CONTRAILS

My Next Big Thing: beingreen

While I have enjoyed the incredibly few and sparse blog entries I have done on Contrails, it has been hard to find a consistent and unifying theme and thus to find any real momentum.  Over the past year or so, I have increasingly immersed myself in the green / sustainability movement, both at work and in my personal life.  I figured (and hoped) that any learnings or experiences I come across might be useful to others that are also trying to do their part in the important issue of climate change and environmental awareness.

I kick off this effort in an adjacent blog called beingreen.  Take a look here:

iPods on the Subway: Making A Soundtrack for Your Life

I love the subway, especially in NYC – the variety and spice, smells and sounds attack and challenge all the senses and evoke every emotion. Today, I got on at Wall Street and off at Penn Station – a 15 minute ride or so...I had my iPod on and was listening to a combination of Van Morrision, John Mayer and I think a Tom Petty song as well – generally mellow, rhythmic and soulful songs with ponderous lyrics. These fit my mood well – I had spent the day racing around NYC for a variety of meetings, and was tired, but satisfied with the day’s achievements and that I had done my part to make the world a better place for the day. 

I looked around at the other faces and bodies on the subway; the young hotshot bankers in expensive suits; the off duty policeman; the immigrant family and the deliberately angry city kids. So many stories, dreams and as many heartbreaks. You can really feel people’s emotions on the subway...people let their guard down in a strange way once they sit down – they focus internally and with little else to do but watch the stations go by, I feel that there is a meditative state the people enter which you can tune into, especially at the end of a long day where the weariness further erodes people’s ability to hold up the façade that life is anything but a daily struggle to do your best to overcome.

I noted a number of other people also listening to iPods or the like...I found myself wondering what kinds of music they might be choosing to be the soundtrack to their life...happy or sad, fast or slow, painful or playful. I think everyone should have a soundtrack to their life – it makes everything seem that much more vital, more connected and elevates even the little pieces of life to a meaningful status. In the movies, as the characters are driving around town with the soundtrack playing, a task we all do each day with little fanfare or meaning, the cruising makes sense as a backdrop to where the actors are going to, or coming from and alerts us to any danger, excitement or emotions that the scene is meant to portray...music smooths over the voids that normally fill our life and give the little pieces meaning and cohesion. These pieces have meaning in our lives too, but its hard to remember that without the music playing...

Perhaps by choosing your own soundtrack, one can choose their response to all of life, both the mundane and meaningful, and shape a persona and path that is uniquely their’s. Perhaps. So fire up the iPod and put together your soundtrack – make it real, make it your’s, and make it loud.

Vision, Vegas Style

I just returned from my annual pilgrimage to Las Vegas. Each visit follows a precictable set of stages (I am currently in the “recovery” phase). First, there is the excitement of arriving. I still recall my first visit to Vegas in the early 1970’s. We were flying in from the East Coast at night. I peered out the window into the vast Nevada night, nearly as dark as it is landing on an aircraft carrier in the Atlantic Ocean in the middle of the night. Finally, off in the distance lights appeared – as the plane got closer, the surreal image of a city sprung out of no where began to appear, much like what I imagine a moon base station will look like someday. And this way back when the Las Vegas Hilton was the major hotel…the unindoctrinated arrivee today must truly be aghast at the conspicuous consumption of electricity the city devours.

As soon as you exit the plane, you quickly enter the shock phase. The clanging of the slot machines and the gaudiness of the show posters (Wayne Newton still has one, that hasn’t changed), and finally, the magnitude of the hotels. The latter still shocks me, more now than ever in fact. You drive down the strip…Treasure Island, the new Wynn, the MGM, the Bellagio and a few dozen more. This time I stayed at the Venetian which inexplicably took Vegas to a new level for me.

After a few hours of sensory overload, the innovator and capitalist in me begins to take over and I enter the most profound and enjoyable phase of the process which is pure appreciation and marvel at the audacity of Bugsy Malone and all that have followed in his footsteps. There is nothing small about Vegas. Everything is over the top and no one apologizes for it. In a land of timidity and sameness, Vegas is a bastion of originality, dreams and pure Americana gone wild. I wish I could have been in the meeting where the founders of the Venetian said “oh yes, and then we’ll put an entire canal system inside the hotel, complete with Italian gondaliers”. And the best part is they did it, and it works.

Unfortunately, this phase ends and one then enters into the “hog wild” phase which is what the entire system is predicated and for which the bottom line of Vegas eagerly awaits. The call of the blackjack table, the scores of fine restaurants, $100 shows and the perpetual night clubs overwhelms the rationale mind and one begins to imagine being a rock star living this lifestyle for years on end. Unfortunately, few have the money or liver to pursue this line of work, and on the second or third morning of too little sleep, and too much cheap casino gin (I dare not say free, because if you amortize your losses over those relatively few drinks, they get expensive very quickly – alas, another wonderful Vegas mechanism), you begin to yearn for the pedestrian life of home, work and sleep.

That is when the recovery phase begins - I will let you know when that ends. However, I am sure that sometime in the next few months, the itch phase will start again, but for now, I hold Vegas in my fond memories, much less for having taken my money, and more for having done it with such singular focus and creativity.

The Folly of New Years Resolutions

The passing of a year and the breaking in of a new, pristine calendar hold some mystical powers over me, and I would guess, many others as well.  There is a fresh promise of a better you, the myriad promises of more exercise, a new career move or in my case, more blogging and writing in general. 

Each year, as the final days of December approach, basking in having survived another Christmas (or Holidays, depending on your level of P.C. savvyness) all futures seem possible, even probable.  Alas, we all arrive back at our jobs after the hangovers subside (alcohol or otherwise)  and we fall back into familiar routines and once again start flipping pages of our day planners hoping for some divine intervention in our lives and bringing to us the perfect alchemy of happiness.

This sounds more downbeat than it needs to...I am actually a strong believer in personal change, but I have come to realize it takes more than a two day blitzkrieg of karmic reprogramming - it actually takes hard work and a real desire to shift.  The vision of the new you often comes pouring in full and rich, but the implementation of change is long and hard, and unfortunately often about tradeoffs - you have to work the equation to determine what falls out when a new thing needs birthed.

For me, I am increasingly being called to write (about what, and to whom, it is not yet clear) and therefore I have to find the time, space and resource to support this calling.  But mostly I need the courage to pursue this path as God only knows how many folks out there think they can make a living as a writer. 

These probabilities aside, I do think that it is the process, and the commitment that makes the personal shifting worth doing.  As has oft been said, it turns out to be much more about the journey than the destination and the desire to take the back roads, a new route to a familiar place, is strong in each of us.

The Illusion of Control

News Flash:  I have started flying again, finally!  I had not realized just how much I missed the whole experience; from the pre-flight prep (I am an admitted planning junkie), to the smell of jet fuel (I have always loved the smell of gas, even when it was on the deck of an aircraft carrier and made me choke).  I had forgotten the uniqueness of aviation camaraderie and love of all flying objects that pilots openly share, whether you have known them for 5 minutes, or a lifetime.  I am once again luxuriating in being able to enjoy the perspective one gets from leaving the 2D world to rise above and look down upon the flat plane of normal human existence with a vantage point only few beyond the birds truly experience. 

But most of all, I love the fidelity of the feedback loop in aviation.  I find that in my personal and professional life, any sense of control I have over situations, people or outcomes, is illusory at best.  In fact, one of the things I find the most difficult about being a VC is that the feedback loops are quite long, and often non-existent.  One day you make a recommendation at a board meeting, hire a new executive, strike a promising new partnership, or secure new financing, and hopefully, someday, far down the line, good things will come from it.  The same is true for many of my life’s other activities as well.

But when I get in the plane and move the stick up and to the left just that much, lo and behold, the airplane moves up and to the left, immediately, and precisely – well, most of the time, at least.  Of course, this cuts both ways…you had better apply the right control input when there is a crosswind, or when you are making a flap transition, and you better flip the right switches when you are experiencing some sort of an emergency as this high fidelity feedback system is also much more unforgiving than any everyday activity and thus there is little margin for error when you are operating an aircraft.

There are good lessons in all of this; namely, how do you create intermediate feedback loops in activities that are inherently not given to them so that you can gain better insights into the distant future outcome of an current activity and make mid-point course corrections which can ensure ultimate success.  And in situations where there is much more immediate feedback, how do you make better initial input decisions by gaining critical information a priori or perhaps utilize simulated training so that the feedback seems less mercurial and ultimate outcomes less surprising.

More importantly, being back in the air has added a joy back into my life that I did not realize I had lost.  I am sure there are activities that once filled this hole for you as well so I urge you to rediscover a love of painting seascapes, writing in a journal or hiking the local trails.  Whatever the case, the perspective, joy and energy these activities will bring to the rest of your life is worth the time and effort it takes to reclaim them.

Finally, check out my new plane at http://www.cirrusdesign.com/aircraft/gallery/. 

The story of Cirrus and great design are topics for another day.

Just Breathe...

I am sitting here in my office overlooking MIT, the Charles River and most importantly, Fenway Park; it is 9pm and I’m waiting for my Dad to call from Dulles airport to tell me he is finally airborne enroute to Boston for his weekend visit.  I am using the time to try to get ready for our annual Limited Partner (LPs give $$ to us VCs so we can then give it to entrepreneurs) meeting early next week; family visits never come at a great time, but they are priceless nonetheless. 

My desk is piled full of various stacks of stuff;  a CEO search for one company, a term sheet for another, two massive due diligence files on potential new investments and who knows what else.  It often feels like there is no way that I can possibly get all, or even part of what I need to get done.  Worse yet, how amidst all that work can I find time to do what I really love doing, namely writing for my Blog or other asundry activities like sleeping?

The best thing about being here at this time of night (ok, the only good thing) is that I can jam my radio as loud as I care to, and ironically the wisdom of the current tune compels me to “Just Breathe”. I do yoga fairly regularly; in fact, I went to a class just last night;  it was my birthday and that was how I wanted to spend my evening so Julie and I humped it down to the Baptiste Studio in Cambridge.  Yoga is largely about breathing into the challenge of the pose so as to not give into the discomfort of the moment.

Yoga teachers have a variety of instructional approaches which are some combination of drill sergeant, philosopher and little league coach.  Last night’s teacher, Coeli (they all have interesting names) was particularly ponderous and one comment she made really stood out to us…”It is often inconvenient to live a balanced life.” 

Simple, but profound, and so true.  It is almost always easier to diverge to excess in one direction or another.  Balance is difficult, and fleeting at best.  In the go-go times we live in, striving for balance often feels like we are giving up the competitive edge against our all-consumed rivals.   However, in those precious, quiet moments at the end of a good yoga session, I know deep inside that achieving the ever-transitory state of being grounded and centered is the real prize.  Trick is how to accomplish that amidst the chaos of modern life?!  I think the song offers a good starting point…

“Breathe, just breathe…”

And thanks to my good Bud Nick Edwards for prompting me to get off my arse and start blogging again just as the song came on…

James Bond Stockdale: Farewell to a Hero for the Ages

Admiral Stockdale passed away a few days ago on July 5, 2005.  I make the assumption that most folks know Admiral Stockdale, if perhaps only for the few moments of public infamy during the 1992 presidential debates which were relentlessly replayed and caricatured, or more hopefully from his selfless leadership during his 7.5 years as the senior Prisoner of War (POW) in Vietnam for which he was appropriately awarded this Nation’s highest decoration, The Congressional Medal of Honor.  I fortunately have a much personal and profound recollection of this exemplar of human honor, dignity, and service and for those of you who don’t know about Admiral Stockdale, I urge you to spend a few moments learning more at http://www.admiralstockdale.us. 

I first met Admiral Stockdale while enrolled at the US Naval Academy in the 1980’s.  I was among a handful of fortunate First Class Midshipman (seniors) who were selected to take part in an exploratory course on Leadership and Ethics designed and taught by Admiral Bill Lawrence (also a singularly extraordinary person and Vietnam POW).  This class remains one of the formative pillars of my life as I was exposed to so many incredible guest lecturers in an intimate and engaging setting.  One series of classes was led by Admiral Stockdale, and these few days standout as the capstone of my four long years at the Academy; being able to discuss leadership, ethics, and the placement of service to others over oneself with someone who had spent their life doing just this was a powerful experience for each of my classmates, all of us at such a critical juncture in our personal and professional development.  In the 20 years since, I have tried, imperfectly, to apply these important concepts in my life, but I have always held Admiral Stockdale as the beacon against which I have re-calibrated my ethical compass when I have strayed off course.

Years later, I had occasion to spend an evening with Admiral Stockdale and his wonderful wife Sybil when a couple of my squadron mates, one who’s Father was close with the Stockdales, and I were invited over to their home in Coronado.  Admiral Stockdale appeared much older and the beginnings of Alzheimer’s were becoming evident, but he and Sybil were so accessible and had so much presence that one could not help think how many such evenings they had spent graciously entertaining young Naval Officers and sharing their warmth, tales of courage and home so that each of us might feel like they we have a special bond with this amazing family.

The concepts that Admiral Stockdale developed, believed in and lived are not merely military precepts, but basic tenants for each of us to understand, and strive for.  As is probably becoming evident in the emergent ramblings of this blog, I am a fledgling student of history, religion and philosophy as tools in my pursuit to better understand the world around me, and in my goal to be a better person and global citizen.  Regardless of your religious or political orientation, you will find true wisdom and deep meaning in the life of James Bond Stockdale and for that, I thank him deeply…

Golf Lessons

I have become addicted to golf – there you have it, I’ve finally said it.  I am not sure when or how it happened, but I find myself practicing my swing while standing in grocery lines. I have a putting gadget in my office where many a competition is now held, and I find metaphors in my every day life that apply to golf, and vice versa.  I suppose there are worse things…

Of course, I recall (as Julie won’t let me forget) a time about 10 years ago when I was less sanguine about the notion of chasing a little white ball down a long patch of green grass for four hours.  Julie was driving me into NAS Miramar for one of my routine early morning flight briefs; I can’t recall now why she was driving me, perhaps we had been at the Officer’s Club late the previous night, or more likely my Jeep was broken again.  Anyhow, we went in the West Gate which brought you along the golf course, the 5^th or 6^th hole I believe.  Anyhow, it is around 6.30am (late for flight briefs, but early for golf!) and there are four older gentlemen (ancient, in fact) who would hustle along whack at their ball, then move along briskly again, and repeat…

I watched them for the few moments that we were passing alongside, and I shook my head in tired bewilderment and said to Julie or myself, not sure at this point, “I may have lots of bad habits and vices, but golf will never be one of them”.  Well, fast forward to today and on any much too in-frequent morning that I am fortunate enough to be able to get up early to go play, I am reminded of this prognosticational error.

I have come to truly love all that golf represents; the beauty and creativity of course design; the fact that it is a sport where honesty and self-governance are not only accepted, but expected; that any two people can play against one another and have a competitive match no matter the difference in skill level; and that there is a tradition and respect for history that transcend any modern day fads or contemporary pressures.

Golf is also a game that you can play your entire life, quite unlike the sports of my youth like wrestling, soccer and football.  I only wish I had taken the game up earlier but I rationalize that I would be missing the joy of discovering it in my mid-years and the camaraderie that comes with a group of guys out for a round of golf and the natural sophomoric behaviour that it entails.

Now to be sure, golf has its detractors; it is expensive and can be time consuming.  Country clubs further the economic stratification we struggle with in America.  And then there are the whispering commentators on TV with their endless diatribes about how fast the greens are at Augusta, or how badly a player must have hit the ball to leave it 12 feet above the hole. 

But all in, I have come to believe that golf is truly a transcendental pursuit where some time spent on the range, course or in the pub after a round (regardless of the score) makes one a better person.  Check out my suggested readings while I head off to the driving range hoping that I won’t get struck by lighting as I work on my slice.

Where Do We Get Such Men?

“Where do we get such men? They leave this ship and they do their job. Then they must find this speck lost somewhere on the sea. When they find it, they have to land on its pitching deck. Where do we get such men?"

                                     Rear Admiral George Tarrant in “The Bridges at Toko-Ri”

                    _______________________________________________

One of the best things about Memorial Day weekend is that there is a non-stop flow of classic military movies on TV that take me back to my youth and remind me of why I was so drawn to serve in the military in the first place.  This year is no exception and I caught bits and pieces of one of my favorites, “The Bridges at Toko-Ri” based upon James Michener’s classic novel of the same name about the Korean War and the lives of a few men who selflessly served in that conflict.

I am unapologetically patriotic about America, and what this country represents.  Not patriotic in the Toby Keith, “we’ll kick your ass” sort of way, nor do I allow my love of America to blind me from all the challenges and hypocrisies that exist in this country.  I often worry that as we get further from the founding of America that we don’t allow the various layers of abstraction to dilute the values upon which our fore Fathers created this great country.

Soon after September 11, 2001 as we as a Country were struggling to regain our footing after the impact of the terrorist attacks, I dug back into researching the process which took place at the founding of America and the challenges that the Founder’s faced (see my typelist of some recommended books).  I was struck how similar the core tensions were to today's:  the heterogeneity of our country’s population and the varied interests inherent in this diversity, the role of America in the global context, and how to ensure that “freedom and liberty for all” truly meant equally opportunity for everyone.

I remain troubled by the separation of the classes in this country, and that most people who serve in the military are not from the families who have gained the most from America’s freedoms.  I worry that the machinery that runs our country seems so distant from the people whom they represent, and from the Troops they send to fight in far away places.  This morning, I found myself remembering my many friends who have given their lives in these faraway places and thus was particularly ponderous about America and our future.  I live in Lexington, MA which is a mecca of American History so one does not have to go far to connect with our roots and thus I went for a drive.  I soon found myself sipping my Starbucks coffee, driving along the Battle Road from Lexington to Concord with my convertible top down and XM Radio jamming.  I passed dozens on multi-million dollar houses that now adorn this historical route and I could not help but note the irony in all the materialism that this cruising represented.

Had I gotten too soft?  Would I still be willing to strap on a jet and go launching off into the night only to have to return again to the pitching deck?  Would I still be willing to “give my all” for America? As importantly, do we have enough young people who are willing to don the military uniform to do their part in service of our country?  Do we have enough young people who are willing to commit to a life of teaching, public service, or working with the homeless when the riches are elsewhere? 

Notably, this Memorial Day weekend also represents the passing of one of our modern era’s great Americans, David Hackworth.  Colonel Hackworth is as notable for what he did since leaving the military as he is for his remarkably heroic legacy in uniform.  He loved this country enough to both fight for it, and to fight against it’s complacency and diffusive use of military might in foreign policy. 

Colonel Hackworth showed that there are many ways to serve, in and out of uniform.  On this Memorial Day, join me in asking yourself what you can do to serve the greater good with your time and talents, and then commit a meaningful amount of both to that pursuit.

The Wisdom of Dogs and Donuts

We have a dog and a cat, Aero and Clawdia (see them over there with my wife Julie). We adopted Aero almost 9 years ago from some military friends who had to move overseas; about a year later, we got Clawdia to keep Aero company.  After 72 hours of pure chaos of their initial co-existence during which Aero was madly trying to see, sniff and devour this new “plaything” and Clawdia was crazily trying to avoid all the above, Clawdia finally landed a few Tyson-like jabs to Aero’s nose, establishing the still standing pecking order, they have been fast friends and great teachers for Julie and me.

Anyhow, the whole notion of this post came racing into my mind on this morning's walk with Aero.  This year’s Nor’easter has finally moved off Boston’s coast and the weather broken into the kind of Spring day that can only happen in New England – clear, fresh and so welcome after two weeks of cold rain that it leaves you breathless, and frenetic about trying to do everything on this one gorgeous day, golf, yard work, hiking, sleeping on the grass and more. 

Ok, back to Aero, who is a fairly introvertive dog, preferring more to sniff his way around the neighborhood than play with other dogs.  He has the most uncanny ability to find food that has been left laying around the sides of the streets in the bushes, grass and garbage cans.  Yesterday was trash day, so the treasure hunting was particularly rich this morning.  A few minutes into our walk, Aero found a nasty stale donut (or at least it looked like a donut, kinda like the leftovers from JAWs’ first victim washed up on the beach looked like a woman) and immediately began chowing down on it like Bull Meacham’s Marines eating mushroom soup in The Great Santini (ok, sorry about all the random movie allegories). 

Now, all this scrounging invariably gets Aero quite sick, but he routinely does it anyhow, with great passion as if it is what he lives for, which I think he truly does.   So, as I was yanking him away from the “donut”, I said to him in a frustrated paternal voice, as if he understands me (like the scene in Gary Larson’s classic Farside comic), “Aero, spit that donut out...you know it makes you sick!  Why do you keep eating street scraps if it makes you sick every time?”

WHAM!  It hit me like a ton of you know what…personally, I do exactly that same thing each and every day. I often don’t sleep enough, with predictable results.  I routinely neglect my workouts and yoga practice at the peril of my health and vitality.  I too eat food I know will give me indigestion. to wit, I recently gave up coffee (again) because I have come to realize it is not good for me, yet I have spent the whole morning craving it.

Organizations have their own "donuts"...employees who don't carry their weight and are a sink for management's time, insufficient communications regarding the all important unifying vision and/or the often unavoidable downsizings, a product management process that allows an obviously bad idea to turn into an new, and invariably unsuccessful product, or continuing to support expensive customers who are not core to the company's profitability or strategy.

Like dogs, people and organizations are capable of amazing elegance and achievement, but like Aero, we often find ourselves eating stale donuts on the side of the road.  So, ask yourself what is making you or your organization sick? And then take the first step in beginning to change – spit out the donut.