Something Improbable

For you good people who don’t already know: Yesterday, September 30, was my last day at Phius. I’m going to try something called retirement. I will go to more White Sox games and watch Jeopardy! every day, and  probably take up some dumb hobby, but I will not play golf. 

And I will miss you all and miss what we do together.

I’ve been part of three startup organizations, two of them non-profits, and they’ve all been great in different ways. Phius has been the most personally rewarding. I, like everyone at Phius, know the work we do is meaningful. It’s work that makes a difference. I leave with enormous pride in the role I played. But I’m most proud of having helped assemble the very best team of colleagues possible. I trust and respect all of them. 

I look forward to seeing where they — and all of you — take Phius and passive building. I am juiced about the future. (Especially since I can just watch and don’t have to actually do anything).

My passive building story began in 2001 on a cold, snowy night in Urbana, Illinois.
My wife Beth and I ventured out to see a favorite band at a local bar. The place was packed – there were no seats to be had. We began to file out, defeated, when we heard a familiar voice call out. Some friends waved us over and offered seats at their table. They were sitting with friends of theirs. Two of those friends were Kat Klingenberg and her late husband Nic. 

We hit it off, and Kat told their story: They were scouting land in the Urbana area because real estate was much cheaper than in Chicago, where they lived then. They were going to build something called a passive house. Kat explained the whole thing, and I thought, way back then, that this idea had legs. Because even I could understand it. It wasn’t rocket science or fission or fusion. It was what we already do, but better.

Back then I was editor of the local alt-weekly newspaper (remember those?), and I always needed stories. I gave Kat my business card and made her promise to contact me when the project was underway. And, in 2002, when ground was broken for the Smith House, my paper published the story I wrote, a story I’m still proud of.

Kat and I dropped in and out of touch over the following years, but, as many of you know, Kat has a way of sucking you in. I served a stint or two on the Phius board and in 2010 was asked to join the staff. 

I wasn’t sure about that idea. 

That’s where you good people come in. Kat suggested I attend the 2010 conference in Portland, and I did. And you all sealed the deal.

I think my comment in the post-conference survey was, “This was the best conference I ever attended.” This community’s enthusiasm, optimism, generosity, humor, and downright brilliance was on full display. 

I was hooked.

You’ve made every PhiusCon since just as powerful an experience. (I won’t be there in Phoenix, but I hope you will be). The thing I’ll miss most in retirement — besides the best colleagues I’ve ever had — is the Phius community. 

It’s been an honor and a pleasure to contribute to building that community. In turn, you’ve continued to inspire me, and remind me just how good people can be, when, at times, I’ve had my doubts. 

Thank you.

A few months ago, a dear friend died of ovarian cancer. This friend was a force of nature. She liked to make good trouble. She made a lot of good trouble. The best trouble. 

At her memorial, her sister read a poem that reminded me of the good work that we’ve all done together, and the work that will continue to be done. So I leave you with that poem. Cheers!

Revolution the Day After

By Carrie Newcomer

Revolution is not a single event. 
Revolution is finding True North 
and walking toward it.
Knowing that you will be walking for a very long while, 

Or always,
Because the process of arrival
At the most precious destinations
Because bringing in a better world
Will take more than your one lifetime.

Revolution is traveling light,
Leaving what’s dead weight
By the side of the road,
Like hate,
The least effective form of resistance,
That by its very nature expands 
and gets heavier,
Like slow drying cement, 
In the chambers of the heart.

Revolution is holding close 
all you love, 
all you believe in, 
all you hope for, 
Everything that actually matters, 
Because you’re going to get tired 
and discouraged 
and angry 
and wander off course in sorrow 
or doubt
And you’re going to need 
All you’ve gathered in, 
Embraced and endured
Because it is what you love
Not what you hate
That will keep reminding you to 
Look up, 
Search the sky 
Get a bead on something improbable
Shining and unstoppable 
and keep walking.