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Image credit: iStock | aerogondo
Last week I went to a dinner in downtown Minneapolis. After dealing with silly traffic (warm spring weather makes people behave a little ridiculously after being cooped up all winter), I finally made it downtown. I was figuring out the parking situation as I pulled up to a 4-way stop: the parking area was to my left, but I was trying to determine if that was the best option. In my distracted state, I accidentally, and very slowly, rolled through the stop sign.
I was jolted out of distraction by a steady, loud, honking horn from the guy directly across from me. I was immediately stunned into stopping. I held my hands up and mouthed, 'I'm sorry,’ trying to make him realize that it was an accident, not me just ignoring the sign. There were cars on all sides of me, and I could feel my face flush with embarrassment as I realized they were all looking at me incredulously. All I could do was continue to say the words ‘I'm sorry’ out loud over and over while he leaned on his horn (yes, he was still honking).
And that fellow was not going to let me suffer from just embarrassment. He pulled forward in front of me to make his left turn and then stopped as the side of his car aligned perfectly with my view. He gave me a death stare with a clenched fist that proudly displayed his raised middle finger, all perfectly framed in his passenger window. I looked at him and felt shame wash over me like a heavy, hot blanket. I looked around me to see the faces of the other drivers, watching this whole scene play out—amplifying my embarrassment. I was physically shaking as I drove away and finally pulled into a parking spot, trying to ready myself for dinner.
His intense and unforgiving reaction encapsulated the simmering tension that seems to be everywhere right now, lurking beneath our daily interactions. We're living in a time of heightened anger, where divides of many kinds deepen daily. We’re struggling to make ends meet. We’re facing Inflation and an uneven housing market, and no one knows who to blame. There is general post-pandemic malaise and exhaustion. People are angry. Kindness is rare.
We have almost nothing to give each other. We are all in a hurry. We all feel unseen. We are all trying to get more: More money, more things, more status, more love, more land, more time, more recognition, more validation, more experiences, more opportunity. It always seems like there isn't enough, and every day, our collective energy reverberates with a sense that we are willing to sacrifice our humanity to get whatever our more is.
I had many highs last week, but that low experience stayed with me all week long. I wondered if I knew that bearded fellow who wanted me dead at that moment. I wondered if anyone I knew had seen that awful experience. I wondered if people thought I was stupid, made a mental note, or gossiped about me. Of course, my perseverating made no sense. It was a blip in the week, nothing truly significant. But still, I carried it with me to all my meetings and meals and even to my Friday night plans.
As is often the case when it rolls around, I regretted having plans on Friday night. It was a firehose of a week; I just wanted to put on soft pants and go fetal. But here I was with tickets to see Mandy Patinkin at the Ordway Theater in St. Paul. I've long been a Mandy Patinkin fan—long before he was a TikTok star, before Homeland or The Princess Bride. I had seen him once in concert before and remember crying when he sang the song about the girl with the strawberry curl: And the Band Played On. So I dragged my tired butt back out of the house and headed to St Paul, hoping I could find something redeeming in that concert.
We arrived just as the show was about to start. Just as we sat down, Mr. Patinkin came onstage dressed all in black and wearing tennis shoes. His accompanist joined him at the piano, and he started to sing…
Inchworm, inchworm
Measuring the marigolds
You and your arithmetic
You'll probably go far
This was a clever medley that combined the song School Days which was made famous (to me) by The Muppets’ inchworm song:Inchworm, inchworm (two and two are four)
Measuring the marigolds (four and four are eight)
Seems to me, you'd stop and see (eight and eight are sixteen)
How beautiful they are (sixteen and sixteen are thirty-two)And with that, the tears started. I had nothing but the little eyeglass cleaning wipe in my pocket, so I barely dabbed my eyes dry and looked around. I wasn't the only one crying. I could hear sniffles. I could see people wiping their eyes. Here we all were—in this packed, dark theater—recovering from the latest week we managed to survive. Exhausted strangers united by nostalgia and the truth of the lyrics.Sitting there, listening to a glorious 71-year-old artist sing Being Alive and a brilliant cover of Bohemian Rhapsody, I thought about the juxtaposition of my driving incident and the magic of this evening. The rage we feel toward people we don’t know, and the unifying power of art. The shame of making an insignificant mistake and the communal catharsis of listening to music.Amidst all the ways we don’t understand others or struggle to find common ground, we can come together through art. We all feel joy and sorrow in the same way—drawn out of us by a performance, a painting, or a poem. Words can move us; paintings can reflect our stories; colors and lines can express our feelings.We need to make space for each other, honor our failings, find forgiveness, learn to compromise, and realize that our shared humanity matters most. No one person matters more than any other. Differences can be celebrated, and mistakes can be lessons. We are all more alike than we are different. I’m never more aware of that than in moments of creativity. When music, emotion, stories, and vulnerability fill the rooms and our souls, pushing out all the negativity and tension—if only for just a few hours.We need to find each other in words and poems, songs, and vivid colors. We need art. We don't need more division; we need songs that we all know the words to. We don't need more reasons to hate one another; we need color, paintings, and imagery that puts us in others’ shoes. We do not need shame and blame; we need poetry and words that capture care and compassion. We do not need car horns and fury. Like the inchworm, we need to stop and see how beautiful the marigolds can be. Art can be that. Anger, while valid and human, can be destructive. Art is constructive—it builds, makes, and creates.Our leaders aren't going to save us; they aren’t even leading. They are pitting us against each other for their own gain—well, theirs and a handful of their cronies. We are forgetting the power we have collectively. We won't be the winners if this continues. No political party is promising us what we actually need, so we have to find out for ourselves. We each owe ourselves and others that.To the man who violently flipped me off last Tuesday evening at 1st Street and 3rd Avenue: Do you want to go to a show together? Do you want to sit together in a theater and hope that things will get better in this world that has made us so tense? I would like to. And to Mr. Mandy Patinkin: thank you for reminding me of the power and beauty of a Friday night with hard pants and music.
Image credit: Pixabay | Łukasz Winiarski
Tuesday was Earth Day, which we celebrate every April 22nd, and it serves as a powerful reminder of our collective responsibility to protect and honor our planet. Earth Day originated in 1970 when we were really just waking up to growing environmental concerns. The point was to awaken public consciousness to the vulnerabilities of the environment—from air and water pollution to the extinction of wildlife. You may not be aware of this, but Earth Day transcends borders and political affiliations, working to unite humans across the globe in environmental activism and advocacy. It’s a day when we get to consider the planet’s past, the environmental challenges that persist, and the future we want for the children. By celebrating Earth Day, we emphasize the importance of sustainability and conservation, making it an opportunity for mobilizing change and fostering a deeper connection with nature.
Here’s the deal, though: the things we celebrate on Earth Day should extend far beyond just one day out of the year. Environmental challenges like climate change, deforestation, and water scarcity continue to escalate, requiring more than momentary attention—they need continuous action. And, we’ve politicized these issues in a way that causes many among us to ignore science. This is a truly dangerous way to exist. Science is not political, it’s factual. We all are responsible for contributing to a more sustainable planet in various ways by changing our behaviors. Even tiny, incremental changes move the needle. Whether by reducing waste, conserving energy, or supporting policies and businesses that prioritize the planet’s health over short-term gains, we can make a difference. Making Earth Day an everyday practice isn’t just beneficial. it’s necessary for the survival of future generations. In elevating Earth Day from an annual event to a daily commitment, we integrate the principles of respect, stewardship, and proactive care into our daily lives, ensuring that every action contributes to a healthier, more sustainable planet.
Read “Earth Day: What is it and Why Does it Matter?” on space.com.
It was a thrill and a privilege to sit in conversation with Chanda Smith Baker for a live recording of her podcast, Conversations with Chanda. I have immeasurable admiration for Chanda as a leader and a force for good in our community and beyond. In our time together, we talked about the power of self-awareness, authenticity, and using your platform for good. I shared my journey in the tech industry, the importance of embracing your unique identity, and how I balance motherhood, entrepreneurship, and activism.
Visit Chanda's consulting and coaching website.
Watch my conversation with Chanda on YouTube.
Clockwork President Jenny Holman recently spoke on a panel about customer-centric innovation. She observed leaders from nearly all industries experiencing similar challenges. Many are trying to deploy tech to drive efficiency (AI is a big part of these efforts), but Jenny also found herself thinking about these efforts more cautiously. If you’re not careful, the drive to be an early adopter can overpower understanding why you’re implementing a new technology and the outcomes you expect to see from it. And so, she shared three important takeaways leaders from every industry should consider as part of their customer-centric innovation.
Read “Customer-centric innovation: Navigating AI, tech & change” on Clockwork’s blog.
Take a short music break with Mandy and the girl with the strawberry curl.
After a very busy spring, I have only one keynote left this season!
“There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.” — Vincent Van Gogh
