When the Winds of Change Blow...

It was gorgeous this weekend, one of those postcard perfect days with clear, brilliant blue skies and nary an ounce of humidity. We were downtown on Saturday afternoon for the Indians game, and as I walked towards The Jake (sorry, it always will be) …I couldn’t help but think for the millionth time that I adore this city.

It didn’t matter that LeBron left, that the earlier part of the week was so hot I couldn’t breathe, or that the roads in my town are all torn up for summer repair. It was a glorious day, so I grabbed a quick snap and threw it up on Instagram, happy to share my civic pride with the everyone I know (Disclosure, that group isn’t that big). I added the #thisiscle tag to signal boost, and hit post. I wanted everyone to see what a glorious experience the CLE is. I wasn’t advocating for me, in fact, I wasn’t even in the picture. No, it was a five second love letter, meant to share my civic pride and my love of my adopted home town. 

Oh gee, Heather, you like Cleveland? I’d never have guessed it. </sarcasm>

Yes, I do love this town, and I will advocate for it all day and twice on Sundays, but I’m not going to lie and say that it’s all sunshine and roses, but it could so much more if we didn’t make it so damn hard. Yes, I'm saying it. Cleveland, I adore you, but culturally, you look for the why before you say welcome, and if a person is not tenacious enough, it's really easy to throw up hands in defeat and stop trying.

It makes me think of an old Chinese Proverb, which feels more relevant now than ever:

When the winds of change blow, some people build walls and others build windmills.

To lend some context, I’m going to introduce you to sixteen-year-old Heather, who had the life altering experience to move from metro Los Angeles to the Midwest the middle of her Junior year of high school. It’s an eye opener going from sunny southern California to a dreary February in St Louis, let alone with 18 months left in your high school career. My parents enrolled me in a respected public school in West County, and shy reserved me went plowing into school like I always have, an exuberant bundle of energy ready to make new friends and take the world by storm.

It was the most miserable two months of my life.

Instead of being a curiosity, the curious transplant from the West Coast who brought with her all kinds of interesting perspective, I was an outsider who talked differently, dressed differently, and couldn't bring eleven years of shared academic history. I spent eight weeks subsisting (melodramatic, but at sixteen, isn’t everything) with the other transplants, the kids who were different simply because they weren’t from there.

Then it all changed. What pushed things over?

I made the varsity soccer team.

Suddenly, the girl who said rad and had a slight affectation to her speech was popping up in the local newspaper, getting pulled along by her team mates to parties, and being included at lunch. I was no longer the outcast because I was perceived as bringing something of value. Very simply, I went from a nobody to a somebody because I had currency that was valuable in the high school ecosystem. All it took was me stepping on to that soccer field to show that even though I was an outsider, I was worth knowing.

Soccer may have opened the door for me, but I found other ways to engage, other friends and interests, and by the end of the year, I was part of the mix. All it took was the perception of value, or merit, to open the door for me. I wasn't a different person, I simply created a reason for others to want to engage, and while those two months of misery weren’t forgotten, they were in the rear view mirror, cataloged away until such time that I could pull them out and apply them to life.

Which brings us to now.

Cleveland, for all of it’s amenities and gifts, is not that different from the high school I moved to when I was sixteen. We have our different tables, divided by geography, by economy, by expertise, and by interest. We also have a great backbone, the potential for amazing spirit and camaraderie, as witnessed by things like Startup Scaleup an Start in CLE or the effort coming together around Project 1969. As the landscape of the region evolves, there is something for everyone, be it entrepreneurial, civic, or other, but it comes with one stipulation; you have the network to hear about it and the tenacity to crack in.

What we are lacking is that outside in perspective, a way to amplify our voices to reach those not in the existing circle of conversation. Some of this is attributable to a lack of local platforms, which is fair feedback, but it’s also larger than that. Those of us in the region who are putting our efforts, be it as part of a company, general economic growth, civic pride, or some other motivator, need to find ways to amplify the stories being told. We need to take the article we find on Crain’s or the great blog we read about a recent Founders dinner and share it with friends via social channels, email, text, or even a casual mention over drinks. We need to find a way to share our stories with those who are not part of the current ecosystem and amplify what we are doing so that others are aware and have an easy way to engage. 

If we truly believe in the region, and support all efforts which are currently incubating, then we must boost the signal. Share the stories that are coming out of recent economic development efforts and ask your friends/network to share it as well. Engage those who comment on or like the articles your sharing, and understand their interests and how they can plug in.  If we wait for them to prove to us why they are of value to this effort that we’re all working behind, we could miss a valuable opportunity that could be wildly impactful for all.

Let’s use this momentum like the wind off Lake Erie, cheesy as that may sound, and use our voices to build awareness in and outside of Northeast Ohio. Let's use that awareness to engage those who want to be a part of tthe transformation. It’s not beyond our ability to do it, but we must look outward to make it happen, and it can only begin by telling our stories loud and proud to a network broader than the one we currently exist in.