unRun and unHide
The day darkens
At midday
So close your eyes
Shrink out the light
It will be gone
Till you awake
Life flashes by
In blurs of unengagement
Disenchantment
Unreal, surreal, not real
Sleep induced denial
Plays havoc with dreams
Dedream a life
Unseam the fabric
Of who you are
The world awaits
Your wakening
You have much to give
Believe me
Unrun
Unhide
Look straight in the light
And live
Unbridled
Unabridged
And free
“Liar, Liar, pants on fire”! I bet you haven’t heard that line for a very long time. It takes you back to the playground when adults were tall and stories were even taller.
“My dad is a skydiver!”
“Well mine is a submarine commander!”
“No he’s not, he sells cars!”
“Over the weekends he works in a submarine!!!!”
According to Peter Stratheim, there is no such thing as business ethics. I want to agree with him based on experience provided by the School of Hard Knocks. Something inside me, however, desperately wants to fight back.
At this moment in history in
John L Huntsman has written an inspirational book entitled “Winners never Cheat”. If you need an uplifting book to read, get it now. Perhaps it could become a set work for all those people wishing to or already engaged in business or politics. He managed to run a Multibillion Dollar petro-chemical business globally without once participating in bribery and corruption. His faith had some large part to do with his honesty, and he has a cause in which to believe.
The citizens of South Africa (according to the great majority of critical observers) seem somehow to have lost the cause, lost our faith, and lost the basic spirit which drove us from oppression into democracy – we have lost our sense of “Ubuntu” –togetherness.
Shaka, the oft maligned leader of the Zulus, had a cause – to unite the Nguni people into one unit. You see, the Zulus were a relatively peace loving people, but persistent power struggles and bitter rivalry divided all the people of what is now KwaZulu Natal. He started with a volunteer group of 50 warriors and he was a strong leader with new ideas. A mere 5 years later he had an army of 80 000 warriors fighting for him. He also almost eliminated the people’s long suffering fear of the Sangomas (a powerful force over which they had little control). Say what you may about him, he did many things right, and it is for this reason that both he and Nelson Mandela have been named the two greatest leaders of all time in
The fear our people have now is loss of control and an seemingly insurmountable inability to protect ourselves from crime, poverty, homelessness, joblessness and HIV/Aids. A once fiercely racially and politically divided country who fought tirelessly for decades against the “enemy” has lost its direction. We have come a long way since democracy but we have lost our way within the freedom it has given to us.
Freedom has given rise to a new breed of rich people from all racial groups, and they just seem to get more obscenely rich whilst the poor become more evidently poorer. The great divide between our people has not become racial, it has become financial. Greed and corruption was clearly present in the Apartheid Regime (the only problem being that the press was not free to report it). Greed and corruption is starkly evident (and distinctly reported in our free media) in our current business and political fraternities. Anybody can manage but few can lead, and real leaders are hard to find in the corrupt quagmire we see and hear today. We have solid role models in the western world, however, and the words “I never had sexual relations with that woman” seem to ring resoundingly in our ears. Even after the whole Bill Clinton saga came to an end, he continued to stay leader of the great
And, my goodness, they have. They have taken a leaf from Clinton’s book and sexual lechers, fraudulent members of parliament, and mass-adored figureheads ride roughshod and bareback through the quiet towns of our lives like drunken cowboys, guns blazing, after a day of drinking in the sun and laugh in the face of our sheriff conscience. They are exposed time after time, yet the sentence (if any) doesn’t seem to fit the crime. Politically connected fraudsters are prematurely released from prison accompanied by adoration and ululation and their stature grows day by day. How many honest people in this land will never be free from the prison of hunger and joblessness, and be free from the fear of walking down a road without being killed for their cell phones?
Perhaps we, as a people, could consider putting our energy into fighting crime, corruption, poverty, homelessness, joblessness and HIV/Aids. If we see these as our “causes” we could transform this beautiful nation.
I digress, I was talking about ethics - back to the playground.
“Well my dad is an honest politician”
“Ja right, and my dad is an astronaut”
“For real?”
“For real, it’s more possible than an honest politician!”
I’m sorry I didn’t hear you, I was digesting my toast.
Sitting quietly enjoying breakfast with my partner in a busy coffee shop one Sunday morning, the silence in my mind was shattered by her saying, “You haven’t heard a word I just said!”. I must admit, I hadn’t, I was too busy digesting my toast.
Men use few words in a day to communicate (some research suggests 2000 words a day), but women on the other hand use five times as many in 24 hours! I am a shrink and not an accountant, but the benefit of High School mathematics leads me to conclusion (and correct me if I am wrong here) that this amounts to a massive ten thousand words!
Girls start talking much earlier than boys and it seems that we will never catch up – ever! A study of parents changing the nappies of little boys and girls, the filling of which often resembles a kind of butternut stew, has shown that the two sexes are treated very differently. Little girls are talked to throughout the cleansing process and are told how beautiful they are. Boys, on the other hand are tugged, tickled and generally encouraged to be active. It all started in nappies, with boys there was physical interaction and with girls communication.
And that is what I was doing, interacting with the toast, my mind tuned out to other sources of stimulation. My partner did not see it this way, she thought misguidedly that I was disinterested and disengaged. I wasn’t, I was simply single tasking.
Trying to backtrack and ask for a repeat of the string of words that had wafted by me unnoticed the first time seemed both logical and polite. The request, however was met with both scornful look and silent icy rebuke (as noisy as silent can be), the likes of which I had not expected. Simply put, she has ten thousand words a day to use, and just how hard can it be to use a few of them to repeat what was said before?
Putting the most attentive look on my face, and following men’s magazine advice I leaned slightly in to show my interest, I encouraged her to say what she needed to say. To my amazement I was met with stony silence and a tight-lipped mouth that offered no sound at all! Add to that folded arms and body language that can only be described as being somewhat negative and not open at all, my confusion began to mount. The toast was pushed ever so slightly to one side by my left hand as a gesture of engagement, and I started to wonder where she had put the butter.
To be quiet honest, frustration began to creep into my voice as I once more encouraged her to voice her opinion – again! I was starting to eat into my allotted words for the day, keeping in mind that at least 100 words need to kept in reserve for the purpose of suggesting (you may replace “suggesting” with any of the following - requesting, cajoling, light heatedly flirting or pleading) some form of intimate adult entertainment later that night.
A third request ventured from my mouth, and please remember, that as in baseball, three strikes means you are out. Still nothing from the tightly sealed mouth, so I said “OK” (in my mind, however, my arms made a sweeping gesture, and with the sound of the crowd ringing in my mind’s ears my mind’s voice said, “You’re outa here!).
The process of recommitting to the toast is somewhat confusing at first, as I had started the process of covering one the two remaining lightly toasted bread slices with butter, but the question was, which one. A second decision needed to follow shortly, strawberry jam or marmalade?
“You are not listening to me” drifted over me, and I replied, “You didn’t say anything!”
“Oh yes I did, you just weren’t listening as usual.”
Mustering my best Dr Phil voice and the intense stare of Oprah, I said, “I’m here and I am listening.” I must admit I should not have added, “Now please speak in an audible voice, and if you don’t mind, can you take the dive-bomber shrill out of your voice.”
Cast again into the ‘I have picture, but no sound’ scenario, I realized that those one hundred words that I was keeping in reserve for post sundown merriment could now be used for other purposes as their initial reason for reservation would clearly not be happening today or any day soon. You see, men upon awakening consider their chances of achieving an orgasm, and if the prospects seem good, all is well in our world. If the prospects, however, appear bleak we become grumpy. This particular morning, the possibility looked relatively promising, but now grumpiness quickly found a home.
I must admit that I had not done particularly well throughout these particular slices of toast, and that I should have eaten them concentrating less on the process, and more on my partner. I should, instead have ordered the omelet which demands less attention and is more quickly devoured, you live and learn. Making a mental note to self about the omelet, and realising that the a possible second innings may be remotely possible (and hoping deeply that those 100 words could somehow be used as they were intended) I ventured, “You look cute when you are angry!”.
To my surprise she said thank you, but the “I must look cute a lot to you, because you tick me off all the time” came as a bit of a shock. I didn’t say, “yes your bum does look big in that” or anything of that nature, but I might as well have!
The cold war loomed, carnal pleasures faded from fantasy screen view so I did what any self respecting man would do at this moment. I said:
“You should try the toast, it’s delicious!”
Just one question, how do you get butter and strawberry jam stains out of a white shirt?
I wonder
When sun fades
And Smile is Gone,
I wonder if you will miss me
I wonder where
The wonder went
And if it will return
To you
And I wonder
At the wonder
That is there still
But covered now
In anger,
And regret,
And sorrow and sadness
Of what was
And what you
Need it to be
And still
I wonder
Where you went
And if you enjoy it there?
And I wonder
If ever you return
What you will be like
And if
You will like you
I no longer wonder
If you
Will like me again
As the wonder
From you
Seems gone
I wonder if he
Will see your wonder
And wonder if she
Will see mine
In new clouded lens
Of Love
And I wonder
If he will have the benefit
Of the doubt
For a while as did I
And I wonder
If he will be allowed
To be himself
But also I wonder
What could have been
If the wonder
Had stayed
Not strayed
And got lost
In desert dry despair
Of not being heard
Soft goodbye
No shouting that I hate you
No regret for what has been
Just quiet soft
And slipping away
Goodbye
No heartfelt and gushing
Thank-you’s
No discussion into the night
Just quiet soft
Fall of things
Into case -
Goodbye
No yelling of get outs
No screaming through the tears
Just soft quiet
Collecting
Of thoughts
And dignity
No knowing I’ll be back again
No last looks at what is here
Just quiet soft
Surrender
To what could never have been
No tugging fears of mistake
The final time has come
To put the keys down
Without the need to run
No head held low in sadness
No turning of my head
Just pick up the bags around me
And forget that I was here
Just quiet soft
Acceptance
I’ll never be with you again
So soft goodbye it is then
And into the night
I’ll walk
This goodbye is forever
No tears need be wasted here
I left in spirit long ago
I hoped beyond all hope
But tonight
I continue my new life
And reclaim my heart
From you.
Just tell me
Just tell me what you want
Tell me your fears
And dreams
And desires
A hopes for you and me
Just utter words
I can understand
Can absorb
Without fear
Or anger
Or loss of esteem
And tell me
What needs to change
In ways I can read
And translate into action
Without denuding my spirit
Or yours
And I will speak with you
Expose my very soul
Put the needs and wants
Out there
To be spoken about
Just speak to me
And I will listen
And talk
With you
Over a period of 18 years, I have been exposed to almost every managerial style and I have to admit that women are better managers than men. In case you were wondering, I am a man.
The privilege of working as a consultant has allowed me to be involved in people-based facilitation and change processes in over sixty companies in this beautiful country. Exposure to almost every industry from forestry to clothing retail has taught me a great deal about management in a diverse range of environments.
When I walk into a meeting, as a specialist in change management, I mostly have the attention of the group of people I’m going to meet. The women who command my respect in these situations are not automatically those dressed in the “power” business suits! It is the woman who looks like a woman, is a woman and who is assertive and sure of herself and her competence who has my attention. If I had wanted to compete with a woman who believes she needs to imitate aggressive men, I would have gone to a woman’s wrestling match.
The major strength of good female managers (and women in general) is that they don’t need to be sent on EQ courses to “learn” effective appropriate communicative interactive skills – they have it already in great abundance. Men, when faced with a question, believe that a solution or answer has to be produced instantaneously. Men are destination oriented, and women (for the most part) are more journey focused and they listen far more effectively and interactively.
A good manager, according to John Maxwell, has empathy, is a leader, is people focused yet does not lose focus on the task at hand. A good leader understands that their people have a deep need for recognition, and how hard is it to use the two simple phrases “please” and “thank you”? Women, in general, are far more open to recognising the other person and to using these simple words, whilst men are more inclined to give instructions as imperatives and demands.
This does not mean that all women are natural leaders, I have met my fair share of ineffective dominant women managers. These women tend to behave like men and believe that the only way to get ahead is to repress the woman in themselves and dress instead in testosterone iron clad “chain-male” armour. It also comes down to personality too, and every facet of our lives have true leaders and unhappy controllers, and they can be men or women.
With the radically changing gender and racial demographics in business in
Women are dealing with cultural gender noise too as some men in some cultures do not take kindly to taking instructions from women - it has been like that for thousands of years, why change now. Men have found that they are now made to report to, and take instructions from women, and this becomes extremely difficult for both men bound by tradition. As South Africans, we are blessed with the most advanced Constitution in the world that is superbly culture and gender fair. As a nation, we are still unfortunately only learning to apply the principles and make it work effectively for all the people for whom it was designed to protect and develop. I have a specific rule when it comes to business, “I don’t mind where you come from, or what you believe - you have a job to do, now do it to the best of your ability for the benefit of the company, your colleagues and lastly yourself”.
More women have taught me what it means to lead than men, and when I was one of the permanently employed many years ago at the start of my career I had a number of female and male managers. I’ll rephrase that, I had men bosses and women leaders from whom to learn. I have taken and applied many of the principles of leadership that I learned from women, and I learned not what to do from many of those men. The factor that made the women different was a level of respect and trust that I did not experience from men. Men are born competitive, and competent work from other men can be threatening!
Men are feeling a general sense of loss of direction and control today, and this is as a result of rapid change socially, economically, politically and personally. Men can learn from women, and women from men, it is that simple. We have a nation to build, relationships to heal, past hurts to forgive and dreams that need to become realities. The battle of the sexes, if left to rage on, will not benefit anyone ultimately. I suppose the single message that I have is that we need to stop relying on our past insecurities and instead bank on a better future by working productively together daring to look beyond sex, race and culture.
As a man, I really don’t seem to get it. Try as I may I work really hard to be that which she expects me to be. How do men compete with contemporary pop magazine culture where the idealisation and pontification is clearly evident and available as to everything philosophical regarding managing the “Ideal Man”? We also find ourselves falling desperately short of the fairy tale tall, handsome hero who rescues the damsel in distress and they live together in unending bliss for ever after? You see, she wants a knight in shining armour to adore her, which I do – if she would let me.
She also wants (as part of the armour) an unarmoured man who will dare to show his spirit and heart, a gentleman or gentle man. She has dreamt a man who will talk and share deep into the night and talk of dreams and hopes and fears. This I would do – if she would let me.
Being blessed with way above average emotional intelligence is a blessing and a curse. The blessing lies in the capacity to recognise our emotions, recognise the other person’s and the ability to respond appropriately. The curse is found in having to be ever mindful and ever careful regarding the words and intonations that emanate from our mouths. I am a psychologist and it is my job to do this, but I don’t ever want to be a shrink in the relationship.
Yet the man who will (out of story land folk lore that has been deeply ingrained since diaper time) stand bravely in the face of certain death is not allowed to show fear! Men have emotions, we feel them but don’t often recognise them for what they are. Even if we do recognise them, we have been conditioned not to acknowledge them or deal with them constructively.
We mere mortal men have more chance of falling pregnant by wind pollination than coming anywhere close to the “Loving” and “The Bold and the Beautiful” square jawed, broad shouldered, whisk me away on your private jet and wine and dine me in Acapulco on a whim man. He has all the right words, but haven’t you got it yet, they were written for him by a bunch of “oh so creative” scriptwriters whose sole work is to elaborate and perpetuate a glittering soft light fantasy. He has the luxury of redoing the scene as many times as the director sees fit to get the “perfect” scene. The rest of us only get one shot at it, live TV if you would like, and if we screw it up there are no edits, no reshoots and certainly no second chances.
The villain in this false fantasy world, despite his evil intent and obvious treachery also gets the girl, and his charm is noted and admired. He can be evil, but his devilish charm shines through. If I behave in any mild way (even by inference) like this bad man, I am condemned forever and am told that my parents weren’t married! He has faults, so do I, so why are his acceptable and mine not?
Take a peek with me, if you will, at the Hollywood stereotypes. Granted the Hugh Grantish iconoclastic Hollywood hero shines through – and he usually survives (with an injury or two which makes him quaintly endearing). The question I need to ask in all sincerity is how many times can a hero dare to show his true heart without being impaled for the sake of love?
The same hero may die, yet he is raised from death to live again in another movie to fight another series of battles, raging on in the name of some earth saving ethical epic with a love interest thrown in – again. Blood and guts abound, bombs explode in the air, the time bomb has ten seconds to world destruction, and a woman appears and love is immediate. Amidst the acrid smoke with nuclear decimation fast looming, the hero has time to talk with, fall in love with and kiss the girl. To top this, he always seems to get the girl for good irrespective of any unkindness he may have shown either intentionally or unintentionally!
So do I, but I always seem to forget the last scene of the last movie where I died! Battered and bleeding I lay on the battlefield surrounded by smoke and guts and gore and said it was all worth it.
Having gone through what I did in the last production, you would have thought I may have learnt a thing or two, and that I would only accept a new role with a new leading lady where I changed the rules, to selfishly suite me for a change. But oh no, not me, the shining daring caring knight has to rise over and over, only to be slaughtered again and again. Strange how we accept the same old scripts as our ongoing reality.
For once, I would like to be the man who dares to be a sensitive hero in a world that allows doors to be opened graciously, and not have it slammed on my fingers. You can’t flip the bird if your fingers are dismembered!
So I don’t really get it do I, or perhaps it is better to say that I shouldn’t accept the part if I am not prepared to die for love. Dying is, however, overrated I have found, and good parts are few and far between. Any actor has to do his share of histrionic soap operas to get a shot at the really big roles.
This moment
The path that I have made
The footprints I have left
On beach, on soil
On lands
Are there for a moment
But
Shifting tide and wind
Have changed and they have been covered
Over
And Over
The footprints left
In hearts of others
Are
For the most part
Kind and gentle.
Some will stay
Some forgotten
Some walked over
Some swept clean
I have too
Left bruises and marks
Through own self-centred words
And actions
Some will stay (I fear)
Some forgotten (I hope)
Some walked over (In repetition by others)
Some swept clean (I trust)
Yet I choose
Not to regret the past
Nor close those doors
And loose the lessons taught
And I choose to live
This moment
Magnificent as it is
To be
To live
To love
And to celebrate
All that I am
All that I have learned
And leave more honest footprints
Today
