We have to do a lot of this these days, don't we?

Squaring of the circle...

In our personal budgets, we must find ways to make 1+1=3.  Or 5.  Or 7.

In our organizations, not only must we find ways to  s t r e t c h  limited financial resources, but also to periodically work with square pegs currently functioning (or failing to) in round holes.

Regardless the hurdle, an ability to think outside the proverbial box is paramount. 

Sometimes, when I'm working with a group that's struggling to think outside the box -- or simply...creatively -- I'll pass out six toothpicks to each person and make this request:  "Using these 6 unbroken toothpicks, create 4 equilateral (equal sided) triangles."

For several minutes, most participants struggle.  They create pentagrams (!) and beaver dams, but they rarely create four equilateral triangles without great effort, rule-breaking, or toothpick snapping.  And almost always, there are gaps/voids and overlapping toothpicks.

But then, with the briefest guidance and in one fell swoop, they solve the riddle. 

All I have to say is, "Think three dimensionally."

And blammo...they make a pyramid.  A 4-sided structure comprised solely of equilateral triangles.

The problem, of course, lies in our 'mental constructs.'  Too often, we think 1 or 2 dimensionally.  We look at problems myopically or traditionally or quickly...failing to turn them over in our minds like rocks in a dryer. 

Maybe you've heard the maxim, "If you do what you've always done, you'll get what you've always gotten."

Hogwash.

It's worse than that.  This assumes a polyanna, static view of ecosystems and the world which, of course, is unrealistic.  The truth is much harsher: If you do what you've always done, you'll get run over by progress, eaten by competitors, or forgotten by history.

So, the next time you or your family or your organization face a seemingly intractable or 'unsolve-able' problem, think of the toothpicks.

If they (through the formation of Egypt's pyramid, one of humankind's most enduring structures) can remind us the value of creativity and innovation, then many of life's most daunting problems are half-solved.

After all, once the solving-scheme is organized, the rest is often a matter of time and sweat, not whether and if.

Solve on.

A dear friend wrote to me earlier this week describing the tragic and unrelated deaths of two teenage boys in his hometown, both of which occurred as the result of automobile accidents over the holidays.  A third teenager, a girl, lost her leg while trying to beat a train.

Yesterday, around 3pm, a precious 12-year-old boy lost his life in yet another automobile accident as he returned home from school, not 2 miles from here.

As my wife and I struggled last night to wrap our heads around such inexplicable, gut-wrenching, and unfathomable losses, we did all we know to do in such circumstances: pray.  What else can one do?  There is no consolation for such grief.  It simply is. 

While hot meals, attentiveness, big ears, hearts, and hugs may slightly mollify -- they are feeble attempts to do the impossible.  But we all do them anyway, because we know of no other substantive ways to help and because they are part of the acts of the human condition which accompany the grieving process.

We lost our own son on January 4, 2006 of complications from trisomy 18 but, however horrific this loss, we never heard Will laugh or cry, never saw him run or jump or fall in love.  To lose a child whom one has put to bed on countless nights, whose sweaty forehead one has kissed, whose warm hand one has squeezed on long walks...I cannot comprehend it.

As our little family visited Will's gravesite in the cold and blowing wind on Monday night, we said our prayers.

And in returning to the car, the tombstone of a 12-year-old boy caught my eye.  On it was inscribed the children's epitaph known as "I Am Not Here."  I leave you with it today, along with the gentle reminder: Life is short.  Tell those you love that you love them and make the most of every minute of every day.

Don't stand by my grave and weep,
For I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint of snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn's rain.
When you awaken in the morning, hush.
For I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circle flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand by my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die.