Author: tschroe

We were on our way home from the ocean last week when a Subaru with a rooftop tent passed us going over Tiger Mountain. I remember thinking as it did, ‘I’ve never been jealous of rooftop tents.’ They seem like they’d be a hassle, they’re a big box on top of a car, and in the grand ol’ Pacific Northwest they’d quickly become mold traps. Granted I’ve never used one like this once-skeptical Adventure Journal author has done. Maybe they’re awesome. To each their own, of course.

What I was jealous of were all those folks with campervans. So last summer, after months of looking, K and I scored an old tile van which we spent a few months of Type II fun building that thing into our camper. We roll up somewhere and boom! Instant camp.

This got me thinking though as we chugged through the mountains that day. What else had I been jealous of and how has it played out? Case in point: a few years ago as part of the Outdoor Industry Association’s leadership program, I was jealous of the guy putting on our big retreat. That would be really cool, I told myself. So on the airplane home from that event, I hatched a plan that eventually became Sendline.

Rightly so, I realize jealousy can have a bad rap. It can also lead to a lot of unproductive feelings. That day last week however I was thinking of how it’s motivated me (so maybe ‘admire’ is a better word, but I’m sticking with jealous). I’m going to give it some more thought. Also, I’ll be on the lookout for that feeling again to see how it can kick my butt into doing something else cool.

With my parents in town, some conversations with my mom circled around to leadership-y stuff. She’s a bit of a leadership geek, too. At one point we talked about feedback. Way back when I was a kid, she was likely the one who introduced me to the concept: ‘You can please some of the people all of the time, you can please all of the people some of the time, but you can’t please all of the people all of the time.’

It was as true when I was a kid as it was in the fifteenth century when John Lydgate supposedly coined it as it is still. I remind myself of this from time to time, like I remind myself what really matters is just one person.

During our conversation, my mom shared a funny story. Following her adult education workshops, she always asked a few questions. Once she received a lot of the same feedback: ‘Where was the chocolate?’ Taking that to heart and not wanting to deprive the next group of chocolate, she made sure there was plenty on hand. The feedback she got following that one? ‘Where was the dark chocolate?’

ps… this response from Steve Jobs to some feedback begins with this idea and it has long-inspired me for his maybe rare showing of humility and vulnerability…

This is going to be short because my parents are visiting from Missouri. I haven’t seen them in just over two years so it’s been good to catch up.

I’ll start with some quick context for this very random story. For Father’s Day this year, K surprised me with a hook and ring toss game. She thought it’d make a good conversation starter for our yard. I finally got it hung up this week with my dad.

I’ve talked about my dad before, about him being a meteorologist, his love for forecasting weather and not wanting to be a manager. After getting the game set up, we played it together. Later that afternoon, he told me how I could use it as a weather station. At first I thought he was being serious. ’If it’s wet, it’s raining,’ he started off explaining. ‘If it has snow on it, it’s snowing. If you can’t see it, it’s foggy.’ He smiled and then I got it.

Once a meteorologist who tells meteorologic jokes, always a meteorologist who tells meteorologic jokes I guess. My dad is awesome.

Naomi Osaka’s story stood out to me as a testament to her saying ‘enough,’ the recent story of fellow Olympian Simone Biles caught my attention for a different reason. The article I read was titled ‘Simone Biles and the Weight of Perfection.’

As a recovering perfectionist, reading her struggle hit home. Granted, I was (surprise!) never in the international spotlight. I can still sense the weight she felt. The weight that, for her, had become a burden too much to bear. 

The thing is, folks like Simone who are in the international spotlight and who are beginning to speak up about the damage pursuing perfection can have will give others a voice to do the same. In my own battle against perfection’s alluring pull, I’ve gotten to appreciate and embrace the idea of the ordinary. It’s why I brought up the film ‘A Hidden Life’ way back when. What would the world look like I wonder if, rather than perfection, we acknowledged and celebrated the ordinary? The small acts of kindness and the quiet moments of beauty.

K’s aunt was here the other week. The two of them were having a conversation about parenting when I caught K saying, ‘We try to do our best.’ Her aunt’s reply summed this up nicely: ‘All you have to be is good enough.’

Turns out this past Sunday was World Listening Day. I caught wind of it scrolling through Instagram. Zion National Park posted about it along with a video that featured soundscapes from around the park. The question they posed got me thinking: What is the soundscape like where you live?

Birds. Lots of birds, especially in spring. Now, near the middle of summer, they’ve quieted down. There are still birds chirping every morning, just not nearly as many babies. It’s otherwise pretty still. I’m grateful for the stillness. I thought more about that question though, to other soundscapes I’ve experienced and what others may be experiencing. The wind through larch trees in the North Cascades. The sound of the murmuring Ohanapecosh River in the southeast corner of Mount Rainier National Park. Folks who live in the middle of a city like our twenty-one-year-old son, Julian.

Reading more about World Listening Day, I found myself kind of fascinated. Sure, I’m a sound geek. Still, it’s a cool concept to celebrate just listening. How it’s an art that requires attention and dedication. How it seems listening, keeping quiet, should be really easy. Why then does it take so much effort?

Maybe beyond the 18th of July every year I’ll remember its purpose: Practice less talking and more listening.

‘Can you do me a favor? K asked. ‘Mix up some Gatorade before you leave?’ 

‘Of course,’ I told her before heading out for an evening run the other night. Knowing I’d want some after I got back, I grabbed our big growler, shook it up with a bunch of Glacier Cherry powder, and left it on the kitchen island. I had the thought of writing a quick note to let her know what was in the growler, but also wanted to get out the door. The hardest part of any run is getting out the door. So I headed out.

When I got back, I saw K mixing up… Gatorade. Dangit, I should’ve just written her a quick note.

I’ve already talked about the handwriting thing or writing in the front of a book, so this may seem redundant. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s just another reminder for me that there’s power in a little note. Specifically, despite that evening the sun quickly slipping lower behind the foothills, things to do, and feeling a little guilty going for a run in the first place, I should’ve written my wife a quick note. 

Next time I will.

Every once in a while, one of you from our little email family writes me about these randomnesses. It’s pretty awesome to get those messages. Not just because it’s fun to know my random thoughts have the potential of being helpful. It’s cool to hear how these things relate to one of you and learn something helpful myself. That said, this isn’t a nudge to do that, in case you were wondering.

I did think it would be fun from time to time though to share some of those thoughts with the rest of you. I’ll start with a response I got from last week’s thing about just going. My older brother Cosmo sent me this about his youngest son, Zaque:

Love this… think a bit about something beforehand, then jump in and do it. Adapt as needed. In fact, Zaque has a saying I like: “That sounds like a problem for Future Zaque.”

Next time I have something I need to do but have no idea how it’s all going to come together, I’m totally going to tell myself, ‘That sounds like a problem for future Thom.’ Thanks, Cosmo (and Zaque). Oh, still not a nudge, but keep your thoughts coming!

I’ve mentioned my buddy Ben before. How he isn’t just a divisional vice president.

He and I were recently on a call for an upcoming backpacking trip in the Winds (err, Wind River Range). Having hiked a hundred-some miles with him last summer through the Sierra, he was curious how I planned for a long-ish trip like that. After experiencing what we encountered in the Sierras, he was a little concerned about the terrain we may encounter in the Winds. Ben wanted to know what I did to prepare. I had to think about that for a bit. My answer, like my answer for Susan about coming up with a vision for her future, maybe wasn’t very helpful. 

I told him I just go.

That needed some explaining, so I confessed my planning vs. showing up and making decisions in the moment was maybe 20/80. Meaning, I’d spend a little time looking at maps, reading route descriptions, and getting a general sense of what we’d encounter. The bulk of my ‘planning’ though is on-sight. See a pass, find the route of least resistance to the top, and from there plan the next line of least resistance down. For our trip last summer, rinse and repeat that approach something like fifteen times. Give or take.

Granted, our planning vs. just doing the thing ratio is going to differ dependent on how comfortable we are in the situation. The ratio isn’t what’s important. The just going is.

I’ve admittedly been following the story of Naomi Osaka. In the tennis world, it’s huge. Beyond the wide world of sports, her story is just as important. 

When I was in high school, tennis was the only sport I fell in love with. Our neighborhood pool had a bunch of tennis courts, and during the summer I’d play my best friend Jim or older brother Jeff almost every day. Maybe someday we’ll look into a Wenatchee Racket Club membership near our house and I’ll get back into it.

Back to Naomi’s story, her being willing to take a stand about something in which she believes and risking not being liked, well, makes some people not like her. It’s polarized. Of course, the upside to risking not being liked is that some people like her. A lot. Because they see her taking a stand. Being genuine and clear about who she is and what’s important to her.

That’s inspiring.

There are those in the court (like that?) who think she’s not grateful and should grin and bear the situation that is professional sports. In the other court (or on the other side of the net?), there are the folks who applaud her courage. Of the comments I read in the NYT, this one stood out:

‘As an introvert myself, I can only say to her: everything is OK, you are fully OK, we all stand behind you. And if you decide you want nothing to do with tennis, that’s OK.’

Amen.

For our Wenatchee leaders group meeting, the gal running this month’s asked us to read a book. When it showed up last week, I opened it to find a note written inside. 

John – you heard me tell so many of these stories… and always made me look so much better than I really am! I am so grateful and appreciative! I love you!

Yeah, that definitely made me smile. 

Because I opt for a used book over a new when I have the chance, I’ve opened a few books to discover a heartwarming note like this inside. Sort of like messages in summit registers, notes at the beginning of books are always inspiring. My mom made it a thing that whenever she gifted me or my siblings a book, she’d write something inside the cover. Because of my appreciation for handwriting stuff, I’ve carried on her tradition somewhat consistently.

Next time you give someone a book, if there’s a next time, think about writing them a little note. Like the book itself, it may be the gift that keeps giving.

K and I were talking about screen time for Sefton. Not to get too off-track here with our parenting choices, I do feel we tend to do a good job being realistic. There are times to take a walk around the neighborhood on our little loop and there are times when she and I have to get shit done and so he gets to watch Rio 2 for the 108th time. We’ve really gotten our $14.99 out of that one!

In our chatting about it, I joked by bringing up one of my favorite quotes from my all-time favorite movie, Shine.

‘It’s all a question of balance.’

David Helfgott’s piano professor mentions this as he teaches him the intricacies and utter madness of Rachmaninov’s Concerto No. 3 in D minor (affectionately known as, simply, The Rach 3). I find myself using that quote all of the time, in all kinds of situations where I’m making decisions. Not just because Shine is, yeah, my favorite film of all time. Because it’s true.

Rarely is it my way or the highway, right or wrong, good or bad. Often, dare I say almost always, it’s simply a question of balance.

“What’s a ‘short wave trough’ in meteorological terms?” It hit 100º here on Wednesday. I was curious what was causing it, so I texted my dad. 

This randomness is for him.

When I think about my career and becoming a manager, my dad always comes to mind. Not because he was a manager, but because he wasn’t. I may embellish his story some out of love for my dad. From what I recall, he was asked a bunch of times over the years if he wanted to move into management. He was a damn good meteorologist, so there were folks at the National Weather Service who thought he’d make a damn good boss.

Except he loved forecasting weather and didn’t want to deal with (as he may have put it, the credibility of my memory notwithstanding), “people problems.”

Whether or not I think he would have made a great boss isn’t the point. The fact that he was intentional with his decisions and committed to what he loved doing is. There aren’t a lot of stories out there of folks saying ‘no’ to which something most of us say ‘yes.’ Of those few, even fewer are celebrated. Despite being a management coach, part of what I do is sharing my dad’s story that it’s okay to not be a manager. It’s not the only path up, and certainly not the only path to happiness.

“A short wave is a trough of lower pressure and is shorter than 3500 miles. The 120 hour forecast shows a long wave extending from Alaska southward off the Pacific coast down to near San Diego. At the 72 hour forecast, a short wave is off the British Columbia coast. This is the system that will bring you much cooler air.”

Hmm, interesting. Yeah, I’m glad he forecasted weather all those years (and I didn’t say ‘just’ forecasted weather!). Especially since I can still ask him, now retired, geeky weather questions and he can teach me some really cool stuff.

A fellow long-time REI-er, Jay, and I connected this week. He shared with me his blog. As I scrolled through, I got hooked reading a post about a list he created: 100 Things I’ve Learned Along The Way Since Being Diagnosed With Cancer. I like lists, and his is good. Heck, I wrote one about leadership-ish stuff.

It reminded me of another photo from The Archives… or, the old folder of photos on my server. I wrote about one of those photos a while ago. This randomness is about one of a total stranger’s list.

Years ago, K and I came across a notebook half-buried in the snow when descending from Camp Muir on Mount Rainier. We picked it up and posted it on some social climbers groups to hopefully track down its owner. We never did, so eventually we scrolled through it. That’s when we came across their list. It was someone’s plans for 2011.

What they wrote made me smile, so I took a photo to remember. They were inspiring, selfless, ambitious. Things like ‘smile more,’ ‘pursue a job and market myself.’ Climb some new mountains or, as they wrote, ‘reach new heights.’ Give back. 

Re-reading it now, and Jay’s, makes me think: what’s on my list?

This week’s random thought has to do with opinions. It’s probably going to be half-baked. The thought, that is.

I’m working on writing my first opinion piece about leadership development. Shoutout to my mom for giving me some good feedback and food for thought. It’s a delicate balance, standing behind an opinion without coming across as it’s ‘my way or the highway.’ My business partner, Greer, put it well: 

I think you can have a powerful opinion without saying your way is best.

For fun, I looked up the definition of the word. The Googles say it’s ‘a view or judgment formed about something, not necessarily based on fact or knowledge.’ The question on my mind is… are opinions inevitably divisive? For better or for worse. I was hoping that would have showed up in the definition, but alas I’m left to wonder.

I’m in this camp that, for some reason, is naturally inclined to agree with the thought, ‘You can please some of the people all of the time, you can please all of the people some of the time, but you can’t please all of the people all of the time.’ That well-worn expression seems to indicate some amount of divisiveness. After all, having an opinion means taking a stand, and risking possibly pissing someone off (to quote Kim Scott’s Radical Candor idea).

Maybe more importantly, is divisiveness inherently bad? Can it, in fact, be good? I did warn you this may be half-baked… Spoiler: more to come in the weeks ahead.

I was talking to my friend Susan last week. During our conversation, she mentioned compliments. It made me remember a while back having come across the HBR weekly newsletter they call Ascend. Aimed at up-and-coming professionals, their approach is decidedly different than the tone and vibe of other HBR channels. And they have an Instagram. Perusing through that, I found their post that highlighted a statistic about compliments:

70% of people associate embarrassment or discomfort with both giving and receiving compliments.

Right!? To this day, I’m one of those seventy percent whose natural inclination is to do everything I can to get the spotlight off me and who sometimes second-guesses the simple act of giving a compliment. At one point now I’d like to think maybe ten years ago, my mom gave me a good piece of advice I haven’t forgotten: ‘Thom, you need to learn to accept a compliment with grace.’

It was at that time I began managing teams and really acknowledged how powerful a compliment could be. About the work someone did, about the way they spoke up and challenged something I said, about how they showed up everyday. 

I still catch myself wanting to compliment someone and doing a double-take. I have no idea why. It of course feels really good. As far as receiving one, I’m still learning how to be better at taking my mom’s advice.

I’d say 80% of these emails somehow miraculously come about the week I write them. Here’s a little secret: when something strikes me as random, I jot it down to possibly use later. So the other 20%… yep, are from those times I jotted something down. This is one of those occasions. I guess it was a busy, not-very-random-kind-of-week.

It’s going to start with a quote I came across a few months ago that struck me and then quickly digress from there. I hope you enjoy this randomness.

The quote, then…

WHAT YOU GIVE, WRITE IT DOWN IN THE SAND. WHAT YOU RECEIVE, CARVE IT IN A ROCK.

~ Henryk Górecki

He mentioned it in the NPR interview linked above. I first came across Górecki when watching Terrence Malick’s Tree of Life. A haunting, epic, beautiful movie. In it, Malick uses his Symphony of Sorrowful Songs.

While looking for an image to go with this post, I discovered a version with Beth Gibbons of Portishead singing the final movement. Holy. Cow. The whole piece is slow, also haunting, also epic. The seventeen minutes of her rendition is definitely worth some undivided attention.

That’s a whole lot of random links. Oh, and a quote.

During a leadership meeting the other week, the group was chatting about asking questions and lines of inquiry and something called the ladder of inference. That’s an interesting topic, but I’m going to pass on it for now. Feel free to dive down that rabbit hole if it sounds interesting…

Specifically in our conversation about asking questions, one of the women, Cheri, made an intriguing statement:

‘Silence will do the heavy-lifting.’ She quickly added, ‘If you let it.’ Hmm. She’s right on both counts.

She admitted to us how it was tough for her to do that. Since being a little girl, she shared, the value she put on herself was tied up in her being the expert. Having all the answers. I know that feeling well. I wrote about it a while ago. 

Back to this silence thing, though. 

Yeah, not jumping in with the answer, showing everyone I know my stuff… that’s tough for me, too. For the same reason as Cheri. I’m pretty sure there are a lot of us who can relate.

The thing is, by observing the folks I looked up to as leaders, I discovered they created value by asking good questions. That made me realize as I moved through my career, I had to let go of being the expert and start getting comfy with asking better questions. Hard questions. And when someone doesn’t have an answer right away, to hold back from answering. Particularly if I had one in mind. As Cheri put it, to let the silence do the heavy lifting.

If you haven’t tried it lately, I triple dog dare you. Yep, that’s right, I went right for the throat. The results can be pretty amazing.

This one is going to be a little different.

I was sitting on our porch Tuesday when K and S came up with the mail. My quarterly Harvard Business Review mag had come. With a little coffee left in my cup and a few minutes to spare, I quickly thumbed through it. On the last page, I was surprised to see a Q&A with Alex Honnold. A climber is sort of different for HBR, but that’s not why this one is different.

Part of our leadership programs always have something to do with thinking about careers. How we spend a better part of our lives is a big deal, after all. The second-to-last question the interviewer asked: Since the El Cap ascent, how have you been thinking about your career?

Alex’s reply is why this is different. He said:

Now that I’ve achieved that life dream, nothing is calling to me as much as it did. That’s what I’m struggling with.

For a change, that’s not me. I can’t say I’ve reached a defining pinnacle from where I feel like everything else is downhill. Still, the thought stood out to me. Why? Because I tend to think about everything up to the point of hitting that pinnacle. Never beyond. Alex and maybe any of you who have reached what you’d consider a defining pinnacle is essentially asking… 

Now what?

That’s a tough one. If any of you have any tips for how you’ve answered it, let me know.

The other day K shared with me an article from Bored Panda. After reading it, I told her, ‘Thanks for the Friday Randomness!’ To which she asked me with a smile, ‘How many have I contributed to?’ At least 50% I offered. Of those, 25% have been from good ol’ Bored Panda. Maybe that’s a stretch. Whatever.

This one is for the managers. Or those of you who are thinking of becoming a manager. Or who have been a manager. Basically, it’s for a bunch of you.

All I saw when I first opened it was the guy’s Tweet that ended, ‘I said no.’ I immediately jumped to a conclusion like it sounds nearly everyone else did, too. I expected another story about an awful boss. Those stories are sort of common. It’s the bosses who aren’t awful, who are in fact inspiring, who aren’t as common.

It turns out this guy, Aaron Genest, is one of them. The awesome ones.

I can’t capture it all in these short nuggets so I’ll leave you a link to check out his story. It’s worth the read. I think it’ll make you smile.

Without spoiling it, the last comment sums it up:

That’s a real leader.

I’ve mused before about the conjunction ‘but.’ A couple days ago I thought about ‘and.’ This is how it went down.

I was reading an email over my wife’s shoulder (she loves that!). For some dorky reason, it made me think of that innocent little conjunction. Since you signed up for these random emails, you get to see how my brain works. I’ll paraphrase the email:

So-and-so has done awesome stuff and through her being awesome, we have become more awesome.

It was a fine email. Nothing terrible, which maybe makes it a better example than one with a string of endless conjunctions. The devil’s in the details. This is how my brain wanted to read it:

So-and-so has done awesome stuff. Through her being awesome, we have become more awesome.

Subtle, I know. But without the ‘and,’ it’s arguably more powerful. Simpler. Simple is always better than complicated. Except it’s hard. It’s much easier to just include everything, to go on and on. For any photography geeks, it’s the same as how shooting with a telephoto lens is harder than a wide-angle. I’ve realized this, which has led me to be hyper-aware of seeing and using ‘and.’ Like discreetly, even in that email.

If you agree in the case of ‘and’ that less is more, that simpler is more powerful, I welcome you into the Hyper-Aware-Of-And Club. It’s a cool group. I also apologize because you’re going to start seeing it everywhere.

ps – Case in point… I originally wrote the first sentences of the second paragraph like this: I was reading over my wife’s shoulder (she loves that!). It was an email and for some dorky reason made me think of that innocent little conjunction. Re-reading it, I realized the ‘and’ was unnecessary and re-wrote it. Boom.