My new favorite slice of wisdom was tweeted recently by the brilliant and talented Gretchen Pisano; the words weren't hers, but I'm awfully glad she shared them.

"What if we don't train them, and they stay anyway?" it read.

My first corporate job was for a Fortune 500 company that mostly treated people as expendable; it no longer exists. I stayed there 11 months. I stuck out my second, and last corporate, gig for 12 years -- primarily because my employer supported growth opportunities for every employee.

For five years, I've watched businesses and nonprofits around the Richmond region tighten the reins -- trimming staff, cutting budgets, eliminating training and development budgets. Those moves made sense early in the recession, but smart organizations have realized that investing in their remaining people is a move that's been deferred far too long.

I try to spend time each month considering ways to help the Floricane team grow and develop. Their personal and professional growth is important for Floricane, for our clients and for each person on my small team.

Some of it is free or inexpensive -- we cross-train and collaborate together on projects; we attend workshops offered by HYPE and Leadership Metro Richmond; we organize "dates" with businesses we admire and meet for breakfast to talk shop.

Other developmental opportunities are major investments of time or money. This year, Sarah is participating in the Greater Richmond Chamber's seven-month Leadership Lab program. I'm registered for a twelve-week Technology Entrepreneurship online class through Stanford University later this spring.

Our new Insights Discovery offering -- a 25% discount on self-awareness and team development for Greater Richmond Chamber members -- is geared specifically for individuals and organizations who truly believe that professional training and personal growth are differentiators. 

I'm tired of talking to leaders who wonder aloud, "What if we train our people, and they leave us anyway?" If you're still asking that question, you deserve to be left.

On the other hand, if you're interested in asking us out for a date, we appreciate a good cup of coffee.

By "lost" I mean she woke up at 5:30 in the morning, put on her dress, walked into our bedroom and woke us up, and burst into a cataclysm of tears. "Daddy, I have lost a button to my special princess dress!" By "lost" I also mean she completely lost it emotionally.

Whatever did I do before drama became part of my daily life? Oh, right. I worked with people -- and their everyday drama. (Let's not talk about my own drama...) 

We like to pretend that drama comes in one flavor -- everything is a lost button. And, yet, Thea's drama sometimes surfaces real goose bumps for me -- and deep, positive memories of my own childhood. Like during this past February's snow storm. 

Thea was so excited about the snow that started falling that Sunday afternoon, she was about to bust wide open. I took her out sledding on a quarter inch of slush at the end of the day, and she was convinced that it was the most AWESOME THING EVER. And it sort of actually was.

The snow was just starting to seriously stick when we tucked her into bed. Imagine her delight early Monday morning.

She ran from window to window to take in the splendor of a fully snow-covered world. For a half hour before work, we sledded around the yard -- I pulled, she sledded -- and crunched about in the snow.

She spent the day with Nikole sledding, building snow women and eating snow cream. Lather, rinse, repeat. By the time she woke Tuesday morning the snow was gone.

Her day in the snow was, for her, the most magical day.

Broken mornings, magical days -- and sometimes entirely the other way around. The remembered stuff of childhood. The forgotten realities of adulthood.

In organizations I sometimes talk about the Language of NBC (Nagging, Bitching and Complaining). It is, so often, the language of drama. We like to brush it off, dismiss it. We just want "those people" to stop the griping and suck it up. Like the rest of us grown-ups. 

But the power of the Language of NBC is recognizing that we only complain about (and get excited about) things that matter to us. Beneath every complaint, wrapped in every moment of joy, lies something we value deeply.

Employees complaining about being excluded value inclusion. Terrible leadership? Perhaps you value clarity, vision and direction. I wish you'd help out more? I probably value teamwork -- or perhaps I really value you and your ability to contribute.

Thea's values are, hopefully, still being formed. But this morning she placed a high value on a button, which likely represented something bigger to her than the actual lost object. I could have ignored her, yelled at her for waking us up over something so absurd, told her to find it herself -- believe me, it crossed my mind.

Each of those ideas would have represented a self-betrayal on my part, a dismissal of my initial impulse. (Go read "Leadership and Self-Deception" if you're ready to wrestle with that. Seriously. Here's the link.)

My first impulse, simply enough, was to help. And so I did -- I rolled out of bed, and we found the button. Two weeks earlier, my first impulse was to help make the first real snowy day of her childhood magical - even though my stodgy adult self was not really keen on getting cold and wet. (Nikole's really the one who made that day magic for her -- along with my in-laws!) 

This morning, found button clutched in her small hand, drama quickly evaporated. Two weeks ago, tumbling and laughing together in our snowy yard, dreams were made.