Grateful to the Citizens

At this season of the year, it is common to consider the richness of our lives and enumerate the many things for which we are thankful.  How often, I wonder, do these lists of blessings in our lives include those we are commissioned to serve?  Do we consider our constituents to be high on the list of things for which we are grateful?  Beyond a paycheck, our constituents provide us with experiences that greatly enrich our lives both personally and professionally.  Do we recognize all that they bring into our lives?

One elderly community council board member’s monthly visits to city hall inspire me to do better.  She comes faithfully, making her slow careful way down long hallways to personally deliver to city leadership the agenda for her small neighborhood council.  The effort this costs her is clear in the shuffling, painful steps that move her slowly from office to office.  Could this be more easily accomplished with an email, mailing, or fax?  Of oourse.  So why does this woman continue to make her laborious trips to city hall each month?  It is an expression of love — her love for her community, her desire to work with and not against city leadership, her exhibition of how valuable the work the council does.

Thoughts of other dedicated citizen advocates remind me to consider the reasons I selected public service, and to question whether I’m meeting my objectives.  Have I helped someone today?  Is someone’s life better because of the service I provided this week?  Has a process been improved, a form been simplified, or an answer provided that heightens someone’s positive perception of government?

So, today, I thank all of the constituents for whom I work.  Thank you for inspiring me, for challenging me to consider other ideas, and for pushing me to identify the best solutions.  Thank you for making the work I choose to do interesting, engaging, and vital.  Thank you for your example, your effort, and your belief that we who serve truly serve.  Thank you for making my city — and cities everywhere across our nation — truly great.

Happy Thanksgiving.

A Space of Quiet

Telephones ringing. Printer clacking. Voices murmuring. PDA buzzing. Copy machine pulsating. Online calendar beeping. Traffic throbbing. Sirens wailing. Keyboards clicking. Doors opening. Footsteps rushing. HVAC droning. Pens scratching. File drawer slamming. Elevator whirring. Light fixture humming. Clock ticking.

Within this relentless barrage, analysis is conducted, proposals are made, and decisions are finalized.  Often the work is critical, always it is necessary. But how well can we — any of us — effectively manage all that oh-so-vital work without the consideration enabled us by even a single peaceful, uninterrupted moment? Without the opportunity to reflect in stillness, how can we hope to catch the elusive whisper of innovative solutions or noteworthy inquiries?

The great emperor Marcus Aurelius taught an important lesson in his journal, best known now as Meditations: life must be considered from within “a space of quiet” if we have any hope of living it well. Joseph Badaracco explains Aurelius’ philosophy as the belief “that serenity could protect him from the hazard of overimmersion, of losing himself and his bearings in the unending stream of life’s tasks” (Defining Moments, 1997, p.124).

If this long-ago emperor found life hectic, demanding, and full to bursting with demands and concerns and problems needing resolution, how much more so are our lives?

We all instinctively recognize the need for reflection, for consideration, for meditation. Yet we decry that need, insisting we do not have time to devote to such unproductive activities. We’re too busy, too important, too understaffed or overwhelmed or underpaid or inundated to waste our precious minutes in such pursuits. Certainly the concept has merit, but realistically there’s no way we can find the time for such petty endeavors.

And so on we go, bumbling along our daily path, secure in our own self-consequence, certain we’re doing “the best that we can.”  Even when we’re not.

So, this is my challenge to each of us today: take three precious minutes to enjoy a space of quiet. Close the door. Step outside. Sit in the car. Dawdle in the restroom. Hide in an unoccupied cubicle. Gift your brain, for a mere 180 seconds, with a space of quiet. You might just find that it saves your soul.

Making Progress

In his essay “The Study of Administration,” Woodrow Wilson states that “In government, as in virtue, the hardest of hard things is to make progress.”  Such a declaration initially may appear so obvious as to be rather pointless.  But as I consider its veracity, I find myself pondering the reasons why making progress is so hard.  Why, when we all want improvement, when we all want to provide the best services and options for our constituents, is making progress so difficult?

Easy answers flow quickly: budget restrictions, shifting political priorities, insufficient staff, competing interests.  These are indeed components that must be considered when addressing progress, but I believe the heart of progress lies in the desire for and – perhaps more importantly — the willingness to not just accept but actively seek change.

Change, as we all know, is a difficult pill to swallow as it implies that the status quo is not good enough.  Acknowledging that fact, however, does not equate to judging previous efforts as inadequate.  And therein, I believe, lies the real resistance to change, and thus progress.

We change clothes because the focus of our activities changes: the office attire appropriate for public meetings is not conducive to weeding the corn.  We change vehicles because the sporty sedan we enjoyed as newlyweds no longer fits our growing family.  We change careers because growth of our interests, skills, and knowledge challenge us to seek new opportunities.  We all change because such change meets our needs.  We do so willingly and regularly, without considering our previous choices to be wrong or poorly made; they simply reflect the needs of a different moment in time.  Today’s minivan recognizes adaptation to growth.  A promotion celebrates our increased understanding and abilities.

So, too, must we learn to consider change in the workplace if we are to ever achieve progress.  The hardest of hard things becomes much easier when we recognize that changes demanded for progress highlight growth and improvement rather than correction of error.