Is winning at all costs still winning?

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​What a sad day for sports. After years of suspicion, accusations, and denial, George Hincapie, one of the most respected figures in modern cycling, has admitted to doping. I'll leave the obvious conclusions alone, other than to say if Hincapie -- a man by all accounts to have incredible integrity, compassion, and courage -- has confessed to doping than it is hard to believe that others have not. As he wrote,  "Early in my professional career, it became clear to me that, given the widespread use of performance enhancing drugs by cyclists at the top of the profession, it was not possible to compete at the highest level without them."

We all do things we regret, and so I give Hincapie and the many others releasing statements today a lot of credit for having the courage to admit they did something wrong. At the same time, there were many others we'll never hear from who were robbed of a chance to compete because of the ambition of others. My heart goes out to those athletes whose integrity and love for the sport was greater than their desire to win at all costs.

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My not-about-9/11 9/11 post.

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My big guy Danny turned four today.Well, I wasn’t going to go here. I guess I’m not sure I have anything to say. Or maybe, I was just bracing for what everyone else would say. I’ve written before about the 9/11 attacks, and those words are powerful and fierce for me, because I wrote them in the hours and days after everything went to hell. So maybe I should just leave it at that.

But here’s the thing. Today is my son’s fourth birthday. And I’m not going to say I didn’t think today about 9/11, because I did; and I’m not going to say that those thoughts didn’t make me sad for the loss, and angry about what happened, and vengeful for justice, and wistful for the spirit of commraderie we as Americans had in the aftermath, and confused about where that spirit seems to have gone. I wonder about all of those things, not just today but every day.

And yet, my biggest emotions throughout the day were gratitude for my son and wonderment at his amazing, joyful self. And the fact that I had those feelings today, and could enjoy them, means that at least for me the test results from 9/11 are starting to come in, and you know what? We passed. We frigging passed. We may not have scored 100%, but listen up America — good work, well taken. We took a graduate class in Hardship and we got most of the questions right. We have some things to brush up on for the next course but by and large, we passed. 

Here’s to the fallen heroes and to the ones living among us now and every day, including you, and God willing, including me. Let’s make it all worth it. No use crying over what we got wrong, because it’s over. We passed exams and that means it’s on to the next class. If we can do this then the economy and the environment and education and everything else is a piece of cake. Bring it. 

And finally, Danny: This one’s for you.

"Stewardship" does not mean waiting for checks to roll in.

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I wrote a short post today for Event 360’s blog that will likely annoy many development professionals. But honestly: Sometimes I can’t help but wonder how some large nonprofits got so large. 

Stewardship is not the same as accounts receivable. If you find yourself dealing with a high number of lapsed donors or defaulted pledges, don’t blame the donors. Look first at your own organization’s stewardship — or lack thereof.

A short commentary on fundraising incentives.

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Long-time colleagues know that I’m not a huge fan of fundraising gifts and incentives — I think they are nice as recognition tools, but not particularly smart when used as a way to drive action. I’ve never really taken the chance to expand on my thoughts, though, and so I jumped at the offer by Katya Andresen of Network for Good to riff a bit on why. 

The full text of the article, running today at Katya’s Non-Profit Marketing Blog, is here.

I love a soapbox, and I thank Katya for offering one!

An overused narrative.

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Perhaps it is the fact that the 2012 presidential campaign is underway in earnest, along with its ongoing torrent of analysts parsing every word. Or perhaps it is because I find myself reading more and more business blogs that are really pseudo-marketing blogs. Or maybe it is simply that my subconscious vocabulary overflow meter has finally been triggered.

Whatever the reason, I find myself mechanically tearing clumps of hair out of my head whenever I hear what has to be the most abused, overused word of the year: “Narrative.”

We are told that the Romney campaign has to find a “narrative that resonates with Middle America,” while the Obama campaign needs to find a “narrative to respond to the Romney campaign.” Marketing leaders are looking for a “narrative that resonates with consumers.” The Olympics provided us with a “rich narrative of personal achievement.”

I finally reached my personal limit when I started seeing the word pop up in the nonprofit space. “We have to find a mission narrative that donors will respond to.” Honestly, when I hear nonprofit executives talking about a “mission narrative,” I want to scream. 

“Narrative” is a word for our times. It sounds grown-up. Sophisticated. But it is also, basically, meaningless. Is a narrative a story? A theme? A conversation? A pitch? A lie? It is a word that offers little but self-importance. It is a word designed to be deliberately vague. 

Call me old-fashioned, but I’m not sure where “narratives” fit in politics, business, or particularly, the nonprofit world. Campaigns need platforms — a worldview that is supported by policies, not stories. Businesses need strategies — unique, defensible positions supported by operational activities that fit together. And nonprofits need a mission — a specific way of changing the world. 

It is important to be able to talk about how you can help change the world. But it is much more important to actually have a way to change the world, and then to go about doing it. It could be that your problems in fundraising (or marketing or selling or operating or campaigning) have less to do with the way you’re telling the story and more to do with the actual subject matter. Are you making a difference? Does your organization actually help people, directly and impactfully? If the answer is yes, we can find a way to powerfully tell the story. If the answer is no, then no amount of marketing, writing, editing, or creative manipulation will help you grow. 

Leave the narratives to the authors. The world needs help — what are you doing about it?

Heart on sleeves + shovels in hands.

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Well, despite all good intentions of writing more frequently throughout the summer, here we are in late July with nary one original post in almost a month. Twenty lashes!

Actually, I’ve been quite busy (although we’re not supposed to say that anymore) with a stimulating roster of meetings, client engagements, and conferences. Yesterday was one example: I had a chance to address the rather wonderful staff of the Nonprofit Technology Network during their summer staff meeting. I discussed a tightly-related group of fascinating topics… er, that is, I kind of rambled around about a loosely-connected set of odds and ends. 

One of the common threads of our discussion was the sense of cynicism that seems to increasingly pervade our culture. Even the most optimistic among us are finding it hard to keep our upper lips stiff. When movies become massacres, political half-truths masquerade as informed debate, and economic conditions don’t appear to be particularly well-conditioned, who can blame us for adopting an attitude of resignation? 

Further, what are we to make of the fact that major corporations appear to have grasped onto the ideas of “impact” and “change” as just one more marketing approach? How should we react when we have behemoth institutions promising to help us “Live Better,” empower our potential, and restore the environments they’ve destroyed? We can excuse ourselves our bouts of skepticism. 

And yet, despite all of that, perhaps more optimism is exactly what we need. As a member of the small constituency of sappy, overly sensitive guys out there, let me argue that in a world of choreographed demagogues and overly-inflated blowhards, perhaps we need a few more people who cry at weddings and sing love songs at the piano, at least to restore some sort of cosmic equilibrium. 

The fact is, it has never been easier — and more socially acceptable — to be a skeptic. Hipster coolness, self-righteous apathy, veiled elitism, and detached cynicism are the new cool. We go through life alone together, commenting and criticizing on everything around us, disappointed but not surprised. 

But for those few of you out there who are still reading, I say this: While everyone is sitting on the bleachers complaining about the game, you may have noticed that no one is actually on the field. With so many leadership opportunities and so few taking advantage of them, there’s no easier time to be a world-changer. 

We’ve got “detached cynicism” covered. What we need are a few more hearts on sleeves and shovels in hands. The personal bravery; the whispered hope; the patient dream; the small optimism; the incremental improvement; the tiny change for the better — I will never believe that any are in vain. 

Happy summer.

"It's complicated."

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​By Markus Bärlocher (Markus Bärlocher) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

​By Markus Bärlocher (Markus Bärlocher) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

It is?

Lots of the complicated problems we are confronted with are really artificially complicated. In other words, we make things seem complicated to avoid facing simple realities. He’s just not that into you. They were better than us and so we lost. She’s a jerk. It’s too expensive. It doesn’t work.

Confusing ourselves with complications is just overblown denial. 

There are lots of complicated things in life: Running a hierarchical Bayes estimation model; learning to cook Indian food; tying a Double Fisherman’s Bend. 

But in most things, I think Occam was right. The simplest explanation is best. 

 

Yes, you.

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There’s a problem again. You know the one. The one that everyone is whispering about. The one that no one can figure out how to solve. The one that is keeping everyone up at night.

You’ve got an idea about it, but you’re pretty sure that your idea is stupid. Just plain dumb. I mean, it will never work, right? So you’ve kept it to yourself. Cause, come on, what do you have to offer?

But here’s the honest truth: The probability that a white knight is going to ride into your school/office/house on a winged horse holding a magical wand forged from fairy dust in an enchanted volcano and instantly vaporize your problem is, to be frank, pretty slim. It sounds great, and I’m all for it, but I’m guessing it isn’t going to happen.

If there’s a hero in your story, it’s going to have to be you.

You can do it.