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I headed out for a ride this afternoon into pretty dreary weather. I wasn’t that psyched but thought I’d better get it in. Halfway through the ride the sun popped out below the clouds. The light was amazing. I’m so stoked that I was in the right place at the right time to be apart of the scene, out on a country road. Never underestimate the power of sudden change.
It was sad to walk by Bart’s CD Cellar today to see that “Going out of business sign.” Bart’s has been an institution for quite some time. I guess it reflects a larger trend of the virtual world replacing the physical world. Nonetheless, it’s sad to see change happen like this.
(I wrote this for the 3six5 project yesterday. People seem to like it so, I wanted to share it with you. Thanks, Len and Dan for asking me to participate in the project.)
I woke up this morning with my head spinning. I got back last night from a whirlwind two-day trip to New York. Meetings started at 8 and ended at 10 at night. On top of that, I was trying to do what we all do. Return hundreds of emails, blog, tweet, and text. You know the drill.
While I enjoy the adrenaline, it can be a bit overwhelming living in the digitally connected world that most of us find ourselves today.
This morning, as I tried to get my bearings, I thought of my great friend, Charley LaVenture. Charley passed away a couple of months ago. He was a truly unique spirit and an amazing surfer, mountain biker, potter and family man. Charley wasn’t always the easiest to get along with. He had a way of stripping you down to expose your soul. I’d often get out of the water after what I thought was an amazing surf session and come strutting up the beach. Charley had a way of calling out my ego and put it back in the right place. To Charley all this stuff we do, from work to surf, wasn’t really that important. What was important was sitting watching the sunset with good friends or having an honest conversation about life.
A few hours before Charley died I got a chance to sit with him. As I looked into his eyes he spoke with such clarity and vision, “Quit trying so hard.” As he said it he had a big Cheshire grin. Charley went out with such grace and strength.
After remembering his words this morning, I changed speeds. I shut off my computer, hopped on my bike and, instead of pushing myself to the limit, I moseyed for a couple of hours. The birds were singing. The wind whistled through my spokes and the sun danced through the trees.
Halfway through the ride a friend, Troy, caught me. As we slowly road we had a wonderful conversation, even talking a bit about Charley.
Once again I feel grounded remembering that all of this stuff we do isn’t really as important as spending a few minutes with a friend cruising down the rode with not a care in the world.
Thanks, Charley.
A couple of days ago, I was getting ready for a speech in New York. I couldn't find my digital powerpoint remote and was about ready to buy a new Logitech Wireless Presenter R400. Just before I pushed the Buy and spent $49.99 on this:
A thought occurred to me. Is there an iPhone app?
Sure enough, I found the i-Clickr Powerpoint Remote App for $.99.
So, $49.99 for the physical product or $.99 for the virtual one? Not a hard choice. And, best of all. I only have to carry around one tool instead of two.
It's a great illustration of as things go from physical to virtual the downward price pressure is enormous.
As many of you know, I
had the opportunity to give the commencement
speech at the graduation ceremony for CU's Journalism School. Since giving
the speech, I've been thinking a lot about what failure can teach you.
On New Year's Day I was
reminded how little mistakes multiply quickly to create the potential for disastrous
consequences. After a great day of skiing at Vail with the family at Vail, my
good friend, Mike Alkaitas and I decided to ski the East Vail Chutes for the
last run. We thought it would be a great way to kick off 2010.
While the avalanche
forecast wasn't good, we both have a lot of experience in the backcountry and had
all of the right equipment, training and experience to navigate the terrain
safely. In such conditions, it’s about finding the safest line to ski, staying
out of harms way. We knew where the safe lines were and thought we'd at least
skin up out of China Bowl to check the conditions. One of the joys of
skiing in the backcountry is going uphill. It’s all about earning your turns.
Our goal was to ski a
line called Marvin’s, a line that is usually a safe bet as it gets skied almost
every day. Instead, the ski soon turned into a bit of an epic. As we went out
the traverse to Marvin’s I suggested that we drop into what I thought was
Marvin’s but which was 100 yards short of the run. What seemed like a little
mistake became big. Fast.
As we started to pick
our way through the trees, going one by one, I traversed the first opening and kicked
off a small slide. It took me for a thirty-foot ride, over a few rocks. Mike
yelled as it cut loose and I was able to stay on top and jump behind a tree to
avoid the worst of it.
We then, got rimmed out
with some 20-30 ft cliffs. After some time searching for a place to exit the cliff
band we finally found a 15-foot spot to jump. While it was rocky, it was the
safest way to get off the rim.
After the cliff, Mike
started to ski down to some trees when three separate slides cut out behind
him. I yelled as thirty-foot high powder plumes rumbled toward him. Luckily, he
heard me and was able to get into the trees as the slides stopped just short.
From there it was an uneventful ski out.
It was pretty damn
scary. It made me think about how failures of judgment, which seemed so small
at the time, can lead to big consequences in business and in life, as well.
It’s all about paying
attention to the small stuff.
