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In An Instant
August 4, 2015
The icebergs that enter the harbors along Newfoundland’s north shore started to form thousands of years ago. They broke from ice flows 10 times their size and then got caught in a current that carried them on a 1,000-mile, two-year journey to “Iceberg Alley.” Some of them drift into harbors and, with seven-eighths of their mass below the surface, they get grounded. Eventually they break apart and disappear.
My wife and I “discovered” one of these grounded ‘bergs near the shore of cozy little Coffee Cove. After a 15-minute hike, we got closer to this sparkling monster than third base is to home plate. We each snapped dozens of pictures.
Just as we were turning to begin our hike back to “civilization,” we heard what we thought was a loud gunshot. But what actually occurred was a portion of the iceberg breaking off and falling into the water.
What we had taken pictures of moments earlier no longer existed as it had at that time. In an instant, the iceberg had changed, without respect for the thousands of years in the making and the hundreds of miles of traveling.
A few days after we returned to Michigan, Rich Tompkins died, apparently healthy, just after waterskiing. Death came without respect for the miles Rich had traveled to serve student-athletes and coaches, and without regard to all the victories his teams had earned and MHSAA championships they had won.
I last saw Rich on Valentine’s Day at the first-ever Fremont High School Hall of Fame induction banquet where Rich and many of his athletes were honored. The pictures taken that night are of people and circumstances that can never be reassembled.
We need to more fully appreciate the miracle of such moments. They can be gone in an instant.
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The Limits of Planning
July 27, 2015
Like many Michiganders, I took a summer vacation. And as I always do, I planned the trip thoroughly ... from flights to sights to accommodations to restaurants, but still leaving a few details to spontaneity and serendipity.
This summer's trip was to Newfoundland, where winter was very grudgingly giving up its grip. Everything about summer was slow in coming, and the thousands-of-years-in-the-making icebergs that had drifted down from Greenland were several weeks later than usual to disappear off Newfoundland's coast.
It was a trip that once again reminded me of the limits of planning.
Understand, I am an ardent advocate of planning. First, I am my mother's son who would often say that "Happiness is having a plan." Second, I'm so obsessed with planning that I committed to writing two decades ago what should happen when I die, which actuarial tables inform me should be even longer than two decades in the future.
But once again, all my planning for this vacation failed to provide its best moments. The best accommodation was the one I did not book in advance; the best restaurant was the one I had not heard of before we departed from Michigan; the best iceberg adventure was the one we had on our own after taking a wrong turn, not the commercial tours we took in groups.
Planning is a necessary part of leadership and it is essential for the success of any enterprise. But so is staying open to hunches, going with your gut and learning from mistakes. This often makes for the most memorable vacations as well as the most meaningful vocations.