I have never been put off by an overstatement of the obvious. Actually, I find comfort in having even the most blatant of things identified for me. This “service” tends to provide that secondary level of assurance just in case I doubt my own intuition. It’s nice to know ahead of time that what I suspect might be true … “is.” Or what I fear might happen …“will.” It’s like when the doctor is holding the hypodermic needle and looks at you and says, “Now, you may feel a little sting,” or when you’re at the State Fair in line for the mother of all roller coasters and the carnie says to you, “Try not to puke,” … all good advice — timely, practical and appreciated.

My mother is the queen of all overstaters. For years, she would say things like, “You’re coming to my dinner party, you’re going to have fun, you’re going to participate in the table game and you’re going to be a good sport.” I have come to the conclusion that the table game was invented by an overactive host who had a preconceived notion that forced socialization in the form of charades will lead to a greater appreciation of the seven layer dip. More importantly; however, was my mother’s absolute belief that it was going to be fun and, because of her belief, this “fun” was going to be contagious. By now, you are thinking this is somewhat random and you might even be wondering where exactly I am going with this, but you’re intrigued so you decide to read on.

After years of being called to organize and entertain people of all ages, I have found that the overstatement of the obvious can be very effective when you fear you might be facing a lackluster audience. While my mother possessed many talents, I believe I earned my real appreciation for the overstatement from a circus ringmaster who I was introduced to as a young child and frankly, to this day, have not seen his equal.

The Johnson’s Brothers Circus was a traveling variety show consisting of four repurposed U-Haul trucks, one fifth-wheel recreational vehicle (staff accommodations) and a concession trailer. The trailer boasted the world’s longest corn dog, the traditional elephant ear and something called “The Mountain of Cotton Candy,” which I never actually ate but believe I once stuck to a folding chair after someone else did. The variety shows’ travel was restricted to a 200-mile Pacific Northwest corridor not due to audience demand, but rather the fact that the transmission on one of the repurposed U-Hauls was on its last leg. On this particularly wet day, the variety show had found itself parked on the weed-strewn back lot of Bob’s Corner Grocery, next to the Phillips 66 and across the street from the Tasty Freeze. As was usually the case, depending on the length of stay or severity of transmission difficulties, the variety show management (not ever clearly defined) would make the decision about raising the tents. And today there would be no tents raised.

When this was the case, the repurposed U-Hauls would be backed into a semi-circle (much like chuck wagons under attack by hostiles) and the ringmaster would walk from truck to truck lifting the gate and encouraging interested guests to peer into the 16.5- foot air shock-leveled cargo box of mystery where your imagination would carry you off to a far away land filled with the intrigue of the macabre. And it worked … there I was, eating a swirl cone from Tasty Freeze looking into the back of a repurposed U-Haul truck at a teenage girl on a swing set being promoted as “One of the Famous Flying Zanda Sisters from Down Under”. I truly was intrigued.

In event planning, when you overstate the obvious it tends to blur the lines of presumption and promotion while setting the stage for the optimistic participant who is sitting on the proverbial fence of indecision. It provides that participant with the opportunity to look back and mentally say to themselves that attending that function was the best decision they ever made. Getting people involved in an activity that you feel they will ultimately enjoy requires the latitude of unabashed persuasion void of any guilt related to blurred lines or exaggerations which might be required to ensure ultimate participation.

I have become comfortable with my conviction that what I think will be fun, others (not all but quite a few) will also think is fun. As a result, I realize that being a bit of a ringmaster and coaxing potential participants to “step right up” when you know in your heart they will enjoy it warrants a bit of embellishment for the cause … rationalization is a wonderful thing.

I have been thinking lately about words that end in “tion” … like fascination, jubilation, situation, procrastination … those kinds of words. Now, why would you do that? And you might ask, why not words which end in “ing” – like eating, fishing, hiking – since those are good words too. To that question, I would have to answer that I don’t know. I am not prejudiced against non-“tion” words, nor am I particularly partial to “tion” words. It just so happens that I had a recent preoccupation and partial fixation with this classification of words, which I don’t feel needs additional justification in order to begin this proclamation … see how it is? I wish someone could make this stop.

In order to explain this dilemma, I need to share how it started. It all began with my co-worker whose vow was to get healthy and in shape, which is one of those vows that I have personally always experienced a great deal of procrastination with. In this situation, I typically play the role of the well-wisher, which you’re expected to be. However, if I had to be honest after almost 30 years of watching wellness center participation retention numbers, I hate to say I may have become a bit jaded. In the back of my mind, I am hoping for the best but at the same time, I feel like that parent checking their child’s lunch box, pasting down a cowlick and hoping a bully doesn’t upset little Johnny on his first day of school … JADED. Typically in this case, my expectation is that the health-seeker has a pretty high chance of meager success and will soon be forgetting their gym bag at the house, pull a hamstring or decide that abusing treadmills by walking on them is a cruel and unusual way to treat machinery, but that is not the way it was with this co-worker … not even close. Now, I would be less than forthright, if I didn’t share some initial frustrations when my “let’s all find the best burger in town” competition got trumped by “guess how many carrot sticks you can fit into a Tupperware container” game … and when the water cooler topics changed from the cool shows on the Food Network to, the number of calories burned, number of miles on the bike and favorite personal trainer. I figured I was in trouble … and that’s when the transformation happened. Never one to publically admit my personal fitness defeats too early, a glimmer of an idea began to form. All of a sudden I found myself living my fitness goals vicariously through my co-worker. I began to eagerly anticipate the treadmill report and considered making full colored graphs of our daily progress. (Notice use of the word “our”?) My fascination bordered on jubilation as weight loss goals and sizes were dropped faster than my freshman Algebra class. It was as if the Greek god of determination just woke up and handed this co-worker a fiber bar. It was like a genie was living in her energy drink and granted her powers that mere mortals like me could only dream of … yet I was right there with her.

I felt like an over enthusiastic sidekick, kind of like, Ed McMahon to Johnny Carson. Slapping my leg and prodding Johnny for more. At times, I felt like announcing success by blurting out accomplishments like that woman from “Myth Busters” that really doesn’t have a purpose other than to announce, “we’re gonna blow some stuff up!” And then after the explosion, punctuates the event by saying, “we just blew some stuff up.” You then say to yourself, “how do I get that job and what do I have to blow up to get it?”

My level of participation as a sidekick reached its pinnacle when I found myself wondering if I could actually lose weight just by being supportive. I know this sounds crazy, but I did experience highs and lows as my co-workers’ workouts hit certain roadblocks. I found myself comparing my feelings, at times, to the sympathy pains I felt during my wife’s first childbirth. At that point, I think I was walking that thin line between fascination and frustration.

On one hand, I was fascinated by this person’s ability to tune out those pesky voices that try and convince you why you shouldn’t work out, how good you look in loose clothing and how french fries are the culinary choice of royalty. This tune-out ability is foreign to me. I have those voices on speed dial and we talk all the time. Now … don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I walk around in a little black sweater saying that I see dead people. NO … it’s more like I seem to encourage an environment of inclusion where invisible people feel free to talk to me every time I think about working out. And let me tell you that “feel free” is putting it lightly. Some of these guys could be professional auctioneers if you get my drift. This dilemma is annoying, but I’m never lonely and I don’t need a workout partner.

Realization then sets in about the time I notice the spring in her step, glint of energy in her eye and obvious improvement in physical fitness. And my realization turns into consternation, which is kind of right where I started … go figure.

The other day I was asked to be a guest speaker for Career Day at a local junior high school.

I can’t think about career day without remembering that scene in “City Slickers” when Billy Crystal’s character (a radio ad executive) is asked by his son to speak to his class at Career Day…if you remember how that scene plays out, Billy is in a dark period of his life which is manifested by his lackluster presentation on the benefits of his profession. He describes “selling air” which his son and fellow first-graders find extremely boring compared to the heavy equipment operator that preceded him. Career Day, in my opinion, is professional validation in its purest form. If you don’t wear a uniform, carry a gun or fight fires, your career choice may not be viewed as exciting or interesting as the other adults in the room. That type of honest feedback from an eight-year-old can be debilitating. Having felt the shame of this type of professional categorizing in the past, I was determined this time to make my career of choice appear as magnificent as humanly possible. I envisioned being the king of the hallway discussion as classmates compared their future employment options.

As I considered my strategies, my diabolical mind prioritized my options of enticement. The idea of a superhero outfit, preferably spandex, emblazoned with a large CNP (Captain Nonprofit) crossed my mind. I considered a modified tool belt cluttered with sports paraphernalia, orange cones, stop watches and a clip board….my thoughts moved on.  I found myself mired in the throes of professional jealousy as I plotted and schemed the many ways I could win the hearts of my young audience…and then it hit me….the key to cornering the market on Career Day success is imagination. It was as obvious as the look of intrigue on the faces of the young people as they imagined themselves in their future careers. Imagination drives everything….but it’s more than that. Imagination is also a skill, and as such, represents a trait that can be valued by a future employer. Imagination cannot be taught at an institute of higher learning. It was my quest to root out the imaginative powers of these teenagers and present them with the professional opportunities that this hidden skill possesses. Imagination, in my opinion, is an innate characteristic. Imagination develops at a young age when it is nurtured by friends and loved ones that appreciate and promote creative thinking. 

The imaginative person is not without his or her critics though. There is no certification process necessary for the simple-minded scoffer who sits on the sideline and discounts any idea that breaches the bounds of normalcy. When a young person realizes they possess a vivid imagination, they can become labeled by others as either a “scatterbrain” or a “big thinker”. The young “scatterbrain” looks at opportunities and voices his or her thoughts in the form of creative options meant to improve on the mundane or typical approach. When these creative options are explained, they typically make even close relatives shake their heads and wonder what side of the family tree this person fell out of. In contrast, the young “big thinker” presents imaginative options in such a way that the audience naturally responds in a manner that suggests, “why didn’t we think of that…and aren’t we lucky to have that kid in our family?”…therein lies the difference. 

Let’s take a look at a quick case study. Following the traditional Sunday services, two young families decide to try out the new smorgasbord that just opened on the south side of town. The crowd is large and the mixed smells of 212 different items (all for $7.99 per plate) cause the young imaginative kids to come up with creative ways to thwart the excruciating line and minimize the time until they get their hands on the individual molded plastic serving trays.

The “scatterbrained” one describes a strategy that involves scaling the Plexiglas sneeze guard, body blocking a trio of seniors and trapezing the warming lights in an attempt to capitalize on the lime jello cups. This strategy results in a reprimand from his parents followed by an apologetic look at the eavesdropping couple in front of them. The “big thinker” strategy, meanwhile, includes informing the manager about the significance of an ancient family holiday that strangely falls on this day. Undoubtedly, due to its obvious importance, this day warrants safe and efficient passage to the front of the line.

As a young person, I can remember my own mother saying to the next door neighbor that, “imagination has a strange way of growing over time…and if you’re not careful it can get away from you.”  I remember the peculiar look on my mother’s face as she looked at me and rolled her eyes…it was the same look she had some years later, when I showed her what was growing in my college dorm refrigerator…a mix of disbelief blended with an underlying glint of disturbance.

As a nonprofit professional, I have found imagination to be a critical part of my approach to ensuring a certain level of success. Imagination promotes interest, promises intrigue and stimulates participation…all of which are necessary when trying to entice the health-seeker to engage in a fitness regimen and dismiss a sedentary lifestyle. I have learned that imagination has no age restrictions or statute of limitations. Just because you’re an adult does not make you immune to the creative enticements of the master imaginator. For example, a health-seeker is uniquely susceptible as the imaginative fitness trainer exposes them to the benefits of the out-of-body experience of a 30-mile treadmill walk or the near state of euphoria one will find at mile 47 on the recumbent bike. The imaginative trainer will paint a picture of fitness grandeur unsurpassed by mere mortals who have dared to navigate the fitness floor stage.

Now, the litmus test for imagination prowess comes when the health-seeker reaches that crucial point where fatigue meets questionability. As the health-seeker struggles for breath, their knee joints scream for mercy, the “scatterbrained” trainer all of a sudden becomes an object of loathing with little or no credibility. At that point, the health-seeker abandons trust and treadmill as fast as humanly possible leaving only a memory of a New Year’s resolution wadded up in a sweat-stained gym towel. The “big thinker” trainer then recognizes the significance of this pivotal crossroads and jumps in with an imaginative breakthrough that keeps this individual on their path to wellness.

The other day, I found myself in a conversation with a couple of colleagues discussing the importance of “fun” when it comes to program delivery, special events, etc.

I have a philosophy of sorts which has never been tested for validity, but I’m okay with that so I’m gonna share it. “Humans like to have fun regardless of what age they are.”

I am a big fan of the traveling carnival. Now don’t get me wrong; I avoid the mobile concession stand due to a pact that I made with my lower intestine a number of years ago, but that’s not where my fascination lies. If I am driving down the highway and by chance happen to see a Tilt-a-Whirl folded up on the back of a semi-trailer, I speed up. I will purposely exceed the speed limit just to see the creative color schemes, characters and bold statements that emblazon these rides and captivate both young and old. Carnivals have always had a way of enticing people to attend. I believe this desire to “go to the carnival” is based on a belief that “fun” lies in waiting somewhere between the bearded lady, the weight guesser and the sign that reads “World Famous Lizard Man.” I find it amazing that people will pay good money to ride the tea cups knowing that there is the possibility that they may revisit that funnel cake they ate earlier. Still, they get in line…”fun” or the “promise of fun” is a powerful force.

What is it about a carnival that automatically makes your brain think you’re gonna have fun? Is it the flashing lights? Is it the music blaring over the PA system, the risk of tripping over power cords or the big blue standard poodles hanging from the midway which you will never win in a million years even if you are a big league pitcher?

My take on it is that it’s the whole experience…can you imagine a carnival without the carnies, the music, the flashing lights, ticket booths or porta potties? No…you can’t! You leave one of those things out and your brain tells you something’s missing…and when something’s missing, it isn’t “as fun” as it used to be. There is just no substitute for fun. Saying something was “kinda fun” is like saying your meal is “kinda hot.” It just doesn’t work.

As we continued to discuss the importance of fun, we agreed that often we take the fun out of things and we don’t even realize it until we look around and wonder where everybody is. Putting “fun” into things takes effort. It takes passion and creativity, but above all else it takes effort. A person has to want to add that extra little thing that may make the whole experience fun. It’s so easy to just say we don’t need that clown nose, funny hat or whoopee cushion…but mark my words, someone’s gonna ask you, “What happened to the whoopee cushion you had last year…and where is my clown nose?”

I believe that organizers have a responsibility to ensure that fun is part of every event. And once they have announced that they are going to ensure it, they need to find an age-appropriate person to tell them what “fun” looks like.

“Fun” also makes up for a lot of other shortcomings—like that pizza place where the train chugs around the perimeter of the restaurant and the conductor takes your order. As a kid, I had a blast at that place, but I never could understand why my parents always said they would just catch a bite at home later.

I also enjoy listening to folks who can’t quite remember the experience—yet they remember having fun. It always starts with one of them bringing up the dance at the Legion Hall in ’56. From there, the smiles and the distant looks are followed by about 15 minutes of arguments regarding the time of year, dress color, fruit punch and the name of the guy who fell off the stage. Regardless of the degree of contradictions, the discussion always ends with someone saying, “That sure was fun.” That pretty much says it all.

The other day, my cell phone contract ended and I was excited about getting a new phone. Not being what I call a “gadget boy”, I have typically found comfort in the familiarity and similarity of my previous model. So, when the opportunity arises to upgrade, I tend not to venture out of my precious comfort zone and risk the frustrations and learning curve associated with the “latest and greatest” that the market has to offer. That being said, I ordered the same model I had before and declined the charger because naturally I figured my old one would fit. Then I waited with bated breath.  Let me stop there for a moment.  Does anybody have any idea what “bated breath” means?  I used those words because I have heard others use them in this context. It seems appropriate, but I strangely feel some literary pressure here. Frankly, I have no idea what those words mean. I apologize for digressing…let me continue.

So, a couple of weeks later, the phone shows up and I go to plug it in to my car charger and guess what? It doesn’t fit. Puzzled, I turn it over and try to insert…again, I fail. Next, I apply mild pressure…negative. Then I begin pressing firmly and realize I am sweating…still no success.  Desperate, I dig through my drawer of old phone chargers trying in vain to find a match, and despite the fact that I have 29 chargers to choose from, none fit.  Frustrated, I share with my coworkers the question of, “why can’t the phone-making powers continue to utilize the same charger from year to year?” I posed this question more to seek sympathy for my situation than to illicit any sort of response that would have suggested that I should have bought the charger. The question resulted in a variety of responses ranging from “why can’t the people that make mops continue to make replacement heads that fit?” to “are there powers that really make cell phones, and if so, what does the break room in these factories look like?”

All of this aside, the experience reminded me that as Y professionals, my staff and I are committed to promoting healthy lifestyle opportunities for people of all ages, and we have a responsibility to provide a trouble-free delivery system.

I love the idea of providing a venue for a family wellness experience. Can’t you just envision parents and kids pulling up in the parking lot eager to do their own wellness thing, be active, and dismiss the troubles of the day? Now don’t get me wrong, I take no responsibility for those who forget towels or swim diapers or have one ghost anklet sock mysteriously levitate out of their gym bag.  However, I fully understand and am committed to ensure that the experience a family has is hassle-free, convenient and quality.  No one likes to jump through hoops unless they’re in a circus or have furry feet and eat uncooked meat products.

What I dread is the thought of the family’s ride home if we failed for some reason.  It is my belief that the ride home is probably the epicenter of the healthy lifestyle derailing zone. Now I am not a coward, but I really don’t want to be a fly on the back window when little Johnny says, “the Y was boring,” or teen sister Suzy says, “they wouldn’t let me in the teen room because my membership badge was expired.” I also don’t want to see mom give dad that same look she gave him when he asked if, “it was worth the hassle to find the time to go to Aunt Millie’s family reunion this year?” If the above scenario plays out, I would rather sit out the discussion this family has the next time they think about going to the Y.

The road to a healthy lifestyle is littered with excuses disguised as potholes. My staff and I won’t be the road crew turning a blind eye or not having a bag of instant asphalt available if we should see a crack forming in our delivery system.

The other day, a key volunteer who had just sat through a presentation of our current evaluation process asked, “who provided the rankings for the assessment?” Once it was shared that it was a “self assessment”, he reminded us that it really is how the customer assesses us that matters–isn’t it? At that moment, I grabbed my phone intending to quickly text my assistant a message to remember to re-tool our assessment system and realized I had no battery power…there you go!