My mother’s passing more than five-months ago left a hole in my heart to deep for spackles, and a calendar containing a similar void.
Not wanting to miss any of her waning days I spent most of the two-years proceeding her death by the old lady’s side. Plus hours spent dealing with the medical professionals working to keep my mother comfortable and mom’s care became a nearly full-time job.
In the days after her passing I realized that when the crying stopped, I was going to need more to do.
Progressing through grief’s seven stages, I contemplated a life committed to something other than watching my mother die. I looked forward to a return to work, which after two-years off I needed to get back to for both mental health and financial reasons.
So I spent the months since mom’s passing reactivating my dormant network, seeking engagements I hoped would begin after the New Year.
To avoid crying on the job.
That effort paid off and I’m signed to begin three engagements this quarter, with a fourth likely by the time this reaches your eye. Each sized to allow me to fulfill a promise I made to myself while scheming my return.
A tenant of that promise was to put interests before billable hours, ensuring I’d have time to continue my mentoring; work similar to strategic consulting though payments comes in a different currency.
And my time advising my fraternity brothers, which will always be prioritized.
That work and those interests still allow a leisurely pace, which brings contemplation of my life’s next steps. Time for writing or traveling abroad or both, perused at a loping pace worthy of this stage of life.
But among those tranquil pursuits lay another path, the one of most resistance. A disturbance allowed only by a unique confluence of events which could deliver on a dream.
Should I choose to be opportunistic the effort would be at-odds with my life’s current vibe. Chasing this windmill would require long hours and a four-year commitment at that same pace. A disruption two-years in the thinking now reaching its inflection.
Or as my father used to say, it’s time to shit or get off the pot.
Irick Out at Pittsburgh Paints
I had prepared an update to Pittsburg Paints news, something about new ownership’s failure to reach out to dealers and share their vision for the company’s future. Which despite their silence became markedly clearer on Monday when at a meeting of the company’s board CEO Jaime Irick was fired.
Just one month short of his two-month anniversary!
THE sudden change may be worth the inconvenience though as it’s likely Irick’s replacement will be an upgrade. An slur I’m only willing to hurl now that I’ve stopped trying to get Irick on my podcast!
Architect of the Walmart fiasco, Irick’s programs for the independent channel were equally unimpressive. His decision in January of 2022 to make dealer-only PPG products available at Home Depot made the brand less valuable in both segments.
Irick’s parlay.
It was with Irick at the helm when PPG gave up the ghost on their beleaguered architectural division taking billions in losses just to jettison Irick’s folly’s. Making his appointment as CEO vexing as his record should have placed him in the pile of 1,800 PPG employees laid off as a result of this transaction.
I guess Pittsburgh’s new owners don’t read my blog.
In the two months since independence day stakeholders I’ve heard from shared stories of difficulties dealing with the new entity, dealers spoke not better with most complaining of a lack of communication from Pittsburgh.
Though some news always gets out.
Word of Irick’s canning came too late to leave time for my views on what this mean for dealers, but you know that that is coming!
