Taking the Highroad Blog

A Giant Spider on the Wall and Singing the Blues: How Perception Changes Everything

September 7, 2011

In today’s blog we will explore how perception management can make or break a business or personal relationship.

Much of our success in managing life and global business comes down to perception. Several years ago I stayed for two weeks in a very basic monastery dorm room in Southern Thailand. One night at bedtime I climbed onto my mat and tucked in my mosquito net around me. Just as I was about to close my eyes I saw a spider on the wall – it was the size of a large man’s hand. I knew that my decision came down to perception management. I could choose to perceive the spider as a threat and run screaming from the room waking everyone else up, or I could accept its presence and just go to sleep. The spider remained the same no matter what I chose. I chose to go to bed. He never moved the whole night.

Years later perception management still fascinates me. As many of you know I help onshore/offshore teams build collaboration between India and the U.S. Not long ago Vantage Partners released a study (http://nearshoreamericas.com/outsourcing-relationships-new-study-2509/) saying that cultural differences posed the number one challenge to offshore contracts. I was not surprised, but here’s what did raise my eyebrows a bit: The challenges did not come so much from the cultural differences themselves, but in the way they were perceived by both offshore providers and their clients.

For example, customers in the U.S. overwhelmingly believe that their offshore provider tends to communicate indirectly. Providers interviewed, however, tend not to perceive those differences. After all, what is “indirectly?” For the providers in India or China, their communication approach seems natural. These perception misalignments cause a loss in the offshore contract value, some customers reporting a loss greater than 30%. Perception then becomes reality.

I began to wonder if so much of what plagues us in global business is just a matter of aligning perceptions and expectations. This is not an easy task, and a recent business trip to Memphis, Tennessee proved that once again.

Blues music makes my heart and soul swoon, so when I found out I would be fifteen minutes from Beale St., the center of Memphis’s music scene I immediately set aside an evening for rocking out. Since I would be out late as a woman alone, I went on a couple of travel websites to make sure that the area was relatively safe. Before long, however, I was in the perception trap.

Descriptions and reviews of Beale St. ranged from “smelling like a urinal” and “filthy and not for families” to “everything I expected and more” and “music to my ears.”

I thought back to my time in Nepal where I spent a year living right under the glory of the mighty Himalayas. Many tourists that visited there described it as “dirty,” “poor,” or “fourth world.” Though living there drove me to tears from time to time, Nepal’s beauty and complex culture defied description. The streets, porches, and shops were always swept clean, and many of my colleagues had thriving businesses. Again, perception.

So I decided to go to Beale St. and I had the time of my life. I listened to live blues until midnight and let the sounds of guitars, bass, and harmonica permeate me for hours. I made sure I stayed in well-lit areas with lots of people, just as a common sense practice.

The question is, what do we do about this perception challenge? If perception misalignment is the ailment, than communication is the cure. Global teams must discuss not only processes and procedures, but how they are going to work together. They must design protocols around communication which include agreements they make as a team. They should ask the “W” questions (who, what, where, when, why) about cultural differences, project management, deadlines, and giving feedback. We can no longer afford to leave these aspects of teamwork to chance.

On an individual level we can check our perceptions consistently simply be being mindful of them on a regular basis. When they come up, we can acknowledge them as perceptions, and then ask inquiring questions: Is this true? Can I be 100% sure that it’s true? What evidence can I provide? How do I react toward my colleague when I have that perception? What options do I have for checking my perception? (These questions were adapted from Byron Katie’s The Work.)

Just remember the spider on the wall in Thailand. You may always choose how you perceive something, and how you seek to understand others’ perceptions of you.

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Culture, You Complete Me: A Lesson from Jerry Maguire on Global Collaboration

February 16, 2011

In today’s blog we will use the movie Jerry Maguire to explore how cultures outside of our own decrease our struggles and enhance our strengths. The result of working abroad or on mixed-culture teams is a more “complete” you, a you that’s ready to thrive into today’s market of global collaboration.

For those who haven’t seen the movie, Jerry Maguire is the story of a sports agent searching for more meaning in his work. Along this journey he develops a complex romantic relationship with his assistant, Dorothy and a deep friendship with his main client, an outspoken football player named Rod. Throughout the movie, Jerry struggles with his fear of getting close to those he loves and therefore stays stuck in his shortcomings. His friends must force him to confront those fears and find the deeper meaning he is looking for.

In the scene shown above, as Jerry rides the elevator with Dorothy a couple begins to speak to each other in sign language. When Jerry wonders aloud what they are saying, Dorothy interprets for him. The man had said, “You complete me.”

I recently returned from a twenty-one day trip to India when a colleague from England called to see how my journey went. Aside from the stomach bug and the nineteen-hour flight home, I told him, it was sublime! Then he asked me the question that I’ve heard many times before.

“Vicki, why do you go to India? I know it’s a fascinating country, but why do you keep going back over and over?”

I’ve always struggled to answer this question before but suddenly I saw Jerry Maguire’s face in my head. For the first time in my life I knew what to say.

“This is going to sound corny,” I said to my colleague, “but I go because India completes me.”

Everyone has strengths that can double as struggles. Psychologist Carl Jung wrote about this duality, saying that your gifts, if not given the proper outlets, can also become your shadows. For example, I tend to strive hard for perfection, especially within myself. This is a gift in that I pay close attention to detail and my clients get the benefit of my desire to do things right. Perfectionism becomes a shadow, however, when you experience deep disappointment in yourself for not achieving something that is in fact impossible. Let’s face it, a perfect human does not exist.

When I go to India, this shadow is tempered. A large part of the population of India believes in reincarnation, a philosophy that does not lend itself to perfectionism. The belief that death is a comma rather than a period fosters tolerance, accommodation, and a sense that if something isn’t perfect this time, another chance will come around. Those who do not share a belief in reincarnation are also influenced by India’s cyclical culture; even the roads are laid out in roundabouts and twists. In addition, India is an emerging economy, so logistics don’t always function perfectly. Roads might close at a moment’s notice and power may not be available during your big presentation.

In India, I take my focus away from perfection and place it more firmly on relationships, improvisation, diversity of thought, and acceptance. I feel less stressed when I let India take the burden of where I fall short. In other words, India completes me.

When we travel or work with members of a multicultural team right here at home, we open ourselves to this wholeness. Let me provide some other examples from around the world.

From Germany I learned to take very direct feedback on my documentation without being offended. Because the style of communication tends to be more explicit than the southern USA where I live, when I worked in Germany I got to improve my writing and software skills in ways that may not have happened here.
From China I experienced what it feels like to be in a language minority. I remember how scary it was to leave the hotel, wondering if you knew enough Chinese to get you back once you wandered off. I needed to know what that felt like in order to encourage my clients to be patient with non-native speakers of their language.
From Nepal I learned that you do not have to have a long list of business achievements to be worthy as a human being. I had always struggled with the “Am I doing enough?” question that plagues the American psyche. Nepalese culture places a high value on relationships, especially family, and I spent many evenings there on a porch drinking tea and sitting in silence with my host family. This was a unique kind of happiness.
From California, my home town which I’ve lived away from for sixteen years, I learned to be informal in my style and put people at ease, a skill I use a lot with anxious clients.

The list goes on, and you don’t have to travel to get similar benefits. The people working in your office from other cultures can provide many options for navigating business and life. Recent studies show that if we can leverage these differences and augment our strengths we can significantly improve our global collaboration and business growth potential. Most importantly, however, on a personal level we can let the world complete us. India, you had me at namaskar!

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Slumdog Millionaire? I think not!

January 13, 2011

Well, folks, I am back in India and having a whirlwind adventure already! In fact, it’s been hard to keep up with writing down everything I see and feel. Today, I returned to Calcutta, now Kolkata – a city I haven’t seen in thirteen years, and a city in which I started a riot. But more on that later.

After landing in Mumbai and trying to shake off jet lag, my hotel manager suggested I take a Reality Tour where you spend an afternoon walking around the Dharavi slum, a community that generates revenue through a variety of industries, and the area where some of the movie Slumdog Millionaire was filmed.

That movie always created a sore spot within me. While it was a great Hollywood story and may have some grains of truth, in my opinion the film just solidified stereotypes of India that do not represent large swaths of the culture. Think dusty, hot, poverty-stricken, and snake charmers. On my 2006 trip to Mumbai I wandered around for hours in the Andheri “slum” and found a very functional village-like atmosphere, with people who spoke several languages, including English, fluently and maintained small businesses.

So to educate myself further I heartily agreed to take the Reality Tour and headed down to Mahim West train station to meet my guide. The company takes a maximum of six people per group to keep things less intrusive, and I will quote their website (http://www.realitytoursandtravel.com/slumtours.html) for accuracy:

“On our tours, you will see why Dharavi is the heart of small scale industries in Mumbai (annual turnover is approximately US$ 665 million). We show you a wide range of these activities- from recycling, the making of clay pots, embroidery, bakery, soap factory, leather tanning, papad (poppadom) making and many others, most of which take place in very small spaces.”

I was incredibly impressed with the guide and the company, a non-profit that also started a community center in Dharavi.

Words really do not exist for the time in spent in this amazing place. A slum, I found out, is defined as an area where homes are built illegally, although everyone in the slum pays taxes. I learned so much as we wound our way through narrow alleys, dodged chickens, were invited into a family’s kitchen to chat, and petted several goats that wandered through. We climbed ladders onto rooftops to see how materials from the various businesses were stored, and ducked under men carrying five-foot-tall loads on their backs. We did not even have to sign any kind of waiver!

What amazed me the most was the recycling. Nothing in Mumbai goes to waste because of Dharavi. Much of the world’s “garbage” comes to this slum, and everything from cardboard to paint cans to scrap metal and computer parts are repaired, reworked, refurbished and put back into the marketplace. We visited a variety of industries such as fabric dying, pastry baking, hide tanning, pottery making, embroidery, and more.

We weaved through crushed plastic, cramped quarters, dark and hot working conditions, families laughing and eating, and machines engineered by the Dharavi residents themselves. The efficiency of the systems there rivaled anything I had ever seen before, and I daresay if the West really wants to “go green” we need to study this community!

Hindu and Muslim tensions once ran very high in Dharavi, but our guide informed us that the tension has begun to diffuse significantly and he showed us a Hindu temple with a picture of Jesus Christ on the wall.

We saw the good: hospitals, schools, no beggars, intensive recycling , and the ugly: poor sanitation, open sewers, dangerous work environments. But I hope that for those who have the honor of visiting Dharavi, they will look beyond Slumdog Millionaire into a vital part of India from which we can all learn.

Stay tuned for our adventures as we return to Calcutta!

(As photographs are not allowed in Dharavi, these photos are from Reality Tours website.)

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Lessons Learned from India: Preparing to Return to the Scene of the Calcutta Riot

November 28, 2010

Unlike some of the women I’ve encountered in my own culture, that of the United States, I have no trouble admitting my age. After all, in the true Zen fashion I have learned to love what is, and I am thirty eight years old, about to turn thirty nine. That is a fact. Sure, I travel to the salon about once a month to cover the gray, because to be gray-haired looks too unfamiliar. I don’t feel like myself. That notion, however, is exactly the one I want to call into question now.

As many of my readers and clients know, my cross-cultural career began in earnest when I accidentally caused a riot in a railway station in Calcutta (now Kolkata), India. For those who don’t know you can read the story here (http://wanderlustandlipstick.com/wander-tales/the-calcutta-railway-riot). In those days, my early twenties, I traveled differently. My budget was about five dollars a day and I rode only local buses and trains across Asia. I struck out in search of adventure at every turn, which lead me to such memorable times as a camel safari across the Thar desert, teaching in a fishing village off the coast of Thailand, and assorted cultural immersions in Nepal, including learning conversational Nepali.

All of these grand journeys and the associated learnings became the basis for my cross-cultural company, the one you see before you now. As the company grew, the world shrunk. Thomas Friedman’s book The World is Flat taught us that Globalization and its bride, Technology made us more connected and equal. Emerging markets now regularly acquire Western companies and flying to the other side of the world doesn’t seem so exotic anymore. Many countries have skipped the personal computer and gone straight to the mobile device, which you can spot in the most remote villages.

The world shrunk…or did it? Perhaps so, but I have also changed. The success and growth of Highroad has taken me to India over and over again, but this time no railway riots break out. Now my clients pick me up from the airport and drop me back off safely when our work is done. I stay in nicer hotels and sometimes from my window I can see the silhouettes of women carrying water on their heads as the sun goes down over the fields.

On my last trip I came to the conclusion that the comforts of India are still real India. Though a large portion of the population still resides in the rural areas and many in relative poverty, India’s middle class represents a vital part of the culture. To claim that the only authentic India is a poor one is a case of gross misperception.

What I hadn’t yet learned, however, is how to accept that I am still the real me even though I have changed. Sometimes I look back on the travel tales of my twenties and wonder where that brave wanderer has gone. The depth of cultural understanding I always longed for before is certainly there now. The conversations I have with my clients in India, for example, provide me much more insight into Indian culture than did my four-month trek across the northern part of the country in 1998. I saw a lot back then but learned little. When I stay with my adopted family in Bangalore now I gain more from one discussion around the dinner table with them than I did in a year of backpacking around Europe.

Still, the young adventurer calls. This past summer my husband and I went on the adventure of a lifetime. We spent a month in the Pacific Northwest and saw such beauty that I can hardly use common words to describe it. Still, the young adventurer calls. What does she call for? Perhaps more hardship. It has been awhile since I’ve faced the challenges of rat-infested hotels, seventeen-hour bus rides, and the constant flirtation with dysentery. I continue to visit India often, as well as Europe, Canada, and small towns in the U.S., but as my hairs get grayer I take more comfort in comfort. Sometimes I can’t sleep at night thinking about that.

So as I often do, I turn to India for the “answer.” In his book The Elephant, The Tiger, and the Cellphone, Sashi Tharoor writes, “The notion of Indianness as something sanctified by a prescribed list of acceptable attributes is not just highly contestable, it is positively un-Indian.”

Tharoor believes, and I agree with him, that rejecting aspects of culture, religion, and even sports that do not fit the picture of “authentic India” goes against India’s most authentic trait: its pluralism.

Is the same not true of ourselves? Though being authentic is a key part of any work we do or life we lead, that authenticity itself is not static.

For the first time in twelve years I am preparing to return to Calcutta, the scene of the railway riot that sparked my cross-cultural career. This time, however, I am returning as a consultant to deliver phase five of an initiative to build a strong partnership between my clients’ Indian and American counterparts. Though the young adventurer still calls, I answer that although we will likely not be starting any more riots, we will be building bridges between West and East – and in the end, which one is really the grander adventure?

I will, however, listen to that small voice within. This summer Jay and I plan to trek around in South America, and I hope to encounter a little travel misery here and there, perhaps some rodents of unusual size or standing in the rain for hours waiting for a bus that never comes.

Stay tuned for our adventures in India beginning January 10^th, 2011!

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The Day I Walked to Maine: Why Borders Still Matter

October 27, 2010

On a recent trip to see my step-sister Johanna we decided to walk to Maine. Yes, you heard right. We walked to Maine. Don’t get too impressed yet, though. Let me start at the beginning.

In my world of building U.S. or Europe/India teams a lot of talk buzzes around about globalization. In the minds of many of my clients, globalization is about the dissolution of borders through technology. Nowadays teams can talk to each other through Cisco Telepresence, a room specially designed on each end so that people look life-sized to each other. The sound is amazing too, with almost no delay when each person speaks. I did a training this way once and I relished the ability to see multiple people sitting “across the room” from me.

We have Sharepoint, LinkedIn, Facebook, iPhones, iPads, and a million ways to transform information. Does this mean that borders are becoming less significant? I say “no way.”

If you are a frequent traveler you may disagree with me. As a Westerner you might feel that the specific brand of modernization taking place in India or China makes travel more standard, with malls in every city and a McDonald’s on every corner. While on the surface that is true, I believe that in deeper ways borders are as strong if not stronger than before the grand sweep of globalization began. So yes, Thomas Friedman, I am saying the world is not flat. It is more connective, with faster information flow and more ways to do business, but it is not flat.

For evidence, all I have to do is travel within my home country, the United States. On this most recent trip to visit Johanna I returned to my birthplace. I was born in Worcester, Massachusetts and moved to Los Angeles when I was two years old. When I arrived we decided to go for a drive to Portsmouth, New Hampshire and the surrounding beaches. I marveled at the hauntingly beautiful coast line and wind battered cottages, and enjoyed lunch in Portsmouth.

Then Johanna said something I will never forget.

“See that bridge? That goes to Maine. You can even walk across.”

“What?” I cried out, “You can walk to Maine? Well what are we standing here for?”

We headed for the bridge and walked across. I honestly did not expect to feel anything different when we reached the state line. Yet, Maine was different. Very different. I could feel it as soon as we got across the bridge. Things were quieter, more sparse, and just more Maine. I can hardly explain it.

Then I saw this:

A vending machine with frozen bait. I asked Johanna if she’d ever seen these in New Hampshire. She looked at me as if I had sprouted an additional head.

After our visit to Maine we crossed back into New Hampshire, then over to Massachusetts, then New Hampshire again.I could feel the subtle differences in my gut and see some of them with my eyes. Similarly, when you fly from a city like Bangalore, India to Hyderabad, a forty-five minute flight, you fly to another world with a different language. I could give dozens of other examples.

Borders still matter, and from a business perspective that warrants attention. Though nations do have shared values, people are often proud of their neighborhood, their region, their home. They may also perceive globalization as a threat to their cultural identity and therefore firmly hold on to that which separates them from the rest of the world.

Let us be conscious when working across borders that culture still plays a more vital role than may be visible, and let us bring that awareness to our processes, procedures, leadership competencies, service, and products.

I welcome your comments and especially your adulation for my arduous walk to Maine!

See you next time.

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What We May Not Know: African American Culture in Iowa

September 2, 2010

On my second day in Cedar Rapids, Iowa I continued to be delighted by this town. I also continue, as I mentioned in my last post, to have my hidden biases challenged. I admit that before I came I did not know much about African American culture in Iowa, but my perception of the state did not scream diversity. The lesson learned for me today is to say YES to learning and to having fun with breaking down generalizations.

Today I visited the African American Museum of Iowa, online at www.blackiowa.org, and I can honestly say it was one of the best museums I’ve ever seen. I get achy legs when I stand around too long in museums, so usually I don’t linger. Here I eagerly viewed every exhibit on prominent African American Iowans and the history of their cultures.

Highlights for me were the trans-Atlantic voyage exhibit and the Civil Rights leaders of Iowa. I got to sit at a lunch counter where an African American sit-in took place, and even stand behind President Obama’s podium that he used during his Iowa campaign.

I learned so much, but here are some things you may not know about Iowa’s black history:

In 1865 the Republican Party of Iowa proposed that the vote be extended to African American males. This came to reality in 1868, making Iowa one of only two states to give voting rights to African Americans between the end of the Civil War and the 15th Amendment to the Constitution.
In 1868 segregation in Iowa public schools was invalidated by the Supreme Court, eighty-six years before the Brown vs. Board of Education decision.
John Deere, the largest manufacturer of farm equipment in Iowa, was one of the first firms in the United States to actively begin recruiting African American college graduates in the 1960′s from historically black colleges and universities.

If I ever have the chance to visit Cedar Rapids, Iowa, do go to this museum. I continue to be taken in by this town and in awe of the opportunity that has been provided me to self-reflect. The next time a client asks me to come here, I will jump at the chance.

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Lookin’ for Biases in All the Wrong Places: A Wake Up Call in Iowa

September 1, 2010

I’m guilty, and that’s not easy for me to say especially on my very public blog. Yes, in spite of my role as an intercultural consultant I still have biases, and they creep up in unexpected ways, like tiny ghosts through microscopic crevices.

Biases are a part of human nature, but somehow we’re all shocked when we confront our own. You may have heard someone say “I’m not prejudiced but…” and you brace yourself for the extremely prejudiced comments that usually follow. Yet we feel the need to qualify our biases because we don’t want to admit we stereotype people. It’s simply wrong to cast aspersions on a whole group. Right? Or, like all human foibles, are biases an opportunity for authentic growth?

I confronted my most recent bias as many people do – under stress. It is well documented that although we may live abroad successfully or adapt well to another culture, when we are depressed or under pressure most of us tend to revert to past behaviors or identities. Several weeks ago I scheduled a training session in Cedar Rapids, Iowa for a client and for whatever reason I wasn’t looking forward to it. I do like small towns; in fact I worked last year in smaller towns all across the U.S. and Europe. I consider them cultural adventures for me having lived in big cities all my life.

Cedar Rapids, however, did not stir the call of adventure. I was grumpy that I couldn’t get a direct flight (I’m spoiled by the Atlanta airport) and by the time I woke up on the morning of my departure for the corn-enhanced state of Iowa I was downright sour. I didn’t feel like going to the “middle of nowhere.”

When I arrived at Cedar Rapids’ tiny airport my spirits were not lifted. The air was muggy and I was surrounded by cornfields. I sighed in resignation. When I tried to find the hotel the street didn’t even have a sign at the four-way stop. More irritated sighing followed as well as a “wowwwww” out loud in the car.

What I found, however, was not a town “in the sticks.” What I found was a covert bias that arose under strain. What I also found was a town that captured my heart.

From the moment I stepped into The Hotel at Kirkwood Center I was greeted by friendly staff who took care of my every need. The hotel was modern and impeccably decorated in a contemporary style; it was open, light, and spacious. The restaurant, called The Class Act, was just that. Run by a professional crew with the help of culinary students from the college down the road the eatery served food done to perfection like seared tuna salad with arugula, chicken stewed in peppers and tomato broth, and perfectly spiced pork tenderloin. Rarely have I eaten better anywhere! The education crew expertly handled my training session needs and AV equipment, all while serving a divine lunch with red velvet cake for dessert. The best was yet to come.

After a great day of teambuilding and talking about India I went out to explore Cedar Rapids. What I saw allowed me to face my bias at even closer range. I found gorgeous parks with ponds and riverfront walks, a gay and lesbian resource center, an African-American museum, a Bohemian cemetery, a Muslim cemetery, and a Czech village.

I pulled the car over when I reached the Czech village and began to wander on foot. According to my class participants the little town had suffered a devastating flood, the fifth worst natural disaster in United States history. I saw some signs of damage, but some shops had rebuilt and I found myself peeking in every window. I wanted to know why so many Czechs had moved to Cedar Rapids. What was the history? I wanted to talk to someone about the place, and just like that a shopkeeper came out of the Sykora Bakery (which was closed) and said hello to me with a smile.

“Excuse me,” I said.

He turned around with an open expression, encouraging me to go on.

“I wondered if you could tell me a little about this village.”

“Sure,” he replied. “You mean why are there so many Czechs here?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

The interaction that followed is one I won’t soon forget. This man owned the bakery; his name was John and told me all about the history of the place. Czechs started arriving in the mid-1800′s to work in local packing plants. Many of them homesteaded and settled the farms around Cedar Rapids.

John took me inside the bakery and talked about how he and his wife restored it themselves. The place was destroyed in the flood and 1300 volunteers from Cedar Rapids helped to rebuild it. They lost the original oven, but since schoolchildren come there to learn about old baking methods, John invested in another vintage oven. He told me about the things they bake like kolace (fruit-filled danishes) and cream cheese cookies. He gave me some samples and talked about his dedication to keeping the neighborhood alive. I felt alive being inside the bakery, a place full of soul. John wished me well and I drove in awe back to the hotel past old houses with families talking outside to neighbors or throwing a ball to a dog.

I can’t explain why I was so grumpy about this trip. Perhaps had I been in a better general mood this bias about the lack of liveliness in remote towns would not have surfaced. I’m so glad it did. Thank you, Iowa.

What biases within you might need reexamination? If you work on a global team or with diverse customers, this examination is well worth the effort. Imagine how high we could soar without the weight of our own prejudice.

Stay tuned! Next up: Zen and the Art of Offshoring

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The Call of Adventure: The Pacific Northwest and British Columbia

August 22, 2010

Dear Readers, how I have missed you! I have not been absent without reasons, and my heart easily recalls them – adventure, beauty, inspiration, renewal, and history. My husband and I recently returned from a month-long trip through the Pacific Northwest and Canada, and though I have always prided myself on my ability to express myself through words I’m afraid this time they fail me.

I can say that our journey wound us through some of the most stunning land in the United States and perhaps starting with the route would be the easiest entry into putting the trip into verbal form. After several days with friends and family in Los Angeles and San Diego, we flew to Portland, Oregon to ignite our sojourn. From Portland we traveled through Hood River, Mount Hood, the Quinault Indian Reservation, Forks (Washington) the Olympic National Forest, La Push Indian Reservation, Lake Crescent, Port Angeles, Victoria (Canada), the San Juan Islands, Vancouver (Canada), Seattle, and back to Portland.

In these places we felt the spirit of all of the explorers that preceded us, though they were a million times more brave facing harsh winters and unknowns around every river bend. We also discovered the Native tribes thriving in the region and yet still facing the plight of the salmon as well as land rights issues. We saw waters so clear and blue they could have been swimming pools, and we stared up at waterfalls so tall we had to strain our necks to see the top.

Something has infused the Pacific Northwest with the call of adventure and every day that we awoke we just had to answer. Again I am at a loss for words to describe all that we saw, did, and experienced, but I will be selective so that I do not overwhelm my own soul with the memories. What comes to mind, if I have to choose was the night we spent at the Quileute Reservation for Quileute Days, a festival celebrating the tribe and sharing its traditions with visitors.

After a day at the Sol Duc Hot Springs we drove the fourteen miles off Highway 101 to La Push, a small coastal village belonging to the Quileute tribe. I grew up in Southern California but I had never seen beaches so haunting, so ethereal. Sea stacks rose up forbiddingly in the distance and beckoned me out to see the waters lashing against them. When we reached La Push I settled into comfort; a feeling of home came over me as soon as we drove into its borders.

The evening was enchanted from the beginning as we walked through the tribal community center. As soon as we opened the doors our lungs pounded with the sound of drums. The locals were playing stick games, a traditional betting game played through rhythm. Everywhere signs of tradition mixing with modernity greeted us, a heady reminder not to relegate Native tribes to the past. They are alive and well.

We walked through the village, poking around the vendor booths, and wandering through the marina where old boats with rust and chipping paint sat parked beside yachts gleaming white. This was a working marina where Quilete fishermen prepared for salmon fishing daily through weather that would make most of us suicidal. We stopped in to talk to tribal elders Pete and Beverly and meet a young Quileute named Darryl who said he was studying to be a chef. After listening to their cheerful descriptions of what the tribe had to offer they invited us to a ceremony at 9pm, the blessing of a new cabin they said. We accepted with gratitude and looked at our wathces; time to eat before darkness fell.

We had dinner at the River’s Edge, the only restaurant in town, and watched the fog continue to roll in as sea birds chased each other and competed for the evening meal. Service was slow that night because the restaurant had an honored guest. I didn’t know who he was but all the elders came to join him. We ate in wonder and the server told us not to miss the fireworks. I didn’t plan to.

Close to 9pm we made our way toward the designated ceremony spot, walking along the beach. Campfires lit up the twilight like fireflies all along the sand and I longed to join them. I could feel the excitement of the evening building and giving me an electric energy. As we approached the cabin a woman named Anna Rose came to greet me. Her smile still flashes in my mind as she welcomed us, directing us where to stand. Cameras and microphones surrounded the event and I wondered why. I was about to find out.

The ceremony started with a blessing, a mixture of Christian prayers and the drumming of a Quileute song, reminding me again to pay attention to the complexity of the tribe, not my own vision of chiefs in colorful headdress. All of a sudden Anna Rose introduced Gil Birmingham, the actor who plays Billy Black in the Twilight movies. That explained the cameras and microphones! He had also been the honored guest at the restaurant. He made a meaningful speech about how the world can finally know of the culture of the Quileute, a real community with richness beyond measure. The movies did provide that igniting spark. I only hope people want to learn more. I had my picture taken with him because hey, it was neat.

After walking through the cabin we said goodbye to everyone and made our way to a small outdoor deck to watch the fireworks. They exploded above us as if to capture my excitement and showered green, red, silver, and green down onto the land. After the grand finale the shy Darryl came running up to us, eyes wide open.

“Wasn’t that great!?” he exclaimed.

Yes, it most certainly was.

The call of adventure that seeped through me all throughout the Pacific Northwest reminded me of one thing. We have a choice to make creative adventures of everything we do. An evening at home can turn into an art project, a music festival, a dance around the living room, or an epiphany about your life. A day at work can be a new translation of an old skill set, having an impact on a person’s day, or discovering a gift you always had but didn’t know it.

I invite you to internalize the call of adventure, listen for its song. If you have even a brief moment in time, answer the call.

Stay tuned for an entry on the Zen definition of suffering and how it applies to your offshore transition to India! Always a new path to follow on the Highroad.

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From Atlanta to Amiens, France!

June 2, 2010

I remain totally convinced after all of these years that travel is not only hearty food for the soul, but a unique way to build the critical skill of adaptation. Look around at our world today. If we don’t adapt, we don’t survive or thrive. International journeys help us to expand our comfort zones and ultimately be more comfortable anywhere in the world!

Early this morning my husband and I flew from Atlanta to Brussels, Belgium and dove into the adventure of adaptation. I’m conducting a one-day training on working with India offshore teams in France and we decided to make a mini-vacation of it. When we landed in Belgium we clasped hands and said, “We’re in Europe!” Although that fact was made obvious by the wheels touching down and the announcement welcoming us to Brussels, I believe that travel is about a collection of moments, a rich feast of memories deserving of celebration. Of course this feeling of elation was soon replaced by airport confusion, especially when we rented our car and attempted to get out onto the R-zero, a highway leading us to Amiens, France, our next destination. The following conversation ensued:

Me: Where are we going next?

Jay: The R-zero, then over to the E19.

Me: Great! There’s a sign for the R-zero!

Jay: Excellent. Let’s go.

Me: Wait, where did the highway go? Why are we in Lower Mongolia?

Within moments we had no idea where the R-zero was, the sign having lead us down the side streets of Brussels, back around a loop, through a roundabout, and onto a highway that in fact turned out to be the R-zero but was called E-19. After this minor setback we were on our way through farmland, ultra-green pastures dotted with sheep and black and white cows, windmill farms, and magical mist. We crossed the border into France and cheered for another first – we were in France together for the first time.

We arrived in Amiens safely and checked into our hotel after a brief driving tour through the town (translation: we got slightly lost due to outdated Google Earth information). Although Amiens is regarding by many Europeans as relatively unremarkable, Jay and I were smitten from the moment we entered its borders. After a nap to recover from that oh-so-restful airplane sleep, we changed clothes and began to meander through the cobblestone streets. Utterly charmed by this city, I cannot begin to describe what I saw, as thoughts only come in images, like that of a towering cathedral that mirrored Notre Dame, Paris with water-spewing gargoyles and intricate scenes of holy men and common men carved into the face. We stood in awe of the architecture and the weight of the stone, then walked where we heard the call, winding from the cathedral into a shady park dotted with pink, white, yellow, and purple flowers. Birdsong echoed through the peaceful green oasis and we strolled until reaching a gate.

We walked though and down stone steps and I saw my first set of French canals. Lined with colorful houses with roofs far older than my home country, the canals took my breath away as I watched water grasses sway and barges go by carrying nomadic French men and women. One curved and mysterious street lead to another as we watched vines creeping up the sides of homes, and finches dig for worms in someone’s garden plot. Crossing a curved steel bridge I could sputtered on my words; ahead lay a park with a magnificent weeping willow, flowing river on one side, and rows of home-grown vegetables on the other.

When hunger set in we made our way toward a waterfront restaurant, perused the menu and made our choice. We almost wept at the results. For me, a delectable pork cassoulet with beans, tomatoes, onions, and thick cut sausage baked into a warm hearty stew, elegant yet satisfying. For Jay, braised pork knuckles in cider and herbs. We groaned in appreciation over the complexity of flavors and raised our glasses in a toast to French cooking.

We returned to the hotel under misty, drizzly skies, which only seemed to make more magical the cathedral in the distance. We adapted to different road rules today, different foods, and even different ways of processing information. I welcome the opportunity to have my boundaries expanded and to appreciate why the cultures of the world have enchanted me again and again.

Stay tuned as we wind our way over the next week through France to Brugges, Belgium, and then on to Amsterdam. Thank you, dear France, for a day to remember.

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Efficiency or Charm: What’s It Going to Be?

May 19, 2010

The economic downturn scares me, and not for the reason you might think. My company, Highroad, has weathered the storm well and we’ve continued to seek new ways of building bridges between cultures. No, the recession scares me because of the hidden costs, the ones we don’t think about until one day we wake up and discover that what we’ve lost is not just tangible – it’s a matter of soul, a pillar of an organization’s survival. Let me explain.

Earlier today I stumbled upon a quote from my favorite author, archetypal psychologist Thomas Moore.

He said, “When we tell stories of the past, do we emphasize efficiency or charm? Do we ride the Orient Express because we know it will arrive on time? Do we visit Antarctica because the accommodations are so comfortable? Ultimately, what satisfies the soul is that which is captivating, spellbinding, or full of charm.”

That statement made me freeze, forget the dinner I had planned to get on the stove, and reach for the computer to write this entry. Now let me clarify something right away. I am a big fan of results when I work with an organization. One of my biggest work-related challenges is when I give a two-hour workshop for a conference, for example, and I may never get to know the impact of what I offered. Similarly I worked in software development for many years at my former job, and my left-brain was always looking for a way to make things more efficient for better results. After all, you can’t just do something for the sake of doing it. Whatever you do should have significance for the organization, and that significance should be measured.

Or should it?

Herein lies the dilemma, and the recession has only made this more sticky. Many of the world’s most successful companies built their market share on lean practices, return on investment, and creative cost cutting measures. While research, development, and innovation do occur in these environments, true creativity is still often constrained by the larger goal of keeping the company growing and viable. Since the economy turned sour, I believe this pendulum has swung even farther toward the side of efficiency and measurement. Because every penny counts, and every second is worth a certain number of pennies (or dollars), companies demand more justification for just about every step taken, and we can all understand why. These are scary times. In today’s climate, people often do the work of two or three team members and everyone has to make more out of less.

While I respect the need to measure mission-critical activities and achieve efficiency of thought and word, I also believe we need to be charmed.

No organization will survive without innovation, yet we often downplay the elements needed to encourage it such as people’s stories, a sense of adventure, color, and unreasonable dreams.

I believe that in the down economy and into recovery we must seek both charm and efficiency, and in greater force than ever before. Nowhere is this more important than when working across borders. We need leaders that can not only achieve results across countries but who are curious, open, and excited by what they can learn from other cultures. We need people to hold their own values dear while integrating meaningful parts of other value systems. We need daring stories of risk and of roots, of wild invention and calm diplomacy.

And I believe that while we do need efficiency, we may need charm even more. We do not necessarily need to fix what is broken from our down economy. We need to enchant it until it comes back to life.

Now more than ever we need to listen to our staff, ask them about their passions and what they most like to work on. We need to encourage our subordinates to take more risks and play to their strengths. We need to trust employees more and watch the clock less. We need to meet with team members one on one to talk about their concerns and listen to their stories. And we need to study the root causes of our successes, not just our failures. Once we do these things and the spark comes back to weary organizations, we can proudly put our Six Sigma belts back on. We just need to remember to keep igniting the spark of curiosity again and again. Our organization depends on it.

For my part I’m going to start a new type of blog entry that you will see from time to time called Blast from the Past – Travel Tales for the Not So Faint of Heart. In these entries you will hear of giant rats in Nepal, pregnant camels in India, bugs in my food in Thailand, and more stories from my early adventures. The purpose? To charm and delight, and to spur the adventurer within.

What stories, places, moments, and people have charmed you? Please use the comments section to tell us! Let’s start a charm epidemic. I promise it won’t hurt a bit.