Most of us can't even prounounce it, but thousands, perhaps millions have been affected by it. Eyjafjallajokull is the name of the volacano on Iceland that has created havoc with air travel in Europe since Thusday.
While others are making the traditional observations, I felt the need to offer my less-obvious observations.
1) What a great reminder that no matter how much we try to predict (or want to predict) life--we can't. How many travellers on either side of the Atlantic thought they had everything covered in their plans (and even bought travel insurance) and now are stuck? (note, most travel insurance considers this--rightly--to be an Act of God and therefore do not cover this).
2) In light of facing the unexpected and unplanned, how would you respond? Would you be able to keep your calm or would you panic? Would you enjoy a few extra days in your destination, or would you waste them by worrying about something you can't change?
3) Even power has its limits. US President Barak Obama was scheduled (along with many other world leaders) to fly to Poland to attend the funeral for the President of Poland this past weekend. Even the proverbial Most Powerful Man in the World was grounded--the volcanic dust would clog or destroy Air Force One's engines as easily as it would an Air Malta Airbus. There was no way to fly over, under, around or through this cloud without risking the safety of all aboard.
4) Have you heard that the dust and ash from Eyjafjallajokull may have a cooling effect on global climate? Just in time to solve that "global warming" problem they have been panicked about. Of course, I am just waiting for the first scientist (or should I say "scientist") who blames the eruption on man-made causes.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
"You've always wanted to be 40!"
Those were the words of one of my oldest friends. Drew lived across the hall from me in university and then later we were roommates while in the Navy. He's always been very insightful into my personality and I count him as one of my best friends.
The comment came as we had a chance to reconnect a few weeks ago while I was on a business trip to San Francisco. He lives very close to the airport there and even though this was the first time I had seen him in 18 months, we picked up right where we had left off. It says a lot about our friendship that even after the 10-year period when we were in only very very loose e-mail contact, we were able to catch up quickly as if we had never left.
We spent a couple hours that evening discussing life and how we were making professional choices that might limit our upward mobility in the workplace, but were true to the family values that really mattered to us. I mentioned that I was actually feeling very comfortable with turning 40 this summer. I mentioned that I had long ago decided to step out of the rat race and that I didn't really care about having the latest gadgets, clothes and cars. I am actually proud that my car (and the requisite minivan) are 10 years old and still running. I buy my clothes on sale at Land's End and love a bargain more than a label. I've let my hair grow to longer than it has been since high school, and I'm even a little proud of the flecks of grey that show on my temples. (I shaved my goatee not because of the copious grey in it, but because I got tired of maintaining it.)
As Drew was teasing me of wanting to be 40 even back in university, he recounted a trip one night to a local bar where everyone else ordered a simple collegiate beer. I ordered a Scotch--not because I actually liked it, but because I thought of it as being so much more mature than beer. But the real point was that I did what I wanted to do, not what others were doing or what I thought others wanted/expected me to do.
So what's the point of my rambling? The pride I felt from Drew's observation is that the idea of being 40 marked a specific point of maturity. That is the point at which we decide to do what we want because of what matters to us and not because of what we think others expect of us, or because of wanting to receive some certain recognition from others. I'm not going to start wearing dark socks and sandals just to make a point, but I would if my feet were cold. It's actually quite liberating to stop caring what others think about silly things like that.
The comment came as we had a chance to reconnect a few weeks ago while I was on a business trip to San Francisco. He lives very close to the airport there and even though this was the first time I had seen him in 18 months, we picked up right where we had left off. It says a lot about our friendship that even after the 10-year period when we were in only very very loose e-mail contact, we were able to catch up quickly as if we had never left.
We spent a couple hours that evening discussing life and how we were making professional choices that might limit our upward mobility in the workplace, but were true to the family values that really mattered to us. I mentioned that I was actually feeling very comfortable with turning 40 this summer. I mentioned that I had long ago decided to step out of the rat race and that I didn't really care about having the latest gadgets, clothes and cars. I am actually proud that my car (and the requisite minivan) are 10 years old and still running. I buy my clothes on sale at Land's End and love a bargain more than a label. I've let my hair grow to longer than it has been since high school, and I'm even a little proud of the flecks of grey that show on my temples. (I shaved my goatee not because of the copious grey in it, but because I got tired of maintaining it.)
As Drew was teasing me of wanting to be 40 even back in university, he recounted a trip one night to a local bar where everyone else ordered a simple collegiate beer. I ordered a Scotch--not because I actually liked it, but because I thought of it as being so much more mature than beer. But the real point was that I did what I wanted to do, not what others were doing or what I thought others wanted/expected me to do.
So what's the point of my rambling? The pride I felt from Drew's observation is that the idea of being 40 marked a specific point of maturity. That is the point at which we decide to do what we want because of what matters to us and not because of what we think others expect of us, or because of wanting to receive some certain recognition from others. I'm not going to start wearing dark socks and sandals just to make a point, but I would if my feet were cold. It's actually quite liberating to stop caring what others think about silly things like that.
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