Ed Batista

Abbotts Lagoon, One Year Later

Amy and I have been to Point Reyes many, many times over the last few years.  Given all we've been though we've needed a regular spot to slow down and recharge, and I can't imagine anyplace better.  I recently realized that I have a number of pix from our most recent trips that never got a second look, and it's been good to revisit them.

Last November we spent a day at Abbotts Lagoon, one of our favorite spots on the planet.  You start out along a wide path that winds between pastures to the south and scrubland to the north.  Plenty of deer, flocks of birds--that's the two smudges above--and cows in the distance.

Eventually you pop out of the grassy fields onto sprawling, endless dunes.  You slog across the sand, but if feels like you're never going to reach the surf.

Until you're suddenly there.

Nearly a year later--that's too long.

Bill Neukom and Carol Bartz: Two Ways to Leave

Two short-term, high-profile Bay Area leaders were kicked to the curb recently, but the manner of their respective departures couldn't have been more different, and I find them both fascinating counter-examples.

Yahoo CEO Carol Bartz was fired abruptly by the company's board--actually via a phone call from the chairman--and the following day she spoke freely with Fortune's Patricia Sellers:

Here is what Carol Bartz thinks of the Yahoo board that fired her: "These people f---ed me over," she says, in her first interview since her dismissal from the CEO role late Tuesday...

"The board was so spooked by being cast as the worst board in the country," Bartz says. "Now they're trying to show that they're not the doofuses that they are."

It's noteworthy that Bartz's contract had a non-disparagement clause, and she was apparently owed $10 million; I assume Bartz knew exactly what she was doing, and it was a deliberate choice to sacrifice that compensation (or at least put it at risk) in order to speak her mind without constraints.

Just over a week later, the San Francisco Giants announced that managing general partner Bill Neukom will become "chairman emeritus" next year and will sell his ownership stake, a move apparently forced by the team's primary owners.  Neukom will be replaced by team President Larry Baer, and the two stuck to the script at yesterday's news conference, as reported by the San Francisco Chronicle's Gwen Knapp:

Neukom repeatedly ducked the issue of whether he had been shoved aside with variations on "mistakes were made," the fingerprint wiper favored by politicians.

When asked the question directly on Thursday, Neukom began his reply with "Umm" and a pause before he went into a long-winded explanation about his plans to step aside in the near future and saying that, after consultation with the other investors, "I think the conclusion was that this was the right time to turn the reins over to Larry."

CSNBayArea's Mychael Urban offered a similar perspective:

Neukom neither admitted nor denied reports of communication issues with the other owners, describing their dialogue over his three-year tenure as "robust."

Asked if he was forced out, Neukom said, "I don't think that's the right characterization at all."

I'll let others debate the merits of these decisions by senior management; what interests me at the moment are the choices made by Bartz and Neukom at the moment of their departure.  The two clearly are very different people who had very different relationships with their organizations.  Bartz is well-known as a straight-talking, f-bomb-dropping leader, while Neukom is a tight-lipped, bow-tie-wearing corporate attorney, and both of them held true to form.  Bartz was hired to turn Yahoo around just 32 months ago, and there's no indication that the company holds any unique meaning for her.  In contrast, Neukom was a 16-year-old in San Mateo when the Giants moved West in 1958, and he's owned a stake in the team since 1995; it seems reasonable to assume that running the team fulfilled an important and long-held ambition of his.

So it's not surprising that Bartz and Neukom chose to leave as they did.  But each of their choices seems flawed to me, and I believe that both of them could benefit by learning something from the other.  While I respect Bartz's determination to speak her mind--all the more because of the shit she has undoubtedly had to deal with as a woman in technology--and I find her brash style personally appealing, I still felt dismayed when I read her interview with Sellars.  Bartz's justifiable anger at the manner of her firing seemed to trump all other concerns, and while Yahoo's board should be criticized for their mishandling of this transition, Bartz's clumsy remarks rebounded against her and made the board's public silence look (undeservedly) dignified and thoughtful in comparison.

Neukom's approach couldn't have been more different.  Instead of burning bridges, he sat side-by-side with his successor, tamped down his emotions, and denied that anything was amiss.  (At least he didn't say he wanted to spend more time with his family.)  But while I understand Neukom's desire to make a graceful exit and avoid damaging an organization he no doubt loves, his adamant refusal to acknowledge reality undermined both him and the team.  Neukom's discretion could be characterized as "taking the high road," but I see it as a way of avoiding responsibility--if nothing's wrong, then no mistakes were made--and it merely invites speculation about senior management's dysfunction.

Bartz's resolve to speak her truth and damn the consequences and Neukom's superhuman powers of self-regulation have undoubtedly fueled their careers and contributed mightily to their success.  But I'm reminded that our greatest weaknesses are overused strengths.

Photo of Bill Neukom: Associated Press. Photo of Carol Bartz: Robert Galbraith/Reuters

I Found My Heart in San Francisco

Sometimes it's just obvious why certain people touch your heart.  A former student I know is spending much of this year pursuing personal projects and traveling before starting a new job at the beginning of 2011.

This week she's returning to San Francisco to celebrate her birthday, and here's what she wrote in her invitation:

Instead of receiving birthday presents, I would love to receive your wisdom in the form of answers to two questions:
 
"If I had three months of freedom, I would. . ." and
"When you finally move to San Francisco, make sure to. . ."

She's going to cover the walls of the party site in paper and have people write (graffiti?) their responses during the party.  Wow--what a beautiful idea.

My own responses to those questions?

If I had three months of freedom...I would find a cottage up in the hills of Inverness with a quiet garden and a view of Tomales Bay.  I'd spend each morning distilling what I've written here over the years into a narrative about coaching and change and growth; I'd spend each afternoon hiking the trails of Point Reyes; and I'd spend each evening cooking with Amy and looking up at the stars.

And when you finally move to San Francisco, spend as much time as you can in all the hidden wild corners of the city: Land's End, the Presidio, Tank Hill, Grand View Park, Golden Gates Heights Park, Fort Funston, the community garden at Fort Mason, the back side of Twin Peaks, Glen Canyon and the top of Strawberry Hill in the middle of Stow Lake.  These places (and more like them) touch my own heart so deeply and are ultimately what make me most happy to live here.

Happy Birthday!

The View from Twin Peaks

I rode up to Twin Peaks this afternoon, after going through Land's End, out to Ocean Beach and down the path that parallels the Great Highway.  It was one of those days when I feel so lucky to live here.

The view above is from Twin Peaks Boulevard--I love how the Transamerica pyramid and the new One Rincon Hill bookend the downtown skyline.  And if you look carefully, you can see the Ferry Building gleaming at the end of Market Street.

13 Miles in San Francisco

Today was an astoundingly beautiful day in San Francisco, and I spent a portion of it on one of my favorite rides around the City, a route that winds for just over 13 miles through Golden Gate Park, the Panhandle, the Wiggle, the Duboce Bikeway (above), Market Street, the Embarcadero, Fort Mason, Crissy Field, and the Presidio before returning to the Richmond.

I've ridden through the Duboce Bikeway literally thousands of times--I worked in downtown SF for a total of 8 years, and I commuted by bike for most of that time--but not once have I ever stopped to take a photo of the mural there, even though it happens to be my favorite piece of public art evah.

But for some reason today I stopped and snapped the pic above.  And looking at it now I want to ride out to Ocean Beach immediately.

A Day in San Francisco

Today we decided to simply hang out and enjoy a day in San Francisco, which included:

• The Small Dog Army at Ocean Beach (pictured above).  Every Saturday at 10am, dozens of people with small dogs converge at Ocean Beach, just across from the Beach Chalet, and slowly make their way up toward the Cliff House.  Amy and I don't have a small dog (or a large dog, for that matter), but we join the Army every once in a while because it's so damn entertaining.  The dogs are like kids at a birthday party, hyped up on cake and ice cream and presents and cake, running around and around like mad, yipping and yapping and wrestling in the sand.
• The view from Twin Peaks, an amazing spot locals sadly cede to tourists.
• Lunch at It's Tops on Market, an diner/burger joint that dates to 1935.
• A spin around the Ferry Building and down the Embarcadero to Cupid's Span.
• And finally, a peaceful interlude at the Fort Mason Community Garden (see below) complete with hummingbirds and parrots overhead.  (I overhead a guy working on his garden plot say to a woman nearby, "I stay out of the politics here."  I'm glad I just visit on the weekends.)

I'm very, very grateful to live here, to have opportunities like today to enjoy it, and to have someone I love to enjoy it with.

Appreciating Life at Point Reyes

While thinking about a student who's seriously ill and sending good thoughts his way, I'm finding it comforting to recall a trip Amy and I took up to Pt. Reyes this past December, during the week between Christmas and New Year's.  Amy's dad Rich had recently been diagnosed with cancer, and Amy had spent the two weeks prior to Christmas back in New Jersey, helping her parents navigate the medical system and begin his treatment.

Amy was glad she could be there for her parents, but it was a stressful time for everyone, and we knew that her ability to be a source of support depended on both of us taking some time out along the way.  So she came home to San Francisco for the holidays, and we put up a Christmas tree for a few days before heading up to Marin.

On our first hike that week we took Sky Trail to Woodward Valley, and then we wound our way down to the coast.  Fog was creeping up from Bear Valley, but the coast was clear enough to see the Farallons.

We made our usual trek out to Tomales Point, and the tule elk were incredibly active.  One male chased another for several hundred yards, just off the trail, stirring the rest of the herd into movement.  (No, not here, but trust me, they were running wild.)

I took a solo hike up to the top of Point Reyes Hill, down to the coast via the Bucklin Trail, and back up via the Bayview. The view of Point Reyes from the summit was spectacular:

I'd never been down Bucklin before, and it was so isolated it was spooky. I came across a relatively recent deer skeleton right on the trail, as well as an endless variety of mushrooms:

A challenging day, as these "Half-Way" and "Almost Done" shots make clear:

Our last day we went to Kehoe Beach for the first time. I love the pastures that roll right up to the dunes:

There was a minus tide that day, making the beach hundreds of yards wider than usual and exposing huge rock formations that are usually covered in surf. A stunning way to end our trip:

The reality of Rich's illness was always on our minds, and we knew that Amy would be returning to New Jersey shortly, but it was helpful to spend just a little time in this most beautiful place, not to shut out the reality of death, but to appreciate life even more.  So as my student R. is locked in a tough battle with cerebral malaria, I'm not surprised to feel a keen sense of appreciation for every aspect of life, particularly as it's expressed in a place like Pt. Reyes.

A Long Weekend in Point Reyes

I've made a concerted effort this past month to unplug, disconnect and de-blog.  (Hey, I've barely even tweeted.)  I haven't been idle, but I've given myself plenty of leeway to just do whatever I felt like doing--which has included a lot of exercise but not much writing.

As part of that strategy, Amy and I just spent a long weekend in Point Reyes.  It wasn't exactly restful--I returned to SF slightly worse for wear, having pushed it a little too hard on the trails and at the dinner table.  (Yes, you can eat too much Marin Sun Farms steak.)  But it was still deeply satisfying to be there, exploring new corners while returning to some old haunts.

One change from past trips was staying in a cottage right on Tomales Bay.  The distant hill lit by the setting sun above is Barnabe Peak, which I climbed 3 years ago.

This was the first time we've been all the way out to Limantour Beach--the point at the far left in the background is Chimney Rock.  Layers of "monsoonal moisture" resulted in some unusually dramatic clouds rather than the typical Summer fog (for a night, at least.)

We didn't make it to the end of the 3.5 mile Limantour Spit, but we got far enough to look across the estero at Drake's Head (on the right).  That's the hill we climbed in June, the end of an amazing, desolate ranchland hike.

Tule Elk on Tomales Point, with Mt. Saint Helena in the background.  These two males are from the "bachelors herd," a somewhat sad group of adolescent and declining males who've been ousted from the main herd by the dominant male (whose reign can last just a single mating season, apparently.)

The tip of Tomales Point, draped with sea lions and cormorants.

The walkway behind our cottage, leading out into Tomales Bay.  At the end you can just make out a loveseat where we enjoyed a warm and starry evening under the monsoonal moisture before the fog rolled in.

A final, solitary view from Limantour Beach.  I've said it before: Thank you, Phil Burton.

I suspect the urge to write'll return once Summer's over and classes at Stanford have begun.  See you here again soon.

Happy Birthday To Me

I'm 42 today.  Yay me!  As I wrote in March, 42 is "too young to feel truly old, but old enough to no longer feel young."  Forty was just a number--I really didn't feel much different as a result.  But 41 was a quite a bit heavier because Amy and I lost several family members that year, and that process has continued this year, leading to thoughts about mortality while laid up or caring for Amy after surgery.

Andy Chan, the former Director of Stanford's Career Management Center, once provided me with a great framework for thinking about where we are in a given journey or experience by asking, "Are you in the first half or the second half?"  And it's safe to assume that I'm in the second half of this existence.  (Although hopefully it's still the third quarter.)

As a result of my reflections over the past few months, I'm comfortable with this.  Being sick and helping Amy recover made me realize how little I know about aging and infirmity, but, paradoxically, learning how unprepared I truly am has helped me prepare.  Funny how growing old (up?) works that way.

So a sense of my mortality doesn't leave me feeling gloomy--but it does cause me to take stock, to look around and assess where I am and what I'm doing.  And last night I wrote to a friend that "I've been feeling down lately, wondering whether I'm making enough of a difference, feeling a little frustrated and envious as I get glimpses down other paths."

This is largely a result of the absence of our students over the Summer, those from the Class of 2009, who have graduated and left the GSB behind, and those from the Class of 2010, who are in the midst of their internships all over the world.  I have more time to see private coaching clients when classes aren't in session, but on balance I spend less time coaching and more time on administrative work and other projects at Stanford over the Summer.  Coaching is my vocation, it sustains and feeds me--but the rest is just stuff that needs to get done.  It's not drudgery, but it's not my passion, either.

So knowing that expressing gratitude is one of the keys to my happiness, I've been reflecting on what I'm grateful for, what I appreciate--which is to say who I'm grateful for, who I appreciate:

• Amy, first and always.  I'm so grateful for the chance that brought us together and all the hard work we've put in over the last 23 years to stay together.  More than anything else, my love for you and your love for me give my life meaning and purpose.
• My Mom and Dad.  In some ways I was a really easy kid to raise; in other ways I know I was unbelievably difficult.  Thank you for putting up with me through the difficulties.  I don't tell you enough how much I love and appreciate you.
• My brothers David and Matthew.  See above--in some ways I think I've been a pretty good older brother; in other ways I know I could do better.  Time with you is one of the rarest treasures in my life, and I wish there was more of it.
• My friends.  The friend I mentioned above emailed me just to say how much she was appreciating my writing here, which was incredibly powerful and uplifting to hear.  I have a lot of people in my life like that, and I am truly lucky to call you my friends.
• My clients and students.  Second only to my marriage, my work with you fulfills me and gives me a purpose in life.  I'm deeply grateful for every opportunity to talk with you, to share your challenges and your joys, to be a part of your journey.  Thank you.
• All the little moments that remind me what a privilege it is to be here, like the one captured above, atop Drake's Head in Point Reyes with Amy in June.  Lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky.  That's me.

A Little Perspective

My day was going badly.  I'll spare you the details, but it involved traffic jams and missed phone calls and rescheduled meetings.  I wasn't blaming anyone but myself (and the unknown forces behind all that traffic), but I was feeling increasingly annoyed with the world, and I still had another 40 minutes to go in the car.  I could just tell that things were only going to get worse from here.

And then, in a moment of inspiration, I had a little dialogue with myself:

Do I need to continue down this path?  Do I need to push on?

No.

Could I turn around and go home?

Yes.

OK, then.  New plan for the day.

I was on 280 in San Bruno, and I took the next exit to turn around and return to San Francisco.  As I pulled off I saw signs for Golden Gate National Cemetery, a huge facility that I've driven past more than a thousand times but have never visited--until today.

I took a short detour, passed through the gates and drove slowly up to the summit of a huge mound at the center of the cemetery.  The view today was almost identical to the photo above (thank you, Pargon), although the Memorial Day flags were gone.

Looking out over the graves of 139,000 veterans was sobering, and it put my "bad day" in perspective pretty damn fast.  It was blustery and sunny, weather that makes me feel very much alive.  Being surrounded by the memories of so many people who had sacrificed their lives while I could stand there and enjoy the sun and the wind helped me see just how meaningless and insubstantial my problems were and how much I have to be grateful for.

So the first lesson I learned today was how easy it can be to simply stop and reverse course when things are not going well.  Sometimes persistence is called for, and sometimes it's merely a failure to consider all your options.

And the second lesson was that even when things seem not to be going well, they really are.  Really, they are.

Photo by Pargon.