Thursday, March 22, 2007

Adaptation: The Ever Changing Me

When I was younger, you know the starry eyed teen and young mother, I was up for a change. A change of scenery, a change of jobs, a change of seasons, change my kid, my men, whatever – I was ready. From California’s sunny clime, to the Oregon Rain Festival, to Fruehlingsfest in Germany I adapted while morphing into the person I am today.

But in the five decades of my life I have learned that I am no longer as adaptive to physical location changes (outside of a week of summer vacation) as I use to be. Note: Summer warmth means I’m much more adaptive; snow vacations are probably not my cup of tea. Snow: pretty to look at, but cold feet, fingers, and nipples are not my bag.

The changes in my mental make up are much more profound. Before – in my hip, so sure, younger days – I was firm on my platform (unless they were shoes) and would argue till you were blue in the face. Today I am eager to argue my stance, “the argue for the pure love of arguing, but usually nobody is wrong type arguing.” It also comes with a flip side, the adaptive part of me will change my stance when someone gives me a compelling believable argument. Oh, wait, that is called listening skills, right? In some respects isn’t that what survival and progress are all about? Communicating? Listening? Adaptation? I like this part of change.

I’ve noted over the past few years, as my job has grown from lowly DJ to whatever it is I do now, that I have tried hard to take the criticisms put to me, incorporate the good, and throw out the rest. Sometimes it comes with a bit of resistance, other times it blindsides me, and sometimes it just confounds the people who know me. I am trying to be a good manager. My problem, I’m not a good oral communicator – I know, too funny for a person who makes their living talking right?

There is a big difference between talking and communicating. Seven years ago I knew absolutely nothing about computers. Moving the radio station into the new millennium and working with state of the art equipment made me learn. I am willing to learn. So what does that have to do with talking?

Everything and nothing. You want to know about rock and pop music? If I don’t know the answer I will search until I find it. Pop trivia is like a narcotic to me, I’ve got to know, I’ve got to have more. You ask me, I will seek, and get back to you with the answer. Damn I wish Jeff Probst still did Rock & Roll Jeopardy! That was my game.

In today’s music world (like everywhere else) computers run the station. Explaining to you our current computer problem status and prognosis is almost impossible for me.

This week was almost too much. I am a bad manager. Why?
1) I have no clue how to delegate and be happy with the outcome, so I carry the burden and do it myself. (kind of like cleaning your kids’ room once in a while.)
2) Because I can’t communicate, everyone feels I treat them like mushrooms and leave them in the dark. It’s not my intent but that is the out come. If I have nothing new to disseminate, I will say nothing. Therefore, I don’t know how to communicate that in an acceptable way.

So with one computer down, one pantomiming congestive heart failure, and a third forever leaning heavy on the crash cart I was to the end of my rope. My head was swimming with the details and events of each computer and trying hard (yet failing) to not confuse it all. I failed to communicate with my crew. This weighed heavy on me all afternoon and evening long, I’ve no idea how to fix this in me. It doesn’t bother me to have someone tell me I am failing to communicate, because if you don’t tell me, I don’t’ realize it.

Wow, am I digressing or what. This was suppose to be about changing and adapting.

I won’t harbor bad feelings about a person who points out my problems to me, or something I’ve over looked, it if is done is a reasonable manner. Shit, I don’t even hold grudges against the two guys who raped me, or my first two husbands. Note: they are not two and the same. I don’t hold grudges. I can’t, grudges make no sense to me. I’m sorry is an apology, when heartfelt it is accepted, end of story. The actions might change where we were in our relationship, because that is how people work, but I won’t hate you and hold it against you, for say, hmmm, ever and three days.

So, to those whom I don’t communicate fully, my sincere apologies. The main production computer is back on line, but don’t use the second CD rom, it bit the big one. My production computer is still hanging on to the crash cart but works. And the AM on air, well it’s waiting for a specialist. Please have patience and watch this spot.

For the rest of you thank you for letting me get this off my chest. Wow, I needed it. To my first ex who tried to kill me. Twice. I forgive you, now please would you give Psam the $8250 in back child support, she could really use it. To ex number two, I forgive you for ripping my heart out, destroying our lives, and leaving a wake of devastation. I do wish you happiness – life is far too long to not be happy. To Bob who raped me in my freshman year, I really do forgive you and accept that I had a responsibility to the act. To Mark H who raped me in high school. I forgive you, you asshole.

Hey I said I forgive, I didn’t say I forget.

Wow, I feel a great weight missing, but don’t you wish a heartfelt “getting something off your chest thingie” would equated to losing inches off your thighs or something? Gosh, think of the better condition the world’s thighs would be in. I could forgo obesity.