To Motivate — Listen

Accept the past for what it was. Acknowledge the present for what it is. Anticipate the future for what it can become. – Tracy L. McNair

Leadership is a technique which can be learned by anyone willing to practice the skills. The first skill is listening.

Don’t tell people how to do things, tell them what to do and let them surprise you with their results. – George S. Patton

Communication is what is heard, not what is said, and you can’t motivate or lead anyone you can’t hear. If there was a single skill I would suggest spending the effort toward perfecting, it would be listening.

Warren Beenis once said, “The first rule in any kind of coachng is that the coach has to engage in deep listening. Which means that the coach must relate to the context in which the ‘other’ is reasoning – they must ‘tune in’ to where the other is coming from. In short, perhaps the basis of leadership is the capacity of the leader to change the mind-set, the framework of the other. That’s not easy … usually we are listening most intently to ourselves.”

In order to motivate someone else, she needs to feel that she has been heard. If she feels that all you are doing is thinking of the next thing you wish to say, while she is explaining her point of view, she will cease being interested in any motivation you have to offer.

Medusa and Athena

 

By Glenn Hefley © 2011

It is difficult to transcribe, from across time, the myths of the Ancient Greeks and Romans, even more difficult to grasp the full meaning. All that we can do is attempt to understand the myths from what we know about the people, the culture and the values those people had at the time of the telling.  We also have to keep in mind, especially with the Ancient myths, that these stories were as much art as they were religion, and like art, often sought to render meaning that the people did not possess at the time of the telling – to bring to the populous a new perspective – so, it is very likely that the full meaning of some of these myths, was not understood by the original audiences. All we have is perspectives. So this writing will not be a conclusive evaluation of Medusa’s story, only a perspective.

The story of Medusa, by the poet Ovid, is one that deserves a closer examination, much closer than is popularly rendered by our own storytellers.  The origin story of Medusa is rarely told at all, we are only introduced to the monster, and the terrible weapon of her gaze; given to us as the monster in the story of Perseus.  Perseus sets out on the task of acquiring Medusa’s head. When Perseus makes the boast that he will acquire this terrible weapon, it is the vainglory of youth, which pushes him to set this term for himself. Thousands of the best warriors in the world had already gone before him with the same claim, and never returned from the island where Medusa made her home. Perseus, another son of Zeus, is young, untried and overly protective of his mother. In other words, Perseus is a boy, not a man. He is innocent, not only of the true nature of the course he set himself on, but ignorant of the power he has set out to acquire.

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Everything you wanted to know about Turkey

It is a little amazing to find articles still being posted on the Internet that I wrote  years ago for some other website. Many of my articles were written for specific clients, rather than web sites, so there is no problem with rights or other legal issues. It is more of an interest to me regarding the longevity of some of my articles. For example, Everything you wanted to know about Turkey was written back in 2005, and it is still making its rounds of cooking web sites. This copy was found on the Like Cooking web site, and I know I didn’t write it for that particular web site, though it is probably owned by the same customer.  I also know that it is a new post for this year… reused material.

 

Everything is going to Kill Everybody!

If you want something to worry about, I can give you a whole book of things – the only catch is that you will be laughing so hard you won’t get to worry about any of them… until latter.

Everything is going to Kill Everybody is a book written by Robert Brockway, who has collected horrifying facts and stories about threats to global life, which are happening right now. This collection is seriously disturbing in description and demonstration of how precarious life on this planet really is, as long as humans are here.

Brockway is also amazingly funny. I laughed so hard during the first story about the Russian who saved us all from nuclear holocaust; I had to put the book down after I realized that the second story used the same primal humor juxtaposed against another horror concocted by intelligent humans. I knew I couldn’t handle another bout so soon. But after a break, I went right back to the book.

What is not funny is that after a bit of research to check Brockway’s claims, I discovered that, yes, we are, as a species, tremendously genocidal, and it has truly been a matter of precarious luck that we have survived this long. I give us another week at the rate we are concocting new ways to eradicate life.

So, seriously, check out the book, and you too will realize just how absurd theories like 2012 really are … when compared to the threat the farming industry already poses. 

The Hate of the Homeless

The California State Legislature has finally gotten around to addressing the attacks and  threats suffered by the homeless. This move is on the cusp of the [as the case of the burning alive of homeless man], and certainly a needed move.

I spent some time researching the number of attacks and other abuses rendered on the homeless population in California over the last five years. For this article I was planning on highlighting some of the more drastic encounters, in which the provocation for the attack was obviously against a homeless person (as a member of a population segment), rather than an attack on an individual person because of a personal dispute. It is not difficult to find large lists of these encounters in every major city of the state. It is also not difficult to find reports of attacks, which were at first ignored by the responding police units, simply because the victim was homeless.

On my way back from lunch, however, walking up Imperial Ave in San Diego, passing the Studio Fifteen building on 15th, I walked right into the middle of a perfect example.

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True That

‎”Some people remind me of the Sea Squirt, which finds a place it likes, attaches itself to a rock, and then eats its own brain so it won’t get bored doing the same thing in the same place for the rest of its life.”

“Anyone in particular you are thinking about?”

“My husband.”

“I’m your husband.”

“Surprised you remembered.”

“This is about the oral sex thing isn’t it? You are the one that said you wanted more honesty during the therapy sessions.”

“No, I understand that, it involves your two favorite things, sex and doing nothing.”

“True that.”

“My point exactly”

Fiction in 101 words © Glenn Hefley 2011

Family First

“Sure would be easier if Grandfather was dead.”

“Did you just wish our grandfather killed?”

“No. I just said it would be easier.”

“That’s horrible!”

“Why? It’s not like he’s more than money these days.”

“Jeffery! What has gotten into you? You can’t possibly be so cruel!”

“Why is that cruel? I am just being sensible. Besides, it’s no worse than killing your husband.”

“That’s got nothing to do with it!”

“You are saying that actual murder is better than wishing someone had passed away of natural causes?”

“He’s your grandfather!”

“Oh.”

“Besides, my husband was terrible.”

“In bed?”

“That too.”

Fiction in 101 words by Glenn Hefley © 2011

Wet Paint

The sign read ‘Wet Paint’. Richard reached out with a finger to touch the paint and stopped less than a breath above the surface of the sheen. Decades of commands and litanies of scolding reared and projected across his consciousness “Can’t you Read!”, “Are you Stupid!” The cacophony was deafening, wilting his finger away from the wall surface. The voices of teachers, siblings, uncles, aunts, parents, continued the berating of his attempted investigation of the wall surface.

Richard’s wilting finger stopped, hooked and scratched a scar into the fresh uncured paint. He looked at the wound, smiled. The voices were silent.