How Bell Labs Creates Star Performers

Here's an interesting PPT on how Bell Labs creates Star Performers out of Ordinary Folks. Would highly recommend this approach to any knowledge based organization wishing to create value for it's employees.
http://www.cs.pdx.edu/~mschakra/belllabs.pps

Rebound Relationships ??

Here's an interesting article on Rebound Relationships ;-). I found this pretty interesting and I totally agree that one has to take time to find one's "Soulmate" instead of rushing into the arms of the first person who shows some kinda interest.

On the Rebound
In our relationship seminars we frequently hear people ask about "rebound relationships". How do you know if you or someone youre dating is really on the rebound? Can it ever be a good thing? And whats the best ways to handle the strong urges you may have to be with someone new after a breakup?
A breakup of a serious intimate relationship can be a very difficult experience, and is often accompanied by feelings of confusion, sadness, anxiety, sleeplessness, appetite loss (or binge eating), and generally feeling off-balance. Feelings of self-worth may be low. We may question our attractiveness and desirability for future relationships. We may feel emotionally raw, vulnerable and needy at times. We may feel lonely and miss the affection and sensual gratification of our previous relationship.
One very tempting way to cope with this unpleasant state is to literally fall into the arms of someone else who will catch us, hold us, and tell us what we most want to hear and feel: thats were okay, were worthwhile, were attractive, were desirable, and were lovable. And when we choose to sexualize this coping strategy and experience the wonderfully mesmerizing fireworks of infatuation and lust, we can all but forget about our past pain. Loss? What sadness? Who? Life becomes a joyous spontaneous encounter with the present moment. Ah, relief and distraction from our pain. And for the other person who has rescued someone from their pain, and who is connecting with someone in an extreme state of openness and vulnerability, they may feel that they have finally found their soul mate: someone who listens, is open, is willing to share their feelings, is deep, authentic and spontaneous, and who seems different than anyone theyve ever met.
Which all sounds well and good except for one thing: one or both people are usually getting set up to get really hurt. For weeks or months later when the glow fades and the person begins to feel like themselves again, they may see their new partner as merely a helpful transitional friend who helped them through a hard time. One day they wake up and wonder, "Why am I with this person? What was I thinking? Im not in love with them." And then they say they need to date other people, and their helpful rescuer is crushed. Unfortunately, the normal illusions and fantasies of falling in love are even more pronounced in a rebound relationship.
So what do you do if a newly-alone person comes rushing into your arms? First of all, see them for who and what they are: needy and vulnerable. By all means give them support and companionship and affection, but recognize that anything further or deeper is a huge risk for both of you. They cant know which end is up, and at least for a while, everything they do gets filtered through the lens of need, not through health and love. You may enjoy the adoration of temporarily rescuing someone from their pain, and they can be incredibly honest and fun as they explore creating a new independent identity. But dont mistake that for who they will eventually turn out to be, because they are on a journey of transformation that may or may not include you. Neither of you know who they will be at the other end. Be kind, compassionate and wise enough to give them what they REALLY need, which is usually a true friend, not a lover. And if it should turn out that the two of you really do have a genuine romantic connection, there will plenty of time to explore that in the future. Dont rob your future relationship of the loving possibilities it may have by prematurely romanticizing your friendship.
If youre the one whos suddenly alone, recognize your own needs for healing, regrouping and creating yourself anew. Realize that being out of a relationship is not all a bad thing. Its a precious opportunity to grow in ways that you cannot grow when youre with someone. Its a wonderful time to forge a better relationship with YOU, to learn from the past and resolve resentments and judgments you may have about yourself or your past partner. Its a time to reconnect with your spiritual life, or to explore that realm if you havent done so before. Its a terrific time to take up a new hobby or study something youve never had time for. Its great to suddenly have space to bond with friends on a deeper level. Theres time to expand your support system, to create more balance in your life, to build a solid foundation for whatever life you choose to lead in the future.
Youre going to survive, and you will live to see another day of laughter and fun and love. But every season unfolds in its time, and its best to accept the season you are living in rather than artificially try to rush through to the next one. Walking around in your bathing suit in January doesnt make it any warmer out, any more than trying to fall in love makes you any less needy.
On either side of a rebound, its risky. In fact 4 out of 5 people who remarry within a year of their divorce end up getting divorced again! So take it slow, heal, feel your feelings and learn from the lessons of your past choices and decisions. In that way when the sun shines again for you, it will be genuine and warm, and you stand a much better chance of creating the love that can last a lifetime, if thats what your heart truly desires. And if you decide not to partner again, you will have created a meaningful, multi-dimensional and fulfilling life to live.

Currently Reading....

Currently reading..."Wisdom of Groups" by James Surowiecki. An awesome book overall which talks about power of social groups in business and society.

Rules for Business Success...

I found these rules awesome....

Business is made up of ambiguous victories and nebulous defeats. Claim them all as victories.
Keep track of what you do; someone is sure to ask.
Be comfortable around senior managers, or learn to fake it.
Never bring your boss a problem without some solution.You are getting paid to think, not to whine.
Long hours don’t mean anything; results count, not effort.
Write down ideas; they get lost, like good pens.
Always arrive at work 30 minutes before your boss.
Help other people network for jobs. You never know when your turn will come.
Don’t take days off sick-unless you are.
Assume no one can/will keep a secret.
Know when you do your best-morning,night, under pressure, relaxed; schedule and prioritize your work accordingly.
Treat everyone who works in the organization with respect and dignity, whether it be the cleaner or the managing director. Don’t ever be patronizing.
Never appear stressed in front of a client, a customer or your boss.
Take a deep breath and ask yourself: In the course of human events, how important is this?
If you get the entrepreneurial urge, visit someone who has his own business.It may cure you.
Acknowledging someone else’s contribution will repay you doubly.
Career planning is an oxymoron. The most exciting opportunities tend to be unplanned.
Always choose to do what you’ll remember ten years from now.
The size of your office is not as important as the size of your pay cheque.
Understand what finished work looks like and deliver your work only when it is finished.
The person who spends all of his or her time is not hard-working; he or she is boring.
Know how to write business letters including thank-you notes as well as proposals.
Never confuse a memo with reality. Most memos from the top are political fantasy.
Eliminate guilt. Don’t fiddle expenses, taxes or benefits, and don’t cheat colleagues.
Reorganizations mean that someone will lose his or her job. Get on the committee that will make the recommendations.Job security does not exist.
Always have an answer to the question, "What would I do if I lost my job tomorrow?"
Go to the company Christmas party
.Don’t get drunk at the company Christmas party.
Avoid working at weekends. Work longer during the week if you have to.
The most successful people in business are interesting.
Sometimes you’ll be on a winning streak and everything will click; take maximum advantage. When the opposite is true, hold steady and wait it out.
Never in your life say, "It’s not my job."Be loyal to your career, your interests and yourself.
Understand the skills and abilities that set you apart.
Use them whenever you have an opportunity.People remember the end of the project.
As they say in boxing, "Always finish stronger than you start."

More Than Just Friends....

Here's another great post on Psychology Today on dealing with Sexual Attraction @ the Workplace.
http://cms.psychologytoday.com/articles/pto-19920501-000029.html

I don't think anyone could have written more brilliantly on that topic.

The Third Half Of a Couple...

Here's an interesting article from the NY Times....(Link and Actual Text Provided Below...)
My Thoughts..
So true. I have myself lived with one such couple and it was an awesome experience. I guess the reason could be sometimes such a couple could be looked upon as Archetypal Parents. So you try to see qualities in them that your parents never had and stuff like that. BTW after reading this article I have to wonder why does marriage have to be only between 2 people ? Why not 3 people ? We often hear women complaining about "lack of sensitivity" etc.. from her man. Why not a women marry 2 men....say one the analytical kind and other one who would take care of her deeper emotional needs when she doesn't feel appreciated by the former. Can this work out in the real world ?

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/10/23/fashion/sundaystyles/23LOVE.html


October 23, 2005
Modern Love
The Third Half of a Couple
By HOWIE KAHN
IT'S a big morning for me: a breakfast date at my place, and I'm cooking. I've scoured the markets and rounded up the best of everything: oranges for zesting, pears for roasting, balsamic for drizzling, goat cheese for crumbling and, to amp up my French toast, a vial of organic Mexican vanilla beans for eviscerating and flecking. I even grated the cinnamon myself. That's just what you do when someone special is coming over.
After completing my knife work, I set the table (folding the napkins in caterer's shapes), float pink peony blossoms in a glass bowl, take a quick shower and put on a well-worn black T-shirt and a good pair of ripped jeans. At 11 a.m. - right on time - the buzzer sounds.
I answer the door, and there they are, my "date": eager, radiant and, most appealingly, married.
I know this setup sounds potentially kinky, but there's no sexual dynamic to report on here. No threesome will commence once the fruit is caramelized. My guests, Cory and Jake, are faithful to each other, and I'm not looking to mess that up. On the contrary, I depend on the stability of their marriage; I need them to stay together so I can go where they go and do what they do. Simply put, I'm their third wheel.
With them it's a role I was conscripted to from the start. When I moved to New York (for graduate school), Cory, my friend from college, already lived there and, luckily, had a spare bedroom. I promptly rented it and soon met Jake, her new boyfriend. Since he was on hiatus from his work in finance, and I only had class twice a week, we spent a lot of time together, mostly tossing around balls of various dimensions.
About a month before Jake proposed to Cory, he came into my room - the one right next to Cory's - and held out a small lacquered box.
"Hey," he said casually, "can you hold onto this for me?"
I looked at his offering and gulped. My eyes misted over.
Proudly Jake gave me permission to open it and carefully I did: the ring was glimmering, perfect, surprisingly tall.
"I don't want Cory to find it," he said. "So if you'll take it for now, I'm giving it to you."
"Yes," I whispered and deposited the diamond into my drawer on top of my graphing calculator.
Soon after, Jake took Cory to a farm in Pennsylvania to propose, and like me before her, she accepted. When they returned from their Dominican honeymoon, it became evident that married life fit us all handsomely. Their needs were fulfilled by each other; my needs were fulfilled, in tandem, by them.
BY then they had a home of their own but always had food and a seat for me at their table (this at a time when I owned no furniture and bought very few groceries). Cory invited me over to talk about books and movies. Jake brought me along to play pick-up basketball with his friends. Cory and I attended theater and museums. Jake and I went to a Rangers game and watched the World Series. Cory counseled me on what I fondly referred to as the ever-widening gap between me and every woman on the planet. Jake weighed in on that one too.
We had a good thing going, a completely heartening domestic routine. Our dinners and talks took up entire nights. Cory would often fall asleep in the middle of the conversation, and I'd exit quietly, feeling satisfied, loved.
It didn't take long for me to stop dating entirely. It seemed pointless, since I already had a part in a very solid marriage.
I'd always coveted this sort of steadiness, always aspired to have my own share of it. But it's never been easy. I'm no lothario, after all, and I've long felt cut off from any dating ritual that doesn't include leaving behind a calling card with an overweight and overcorseted aunt.
I'm anachronistic: more at ease pursuing one emotionally intimate moment than braiding bodies for hours on end with some smoky-haired stranger. That and the rigors of dating have simply pushed me to unhealthy extremes - even to the hospital.
A few summers back I endured a bout of chronic stomach pain. At the time the thing had its own seismic agenda: rumbling, simmering, gurgling, even spurting little smoldering bits of itself up into the back of my throat. This was my body's response to a brilliantly sassy but ultimately unreachable woman for whom, at the time, I lived and breathed.
In the examining room a doctor pressed his fingers into my midsection and probed my chest with his stethoscope. "Heart sounds fine," he said. "Very strong."
I wasn't surprised. Women don't begin to do damage to my heart until they've utterly ripped apart my stomach. I told him this. He nodded sympathetically, then sent me packing with a prescription for a bowel relaxer.
Post-hospitalization I began seeing other women. But the result, sadly, was a brand new set of pseudo-gastroenterological dilemmas, which made me late, loopy or a little green when I arrived for a date. As I was getting ready, my stomach would churn until it felt like it was on the verge of popping out a stick of butter. It would take at least 25 minutes for my discomfort to pass naturally. Or 15 minutes and a Xanax. Or five minutes and a finger down the throat.
Cory and Jake proved to be my panacea, better than all the other remedies (Tums, psychotherapy, Julie Delpy in "Before Sunrise") that made love seem to me, momentarily, like a thing without fangs. So I got close to them, clung to them fiercely. It felt almost as if I were following a biological directive, the one that permits little creatures to seek protection and nourishment by piggybacking on the hide of a much larger animal.
Some of what we did as a threesome, although my participation was de rigueur and always welcome, I probably should have let them do alone, as a couple. Like dimly lighted birthday dinners at which Cory looked like a bigamist sandwiched between Jake and me, or the trip to the Bronx Zoo, where we all shared ice cream cones and, at my urging, rode the Skyfari cable car four times.
At one point I noticed a few baboons cavorting on a grassy slope below: three of them tumbling down the hill. At the bottom, though, a pair of them, holding hands, started climbing back toward the top while the third strutted off alone.
Primates weren't the only ones sending me signals. Cory and Jake now had a message for me too. I don't remember exactly how they said it. Did they announce over dinner that they were leaving me for another city? Or break the news under a streetlamp just as it started to rain? Or send carnations with a note? I have no idea.
Whatever the case, their explanation that they were moving from New York to Portland (Oregon! Not even Maine!) slid, as if lubricated by its absurdity, in one ear and out the other. Having been blissfully sheltered for so long by the elemental passivity of third-wheeldom, I didn't hear them, or couldn't, because I was no longer fluent in the language of breakups and relationship anxiety.
Leaving? Moving? Goodbye? The words all sounded tangled and distant, as if from an Urdu phrase book or a Kelly Clarkson song.
The night Cory and Jake left, I cried so hard that I hyperventilated for the first time in my life. Without a paper bag in sight, I stuffed an unlaundered hand towel into my mouth like a horse's bit and huffed out what felt like the holdings of my entire pulmonary cavity.
When I finally caught my breath and extracted the towel (it left gauzy strands of lint on my tongue and between several of my teeth), I was shivering on my bathroom floor, knees tucked up against my chest. Out loud I said: "What the hell is wrong with me? People leave all the time. Deal with it."
But I couldn't deal with it, so I called my dad. "What's wrong with me?" I asked him.
"It's hard," he said, "to have your safety net yanked out from under you. It hurts."
At this point - it was 2:30 a.m. - I slid a couple of melatonin discs under my tongue.
Dad paused. "Being on your own for a while - it's probably going to be good for you."
Next thing I knew the sun had come up, and my face was half frozen, striated from the air-conditioner I'd used as a pillow.
I always knew that going through a divorce would crush me, send me over the edge, induce beard growth and religious indoctrination and spectral dreaming. But I'd never said any vows of my own, so I couldn't let things get that far out of hand. Besides, I could still fight this, couldn't I? I could move to Portland too.
I REALLY thought about it: about leaving New York and incorporating granola into my diet. I'd learn to recycle, strap on the Gore-Tex and spend weekends tromping around sub-alpine berry patches. In Oregon I could preserve my date-free, risk-free reality.
But that would be pathetic, cowardly. Even the baboon at the zoo was able to walk away, and he's supposed to be my evolutionary inferior.
I started focusing on my convalescence. Rilke and Grey Goose and Häagen-Dazs mango ice cream each played pivotal roles. But the real defibrillatory jolt came from what I now consider to be an alternative source of healing: online dating (Cory's idea).
I didn't go on any dates right away, but the shock of getting so much attention from strangers based solely on my posted photograph lifted my spirits considerably. I even started believing that some special girl out there just might have something more sublime to offer me than the usual ulcer. This sudden surge of faith wasn't exactly matrimonial bliss, but it felt like progress, an opportunity to get back in the game.
I would rebound, I realized, and that deserved a reward. So I decided to take a little trip. To Portland of course.
Howie Kahn, a writer living in New York, works at GQ magazine.