Nabil

if i could travel through time

February 12, 2017 by Nabil Leave a Comment

what would my great-grandpa say?
as he found his seat in a slick fusion restaurant
robe pulled to his knees
to reveal his slip-on shoes making contact with the ground

what would he do, as he sat across from me
would he study my hands, scouring for traces of how i earned my keep?
or would he sit back and bask in watching me place our order
seemingly commanding a small army of busboys and waiters
our tribe produced a chief!

what would it be like for me to look into my great-grandfather’s eyes
would they be welcoming portals into births he celebrated and deaths he mourned?
memories of his friends sharing a story by candlelight?

or would it be like staring into a wall
the concrete slab of hardened operator unimpressed with our circumstance
“you’ve lost your hair – why aren’t you married yet”?
or: “tell your father he owes me some money”

i’d like to think we’d get along fine
we’d finish our last bites of food and make our way outside

where he’d take me by the wrist and lead me to a nearby collecting pool
where he’d teach me how to make a flute from a piece of reed
and twine with its roots
where he’d tell me a salty story about when my grandfather was a teenager
and give me advice on what to look for in the mother of my children

so that one day they may have children
so that one day those children may have children
so that one day of them may sit alone at a restaurant
on a warm Sunday evening
and wonder

what would my great-grandpa say?

As originally shared at Words Tell Stories:

Teaching Design Thinking via Workshops: Four Lessons from the Road

February 4, 2017 by Nabil Leave a Comment

A couple of years ago, if you had told me I would be down on all fours in front of a room, letting one of my workshop participants lead us through a series of cat-cow stretches, I would have laughed in disbelief. And yet here I was last December in Singapore, joining my participants in doing just that.

In 2015 I set an intention to travel more, and to move from consulting in design thinking to enabling others to use the tools of design thinking for themselves (“teaching how to fish”). Some 65+ flights later, with opportunities to coach workshops across the US, Kuwait, India and Singapore, the universe said yes.

One byproduct of this experience is that – with that much floor time – I had the opportunity to make a lot of mistakes as a facilitator. And learn from a number of talented colleagues and participants along the way. Thinking back on what I’ve learned in this last year about teaching (or coaching) design thinking in a workshop format, here are four of my most favorite take-aways:

Lesson 1: It’s all about managing energy
No matter how brilliant the material is – or how mellifluous I think the sound of my voice may be – keep it a one way conversation (i.e. me standing and talking) and before long I lose the room. Eyes glaze over. Cell phones magically make their way into hands. Content starts to get lost in the ether. Solution? Get the participants more involved. For example, rather than asking a question to the room, have participants ask it of each other. In pairs. Or in groups. If it’s a deeper dive into a topic, have participants do some research and present their findings to the room. At times, a front-of-the-room style presentation makes sense. And most times there are other – more engaging – options to draw upon. Other tactics to keep participants engaged (without wearing them out): think of the days’ activities as sprints; keep work focused and tight, then work in ample breaks. Play music during breaks (and some longer activities) to lighten the mood. Beverages are great! And yes, when necessary, do a round of stretches (or other warm-up or improv exercises) to shake things up. My goal for the day: a room of participants who feel like they’ve just played a great game of (insert your favorite sport here): energized, spent, and feeling that the day has flown by.

Lesson 2: Want participants to take risks? Go first.
When leading workshops I often ask participants to present out a concept poster. And I used to push them to go big. Sell it with conviction! Pretend your life depends on it! Every once in a while I’d get a brave volunteer or two who’d be willing to go big – and get a little silly – in front of their colleagues. Inevitably, though, we’d fall into the (understandable) pattern of a typical boardroom presentation — polite, buttoned up, “acceptable” for the workplace. No matter how hard I pushed participants up front, the end result was often the same. One day I coached with an instructor who did something different. He had made his own (fake) concept poster – and he went first. Eyes blazing, mouth foaming, he gesticulated and stomped while selling the heck out of a totally nonsensical product. I was entranced. Stunned. Laughing out loud. With that much energy injected into the room, the next team couldn’t help but hit it out of the park. And the next teams followed suit. My take-away? If I’m asking participants to do something out of their comfort zone, start by modeling it myself. Hear me roar!

Lesson 3: Being lazy can be good
When setting up for a session, I like to hang up the set of templates we’ll be using and pre-label them, as a way of creating a visual reference of our work that day. I once supported a coach who had a different idea: have the participants do it. The scandal! Here I was, being paid to co-run a design session, and I’m having participants do the dirty-work? Here’s why he was right. First: if my intention is to teach participants how to facilitate others, what better time for them to take their first steps in that role than when I’m there to provide feedback? Second: giving these tasks to participants frees me up to do other – more valuable – things, such as connecting individually with folks in the room. Or noticing the patterns that are emerging (Are people engaged or distracted? Are teams collaborating or is one person running the show?). Being “lazy” can extend to bigger tasks as well, such as asking participants to present out a design method they’ve researched — as they say, “the best way to learn something is to teach it.”

Lesson 4: Less tree, more forest
Dawn was just beginning to break and I was (literally) screaming into a pillow. Here I was, a couple hours away from leading a two day workshop for a client, and I had two competing agendas – neither of which I had led before, and neither of which I totally understood. Panic had struck. Not sure what to do next, I stepped away from my laptop and made a couple choices. First: I decided I needed a pep talk. Second: I admitted to myself that there was no way I was able to follow either agenda, as they each had a lot of intricacies that I didn’t have time to understand. My final option? I’d have to throw away the script, and use my gut. To prepare, I laid out a high-level structure for two days that I could make sense of and that I thought would offer value to the participants. I dressed down (long t-shirt and sneaks) so that I would be comfortable, and I kicked off our session with our chairs in a circle. Conversational. Making eye contact. Feeling out where the interest was in the room. The session ended up going great. In fact, one participant even requested I come back to help run another session at their company. Would I use this preparation style for every session? Not unless I want an aneurysm! When running workshops I’m often stressed because we’re a few minutes behind schedule: I’m caught up in making the day go as originally planned, rather than focusing on the needs of the room. This episode was an unexpected gift – a stark reminder of the value of being present, having fun, and not letting the details get in the way of delivering the big picture.

In closing..
If I’ve learned one additional lesson from this last year it’s that failure is my own best coach. I’ve bored, confused and frustrated more than my fair share of participants and co-instructors. It’s wanting to avoid these moments – and experimenting with new solutions – that has kept me engaged in this practice, and allowed me to be less fearful and more present in the workshops that followed. When things do come together – a workshop can be as energizing to me as (I hope) it is to the participants. And, after all, isn’t that the goal?

If you’re about to set off on coaching your first design thinking workshop — (try and) have fun! If you’re an old hand at this, I hope some of these tips are a helpful reminder of the options at your disposal.

// As published on LinkedIn.

on sadness

January 17, 2017 by Nabil Leave a Comment

beneath my room
flows a river
every now and then
a song
cracks the floor
and the river
swallows me whole

* * *

my sadness
– when it comes –
grabs me with its skinny arm
pulls me below the surface

the next morning
my clothes are crisp and clean
and underneath my feet
one mile of bedrock

* * *

i’m crying
in the shower
my face
contorted with pain
are these tears i’m tasting?
or just water

who cares?
isn’t this funny?

on love

December 19, 2016 by Nabil Leave a Comment

you love me as you love
yourself

maybe even
a little less

isn’t that

bliss?

* * *

fill my cup
once you’ve filled yours
or soon
we’ll both
be thirsty

* * *

your first touch
melts a wall
inside me

how would it be
to feel this warmth
without you?

December 12, 2016 by Nabil Leave a Comment

I found you in a house
Wrapped tightly in coarse wool blankets
The winds of an open plain
Buffeting these pine-wood shingles
Shuddering
With the breath of an overwhelming God

I looked into your eyes and saw a boy
Stalking the planes
Putting flint to steel
Dragging a sled with the breadth
Of his honey pot torso

Together we walk the banks of this river
Your hand in mine
I feed you scraps of meat and dried fruit
Your regale me with stories of men and women
I’ve never met

And as we make our way through gullies and forests
Meadows and mountain
Beside us the river flows
As it does
Patiently waiting for us to step in
And float away
Just me and you

http://www.laoudji.com/?p=1719

Primary Season in New Hampshire

February 17, 2016 by Nabil Leave a Comment

A couple of weeks ago I drove up to New Hampshire in the thick of its presidential primary. I traveled there to volunteer for the “We The People” convention – focused on throwing a spotlight on the role of money in our political system – and to generally take in the this special moment in our democratic process.

As I reflect on my time on the ground, a few thoughts come to mind:

Presidential primaries are fun. They’re literally a roving popularity contest. It’s this intoxicating blend of media, celebrity, status (who gets access to what event), and regional culture. It was hard not to get caught up in the hoopla.
The butterfly effect exists. Thinking to America’s impact on the world, it was surreal to think of how a gaffe by a candidate during an event at a local diner could impact the trajectory of their campaign – and in turn the outcome of the presidential election – and in turn the fate of so many people impacted one way or the other by our actions as a country.
New Hampshire takes its role seriously. I assumed that folks in New Hampshire would be turned off by the primary circus rolling in to town — the bus-loads of out-of-staters and political tourists such as myself, incessant political advertisements. I’m sure there are those feel that way, and at least one local I spoke to seemed to welcome it: enjoying the access to the candidates, checking out the media set-ups. Between all of the hotel rentals and media buys, I bet it makes for a nice local stimulus package too.
Systemic bias at play? With all of our talk these days of systemic bias, I couldn’t help but wonder: how different would our presidential election look if the first primaries were in other states such as, say, Mississippi or California? Ted Cruz stumping in LA. Bernie Sanders at a high school football stadium in Dallas. Does the socio-economic makeup of Iowa and New Hampshire have an undue influence over who we elect to represent us? What would a more representative system look like?

On the topic of “money in politics”:

It’s curious why the role of special interests – and their financial influence – is bigger now than years past. Voters have rated “money in politics” as an important issue for some time. We’ve experienced a disconnect between what we want – and what our politicians legislate – for years. Why now? Maybe our weak economy has voters grasping for something to fix – and this seems like an obvious target. Maybe the Citizens United ruling was the tipping point. I heard one person explain how this is the first presidential election where Citizens United has been on the books for some time, and the population at large knows about it.
It’s neat to see the various organizations who are playing a role in helping our democracy be more responsive to the will of the people. Including starting at the state-level, holding candidates accountable by winning one fight at at time. It reminds me of other slow-burn efforts to effect change, from LGBT rights to marijuana legalization.

For the first time since (maybe) grade school, while on this trip I skimmed through the US constitution. What a neat and thoughtful set of rules for governing ourselves. As I think about this presidential election, and the focus on the role of moneyed interest groups in particular, I wonder where this (sometimes very angry) debate ultimately will lead.

I’m hopeful in the direction of a thoughtful process that results in every American having a stronger voice, irrespective of social status or party affiliation. That this debate is merely part of a long American tradition — from abolition to women’s suffrage – of taking back the spirit of the constitution and advocating for changes in the pursuit of “a more perfect union.”

And I also remember that systems are hard to change for a reason. I remember what happened in Tunisia, when that system didn’t bend to the will of an increasingly frustrated people, and ultimately collapsed in spectacular fashion.

Here’s to our better angels succeeding. And the playing out of a process that leaves us better for it.

The Great Unlearning

March 15, 2015 by Nabil Leave a Comment

Over the last few years I’ve experienced loss in a way that’s felt different. The death of a good friend from my first job. The death of an acquaintance. The death our family dog.

One main difference between these deaths and those I experienced in the past is that these took place in my peer group. Not grandparents or distant memories. People in my circle who I knew and, I imagine, had the same big dreams, aspirations, life plans as I did. And my dog, well. Being there as we put him to sleep, feeling the weight of his body — that was a new reckoning of sorts.

These experiences got me thinking about life, and expectations. The expectations of having a career, having a family, seeing my kids grow up. What they’ve helped me remember is that all of my expectations are just that — what I expect. Me. Not what is given, or written.

Through the wisdom of others, and my own experience – life, I’ve come to learn, has very few actual rules. The communities of which I’ve been a part have done an amazing job of creating structures. Weekdays, zip codes, parking laws, dress codes, titles at work. Structures on structures on structures. And yet in their very essence — they’re just that. A set of human-created ways to tackle this hugely blank thing called existence. A large paper castle floating precariously on an ocean that’s happy to swallow it up at any minute. Or not. Having lived in these structures my entire life, I guess I forgot who put them in place.

For me this knowing is both terrifying, and liberating.

Terrifying in that if life has no rules, it can slip away at any minute, without so much as an inkling. One moment it’s here, another it’s not. No meaning to either mode. No court of law, no presiding judge to sort out the facts and provide an explanation.

Liberating in that wow — what limit is there to what’s possible? I’ve sprouted on this rock floating through a space infinitely bigger than I can imagine. Of what consequence is anything I do? What use is there in worrying about what others think, what boundaries exist, to not carve whatever path through life that I like? The options.

Of course, no matter what path I do carve, at the end of the day I do live within a social system with well-defined rules. Some of which, if broken, can lead to a pretty uncomfortable day-to-day. But within that frame, and even outside it (what if we changed the rules?) there’s that endless sea of possibility. That blank canvas to be explored. And what better tribute to those who passed too soon, than to explore it with abandon.