In her book Better Than Before, Gretchen Rubin highlights strategies for making and breaking habits. She suggests a clean slate strategy when you have the opportunity to start or stop a new habit – such as not installing all of your apps on a new phone, or taking advantage of a new commute to read more. Rubin says “There’s a magic to the beginning of anything. We want to begin right, and a good start feels auspicious…It’s a shame not to exploit the power of the Strategy of the Clean Slate when it presents itself.”

This past summer I made a major job transition and started thinking about the clean slate. I left my Town Manger role in Needham on July 4, 2025, and have started a new role as the Northeast Regional Director for the International City/County Management Association. This is a part-time, fully-remote role. In the three weeks that I had between jobs (I don’t recommend this) I quizzed everyone I met about their experience with a clean slate. Many of them mentioned starting a new job, moving to a new home, and both joyful and painful family transitions.

Concrete clean slate examples included changing from a nickname to a full name, changing email strategies like tone, inbox zero, and scheduling, not saving and filing every email, not making paper copies, avoiding emojis, setting new boundaries, and establishing closing rituals to end the workday.

To my surprise, when I asked about clean slate ideas, what I heard most was people wishing they could “clean slate” workplace behaviors. To be honest (and longtime readers know how I feel about self-reflection), we have probably all exhibited some form of these at some point in our careers. Unofficial survey results indicate that people would like to see less of these traits at work:

• Impatience
• Complaining
• Sarcasm
• Gossiping
• Defensiveness
• Know-it-all-ing
• Over-talking
• Over-sharing
• Close talking
• Arrogance
• Contrariness
• Passive aggression
• Looking at phones in meetings
• Non-responsiveness.

So how am I doing three months into my new role? I can confidently say that I delete some emails. Typically these are the one word kind like “thanks” or “great.” Baby steps. I once had a colleague who deleted EVERY email under the assumption that she could simply search her deleted folder if she needed something. That’s one way to get to inbox zero, but it makes me break into a cold sweat. My former colleagues will be astonished to learn that I have not printed a single work document in three months. To be fair, this is mostly because personal printers are generally terrible, and my brand new one takes about a minute to print one page and runs out of ink every nine pages. Not to worry, I still have a paper calendar and notebook. I have been mindful of exclamation points in email, and I am no longer thinking about whether to send an email outside of “normal business hours” since I have no one working for me. (I do wish I had been more thoughtful about that in the past). Finally, I make it a point to look at the list of traits people dislike in leaders and colleagues – and am diligently trying to avoid them.

How about you? Do you have a memorable clean slate story? Do any of the annoying workplace traits resonate with you?

Let’s practice, taking advantage of opportunities to start fresh (or buying more notebooks and pens – after all it is autumn).

Many readers will know that I have recently retired from full-time work as a local government manager, after almost 24 years in the seat (all of them in one town). I’ve been musing a lot about who I am since I am no longer the Town Manager. I am sure to have a lot of feelings about this transition, but I have decided that the time for self-reflection is most certainly not now. The absence of my second phone, however, is a constant reminder of my altered circumstances. It’s like a phantom appendage that itches to be checked.

Local government managers have a complicated relationship with their phone(s), and we have strong opinions about phone strategies. My first phone was work-issued – I think it was a Nokia – and it had an antenna (seriously). Most people did not have personal phones in the late 1990’s, so my work phone was also my personal phone. The next phone evolution was to my beloved Blackberry. Remember those? It was sort of rounded at the bottom and had a radio/walkie-talkie feature that we only ever used for fun. But that keyboard – real keys!

In the late 2000’s we got iPhones, which were an improvement in every sense of the word – although initially we mostly used the “calling other people” feature. How quaint. The work-issued iPhone was still my personal phone until the late teens. I came back from a conference where I heard about a colleague whose phone was subpoenaed, and promptly bought a second phone. Keeping work and personal data separate became a priority for me.

As far as I can tell, there are two kinds of work cell phone users – those who cannot wait for the new technological tools that will make it easy for them to use one phone for dual purposes (you know who you are) and people like me, who would have to have the second phone pried from our clutching hands.

How about you? Will you fight to the death to keep two phones or drop one as soon as you can?

Let’s practice, one or two phones in our hand, contemplating how to separate our selves from our titles.

Readers will recall that I recently lamented about giving up my father’s collection of books about the City of Boston. I couldn’t bear to put them in the book sale bin at the local library, and no one else wanted them.

A thoughtful reader referred me to Dan Dain, a lawyer who lives in the town where I work. The reader told me that Dan had recently written a book called A History of Boston (with photographer Peter Vanderwarker), and that he may be interested in taking some of the books. I contacted Dan, lugged the four boxes and one bag to my office, and invited him to take a look. Dan was happy to peruse the books. He kept pulling them out telling me what he knew about the book, or the author, or the subject. Then he uttered the best words ever: “Can I have all of them?” We couldn’t put them in his trunk fast enough.

Fast forward. Dan is the founder and president of the Boston law firm Dain Torpy. He installed all of the books at the firm’s library, printed out and laminated my blog, and invited me to visit. Can you think of a happier ending?

How about you? Has anything amazing happened to you lately because you asked the universe for help?

Lets practice, staying connected to each other and asking for help when we need it.

I woke up at 4:39 a.m. the other day, as one does, thinking about uncertainty. I realized that there was one thing I knew for certain – it wasn’t 4:39.

Remember during the pandemic years when everything was “unprecedented?” Well now we cannot escape “uncertainty.” Changes in the presidency always bring some level of uncertainty, and it’s fair to say that the current uncertainty quotient is quite high. For me, uncertainty is right around the corner from despair. Nadia Bolz Weber wrote recently that “(i)n the last few weeks I’ve had to actively try to avoid despair like I owe it money or something.” Same. Uncertainty I can learn to live with, despair I need to avoid.

Back to the clock. We renovated our bedroom this year – a project that has been on the list for more than a decade. We took everything out of the room, and have been judicious about what gets allowed back in. (To be honest, I’m not sure my husband knows where I put all his stuff). For some reason, even though we use our phone alarms like all other people living in this century, this clunker of an alarm clock made the cut.

We have always set the clock a bit fast in the hopes that we would actually get up on time. With daylight savings and being unplugged a few times, the clock was 39 minutes slow. Doing math involving the number 39 in the middle of the night isn’t my strong suit, so the clock is essentially useless. It does, however, remind me that there are constants in life, even if the constant is what time it isn’t.

Even though I don’t need this clock, and it really is ugly, I decided to keep it as a reminder that I can live with uncertainty – another tool to fend away despair.

How about you? How are you managing uncertainty? How do you keep despair at bay? Do you still own an alarm clock?

Let’s practice doing alarm clock math. The clock is now exactly two hours slow – much easier to interpret in the night.

We spent some time in London and Liverpool last summer – as always I’m on the lookout for all things municipal.

How about you? Do you have a favorite or unusual municipal picture or story?

Let’s practice – watching tor examples of local government at work.

The tulips bloomed last Spring and the turtles hatched yesterday! It took them 88 days – just as the Internet said they would (80 – 90 is the estimate).

One of the turtles was bound and determined to get across the street, busy with school traffic. Since several of his mates had tried and didn’t make it, my neighbor carried it across. We then made an executive decision to bring the few others to a creek a few houses away.

The turtles hatched on the morning of my mother’s funeral. Not exactly the circle of life, but something.

Wishing you all the most relaxing Labor Day weekend possible.

Nothing demonstrates optimism more than planting bulbs on a grey and cold November day in the hopes that flowers will emerge the next spring. Readers may recall that last year my tulips never came up, and I fretted about it for a year. But they came back this year!

Optimism – even relentless optimism – is surely my superpower. I really believe that most things can be worked out with the right amount of attention, the right team, adequate resources and time. Lack of understanding of the amount of time needed to complete a project is one of the greatest frustrations people have with local government. We like to say that everything takes 18 months, which most people not intimately involved in government simply cannot fathom. The timeframe is even longer if your great idea finds support right after the adoption of a new budget. Then 18 months quickly becomes 36.

“No one wants to follow a pessimist, but they don’t want to follow a blind optimist either,” write Jacqueline Brassey and Michael Kruvt, of McKinsey & Company (Reimagining the Post-pandemic Organization, November 2020, McKinsey.com). They identify “bounded optimism” as a way for leaders to prevent losing credibility by displaying excessive confidence. “Optimism that springs from authentic values and trust in people’s capabilities can be the source of energy for everyone in the organization to move forward. By contrast, optimism without meaning or grounding may lead to disappointment and defeat.”

Displaying relentless optimism about the future, while being mindful of bounded optimism, helps us remain positive without being unrealistic. Optimism truly keeps staff – and ourselves – motivated and engaged in the work.

Earlier this month, I came home from a long day to this text from my neighbor: “I think a giant snapping turtle is laying its eggs in front of your house :)” I’m sorry, what?

According to the State of Connecticut’s website, snapping turtles lay their eggs in late May or early June – estimates of the “clutch” of eggs varies widely – from 20 – 80 eggs, only 5% of which typically survive. After covering the eggs, the mother returns to water, leaving the hatchlings to fend for themselves (they instinctively head to water after emerging 80-90 days later). I guess snapping turtles are optimists too. Also note, apparently turtles like to lay eggs in the same place, so we have that to look forward to.

How about you? What’s the most optimistic thing you have ever done? Have you seen turtles hatch?

Let’s practice being optimistic, without instilling disappointment and defeat.

Last week I stumbled on hope.

I was walking home on a cold December night, carrying frozen dumplings. My neighbors had strung lights in their yard spelling out “HOPE.” I don’t remember them doing that before, and I don’t know why they did. But it spoke to me. 

It’s been a year for many of us. The Pandemic is over but its impact isn’t. We suffer frustration, anger, painful loss, unimaginable tragedy. Beloved friends have died, innocents are killed, and our tulips never bloomed. Neighbors, friends, and then children move away, and our parents are aging. We are weary of the negative, the hate, the blaming, the condescension, the lack of empathy.

But then we stumble on hope. And we remember that we have the capacity not just to persevere but to flourish. As we reach the end of another year, let’s recommit to experiencing more joy in 2024.

We can only encounter hope and joy if we go looking. Let’s practice.

I took statistics more than 30 years ago, but I remember enough to know that a sample size (“n”) of one has limited or no real predictive value.

Because I have been in this role a long time, my colleagues often tell me that what has always worked in the past cannot be expected to continue in the future. Since I am the first and only Town Manager in our community, we have no experience with transition. My colleagues say that the future can’t be predicted by a sample size of one. I’m not sure I agree, but more on that later.

Until the early 1990s, our Town structure consisted of a Select Board (actually, it was a Board of Selectmen until 2018) and an “Executive Secretary.” My predecessor was appointed to be the first Town Administrator – a position that carried more responsibility than the Executive Secretary title. I was appointed to be the Town Administrator in 2001, and in 2005, our Town transitioned to a Town Manager structure. The Town Manager has a greater role in contracting, budgeting, and staffing. So there have been two Town Administrators (a sample size of two!) and only one Town Manager here in Needham.

I was talking to a mentor a few weeks ago about the struggle I have when people don’t assume good intent in the running of our Town. He told me that there is a correlation between length of stay and ability to absorb criticism. I have to admit this is true. The fact that I have worked here most of my adult life is my choice, and I have to live with the result. (I do think assuming good intent should be our world view, but I digress).

I have never done it, but I can imagine the ease of working in a new community and not bearing the weight of 30 years of history. “Of course we can change that policy!” I would say, rather than, “Well, in 1999 we had to adopt that policy to deal with some personnel issue of a bygone era, when employers took a much more paternalistic view of employees.” It sounds heavenly.

I have been ruminating on the pros and cons of staying in the same place a long time:

• Pro: I know a lot of people.
• Con: People remember every mistake I made (and the many bad hair experiments).
• Pro: I can confidently interpret the intent of a document because it is highly likely I wrote it.
• Con: Outdated policies also bear my name.
• Pro: I have built a team that is crushing it.
• Con: I feel the loss of many people who have retired or passed away.
• Pro: I have been part of the rebuilding of our Town.
• Con: I am stuck with historical decisions, and it can be hard to make changes.

Just before the Pandemic, I was recognized by our Chamber of Commerce for 30 years of service. I was honored but hesitant – and sure enough, I got cards and flowers delivered in honor of my “retirement.” I complained about it enough that one of our family members held up this sign at the dinner.

Back to the sample size of one. I think that systems wear grooves into any organization, and that they last beyond one leader. They are more likely to be improved by new leaders, and the unnecessary steps will fade away. We’ll have to wait to find out – I’m not done yet.

How about you? Have you had a long tenure or multiple roles? What are your pros and cons?

Let’s practice, examining constructive feedback and using it to improve (two of my least favorite activities).