Our discussion was also simulcast live on Ustream and BlogTalkRadio.

Lead Without Followers is not about leadership in any conventional sense.

However, discussing these ideas on air with a local leader was not only a lot of fun and quite humbling — I think it is very beneficial for the mission of inciting people to question and openly discuss the true meaning of leadership in our world.

I’m also a fan of Anthony’s dedication to inspiring people to become leaders in their own lives and, as he mentions in our discussion, his past Congressional campaign’s emphasis on “Hope.”

Part 1:

Click here to view the embedded video.

Part 2:

Click here to view the embedded video.

Of course, a simple discussion is only a beginning point.

As I wrote in Lead Without Followers, “Everybody wants change, but nobody wants to change, themselves.”

What I have come to learn a long time ago is that to truly “upset” a backwards status quo that is in need of change, you will, in fact, “upset” some people.

Time will tell how the status quo and other conventional leaders receive this reinterpretation of leadership.

But more and more, with every day that passes, I’m quite certain that this discussion needs to take place openly, widely, liberally and with an unapologetic vigor.

Many peoples’ lives have been affected.

Here in Rhode Island, we sustained pretty good wind-gusts that toppled many trees and branches and led to more than a third of the state’s population without electricity for days.

It was an inconvenience for many, but life-threatening for some. We just got our power back in my neighborhood after 4 days in the dark, but all things considered, we were fortunate.

While the storm wasn’t as bad as predicted (which, people, is a good thing), it has still affected many and my heart and prayers continue to go out to them.

Let’s stay supportive and patient and help out neighbors as best we can.

Also, please, stop wasting your breath howling at the State, federal agencies or electrical companies by trying to incessantly pin blame (read: like loads of pathetic politicians and radio talk-show personalities do to try to “prove” to you that they care).

Instead, close your mouth, temper your anger, step off of your doorstep and walk to your neighbor’s and ask if there’s anything you can do to help them.

This is leadership.

Bitching and moaning is not.

Leadership is taking the initiative — even quietly, when no one is watching or reporting it on the news.

I’ll be the first to admit that the inconvenience of the power outages have frustrated me this week.

Just ask my pal Molly Mahar from Stratejoy. When she called me this week, I was all over the grid and mentally drained from spending the day running around the state, jumping from house to coffee shop and power outlet to power outlet to work.

Also ask my friend Jenny Blake from Life After College, who I texted her late last night as I edited my manuscript by hand and by candle light, with two luke-warm beers by my side to help me chill out a bit.

My frustrations have been 100% about finishing Lead Without Followers and sending it to my editor, Nicole.

I’ve got deadlines to meet. The book is soon due to go to my layout designer, and from there, I need to kick into publicity mode while finishing every final detail of publication by September 26.

I’ve been stressed, worried, and dealing with the artist’s (not that I’m an artist) stereotypical feelings of “Dear God I hope this does not suck.”

Thankfully, I had a few breakthroughs today and plan to burn the midnight oil to finished everything by this Friday.

So, in the end, yes, a hurricane that “wasn’t as bad as it could have been” almost derailed the deadline for my book, a book that has been 3-years-in-the-making — the knots and tension in my neck and back are a testament to this, believe me.

But thankfully, I’ve got some time to spare.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for me to get to work :)

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PS: We raised $50 for pediatric cancer research this week with your help. Thank you!

In early 2009, I moved back to my home-state of Rhode Island from Washington D.C. to take a job working alongside a prominent and rising state officeholder poised to run for governor.

By mid-spring, a personal crisis of identity had me questioning… everything. Weeks before ultimately quitting that job to pursue my dream of becoming a career author, I was in attendance at a small, private fundraiser with some national figures on behalf of a campaigning politician from Virginia…

April Showers…

It was the time of year that every New Englander was hoping for the long winter to finally begin to thaw.

But the cold was still biting, and Mother Nature was holding to the old adage, “April showers bring May flowers.” The unwelcome winter weather kept clinging on, dampening the warmth and making this spring a truly dreary one.

Like the seasons themselves, the lively and fun-loving part of me that used to characterize my spirit was dangling by a thread, holding on for dear life, as weeks passed while working long, unappreciative hours for a cause in which I found no soulful purpose or value. Should I have stayed in D.C.? I’d often ponder to myself. Do I regret moving back home? In this recession, I had to take this job… right?

Expressionless, I stared out the window of my idling car for minutes and hours on end, cold fingers curling in angst and wonder through black leather gloves around the humming steering wheel. This job gave me too much time to think. Far too much time to think. These were my days as a Body Man.

Players and Drones… Which Are You?

In the game of politics, you’re one of two types of people: a player or a drone. Players are cunning, conniving, contriving: they think years in advance, plot out scenarios en masse, and for their true intelligence and keen abilities are largely successful. Players are the movers and shakers of their world.

They operate within sets of established and often unspoken rules and governing laws that create stability and order. Drones are head-nodders and hand-shakers, smilers and complimenters (or, ass-kissers). They are underlings looking for opportunities, and largely just follow the pack. Drones love to be surrounded by players — those who they perceive to be the uppermost echelon of the establishment. Drones want to be players, themselves.

Drones exist in every career field, especially aspects of business and politics and large organizations wherein a very deliberate and fear-induced culture of rules and boundaries and limitations exists to:

(1) maintain the status quo;

(2) retain power for those on top of the power structure; and,

(3) minimize, marginalize, and make outcasts of those who act or speak outside of the group.

Being a drone means paying your dues and making lots of sacrifices — like sitting in wait in your car, staring blankly out the window. For me, my biggest problem working in politics was also my only possible saving-grace: I simply wasn’t a drone, and refused to ever become one.

A Player Called “Hustler“

That overcast spring afternoon, I drove my boss across Rhode Island as I always did: to a list of obscure, barely-described meetings at vague location points, often only realizing the destination upon our arrival.

This evening, I accompanied several of my bosses into a private law office for what turned out to be an intimate and exclusive a congregation of those so-called “players” — a small fundraising event for former Democratic National Committee (DNC) chairman Terry McAuliffe, who was running for Governor in the state of Virginia.

McAuliffe is a prototypical political player in the United States of America. A self-described “hustler,” he has spent a lifetime as a mover and shaker in his political party, alternating between dozens of high-profile positions of influence and dabbling in the prospect of elected office. In 2009, fundraising efforts on behalf of his gubernatorial campaign took him to the notoriously “blue” state of Rhode Island – for, whether blue or red, the most important color to a campaigning politician is the color green.

When we entered the law office where the gathering was taking place, I stood off in the corner of the room — quietly, by myself, assessing the landscape and watching the seconds tick on the nearest clock. There were less than two dozen men and women in attendance.

Of them, were three members of the United States Congress; a nationally-revered party fundraiser and his wife; a very influential and very controversial Rhode Island attorney; a small handful of members of the Rhode Island General Assembly; and two candidates for governor in Rhode Island, along with their campaign managers and confidants. And then there was me.

A Fire, Extinguished

McAuliffe weaved his way through the room, shaking hands and chit-chatting between the sparse circles of suits. Observing him in person, rather than on TV, I noticed my heart rate begin to jump. My passion for politics had long since buried under a combination of political indifference and a new-found “loathing” of all things political Nevertheless, memories of McAuliffe’s partisan venom waged against former President George W. Bush — under whose Administration I was an intern just the year prior — flared to the forefront of my mind.

The flames were quickly extinguished.

What the hell do I care? I said to myself. This was the uncharacteristic indifference that began to become who I was, rather than a passing bad mood. This was the only mood.

The fire within me was dying: the passion-driven character that I relied on to overcome natural shortcomings in all aspects of my life, whether in sports or academics or simple social settings, was changing. I could feel it disappearing, and without my convictions, passions, and ideals to guide me in this life, I feared who I might become.

McAuliffe approached me and my bosses. His lanky build created some illusion of towering height — he looked upwards of 6’5″ to me, or taller. Watching him work the room, I was surprised to say he actually appeared to be a pretty genuine guy. He never broke his smile. He seemed positive to the extreme, bubbly even, and very charismatic.

Within arm-shot of the man, McAuliffe didn’t seem to terrible. Such is often the case in politics: You wonder what is smoke and mirrors, what angles and portrayals are media slants or misrepresentations. You question if your own natural tendency to be partisan and demonize the opposition glosses over your ability to see opponents as human beings, no different than you.

Then you wonder if the excuses you make — your “want” to be liked and accepted by a player like McAuliffe — is some part of you becoming… a head-nodder, a hand-shaker, a drone.

Was I becoming one?

“…Just Alright?”

McAuliffe and his entourage finally arrived at our small huddle in the corner. He was introduced by the evening’s fundraiser to my bosses who shook hands with him and chitchatted about Rhode Island, his visit, his race for governor in Virginia, and so on. I stepped back quietly with my hands folded behind my back, looking off into nowhere.

As the chitchat tailed off into that awkward pause of silence, McAuliffe motioned towards me to prolong his exchange with the group a few moments. “And how are YOU young man?!” his voice boomed with enthusiasm, accompanied by a huge smile as he pushed an open hand in my direction. My reluctant hand met his and I could only muster a bland but truthful answer of, “Alright.”

The unenthusiasm and utter indifference with which I met his boisterous and jovial attitude was like a tropical storm hitting a cold-front in the Atlantic: a sudden fizzle. His big smile pulled back just a bit, receding with curiosity. “Just alright?” he chuckled, looking to my bosses around him as he tried to pry a crack of a smile or laugh from me.

“Just alright,” I coldly replied.

Our handshake broke, and silence settled over the group. “Well,” McAuliffe remarked, now smiling again, as he shook hands once more with my bosses, exchanging pleasantries, before moving to the next huddle of suits.

Full Circle, and a Beer

Looking back, I now realize that describing myself as “just alright” to McAuliffe was a lot less about that day, or a bad mood, or our exchange, or anything else, other than a verbalized admission to myself: I was admitting that I was merely “just alright.”

My mindset, my fire, my passion… they were certainly not improving but rapidly deteriorating to a bland dullness. I didn’t want to be “just alright.” I wanted my life, my attitude, my career, everything to be far better than “just alright.” Some weeks later, I finally quit, determined to tread my own path and find something greater than “just alright.”

More than a year after the exchange, I was in an entirely different world. What was once “just alright” had become something far more ambitious, more positive. I had learned a world about myself and others as I embarked upon an uncertain but joyful journey of writing, self-exploration, and inner discovery — and began to recruit readers across the Internet to do the same for the sake of benefiting others around them.

It was the summer of 2010 now, and I found myself far removed from the world of politics, of players and drones, and exclusive fundraisers.

One Saturday afternoon, some close friends and I stood in a local South Boston bar among dozens of other patrons, watching the 2010 World Cup as the United States’ national team vied to compete on a global stage. During this match, the camera panned to the stands to show former President Bill Clinton, who was in attendance as a spectator in the South African arena in a show of support for the American side. Sitting next to Clinton was a very familiar face – none other than Terry McAuliffe himself. He had lost his election bid in 2009.

“Huh,” I remarked quietly. Eyes still fixed to the screen, I hunched down to meet my cold beer, lifting it to my mouth. “I met that guy once.”

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Flickr photo credit: Max Westby (bee photo), Paula Bailey (candle photo).

On April 10, 2001, a longtime family friend — a Providence-area doctor — is murdered.

Shrouded in layers of mystery, the killing appears to resemble a deliberate assassination.

I am 15-years-old.

Days later, I squeeze a plastic Rosary over my head, tucking it just under my shoulder pads moments before an important lacrosse game that our high school team needed to win. Nearly ten years after, the Rosary is long gone — never seen again after once lending to a friend in need. I’d like to think it has continued to find its way to others. The murder remains unsolved.

A Garland of Roses

Raised in the Roman Catholic faith, those inter-spaced garlands of small beads that we call the Rosary (or simply “rosary beads”) were always a bit of a mystery to me, themselves. In my youth, I quietly wondered what function, exactly, the Rosary was meant to perform. Everybody seemed to have one. In the very-Christian state of Rhode Island (nearly half of whom are Roman Catholic), it’s quite common for rosary beads to be hung from cars’ rear-view mirrors. Did the beads possess protective powers? Were they good luck? A mere emblem of our shared faith — like a symbol representing our “Member’s Only” status?

With time (and religious education), we young Catholics learned of the centuries-old custom of prayer that accompanied the handling of the beads. Several different prayers were assigned to each bead, used almost as a guide, in order to pray in proper sequence. Coming to understand the traditional Catholic devotion was beneficial, since by the age of 15 I had come to acquire a handful of them that had seen little purpose other than hanging as decoration throughout my childhood bedroom.

…Murder?

I learned of the murder shortly after 5:00 PM, on what must have been a Tuesday, when my father had just returned home from work. I was in the family’s living room — my mother preparing dinner in the kitchen just a few steps away. Our family friend, the doctor, had been murdered, he told my mother as he walked through the door. The word “murder” rang with a particular sharpness to my young ears. Murder? Why? How? Who? One-hundred silent questions battered about my thoughts.

Among the ringing in my ears and unanswerable questions that swirled, once-pleasant memories rushes forth to the forefront of my mind, each quickly souring with heartache and confusion as the realism of the moment sunk in. I remembered his bubbly voice, his face that never stopped smiling. His constant will to help. Childhood memories were recalled of sitting in his office with the leather sofa, and a fish tank that seemed so large to young children that it might be hiding an entire ocean-full of colorful creatures.

A flash to that summer day at the beach house, playing with his son among toys on the floor and a VHS tape of The Brave Little Toaster on TV, the doctor seated nearby. That the doctor was a family friend, a man who always seemed so jovial and willing to help others, only confused me further. That the doctor was a friend of my father, my uncle, and their entire core of friends, terrified me to my core. Murder?

Fear: a Force Multiplier

Humans have always feared what they cannot or do not understand. And because we cannot and do not understand so much — both as a species over the course of history, and in our individual lives — fear plays a major role in influencing our behavior, attitudes and actions. In youth, fear is a force multiplier.

Today, I have a hard time remembering what, exactly, compelled me to bring that cheap Rosary of plastic turquoise beads and a broken cross in my pocket to school with me that day. But I knew that I wanted to wear it while playing in our lacrosse game that afternoon. It was an important game, from what I remember, against a rival academy from hours away.

“Was it the first game that I would ever start on defense alongside my upperclassmen teammates? Did the game have playoff implications? Was something else on the line that I have since forgotten?”

Merely a 15-year-old freshman in an unpredictable and intense game of hard-hits and physical duress, coupled with the confusion of a family friend’s murder and all the uncertainty surrounding it, perhaps the simple answer is that I was afraid.

Quiet Presence, Quiet Support

Perhaps I just wanted some help, a “boost,” an emotional lift in confidence and faith, whether in a higher power or merely myself in those few hours of battle. Although I can’t remember much of the game, I remember it’s outcome. Between me and my two upperclassmen-teammates, our defensive trio was awarded “the Game Ball” — a symbolic gesture that bestowed us with team recognition and honor for outstanding play that contributed to our 5-2 victory. I was even credited with assisting one of our team’s goals: a long pass to a Senior attackman that he buried in the back of the opposing net.

As if he knew it before even I did, my father — whose very well-being concerned me most after the murder of our family friend — on a nearby sideline called to me as our team huddled in the aftermath of our win. From yards away, he tossed one of the lacrosse balls used in the game over to me — a genuine game ball, my souvenir to commemorate the victory. I still have it to this day. And all the while, that plastic rosary remained around my neck… though by now I hardly even remembered its presence.

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Flickr photo credit: Michal (aka miqul)

I find solace in every shore.

Home is not one place; no location.

Home is within.

Every blade of grass is home. Every tree, a friend but not made.

Home is a state of mind, of being; a condition that is nurtured within the confines of our skin and is realized in our “oneness” to everything without.

The State of the Renegade Address

Hey readers and fellow Renegades! Welcome to the “State of the Renegade” Address for September, 2010. As you are aware, I recently decided to make a monthly habit of posting updates that give you a better sense of the updates, changes and developing projects at DaveUrsillo.com. I call these updates the “State of the Renegade” Address. I value your support and feedback and I hope that you’ll offer me some constructive criticism and any suggestions you might have in the comments section below! Thank you for reading; I am truly humbled by and appreciative of your support.

1. Life Update: Moving from Rhode Island to Boston

As the poem above insinuates, I recently moved away (again) from my home state, Rhode Island. As someone who in youth went through frequent bouts of separation and social anxiety (codewords for bad homesickness), I was mildly concerned about moving away from my family and friends in Rhode Island, especially at a time when I was so happy and comfortable with how life was progressing.

Nevertheless, because perhaps I was too comfortable, I deduced that I should force change rather than let changes come to me. I summed up my intent in a post called “Inciting Change When You WANT Things To Stay The Same.” Now nearly a month into living in Boston, I’m happy to report that the move and adjustment has gone well. As the journal entry above states, “home” is within, regardless of where you live. Home really is anywhere you allow it to be.

2. “Unique Visitors” Continues to Increase

Traffic to DaveUrsillo.com is up this month by 26.46 percent, thanks largely in part to some traffic spikes originating from both Reddit.com and StumbleUpon.com. First and most of all, THANK YOU for reading. I’m continually amazed and honored to see a rise in unique visitors on DaveUrsillo.com over the last few months. I attribute the steady growth (the last 6-8 months in particular) to starting to blog on a schedule of twice per week (currently, every Monday and Thursday).

Above you can see Unique Visitors in blue, and Pageviews Per Visit in orange. The only drawback with sporadic spikes in traffic from Stumble/Digg/Reddit visitors is that the tendency is for them to spend significantly less time on the destination page, and have less of “a look around” than ordinary readers. These qualities are manifested in DaveUrsillo.com’s numbers for September, showing a slightly lower Average Time on Site (by about 50 seconds) and a slight decrease in Total Pages Viewed by each unique visitor, (from 2/visit to about 1.6/visit).

3. New Ebooks and DaveUrsillo.com Store in Progress

On the DaveUrsillo.com Facebook Page in August, I announced my plans to write and self-publish my own e-books. They are progressing, although their progress has been slower than I anticipated after moving and some other travel in September. Rest assured, they will be of extremely high quality and a lot of fun to read! I am even beginning to design the e-books’ covers…

I am also in the process of designing some limited edition t-shirts to sell through a “DaveUrsillo.com Shop.” Why? Well, why not? I plan to integrate short pieces of my writing from DaveUrsillo.com over the last year and design them sharply into some comfortable apparel. I hope you will consider buying them! :)

Another project I began in September was a collaborative e-book project written by writers I’ve connected with on Twitter. The idea for the e-book is to utilize our “e-connections” to one another, thanks to Twitter, and unite our talents and passions in order to create a free e-book for our readers and friends. The goal of the e-book is to inspire men and women to reconnect with their local communities and forge renewed interpersonal connections to those around them as a catalyst for greater happiness. You’ll be hearing a lot more about this soon!

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