eye. “Have passport and American Express card, will travel” is my motto. So, I booked a condo at the Marriott Villas II where I own property, reserved an Enterprise rental car—the cheapest I could find—and immediately set out to let Mark know I’d be coming to a city near him, albeit a drive just shy of three hours on a good traffic day.

I was nothing less than ecstatic when he returned my e-mail within 10 minutes. It was a lengthy one. It commented on his firm’s website, some challenges I’d been having with my book publisher, my upcoming trip, meeting for dinner and a date he was having that evening with a guy. “A guy. A guy!! What? WHAT GUY?”

I quickly logged on to JDate to re-read his profile. How could I have missed that he was looking for a man? I quickly rationalized that it had to do with my not being good with details.

So, how does one salvage a trip like this?  I called my friend Karen who’d recently moved with her husband and daughter to Yuma. Maybe I could visit them, too. She was elated. “Yes, they’d be in Yuma. And yes, please come and visit for a day.”

When I arrived at the airport, I immediately boarded the bus to the rental car facility where the keys to a Chevy Cobalt were patiently waiting for me. And I took off towards my one-bedroom condo in Palm Desert. Two days later, I departed early in the morning for Yuma. The route took me down I-10 East to CA-86 South, to CA-11 South and finally to I-8 east. Total drive time 2 hours, 31 minutes. 155 miles.

Karen had decided we would all celebrate my birthday over lunch at one of the best restaurants in town. The cioppino was spectacular. So was the warm, crusty French bread and the conversation only close friends know how to have with each other.

Not being fond of driving in rural, desolate areas in the dark, towards 5 o’clock, I decided to depart. On the way back, I debated about stopping to use the restroom at a tiny gas station. “Should I or shouldn’t I? Can I hold out?” And decided emptying my bladder wasn’t the most important priority.

The sky was fully darkened by the time I pulled into the covered parking spot where I was staying. I picked up my purse. Turned off the lights. Opened the car door. And turned off the ignition. But the key wouldn’t budge. It wouldn’t come out.

“I must be on an episode of Candid Camera. Where’s Allen Funt? Oh, that’s right. He’s dead. Peter hosts the show today. ”

After a moment of silence, I turned the car back on and tried again. The key still didn’t budge. “This can’t be happening to me. I really need to go to the bathroom.”

I sat there. For all of about ten seconds before deciding to turn the car on for a second time. I drove to the security station at the entrance to the compound and parked the car in between the entrance and exit lanes. I got out and approached the guard.

“Hi. I’m feeling a little foolish right now. I’m having a teeny tiny problem with this car. The key won’t come out of the ignition when I turn it off. Seriously! Can you try?”

He looked at me as though I was a crazy woman and strutted over to the car. Hah! He couldn’t pull it out either. “Ma’am, there’s something the matter with this car.”

“I KNOW that. What do you think is the problem?”

“I don’t know. Let me call my buddies.”

Within sixty seconds, two more guards appeared. They huddled together by the front of the car, talking in low whispers. Together, they tried again. But no luck.

In the meantime, I’d called Enterprise. “The key won’t come out of the ignition. Can you bring me another car like you do on TV?”

“No, ma’am. I can’t do that. There are only two of us here—the van driver and me. If you want a different car, you’ll have to drive to the airport.”

“But that’s 30 minutes from where I’m staying.”

“That’s all I can offer you ma’am.”

“Ma’am. Ma’am.” He ought to have my bladder that by this point has ten times its normal size. “Fine. Have a great car for me.”

And off I went. To the airport. The first order of business when I arrived? You know what that is. The second? To share my horror story one more time with the guy at the counter.

“You know, that problem has happened to us before on these Cobalt's. It happens around 12 to 14 thousand miles. And yep, that’s about what your odometer says.”

“If you know that, then why do you rent these cars to single women like me?”

“Well, ma’am we can’t predict when it’s gonna happen.”

I eventually drove away with a brand new vehicle—a sporty little car and a free tank of gas for my upcoming trip to Hollywood to meet Mark.

I’ve since come to “expect the unexpected.” To laugh out loud at my mistakes. And to take things in stride when unexpected things happen. It’s not worth stressing or getting angry over these sorts of situations. Because there’s always a silver lining. And life at its best is better than any comedy show.

What about you? Do you allow for the unexpected? Or do you get all hot and bothered over these situations? Does getting angry or frustrated help? If not, then maybe there’s a different way to respond. One that plays off of the never-ending humor in life.

PERMISSION TO REPRINT: You may reprint this story as long as you include the following attribution: "Learn more about Lori Silverman’s work as a strategist and keynote speaker at http://www.partnersforprogress.com. Her latest book, Wake Me Up When the Data Is Over debuted in the top 100 books on Amazon in October 2006. She can be reached at 800 253 6398 or lori@partnersforprogress.com."

What Do You Attend to in the Moment?

By Lori Silverman

As a way of compensating for my ill-fated Milwaukee Brewer game attendance last Friday, I decided to treat myself on Sunday to a Chicago Cubs game at Hohokam Stadium—a mere twelve minutes from my home—when there’s no scheduled baseball game. Given my previous trip debacle, I checked and double-checked to ensure I was headed in the right direction.

I’d snagged a great seat on the aisle—a little to the left of home plate. Close enough to hear the umpire’s calls, far enough away to have a great view of the entire park. This particular day, the Cubbies were hosting the San Francisco Giants.

When the Giant players were out in the field, there was one in particular who stood out—player number 57: Twenty-five year-old short stop Eugenio Velez. All around me, people were whispering, “You see that number 57? Boy is he scrawny. He turns sideways and he disappears! His clothes are falling off of him.”

He got to first base on his at bat during the fifth inning against pitcher Eric Patterson. Once there, he kept teasing Patterson with his “try and get me out” moves as he ever slowly gravitated towards second base. And then, in a blink of an eye he took off. Patterson’s diving attempt to throw him out fell short. Ironically, this is the same move he’d used against pitcher Ryan Therlot the previous Friday.

Every time Velez made it to first base, he’d play his cat-and-mouse game. He was skilled at distracting whomever was pitching from the batter at hand. As I watched his behavior, I wondered how many times in a given week each of us is pressed to act like these pitchers and simultaneously attend to more than one person or situation. Where our heads go whipping back and forth because there’s movement in several—or even opposite—directions.

How effective are you when faced with these scenarios? Do you give them permission to unbalance you—to take you off your center? Or, have you honed your ability to have 360-degree vision and to stay grounded against all odds in order to be able to process myriad pieces of information at lightening speed and determine what’s best in the moment? 

PERMISSION TO REPRINT: You may reprint this story as long as you include the following attribution. “Learn more about Lori Silverman’s work as a strategist and keynote speaker at http://www.partnersforprogress.com. Her latest book, Wake Me Up When the Data Is Over debuted in the top 100 books on Amazon in October 2006. She can be reached at 800 253 6398 or lori@partnersforprogress.com."

Which Way Do I Turn?

By Lori Silverman

Last week Friday I had a ticket to see the Milwaukee Brewers play the Oakland Athletics. I was jazzed. I’ve worked almost every day since late September 2007 and was more than ready for an afternoon of playing hooky. MapQuest informed me that the ride from my home in northeast Mesa to the Maryvale stadium was around 40 minutes, Not being one to waste time, I left about 75 minutes before the game, thinking I’d adequately planned for the journey.

Imagine my surprise when ten minutes into my trip, all four lanes of traffic came to a standstill. It took another 15 minutes before an overhead sign announced there was a vehicle fire at the next exit. So, there was no way out of the situation. Like it or not, I was going to have to move at a snails pace. More than an hour after slowing down, the road finally opened up and I sped to the stadium.

Imagine my surprise when I saw no cars, just a lone man sitting in a lawn chair, reading a magazine. I rolled down the car window and said, “Is there a game today?” He responded, “Yep. Just not here.”

“Where is it?” I asked. He replied, “Near Scottsdale, at the Phoenix Municipal Stadium on Van Buren. It’ll take you about an hour to get there.” I replied, “I just came from that side of town.”

With chagrin on his face he said, “Do you have a ticket to another game? Maybe you could come back on another day.” I announced with regret that I didn’t and thanked him for his help.

As I exited the parking lot, I stopped for a moment and wondered if I should turn right and go home the way I had arrived or if I should go left and take a new route home. I opted for left. The way I figured it I could at least see another part of town and make the best of the situation.

As I was driving, I bereted myself for all of 30 seconds on not confirming the location even though I’d had a gut feeling before I’d left that maybe I was headed in the wrong direction. And then I wondered, “How often in life do we get immediate feedback on whether or not we’re headed in the right direction?”

Think about your own life and the various directions it’s taken. How long did it take you before you realized whether you were going in the right direction? Ninety minutes like me? Or days . . . months . . . perhaps years later?

So, I ask you, “What can you do to get more immediate feedback on the decisions that you make? The directions in life that you take?

PERMISSION TO REPRINT: You may reprint this story as long as you include the following attribution. “Learn more about Lori Silverman’s work as a strategist and keynote speaker at http://www.partnersforprogress.com. Her latest book, Wake Me Up When the Data Is Over debuted in the top 100 books on Amazon in October 2006. She can be reached at 800 253 6398 or lori@partnersforprogress.com."