The ultimate gift

There I was, running through the Great Mall of Milpitas and the clock was ticking.  Just 4 days before Christmas and I was in hot pursuit of the Ultimate Gift!  You know how every year the news media declares one toy as the hottest and the hardest to find, creating mass panic for shoppers everywhere?  Cabbage Patch Kids.  Beanie Babies.  Tickle Me Elmo. They all paled in comparison to the ultimate gift I was chasing in December of 1993 – the Red Power Ranger action figure!

I had wasted two weeks running around to every mall in Northern California.  I had Grandparents stationed at the back doors of Wal-Mart stores in the midwest.  I spent every night calling classified ads listing 10 times the retail price, but each time I was just a little too late.  I realized I was about to disappoint my 4-year old son Evan.

I tried to break the news gently.  We sat down in front of a crackling fireplace, with the smell of warm sugar cookies in the air.

“Hey buddy… you know how you asked for a Red Power Ranger for Christmas?”

“Uh huh, I want it more than ANYTHING!” 

“Well, Daddy and Mommy have been searching all over, and so many kids want power rangers, the stores have run out. Even Santa’s elves can’t make enough.”

He just stared at me.

“Evan, what I’m trying to say is… you probably WON’T get a Power Ranger in time for Christmas.”

He slowly looked over at the fire, and I fully expected him to start crying.  Instead he turned back to me and said   “That’s OK, Daddy, we’ll just make our own.”  And then he ran upstairs…without even grabbing a cookie!

I looked at my wife Carol, “Oh Lord the boy’s so upset, he’s lost it!  You can’t just ‘MAKE’ a Power Ranger!!”

He came running downstairs 5 minutes later with a handful of markers and some white posterboard.  He said, “Sit down Daddy. You draw the power rangers and I’ll color ‘em in!”

I had to admire his spirit!  I drew all 5 Power Rangers in karate action poses, and he carefully colored them in – red, black, blue, yellow and pink.  I cut out each one with a little base so it would stand up on its own.  The whole project took just 30 minutes, and we made an entire set of Power Rangers… together.

He scooped them up, and started playing with them right away. No trace of disappointment at all.  Lesson from a four year old – my time was worth more than any gift from a store.

Fast forward 15 years and Evan was going off to college.  I was cleaning out his bedroom closet when I found the blue plastic tub filled with Power Ranger toys.  Oh yes, he eventually got the whole set – quick change rangers with rotating torso, karate chop action and matching megazords!

But there in the middle of the tub were the 5 “posterboard” rangers that we made together.  He never threw them away.  It reminded me of the lesson he taught me about how I prioritized my time 15 years ago.

I believe you have a lot more ways to give your time than you may realize… your knowledge, your experience, a shoulder to cry on.  In the next couple of weeks, your moment of truth will come.  Someone will ask for 30 minutes of you.  Will you be able to set aside your search for the Red Ranger and spend time with that person who needs you? 

YOUR time is worth so much more than any gift from a store.

(This post is an excerpt from a speech I originally presented in the 2009 Toastmasters international speech contest. I’m just resurrecting it here in time for Christmas.)

Tiger reality check

I admit it.  I joined in on all the jokes about Tiger Woods’ “transgressions.”  I think I needed to laugh to overcome the absurdity of a hero who has fallen so far, so fast.  He was not just a sports superstar, he was an icon.  Now he is just human.

I stopped laughing at the jokes when I saw a picture of him with his kids, knowing that they will read all this “press” 10 years from now and know every sordid detail about their dad’s weaknesses.  Yeah… I joined the media feeding frenzy and now I feel bad about it.

There’s plenty of amateur analysis going on in the aftermath.  Was Tiger like a child star with an overbearing parent?  As soon as his dad passed away, did he go a little wild and revert to being a child?  Do money and power corrupt absolutely?  Was his marriage just a publicity stunt, carefully crafted to increase his endorsement earning potential?

The Tiger on the Accenture billboards and Wheaties boxes is indeed a powerful brand.  The Tiger behind closed doors in his own home is someone we really don’t know.  Here was an apparently happy and beautiful couple with serious marital problems.  Obviously, money can’t buy you love… or common sense… or peace.

With the speed that media is captured, manufactured and distributed these days, the line between business and personal personas will be blurry.  The line between reality and fantasy will be blurry.  And the line between admiring a hero’s image and tearing down the person is a thin one, and I for one am sorry I crossed it.

As you look up to celebrities, politicians and sports heroes, remember that you are looking at what has been carefully selected for you.  Believe me, I have done enough PR work in my day to know that you can put a positive spin on anything.  You do this mostly by omitting unfavorable details and shifting the audience’s view toward something good.

We should teach our kids about this reality check – that what you see on TV or Youtube is carefully edited and does not include all the facts.  Everyone struggles with happiness, everyone makes mistakes, and true heroism comes from helping others, not helping ourselves. 

This is the comeback I wish for Tiger… not a triumphant return to the Masters, but triumphant growth as a human being.

You have my divided attention

Multi-tasking is not a crime.  For knowledge workers today, it is a survival skill.  If you can’t manage and filter streams of data coming at you from multiple synchronous and asynchronous channels, you are doomed to drift aimlessly at sea.  The ability to keep swimming in a somewhat forward direction requires tremendous effort, and the ability to ignore as well as pay attention.

Time has always been talked about as the most important commodity, with hundreds of books written on “time management.”  With knowledge workers struggling to deal with today’s digital avalanche, I propose that “focus” is the new most important commodity.

If you want focus from colleagues or subordinates on what you have to say, you cannot just demand it anymore.  You have to earn it.  And you have to compete with omnipresent digital devices that make your audience smarter, blur the lines between business and personal communication, and quite frankly, may be more interesting than what you have to say at that moment.

So what can you do about it?  Let’s talk about focus in meetings.  I define a meeting as a gathering of people with a need to collaborate to achieve some common business purpose.  In the old days (choose your own pre-90s decade) mono-tasking people would sit together in a conference room and talk, maybe with a few whiteboard drawings to punctuate important points.  Common courtesy required that you looked at who was talking, listened, waited your turn and then volunteered your opinion. 

Let’s be honest. This courtesy is not common anymore.  People (myself included) not only talk all at once, they bring their world with them to meetings in the form of iphones, blackberries and laptops.  Even though it is valuable to have knowledge at their fingertips, they also have the temptation to sneak quick looks at unrelated items in their inboxes. 

Extending your reach to remote participants via WebEx is a wonderful thing, but presents the challenge of not even being able to see when your audience begins to multi-task. They are sitting in front of computers with other business, entertainment and social media distractions waiting in the wings.

You could yearn for the nostalgia of the old days and label everyone “rude,” OR you could use this as a barometer of your own performance and run your meeting in a new way.  In Dead Air Dynamics, I talked about a few ways to earn focus at the beginning of a meeting.  Now let’s talk about how to maintain focus throughout your meeting.  Of course the size, length and purpose of meetings varies widely, but these general principles apply to most of the meetings I run or attend:

1)     Make a commitment.  Sincerely thank everyone for the time they are investing and ask them for their “focus investment” as well.  Explain the purpose and then commit that you will help navigate to that goal as quickly and efficiently as possible.

2)     Prepare and organize your content.  How many meetings have you attended when the host was winging it?  It’s hard to stay focused on a target when it is not clearly visible.

3)     Establish rules of engagement.  “I have prepared a 10 minute overview that will bring everyone up to speed.  At the end I am going to ask you a few questions.”  Every teacher knows the threat of a pop quiz will snap students to attention.

4)     Use stories to bring it to life.  Even a finance presentation can be made more interesting with an occasional metaphor or personal anecdote.  You can also ask your audience to provide color, “Does anyone have a story that supports or refutes this point?”  This temporarily shifts the burden of engagement from you and lets people know they could be called on next.

5)     Take a breath.  People enjoy monologues on the Tonight Show, but not in meetings.  If you don’t want or need dialogue, why did you call a meeting?  You should be asking a question (and listening) at least once every 5-7 minutes.  If you want to give a speech, record and send it to them so they can listen at their convenience.  Better yet, send it in advance of the meeting so the group is ready to discuss.

6)     Loosen up.  I used to be extremely uptight about people not looking at me or responding to me when I presented.  Once I was giving a marketing overview to a group of sales reps in a conference room.  As soon as I sensed the eyes starting to drift down into digital world, I stopped cold and announced a crackberry break.  “You have 5 minutes to check your inbox and make one quick call.  Then I ask you to come back and give me your full focus and feedback… Go!!”  You should have seen the look of relief in the addicts’ eyes as I let them have their fix.

7)     Give online participants a voice.  The most common question I hear is… “If I can’t see someone’s eyes or body language, how do I know if they are paying attention?”  There is one simple way to know – ask them.  WebEx provides you with a list of participants by name. It’s not just a nebulous conference call where you have to guess who’s lurking in the background.  Go down the list and include every person in the conversation, especially the silent one who is probably sitting on the best idea waiting to be asked.

My final bit of advice is something that has helped me tremendously in my career.  Work on your presentation and listening skills, and practice outside the business environment. I became active in Toastmasters five years ago to raise my game and this kind of coaching could pay off for you too.  When presenting face-to-face, your body language needs to be consistent with your message.  When presenting online, your voice takes the lead role and needs to be delivered with the power and passion of a great radio talk show.

People are judging your content and communication style every second that your mouth is open.  If they sense even for a millisecond that you are boring or disconnected from them, they will tune you out… and they SHOULD.  The truth about multitasking?  It’s a symptom of a greater illness.  Take it as valuable feedback from your meeting audience and tighten up your show.

What tips can you share about making meetings more dynamic? 

(Please submit in Comments below.)

Junk, bonds

I was standing there with three grown men arguing over who had the most useless junk in his garage. 

“I can’t even walk through mine.” 

“I can’t even open the door without junk falling out!”

“I have to hire someone to move out some of the junk so I can see what junk I have!” 

I proudly proclaimed that I had junk I did NOT want to throw away, like my comic book collection, random boxes of souvenirs and the childhood toys my mom saved for me in her attic for 35 years.

One wiseguy challenged me on this.  “You just can’t let go of your childhood.” 

I thought for a few seconds, and immediately flashed back to an episode of Clean House, where I watched the designer try to get this guy to put some of his model airplanes into the yard sale.  He was having a hard time letting go of ANY of them, not for the monetary value… but the value of what they represented.  He built those model planes with his father who had since passed away.  In his mind, throwing out the planes was equivalent to throwing out the memories of long Saturday afternoons with his dad.  Sure they needed more space for the baby nursery, but come on… not the planes!!

Isn’t this why most collectors collect?  It’s not for the potential resale price on ebay.  It’s for the bond or emotional attachment they have to each “junk” object… for what it represents.  I am not ashamed to admit that I have emotional bonds to junk (unlike some other guys who will remain nameless, Paul.)

I built a little toy museum in one corner of my home office.  It includes a walking metal robot I got for Christmas at age 9, a plastic model of Snoopy in a Bugatti racecar, and an original GI Joe from 1970.  One of my most treasured items is a small, round metal serving tray with the state of Florida and Disney World characters painted on it.  It reminds me of my first family trip there at age 10, and the incredible creative inspiration I drew from that experience.  My parents gave me 3 dollars and said I could buy one souvenir before we left. Not sure why I picked a serving tray, but that piece of junk is not going anywhere.

So I guess we need to define “junk.”  Maybe that broken wheelbarrow or leftover carpet sample from your remodel could be called junk, but not your treasured memories.  Paul (oops, sorry…nameless) may be right that I can’t let go of my childhood.  But I say as long as I’ve got the square footage, why should I?

By the way, I know one grown man who has a stuffed monkey he kept from his childhood.  Still trying to verify whether he sleeps with it.

Dead air dynamics

For a DJ, the worst possible disaster is dead air, the agonizing moments of silence when you should be filling the airtime with words or music and there is just nothing. It doesn’t matter if it’s a technical glitch or human error, you can almost feel the impatient audience “tuning out” with each second that goes by. They’re counting on you for continuity. 

Have you ever experienced dead air at the beginning of a business meeting? Whoever’s running the meeting has an obligation to show up, start on time, and lead the participants through the 60 minutes.  There should be a clear purpose, a non-stop flow of information and ideas, and most importantly, a dose of passion, humor or excitement to keep everyone moving forward and on track.  This goes for face-to-face meetings or WebEx meetings.

I’ve joined far too many online meetings where the participants just sit quietly after  joining in, waiting for the host to officially get the meeting started.  This typically creates an awkward 4 minute “dead air” lag as colleagues arrive from other meetings.  If you start your meetings on time, you’ll increase the odds of people showing up on time.  Even so, some will always straggle in late.  Hosts hesitate to start until everyone is there so they can avoid having to repeat anything. 

Why not use this 4 minutes to accomplish something?  Here are three ways to fill the dead air with something productive:

• Review the  meeting agenda written on a whiteboard or a PPT slide so latecomers can catch up later.  Focus on what your attendees will walk away with.  If your audience does not have a clear need for your information, ask yourself why you are having a meeting in the first place.
• Look for a reason to say “good job” to someone in the room or on the call.  There’s nothing like genuine and public praise on a recent accomplishment.  It could even be your boss… say thanks for supporting budget or an initiative important to the team. (Careful not to be a Eddie Haskell brown-noser. “Gee Mrs. Cleaver, that’s a lovely necklace you’re wearing today.”)
• Have some fun – tell a funny short story, ask a trivia question or tell a G-rated joke.  I keep a desk calendar with corny jokes nearby, which I threaten to use every time we start late.  It’s starting to work.

The conclusion of a meeting is extremely important.  You summarize what was done, assign action items and agree on the agenda for the next meeting.  The beginning of a meeting is equally as important.  You set a tone that you’re here to get something done, but you don’t take yourself too seriously.  Sitting quietly seems like a real waste of time.  With my schedule, I have roughly 80 meeting minutes per week to turn dead air into something alive.  Give it a try at your next meeting and let me know what happens.

Share your tricks for making meetings more engaging and effective in the comments below.  Thanks!

P.S. Before you ask… no, that is NOT me in the photo

That’s a stretch

(Click photo for full size)
This is Patterson Pass, a winding road that connects Tracy with Livermore, California.  It snakes through windmill farms and dry pasture, often narrowing to just one lane, and the view from the peak is incredible.  It’s kind of like those desolate roads you see in halftime commercials, where the luxury sportscar whooshes by, stirring up a pile of leaves in its wake.

After running the 2-mile “one tree hill” last weekend, I decided to take on this 7 mile run on Patterson Pass this morning.  It took me 45 minutes to go steadily uphill.  30 minutes to turn around and go back down.  What was I thinking?!  I’ll tell you exactly what I was thinking.  I told myself to keep running no matter what; no matter how short my steps became; no matter how much I had to lean uphill; no matter how much I thought my knees and calves were straining, I was not going to stop.

The giant windmills with their huge propeller blades were still today – like silent sentinel warbirds waiting for battle on a WWII runway.  Other than a redtailed hawk and 2 motorcycles that passed me on the way up, I was the only thing moving on that hill.  It was a cool experience.

I’m setting goals now for things I DON’T think I can do. Let’s call them stretch goals.  Running 7 times around our flat 1 mile lake is something I KNOW I can do.  Running up a steep hill is something entirely different.  With each stretch goal I achieve, I gain a new level of confidence, which in turn gives me faith that I can stretch again.

To those of you thinking about your own stretch, consider this… one year ago I could barely run 2 miles without stopping to walk (and breathing heavily.)  Over the last year, I incrementally worked my way up to hiking Yosemite’s halfdome, running a half-marathon, and now I’m starting into distance trail running.  There was no magic trick.  Each new goal started with a belief and a single step.

How are you going to stretch in 2010?

Hey thanks

So many people are spreading thanks around this time of year.  I see digital shouting in facebook, broadcasting thankfulness to family and friends.  I can also sense silent reflection on what we have… not what we don’t have. It creates a collective epidemic of joy that is having an infectious effect on me.

However, with unemployment still at 10-12% depending on where you live, I know there are a lot of people still hurting from the recession.  If you are the one out of ten who is unemployed or making less money than you used to, I’d like to take a moment to talk directly to you.

I want to thank you for persevering.  I want to thank you for not giving up.  Thank you for living up to your responsibility to just keep going in spite of the odds.  You have more impact on your family and the people in your life than you will ever know, so allow me to remind you of that. That’s something to give thanks for.  That’s something to live for.

I also want to personally thank all of you for what you’ve done for me.  If you hadn’t touched my life in some way, or befriended someone close to me, or helped me out in my job, you wouldn’t be reading this.  You are the small but treasured audience for this blog.  

Thank you for reading and expanding my stories with your comments.  It means a lot to me.

ACTION:  One of the most-read stories on my blog this year was “Just Keep Going”.  It describes an important moment of enlightenment for me, and the amount of comments it received told me it hit home for many of you.  So I have a favor to ask.  Pass this link along to someone you know is hurting or may be having trouble counting their blessings this year.

Have a great Thanksgiving!

One tree hill

I’ve been drawn to trees since I was a young kid, mostly as a climber.  This old tree caught my eye on a hill that I drive by on my way to work.  The tree is interesting because there are no other trees around it.  It’s all alone on this hilltop, struggling against the elements to survive.  The thick trunk is bent over to the point that it defies gravity.

I remember my college photography teacher explaining that seeing a deer all alone in a dry meadow 100 yards away may be exciting when you see it in person, but it doesn’t necessarily make a good photograph.  It’s just a speck of brown in a big field of yellow.  You’ve got to zoom in or walk in for a closer look.

I decided to walk in for a closer look at one tree hill, during a break in my run on Saturday.  I had to jump a barbed wire fence and trudge through snake territory to get there, my running shoes slipping sideways on the steep incline. The hike was worth it.  I looked around from the tree’s point of view to see Tracy in the East and Livermore in the West.  No wonder it was all alone.  This was some great real estate.

The tree is magnificently strong, and must have deep roots to be able to hang on to the hilltop like that.  What was even more amazing was the other side that you can’t see from the road. It was scarred and missing a large chunk due to a giant branch having fallen away.  Half the trunk was hollow at the base, yet it still supported the one heavy branch growing at an impossibly sideways angle.

I reached up and placed a hand on the rough bark of that one huge branch.  I gave it a little shove but it didn’t budge.  I could almost feel the ancient life force speaking to me, saying “Dude, I’m surviving 50 mph winds up here. You’re not going to push me over.”

I wrapped my arms around the branch to measure the circumference, and then laughed at myself when I realized I was actually hugging a tree. Please don’t tell anyone.

If Barbara Walters asked you if you were a tree, isn’t this the tree you’d want to be?  You’d have a strong base, like your deep roots with family and friends.  You’d be a little scarred from previous storms, but still showing your best face to the world.  Bring on the wind, the lightning, the frost, the termites and the brush fires. You’re still standing and you’re still growing.

Impossible is overrated

Philippe Petit does the impossible… just because it SEEMS impossible. You may recognize the name of the man who walked on a tightrope between the World Trade Center towers in 1974, a story you should see in its entirety in the Academy Award-wining documentary “Man on Wire.”  My son Evan and I just had the privilege of hearing Philippe speak in person in a UC Santa Barbara lecture hall.

He engaged the audience with photos and stories of his many highwire exploits, some of them sanctioned by governments, some of them completely illegal.  As I listened to him, I was impressed with his enthusiasm for challenges, and his attitude toward treating the Eiffel Tower as his personal playground.  When he told his friends he felt compelled to walk a wire between the twin towers in New York City, they said it was impossible.  He said, “Yes, it is impossible, let’s get to work on it!”

At the end of his talk he asked for questions from the audience, and I walked up to the microphone in front of the stage. (I’m always interested in how high achievers get themselves back up when they’re down.)  “Philippe, you talked a lot about having faith to get through the challenges you took on.  Can you tell us about a time when you lost faith, and what you did to restore it?”

He thought for just a moment, and then in his animated French accent he said, “You know… when I take my first step onto the wire I am ready to take my last step off the end of the wire as well.  I have prepared for thousands of hours and scrutinized every detail of my plan to build my faith for that first step.  Still, little seeds of doubt fall down on me like raindrops, but I am able to shake them off like a dog because of all that hard work. I have constructed a safety net in my mind that is far stronger than any net I could stretch out below me.”

As I absorbed this answer, I pictured in my mind the raindrops of doubt that pelt me from time to time, and the seemingly impossible challenges that I sometimes face in my life. 

He looked away to the audience for the next question, but stopped and turned back toward me.  As if knowing I needed a little more advice he said, “I am not sure I answered your question, but I’d like to tell you this.  When you look at the great pyramids, you think ‘oh wow, how could those giant things be built by human hands.’  But when you look closer you see that they are made of smaller stones that can be moved around, and smaller still are the grains of sand and clay that make up the stones.  When you take on something big, break it down into parts that you can get started on today and then do it.  That is what will give you faith.”

I’ve been thinking about this since we left the auditorium, and it reminds me of something I learned as a kid in Sunday school.  “God helps those who help themselves.”

Faith does not necessarily mean waiting around for someone else to take your hand or tell you what to do.  Doing the hard work of preparation and having the courage to get started is what sets faith in motion and carries you across the wire. 

What first step can you take today?

Got everything you need?

Just got challenged by my friend and co-worker to “write a blog post on that.”  This challenge came right after I asked him “Got everything you need?” 

Now that I think about it, that really is an impossible, rhetorical question to answer.  No one EVER has ALL of their needs met at any given time, and the needs are constantly changing based on the environment, situation and proximity to other people.

You may remember from Psych 101 the basic needs on the basement floor of Maslow’s hierarchy – food, water, air.  Most of these are met daily for me, with the exception of Spare the Air days and an occasional bad burrito.  So fortunately, I get to spend more time thinking about my needs higher up the hierarchy – self-esteem from achievement, inclusion in social circles and love. 

Some would consider these more wants or desires rather than needs, but I disagree.  Humans need to achieve things in their lives.  Humans need to hang out with other humans.  Humans need love.

Zig Ziglar is famous for the line “You will get all you want in life if you help enough other people get what they want.”  Rebuttal from Mick Jagger, “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, well you just might find you get what you need.”  

What are you saying, Mick?  That just getting your needs met is somehow a fallback or compromise?  I think needs may be far more important than wants.  As we know, some people surround themselves with material riches, yet still have an emotional void to fill inside. 

Helping the needy may start with those who can’t feed themselves, but it matters for higher needs like friendship and love as well. The next time someone asks you if you’ve got everything you need, don’t forget to ask them back.

Fight or flight?

We all learn to deal with stress in different ways.  I learned by watching Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. Remember when Marlin Perkins sent Jim Fowler into the jaws of danger while he provided color commentary from the safety of an armored jeep? 

 “It looks like Jim has successfully gained the crocodile’s attention, and he looks agitated!!  Now Jim has a choice to either wrestle the croc or run for the hills.”

Yes, surviving stress pretty much boils down to one simple question – Fight or Flight? Here’s an example of what I mean… 

 

I spent my early teen years in Kokomo, Indiana, where the landscape is mostly cornfields and country roads. One hot October night my friend and I walked out into one of those fields, plucked some dusty ears of corn and twisted them in our hands until we had a small pile of dry, hard kernels. 

 

Now you may be asking yourself, how much fun can a kid have with a handful of corn?  Well check this out… you hide in the corn 6 rows back from the country road and watch the oncoming car headlights reflecting off the telephone wire above. If you time it just right, you can throw your corn high over the road, rain it down on the windshield and scare the driver witless.  Sounds fun doesn’t it? I’m not proud of it today, but boy was it funny to a 14-year old! 

 

Until the pick-up truck came along…

 

Science lesson – If you’ve ever been in a pickup truck doing 60 miles an hour when a handful of corn hits your windshield… it sounds like God just dumped a bucket of pea gravel on you. Babababababa!! We heard the tires screeeeech, a door slam and the angry voice of a very large cowboy. Like a jilted husband on the Jerry Springer show, he let out a string of profanities so profound that the FCC prevents me from repeating them here. The part I remember with absolute clarity was “I’m gonna shoot your little blankety blank blanks.” 

 

My friend and I looked at each other with wide eyes.  What do you think we picked… fight or flight? 

 

We ran flat out through that cornfield like Kentucky Derby racehorses, cornstalks whipping our faces, tripping over big dirt clods. We ran at least 200 yards until we were stopped by a fence.  And then a really funny thing happened. We looked up at each other and cracked… up… laughing. That crisis shot adrenaline through our bodies, we acted on it, and ran until we couldn’t run anymore. Then we felt a tremendous sense of relief.

 

When faced with a gun-toting redneck, it was a simple choice to run away.  But what happens when you don’t have such a simple choice… like when you feel powerless to fight or run away from stress?  As adults we are often backed into a corner and end up holding onto stress over a sustained period of time without acting on it – like when you are dealing with an overbearing boss, stuck in traffic, or piling too much on your priority plate. This creates all sorts of physical and mental health problems if you don’t release the stress somehow.

 

Now that I am older, I have learned to fight – stand up for myself in conflict, sometimes retreating for a while and then coming back to address it more constructively.  I’ve also chosen flight, but this usually means literally running more often and alleviating stress through exercise.  If I avoid resolving a conflict for too long, the stress is unhealthy to hold on to.  I’ve even got this little pain spot behind my right shoulder that tells me when my stress level is too high. 

 

Everyone experiences stress.  What’s important is what you do about it.  As Marlin would say… “Just as the mother lion protects her cubs, you should take good care of your body and mind.” 

 

How do you deal with stress? 

 

 

True colors

“I see your true colors shining through. I see your true colors, and that’s why I love you.”  Why does this Cyndi Lauper song stop me in my tracks every time I hear it? 

It makes me visualize an old painting, like the ones you see on the antique roadshow.  “My Great Uncle Henry had this up in the garage for 50 years and he just LOVED it. Of course, he did smoke his cigars out in the garage.” 

Layers and layers of gunk have built up on the painting over the years, masking the brilliance of the original colors.  All it needs is some careful restoration and to be brought out for display under museum quality lighting… and it’s priceless. 

Of course, being a man, I would be tempted to just take a powerwasher to it.  But no… restoration is a painstaking process, carefully removing each layer of haze without damaging the original brilliance underneath.

I believe we all start out as masterpieces. Your true colors are the real you, the talents you bring to the table, the dreams you had as a kid.  Over time we build up layers of dirt – creating personas to succeed in business, putting on acts to please other people, putting on masks to protect ourselves from pain.  Revealing your true self is not easy or risk-free. 

I’m finding that the real me is coming out more and more as I get older. It happens when I surround myself with people who love and support me. Just like in the song. Support from true friends gives me the courage to try those things that I think I may be good at, and to spend more time doing things that I love.  If you can find the intersection of those two lists – things you are good at and things you love -you are well on your way to museum-quality pricelessness.

Restoring the real you will take some time. The layers may need to come off as slowly as they built up over time.  And you may need to change the environment, the wall you are hanging on, to start the process.  But there’s no doubt about it… you ARE a masterpiece and your true colors are still there. 

Don’t be afraid to let them show.

What was your name again?

One of my friends asked for the secret to remembering people’s names at a party.  I won’t reveal her age, but she’s old enough to be a little short-term memory-challenged (like me.)  I actually learned a great technique for remembering names early in my career.

1)  Prepare to hear the name (I mean really get ready to receive it when you ask the person for it.)

2)  Repeat the name right after you hear it.

3) Repeat the name one more time before you leave the conversation.

Three impressions really helps cement the name in your memory.

I’ve heard about fancy mnemonic techniques using acronyms, rhymes and such, but this simple 3-step method works fine for me.  The trick is having fun with the way you repeat the name.

Examples:

“Nice to meet you Gerald.  Our family used to visit my Uncle Gerald… until he went to prison for embezzlement.”

“Chuck?  That’s a sick name! What’s UP Chuck?!”

“Terry?  That’s a cool name because it could be for a man or a woman.  Which one are you?”

Nothing warms up a conversation and builds rapport like making fun of someone’s name.  I guarantee this will help your memory, and your new friend won’t forget you either.

The running man

I ran, and finished, my first half-marathon Sunday morning.  I’ve never entered a big race and never run that far in my entire life. Just last year I could barely run 2 miles without stopping to walk. They say 2 hours and 6 minutes is a respectable time for 13.1 miles, and I was fairly happy with the time since my knee was recuperating from a recent injury. 

No… I did not injure it from running.  I injured it while dancing. 

My 19-year old son, at a family party, said, “Hey, my dad knows how to do the running man, he’s from the 80’s. Show ‘em Dad!”

I busted a move alright and also, apparently, a tendon.  It was pretty ironic that it was the “running man” that hurt my ability to run just 2 weeks before the race.

To prepare for this race, I had trained hard for 10 weeks, adding 1 mile each week until I hit 11 miles.  I still wasn’t sure if I could do 13.1 miles on race day without my knee, or me, collapsing.  But I was determined to finish the race whether I was running or hobbling at the finish line.

Right around mile six, I got inspiration from an unlikely source. I saw a little old lady (I’m guessing 70+ years of age) running ahead of me.  She was about 5’ 4”, with dark sunglasses, spandex water belt, a color-coordinated pink running outfit and matching visor.  Barely able to lift her legs much above the ground, leaning to her left side as if her spine could not support her, she was cranking right along at a 10-minute mile pace.  She was consistent, determined and focused on her goal. 

Suddenly my knee didn’t hurt that much anymore.  I smiled, kicked up my tempo and passed her, but kept her image in my mind until the finish line.

I was satisfied to finish with dignity, but my runner’s cap goes off to the athletes who overcame much greater odds than I did (especially the little old lady from Pasadena.)  I learned first hand that what gets you through a big challenge is not just planning and physical preparation. It also takes willpower.  Go Granny, go.

You’ll shoot your eye out kid

A father’s need to turn his son into a man and a mother’s need to protect her young are NOT naturally compatible instincts.  Surely you’ve seen the movie “A Christmas Story,” where little Ralphie tells everyone that he wants an official Red Ryder carbine action two-hundred shot range model air rifle… but what did the department store Santa tell him?  “You’ll shoot your eye out kid!”

Like Ralphie, I dreamed of getting my own BB gun.  My dad thought, “Yeah… learning to shoot will turn you into a man.”  My mom’s opinion? “Learning to shoot… will put your eye out.”

My dad was a member of the Jaycees, a community service organization that raised money for charity and encouraged opportunities for young people.  They also sponsored an annual BB gun shooting contest.  That’s right… a Community service organization putting guns into the hands of kids. Of course they preached “safety first” in their training program; never point a gun at anyone; take out all your ammo when you store your gun.  But for a 10 year old boy - safety may be first, but reckless adventure is a close second.

To participate in the annual shooting contest, my dad bought me my first BB gun.  I was 10… and I was armed.  My brother Jeff got one too.  These Daisy air rifles didn’t have much power – you had to aim 4 inches high so the BB would fall to hit the paper bullseye.  But paper targets got boring after a while. And what do boys do when they get bored?  That’s right, they shoot at each other! 

Now we weren’t stupid.  Reckless maybe, but not stupid.  We discovered that you could shoot a BB directly at someone’s leg from 20 paces without breaking the skin.  It would leave a red welt, but no blood.  So we put on 2 pair of blue jeans, our fluffy “Michelin man” down coats, and we ran outside to “play.”  My red rubber boots crunched on the crusty snow as I snuck around the corner. I saw Jeffy up in the tree.  BLAM… gotcha!! 

Now… for all you moms reading this, I can see your look of horror right through your computer screen.  That’s exactly the same look on my mom’s face when she found out. She said “Give me all the BBs!” and took away our ammo.  The guns could still shoot compressed air but there’s not much fun in that.

Yes, mothers have a need to protect their young, but necessity is the mother of invention.  My brother Jeff was eating a tootsie pop as we sat there staring at our empty guns.  He was getting down to the white sucker stick at the core. (It takes more than three licks by the way.)  Just as he was about to throw it away he stopped.  He noticed the diameter of the white stick was about an eighth of an inch – the same as the opening in the barrel of his gun.  He tore off the mushy chewed up part and slid the rest down into the barrel. He cocked the gun, aimed at the bird feeder and pulled the trigger. BLAM!!  Birdseed flew everywhere.  The compressed air shot that sucker stick at least 30 feet with decent accuracy.

An evil grin spread across his face.  We would not be denied our destructive birthright.  We immediately pooled our money, ran to the Handy Andy convenience store and bought a whole box of Tootsie Pops.  Thus began the great sucker stick war of 1971.  All sugared up with plenty of ammo.

Later that evening, my mom locked our guns in the trunk of her car.

It only took us a couple of months to find the BB guns and BBs again, up on a high shelf in the attic (like a boy is not going to climb up there.)  Jeff said “Come on, let’s go shoot stuff.”  We walked a mile down the railroad track to the garbage dump.  That was forbidden…by our mom…as a place to play.  We climbed over some garbage to set up bottles and cans on the side of an old refrigerator.  I took aim at a Gillette Foamy shaving cream can and knocked it over with my first shot.  I took a second shot at the shiny concave bottom of the can.  Just then some kind of heavy bug flew into my eye and I blinked it off.  I rubbed it a few times and thought nothing more about it.  We headed home to hide our guns in the attic.

A few days later, my eye started to hurt and turn red around my lower eyelid.  I said “Mom I think I might have a bug in my eye.”  My mom was a registered nurse and had no problem pushing gently around my eye with her fingers to see what was going on.  She pushed up with her thumb under my eyelid and Boink!!  A small BB popped out of my eye and bounced onto the bathroom counter.  My mom looked down at the BB.  I looked down at the BB.  I looked up at my mom and said “Now how did THAT get in there?!”

For those of you wondering about the science of this… apparently, when I shot the concave bottom of that can, it hit at the perfect angle to ricochet back straight at my open eye.  I blinked just as it hit my eye, forcing it down into my lower eyelid, where it left 2 little rust spots that had to be treated with special ointment.

I was busted on all counts – the BB Gun, going to the garbage dump, and most importantly, my mom always told me I would shoot my eye out… and I almost did.

So what have we learned today?  Let’s recap.

- Young boys with guns are hard to supervise

- Anything, including candy, can be made into a weapon

- No matter how much you crave reckless adventure… you should always listen to your momma.

Reunited and it feels so good

The word “reunion” literally means “to bring together again.”  But is there actual unity after the initial re-meeting?  My wife Carol and I just attended our North Central High School reunion in Indianapolis, and I’m still energized from it.  The shared educational experience so many years ago was not really a choice for us back then – we HAD to go to school. But this weekend, 225 classmates willfully chose to come together from all over the hemisphere to reconnect.

Maybe it’s because our “first” best friends were made during those formative years.  You try so hard in high school to figure out who you are and what you want to do with your life, and you’re surrounded by peers who are equally hopeful and insecure.  There’s a special bond that emerges when you go through a thrilling or traumatic experience with others, and I think high school qualifies on both counts.

I also admit feeling a bit of plain old curiosity.  I got to see how he or she “turned out.”  Social status and external appearances were so important during teenage years, so I guess I couldn’t help making physical comparisons now.  I wonder if I look older or younger than the majority?  If you haven’t changed TOO much, you get the compliment of “Oh, you look exactly the same!”  Well… I think I looked a little awkward in high school, so is that really a compliment? 

This time I think it was the “internal appearances” that made the real impact on me.  As I talked to each of my friends, shared a few embarrassing war stories, shared photos of our children (all about the same age) and talked about our careers, I felt a sense of unity that came from sheer survival.  We’ve lived through triumph and tragedy.  We’re old enough to know that learning who you are is a lifetime quest, not something you learn in college.  And what you want to do with your life can change, several times, depending on circumstances and your will to follow your heart.  I felt a kinship once again with people I have not seen or talked to in decades.  Facebook has provided a virtual reunion of sorts the last few months, but there’s nothing like looking someone in the eye, getting a hug and celebrating our lives in person. 

I saw guys who I thought would not survive their heavy partying looking quite healthy and happy now.  I heard about a few friends who are sadly no longer with us. I heard about our former class president who is now Chief of Staff for VP Joe Biden.  We are manufacturing reps and marketing execs, comedians and company owners, doctors and decorated soldiers, lawyers and lobbyists, dental hygienists and disaster recovery specialists, attorneys and activists, mothers and fathers. We live in Alaska and the Virgin Islands.  We live on the East coast and the West coast and in the Heartland in between.  We are diversity and unity at the same time. We are the class of ’79.

Special thanks to the organizers of the event.  This Panther appreciates you.

A different drummer

I had an obsession once. I wanted to bang the drum… the big bass drum that sat on top of a player piano at Farrell’s ice cream parlor in the Castleton Square mall.  Long before Chuck E. Cheese baked his first pizza, Farrell’s was THE place for birthday parties, and it was my first real job in high school. 

The waiters and waitresses wore straw hats (really made of styrofoam) and black & white striped shirts with puffy shoulders. It was supposed to look like the gay 90’s (the 1890’s and the original meaning of gay.)  If you were lucky enough to have your birthday at Farrell’s, the waiters would play a siren, bang the drum, play “Roll out the Barrell” on the player piano and serve a giant “Zoo” ice cream sundae for you and your friends. It weighed roughly 25 lbs with 12 flavors of ice cream, chocolate fudge, caramel, nuts, whipped cream and cherries. Sounds like fun, eh?

But I was not a waiter. I was… a lowly dishwasher. Dishwashers did not get to bang the drum or carry the Zoo. I toiled away in my prison – walled in on three sides with grey ceramic tile and stainless steel. There was a narrow horizontal window where busboys slid grey plastic tubs full of sticky dirty dishes for me to wash. 

If you leaned down just right, you could see the colorful world outside, filled with music, laughter and merriment.  But I was on the inside, doing backbreaking work. And as I toiled away, the banging drum taunted me. Every time the elite class of waiters would run to their posts and deliver the celebration, I just lowered my head and scraped glops of leftover ice cream out of half-eaten sundae glasses.

One day I decided I had had enough. I begged the general manager Mr. Merkel to let me out to bang the drum for the next party.  I just wanted to experience a little piece of the happiness going on outside.  Though it was not in my official job description, he told me if I got far enough ahead on the bus tubs…I could run out and play the drum. I was so efficient in the next two hours, I became the first dishwasher to get released on good behavior.  Sweet serendipity!! 

But before I could lay one bang on the drum, Darren the waiter waved me over to the fountain area.  He was actually in need of a second Zoo carrier. I was elated! What an honor to help carry the sacred sundae of all sundaes all over the restaurant, ending on the table in front of the happy birthday girl. (Skip to 5:30 in this old video to see what I’m talking about.)

Fountain noise!  Drum roll!  Player piano! We took off with the Zoo. Up and down the aisles, out into the mall, back through the candy store.  Note: 25 lbs of ice cream in a giant silver bowl needs to be carefully supported on four sides at all times. If just one support point gives way, the ice cream will head that way too. You can guess what happened next.  As I rounded the next corner my world slipped into slow motion.  A slip of the handle in my hand… my partner losing his balance… and the giant silver bowl rolled out of the stretcher, splattering 12 flavors of ice cream and 12 different toppings all over a lady’s skirt.  She looked fit to be tie-dyed.

The player piano continued to play “Roll out the Barrel” as we all stood there in stunned silence.  I rolled out a barrel of fun alright. 

I grabbed a dishtowel that I had stuffed in my back pocket and kneeled down to help clean the mess, quickly realizing that chocolate fudge doesn’t easily wipe out of a yellow linen skirt. As I looked up at the horrified look on her face, all I could do was laugh a nervous laugh and say “Happy Birthday ma’am. No charge for that one.”

Mr. Merkel gave me a dirty look as he took over the rescue effort. I was relieved to get back to the solitude of my dish room for the rest of my shift.  I was only allowed to be a drummer after that but it was enough.  I got to carry the Zoo that one glorious time… all the way to its conclusion on some poor lady’s skirt.  Moments like that, even when they don’t turn out the way you thought they would, make stretching yourself worthwhile.

Related Brush with Greatness:

I actually got to sit next to founder Bob Farrell at a National Speaker’s Association conference dinner in the early 90’s, and I told him this story.  He was amused.  Bob does a keynote speech on customer service called “Give ‘em the Pickle.”

Suburban cowboy

 Do you have one of those childhood photos that you wish would never see the light of day again?  Yes… that is me on the left with my older brother Jeff on the right. 

I wrote a bit of cowboy poetry below, dedicated to my childhood and the spirit of the Old West.

 

 

 

When I was a kid it was a simpler time
In the 60’s, I dreamed I would be
Like Roy Rogers or the Lone Ranger
A’ridin’ the lone prairie.

But life is what happens as you make other plans
And I grew up forsakin’ that dream
Got married, had kids, bought a house in the burbs
And by God my front lawn is real green

I’m a suburban cowboy, no prairie in sight
And I ain’t got no time to be bored
My day’s full a work with a keyboard and mouse
And my horse is a Honda Accord 

Got boots nice and clean, never been in a fight
And I can’t say I’ve shot a man down
But I’ve drawn on a dude in a video game
High score! I’m the best shot around! 

I troubleshoot my computer
And work around ‘most any glitch
Instead of a campfire to sing by
I got a grill with an auto-light switch 

Some folks can relax, raisin’ kids and some cattle
and settlin’ down on a farm
But ain’t no relaxin’ for this workin’ stiff
With a 30 year fixed and an ARM 

When life gets too stressful I do venture out
To a saloon where there’s gamblin’ and drinkin’
OK it’s not really a saloon, it’s an Olive Garden…
At the corner of 12^th street and Lincoln 

Now I don’t want your pity, don’t give me that look
I got the cowboy spirit inside.
And I don’t need no more excitement
‘Cause my life is already a wild ride 

So let’s cut this short, I won’t waste your time,
I’ve still got some spreadsheets to do
I hope you find what you’re lookin’ for…
Happy Trails from me to you!

Where I come from

Revisiting a childhood home can be an emotional experience.  After you get over the difference in scale (not as big as you remember it) you’re transported back in time to relive memories you thought were long gone.  I recently got to visit my childhood home at 802 S. Lafayette Street in Macomb, Illinois, and I had not seen it since age 11 when we moved to Indiana.

There in splendid detail was:

- the window to my old bedroom
- the buckeye tree I used to climb
- the front sidewalk where I skinned my knee after falling off my clip-on steel roller skates
- the porch window where the Christmas tree sent a warm glow out onto the snow-covered evergreen bushes
- the white-painted front door that swung open the night my dad surprised us in his Santa suit
- the picture window I used to look out to see when my brother Jeff got home from Kindergarten
- and the sloping backyard that we used to roll down just for the fun of it.

I wanted to knock on the front door and get a tour of the inside, but it felt like a line I shouldn’t cross.  As I stood in the front yard and took a picture of the house, it hit me… how much it had NOT changed.  Other than some peeling peacock blue paint, it was mostly the same as we left it.  Maybe this is just a small town phenomenon. In California, old stuff gets torn down and new stuff gets built on the lot. 

Time had not really touched my old home, and it reminded me of the permanence of things. Not just the house, but the permanence of the values I learned growing up in Macomb in the 1960’s – be nice, help others and treat people the way you want to be treated.  Simple rules, really.  No matter what mask or game face I put on in my job today, I cannot escape that part of me…instilled by a loving family and a community that protected its own.

Life is not perfect in a small town. OK…sometimes it can be more Norman Bates than Norman Rockwell. But I choose to recall the best parts of my childhood and draw strength from them, including celebrations of happy times, lessons learned the hard way, and the importance of self-reliance and accountability.

As we drove out of town, we passed the brick courthouse and town square that looked remarkably like the one in the movie “Back to the Future.”  That’s where I was headed alright, back to the future and my current life in the fast lane.  

I love big cities and big city people, but some folks here on the coast jokingly call the heartland of America “flyover country.” If that’s the way they see it, then I hope they keep flying over and don’t stop.  The permanence of the people there, their families and the way they treat each other is something to be celebrated… not mocked.

Growing up in a small town was an important cornerstone for who I am today. And knowing where I come from helps me stay on track for where I’m going.  Have you revisited where you came from?  What memories do you choose to hold on to?

Brother Max

“You’re aaaallll sinners! Repent before it’s too late!!” 

I turned to see where the voice was coming from.  I was late for my freshman psychology lecture, but I had to see what was going on.  There in the middle of the grass mall was a large circle of 50 students with a skimmer straw hat moving slowly in the center.  I rollerskated up the sidewalk (hey it was the 80’s) as the crowd shouted at the man in the middle.  That’s when I first laid eyes on Brother Max.

Brother Max was a traveling preacher.  He was in his late 50’s, and wore a white seer sucker suit with suspenders and a yellow bow tie. He reminded me of one of those snake oil salesmen that wandered from town to town in the old West.  But Brother Max was not selling snake oil.  He was selling Christianity.  And now, like a single gladiator in the middle of a great coliseum, he was inviting the crowd to clash with him in a war of words.

At first I was amused.  He danced around on his soapbox (OK, plastic milk crate) and alternated between reading scriptures from his beat-up old bible and rebuking random members of the audience.  The audience alternated between booing and laughing. I admit I laughed at the spectacle too, until Brother Max walked up to a young sorority girl proudly displaying three Deltas on her pink sweatshirt, and said, “Yooooouuu are a prostitute, and yer going to hell if you don’t repent.”

Whoa! Now hold on a minute. I am a Christian and this was not the tolerant, respectful religion I grew up with. This guy was going WAY over the top and inciting the crowd with hostility.  I somehow felt like they were laughing at my faith now, and suddenly didn’t feel like being silent anymore.

“Hey, you don’t know her!!” I shouted, apparently loud enough for Max to hear from across the circle.  He wheeled around and looked right at me.  The crowd got quiet as he took six long exaggerated steps toward me and stopped six inches from my face.  I could see the fire in his eyes through his thick glasses, not unlike looking through the bottom of two rootbeer mugs.  He smelled like an odd mix of cotton candy and beef jerky.

He growled, “And you’re going to Hell too, boy.”

Everybody laughed at the theatrical display, but then got really quiet and turned to look at me.  Was I going to respond, or back down?  Not wanting my religion to be mocked anymore, I expressed myself, eloquently,

“You’re an idiot!”  The crowd emboldened me with a laugh.

Brother Max came right back with, “You’re a blasphemer!”

I shouted a little louder, “You’re a blowhard!!”

The crowd roared again. It had now grown to over 100 people.

Brother max escalated “I challenge yeewwww to repent of your sins!!”

All the expectant eyes were upon me.  To this day I’m not sure where it came from inside me, but I shouted “Well, I challenge you… to an arm-wrestling match!”

This got the biggest laugh of the “show.”  I looked left and right, congratulating myself on my quick wit, but Brother Max was not ready to give up.

“Come on bring it, little man.”

Excuse me?  Did he just accept my challenge to an arm-wrestling match in front of 100 people?! There was no backin’ down now.  I threw aside my backpack and said, “You’re goin down, Brother Max.”

Now picture the absurdity of the scene for a moment.  Here was a 50-something man in a white seersucker suit and yellow bow tie, lying down in the grass to arm-wrestle a freshman wearing a Purdue sweatshirt, blue jean shorts and rollerskates.  Brother Max was short but stocky, probably outweighing me by 80 pounds. My skinny arms were about half the size of his. I was not optimistic about the outcome, but there was no backing down now.

The crowd closed in and counted down from 10 like a rocket launch.

10 – 9 – 8 – 7

His hand felt like a big hairy catcher’s mitt, and I gripped the best I could.

6 – 5 – 4

He glared at me through those rootbeer mugs, magnifying the fire in his eyes.

3 – 2 – 1 – Go!!

The battle didn’t last long.  I put up a 10-second fight before he turned his wrist and slammed my arm back into the grass.  The crowd cheered and booed at the same time.  Then something unexpected happened – Brother Max didn’t immediately let go of my hand.  He held on for a few seconds more, as a big smile curled across his lips.  He whispered something I’ll never forget, “I’ve got their attention now, don’t I boy?”

Max got back up on his milk crate to preach and I slinked away to my Psychology class. My Christianity was still intact but my pride… not so much. I was now known as “that guy who arm-wrestled Brother Max and lost!”

But the story doesn’t end there.  An hour later, after my class, I was rolling by the mall.  There was no longer a crowd in the grass, but I saw Brother Max under the shade of a big oak tree, talking quietly to a group of four students.  I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he was handing them small bibles and turning to specific pages for them to read.

Is it possible that crazy Brother Max was really a marketing genius, creating a scene in order to be heard?  Was he simply demanding attention from the many to really reach just a few?

There are 2 lessons I took away from my run-in with Brother Max. Take your pick:

1)     Don’t let your alligator mouth get your hummingbird butt in trouble.

2)     First impressions, and intentions, are not always what they seem.

For that lesson, and for the four other students he reached that day, I say… thank God for Brother Max.

Crap sandwiches

Social media allows anyone to connect directly to authors and thought leaders and have unfiltered conversations that were just not possible in the past. I just had a lunchtime exchange on Facebook with Larry Winget, author of the upcoming book “No Time for Tact.”  A self-described pitbull of personal development, Larry’s in-your-face, direct style can be equally off-putting and refreshing. It’s shock value with a point, and I like it.

Here’s our brief wall conversation following this posted book excerpt:

“Constructive criticism is a stupid concept. To construct means to build up. To criticize is to tear down. You can’t do both at the same time. Pick one (from “No Time For Tact.”) I also wrote about the Crap Sandwich concept in my book. Any way you slice it, at the end, you still have the taste of crap in your mouth. Better to just give it to people straight. We spend way too much time trying to soften the blow and don’t end up serving people well at all.”

Really?  Personally, this goes against everything I learned from my parents, school, church and Toastmasters. And hey, I’m from Indiana. People from Indiana grow up nice. I felt compelled to throw in my two cents…

“Larry, I agree that criticism tears down in preparation for building up. The key is asking someone if they want it before you just dump it on them. ‘Would you like my opinion on how you can improve?’ If they say no, be prepared to walk away.”

“David, if they work for you, you don’t have to ask, it’s your obligation to criticize their work. If they don’t work for you, I have discovered it is best to wait until they ask you. People don’t want to change any way or they already would have so why put yourself through the grief of “helping” them? It’s a waste of time and effort for everyone.”

“Good point Larry. In my experience though, I see so much crap rolling downhill for everyone at work, I find it helps morale to get it in “sandwich form” occasionally   I have also found some people willing to change, starving for help, but afraid to ask. So I volunteer my humble advice. Some say yes, some say no thanks.”

“David, your point is well taken.”

I share this with you because:

A) It shows that Larry Winget is reasonable and willing to have an intelligent conversation with his readers, and

B) I really want to know what you think about Larry’s claim above, “We spend way too much time trying to soften the blow and don’t end up serving people well at all.”  Do you agree?

The other side of the board

“Come on, you can do it!  Break the board!  Break the board!!“

My best friend Jeff Bagby was coaching me on martial arts in the basement of his house in Kokomo, Indiana. It was the early 70’s and Kung Fu was at its popularity peak, fueled by primetime TV shows, movies and comic books.  I was looking for a little self-defense insurance.

I lined up my arm and gently touched the piece of scrap wood with the base of my palm.

Jeff held it firmly between his outstretched and locked arms.  “Come on, break the board!”

I stared at the wooden surface as I rotated my torso and retracted my arm.  I screamed out “Hie-yahhhh!!” as I punched forward as fast as I could.

I screamed out “Yee-oucchh!!!” as my hand bounced off the board, sending a shockwave of pain up through my shoulder.

“OK… OK. Here’s what you’re doing wrong.” Jeff patiently explained.

“You are focusing too much on the surface of the board. You have to focus on a spot 12 inches on the other side and punch THROUGH the board, not AT it.”

He held it out once again, and I visualized punching through all the way to his stomach (which would be a nice payback after the pain he just put me through.)  I took a deep breath, pulled back, let loose and CRACK!!  The board split as I almost fell forward into coach Jeff.  My disbelief turned into a satisfying smile.  Nobody was going to mess with ME on the school bus!

Funny how these little defining moments stick with us.  Sometimes when I’m having trouble breaking through an obstacle in my life now, I try to visualize what it will be like after I succeed.  I picture what it will look like on the other side of that board.  Then I stop punching AT the problem and punch through it instead. After all, seeing is believing.  And if I am not able to really SEE my success in advance, I don’t really BELIEVE it in advance.

Are you having trouble getting through an obstacle in your life? Maybe try adjusting your vision beyond the short-term and focus on where you will be after you succeed. Trust me… it makes it a lot easier to break through.

Taking the hill

There was a light rain followed by a sharp temperature drop, and fresh icy snow had formed all the way up Salisbury hill. There were other ways I could have gone home, but I wanted to take this shortcut.  My beloved ‘71 Monte Carlo had plenty of power – a 400 cubic inch engine with a Holly 4-barrel carburetor (environmentally-friendly at 6 mpg in the city, 9 on the highway.) It had shiny Cragar rims on wide racing slick tires – great on hot Indiana asphalt; nearly useless at getting traction in the snow.

I thought if I just got enough momentum at the bottom of the hill, surely I could make it to the top. My girlfriend Carol said “You’re not going to make it.”  Well, chalk it up to 19-year old macho, but I took this as more of a challenge than a warning.  I punched it and charged up the icy hill.  About a third of the way up I noticed the car was starting to slow down. And the harder I stepped on the gas pedal, the slower we went.  I floored it with the speedometer buried at 120 miles per hour, but I could see out the frosty window that we were only doing about 2.

Apparently my slick back tires were spinning so fast they were able to burn their way down through the ice, and grab just enough of the asphalt pavement to get a grip.  The engine was whining and the tires crying out for help, but we were inching our way up that hill.  That’s when I realized how deep I was into this commitment.  If I were to let go of the gas and hit the brakes, I would just slide backwards out of control, and surely hit a tree or a parked car. I had to keep going.

When the hill finally leveled out at the top and I could let off the gas, I yelled out “YES!!”  in triumph.  Then I looked over at Carol who had dug all 5 fingernails into the imitation leather arm rest.  She didn’t have to say a word.  I got the glaring look that screamed “Don’t you EVER do that again!”

That’s when it really hit me about the risk I took. I could have slid back down, crashed and injured us both. I could have blown up the engine.  Was it really a good decision to take that hill?  Actually, it was not a decision at all.  It was an emotional burst of stupidity.

Have you ever charged into something at full speed before REALLY thinking it through?  Of course you have.  Motivational experts tell us all the time to take a chance, take a risk… nothing ventured, nothing gained.  But the older we get, the more our experience and intuition drop hints about what could cause failure. 

This is exactly my point.  There is nothing wrong with listening to your intuition before you hit the gas.  It’s a built-in check and balance system.  If something is bothering you in the back of your mind before you start, take a moment to bring it to the forefront and deal with it.  Because once you go with the emotional charge up the hill, you just might get yourself in deep before realizing you have no traction.

I’ve learned plenty of things the hard way in my life, but I’m finally starting to get it.  Call it intuition, call it conscience, call it God whispering in my ear…. I’m better off when I listen first, act second.

Yosemite #2 – A little insurance

 
My first attempt at climbing Yosemite’s Half Dome was a failure – I had to retreat in the face of bad weather. Many of you said I did the right thing in turning around, and that the mountain would always be there for a second try.  Honestly I wasn’t sure I wanted to.  The climber who fell to his death not long after my first retreat still haunted me.

Trying again after failing is easier said than done. “Get back up on that horse” you’ll hear from your friends. “If you wait too long it will get worse.” 

When my 19-year-old son Evan said he wanted to do the climb, my first impulse was “no way!”  How could I allow my only son to take a risk like that?  Then again, if he was old enough to do it himself anyway, perhaps I could be there to make sure he was safe.

 

So we set out yesterday on the 18-mile hike and succeeded in reaching the summit this time!  But it was not without a little insurance.  I bought a couple of 8-foot black webbing straps and offset caribiners at REI, so we could clip onto the cable in between each post. (NOTE: the steel cable diameter is slightly less than the width of a quarter. Use a quarter to test the caribiner you buy. Also use gloves that are thin enough so you can operate the clip easily.)

 

Now I was prepared.  If I slipped during the climb or if someone else fell into me, the waist strap would stop my slide.  I still felt like I was literally hanging on for dear life, but that clip provided enough peace of mind to enable me to go all the way.  On the way down, I was even confident enough to create camaraderie on the cables, giving little pep talks to the other climbers around me.  By the way, my son was never afraid, going up or down. Ah, the immortality of youth.

 

This is the point… experience can be a double-edged sword.  It can make you fearful when you have seen just how bad things can be.  But learning from other’s experience can also help you achieve more than you’ve ever dreamed.  It just took a little online research and discussions with other experienced climbers to help me try again and reach that new level.

 

The photo above says it all.  That’s Evan and I standing on the edge of the top of the world.  I was able to draw courage from experience, and it was SO worth it to try again. May you reach the same heights in your lifetime. 

See more photos from my trip, and send me a friend request in Facebook if you want to keep up with each other’s journeys

Get your kicks

The runners rounded the final turn and headed into the home stretch of the 800M race at the 1972 Olympics in Munich.  Dave Wottle, whose trademark white golf cap made him easy to find in the pack, was so far back it looked impossible for him to even place.  I was just a kid, watching the race on TV with my dad.  He said, “Don’t count Wottle out, he’s got an amazing kick.”

I snorted, “Yeah right, Dad.  Look at how far behind he is!” 

Jim McKay echoed the warning, “Stand by for the kick of Dave Wottle. If he’s got it, he could make it!”

Then I watched in amazement as the skinny guy in the white cap passed every runner in the final 100M to take the gold medal!  My favorite part  was Wottle’s face after he won… as if he was saying, “Yeah I did it. What did you expect?”

Click here to watch the video (4:47)

I thought to myself, “What the heck is a kick and how do I get one?!”  Was there something about seeing that finish line that made him suddenly come to life? 

Have you ever performed better when the end was in sight?  I’m talking about closing sales deals before the end of the month, delivering a project by the due date, or finishing your article by the publishing deadline.  There’s a rush of adrenaline and a sharpening of focus when the day of reckoning is near. You kick it into high gear, and give it all you’ve got to the finish line.

Wouldn’t it be cool to call on a kick whenever you needed it? Maybe use a few mini-kicks along the way so you’re not stressing so close to the due date?  I’ve started breaking down big goals into sub-goals with immovable deadlines.  It helps me celebrate more often and space out the adrenaline surges. 

The same goes for getting your team to kick.  Set up short-term mile markers with imminent dates to get them focused.  Then cheer them on as they pass each one. 

Don’t let your goals float out there too far.  If you set up a finish line you can see, you may get a “kick” out of it.  It’s your call on wearing the white golf cap.

Just keep going

I was sooo comfortable in my table seat on the commuter train.  Laptop plugged in, wireless Internet on and cranking through my email.  Best of all, there was no one else sitting at my table to bother me. But that was about to change.

“Next stop, Fremont station!”  The train squealed to a stop.  Shooom, the doors opened and the next batch of riders shuffled up the stairs to find a seat.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone rustling a bunch of bags down the aisle. I thought ‘Oh great, he’s going to plop down right across from me and ruin my little paradise.’  I was looking out the window like a kid who didn’t want the teacher to call on him in class. 

“Do you mind if I sit here?  Do you mind?” 

As if I had a choice, I said “no, not at all” and made a half-hearted attempt to pull my computer a little closer. 

He said, “Thank you, ‘preciate it. ‘Preciate it, thank you.” 

I noticed he had the same nervous twitch and repetitive speech pattern as Dustin Hoffman in the movie Rain Man.  I thought he may have been autistic or developmentally disabled in some way. He was 20-something, with a sunburned face and long, stringy red hair hanging out of the back of a baseball cap, like one of those Wayne’s World caps you see in costume shops. He wore a sleeveless white t-shirt, baggy pajama pants and beat-up running shoes.    His “luggage” consisted of a large blue vinyl duffel bag, a yellow backpack (which he hoisted up onto the table) and a re-usable cloth grocery bag, all stuffed to the seams.

I instinctively reached for my noise-cancelling headphones.  I was being courteous, but didn’t want to give the impression that I was TOO open to conversation. Well, apparently I was now a captive audience.

He said, “I’m going to Stockton.  First time going to Stockton.  First time.  Do you know Stockton?”

I smiled politely and nodded.  “Yes, I’ve been there.”

“You know any shelters?”

“Shelters?” I said.

He pointed to his duffel bag. “Yeah, shelters in Stockton. I’m homeless, homeless.”

I suddenly snapped out of my bubble.  Here was some homeless kid, riding the ACE commuter train with a bunch of 40-something executives like me, just trying to get from one place to the next.  To be honest, I usually walk right by homeless people, occasionally throwing a buck or two into a can.

“I don’t know Stockton that well, but I can look something up for you on the Internet.”

“Dang!  You got Internet right there!  Wow!!” His face lit up with an enthusiastic smile.  “You got a printer too?”

I chuckled.  “No, but I’ll write down some addresses for you.”

“That would be great, great.  ‘Preciate it, thank you. Thank you, ‘preciate it.”

I pulled up a Google map of two homeless shelters near the train station.  As I drew a little map for him, he asked, “How much is bus fare in Stockton? Bus fare?”

I clicked to find a fare schedule. “Let’s see… if you’re 18 years old it’s $1.50.  Are you over 18?”

“I’m 20 years old.  20… and I’m disabled. Cheaper price for disabled.”

I looked down the list.  “Let’s see… seniors and disabled… here it is…75 cents.” 

He smiled, “Cool, 75 cents. Cool.”

I was starting to get drawn into his story.  What did it take to keep going every day?  I couldn’t help thinking of the contrast with my own 19 year old son, who’s going to college in Santa Barbara. My son doesn’t have to worry about his next meal, or scraping together 75 cents for bus fare.

I asked him why he was on this train, and he said the bus fare from Stockton to LA was cheaper than San Jose to LA.  “I’m going to visit my mom in LA. She’s diabetic. Diabetic. She’s 54 and she’s diabetic.”  I didn’t ask anymore on the topic, as he looked troubled about it. 

He pulled out an insulated coffee mug with a train station logo on the side.  He proudly proclaimed, “The lady filled it up with hot chocolate… and I got that for FREE!” 

He pulled out a big plastic jar of apple sauce, opened the lid, and chugged a big mouthful.  “Ah, that’s good stuff. Good stuff.”

It occurred to me that I hadn’t properly introduced myself.  I reached out to shake his hand. “My name’s David, what’s yours?”

He said, “My name’s Pebbles.”

“Pebbles?” I thought it was an odd name for a guy, but I went with it.

He said, “Yeah, like on the Flintstones.  You know the Flintstones?”

“Yes, I’m old enough to know the Flintstones.”

“Yeah, my nickname is Pebbles.  Pebbles.  Because she is independent… and gets in trouble all the time!”  He laughed out loud, and then shook his head slowly.  “I just keep going. Keep going.”

I closed up my laptop and we talked about a few things, like the windmills in the Altamont hills, which led to talking about the famous Rolling Stones concert at Altamont in the 60s. He surprised me when he said, “Yeah Hell’s Angels stabbed somebody. Stabbed somebody.”

I said, “You’re not old enough to remember the Rolling Stones.” 

He rolled his eyes sarcastically and said “I KNOW history!”

“Are you saying I’m old?”

He paused for a second. “You said it, not me.  Not me.”

The train was rolling downhill faster now, and I told him my station was coming up. He silently looked out the window for a few minutes, and then back at me. His voice dropped as he said, “You know… lots of people don’t want… don’t want to be by me.  They say GET AWAY from me!”  He made a shooing gesture with his hands.  “But you…”

His face became very serious.  “You… treat me like a human being.”

I really didn’t know what to say after that.

“Next stop Tracy station!”  I gathered up my stuff, and reached into my wallet for my last $20 bill.  This kid did not once ask me for money.  But he did say ‘maybe someone will help me out,’ as if planting a hopeful seed that would sprout later. 

I wanted to be the one to help him out this time.  I said, “This’ll help you get to LA.  When you get there, tell your mother hello for me… and tell her how impressed I am with your survival skills.”

“Thank you.‘Preciate it. ‘Preciate it. Thank you.”

He grinned that big grin. “Bye David!”

“Goodbye Pebbles.”

As I walked downstairs to get off the train, another passenger tapped me on the shoulder and said “Hey, I saw what you did back there.  Not everyone would have stayed and talked to him like that.”

I said, “You know… he’s a lot sharper than he looks. And he just keeps going. Gotta respect that.”

I’ve been thinking about Pebbles the last few days. I don’t know if he found a good shelter in Stockton. I don’t know if he’s on his way to LA to see his mother.  But one thing I do know. I’ll look at homeless people differently now.  Sometimes God sends us reminders that we are not alone… that we’re put on this planet for each other.  I may have been an angel to Pebbles that day, but he was a messenger to me too.  He reminded me that no matter how tough life is, you just keep going.  You just… keep… going.

The next time you see someone who’s homeless, I encourage you to stop, spare a few dollars, and then if you can…spare a few minutes to talk to them.  Restoring their self-respect may be the greatest gift you can give.

‘Preciate it.  Thank you.

NOTE:  Here is a foodbank that several of my colleagues and I volunteered to help last Christmas.  It’s one of the really good ones: http://www.accfb.org/

Coyote ugly

Our hero rips down the road at blinding speed, kicking up a vapor trail of sand that lingers in the hot heavy air of the Nevada desert.  He’s running for his life you know… being chased by a relentless predator who wants to eat him for lunch.  He suddenly stops on a dime in front of a stone wall, painted to look like the road disappearing into the horizon.  He ain’t fallin’ for it.

He turns to face the predator, barreling down on him at breakneck speed.  He literally has his back against the wall, but demonstrates defiance in his last seconds on this earth.  He sticks out his tongue, sadistically mocking the predator and his stupid trap, then turns and runs impossibly into the painted scene. The predator tries to put on the foot brakes, but his momentum carries him straight into the now solid wall, flattening his snout like a pancake. But does he give up?  No!  Does he lay down and die?  No!! He pulls out his face with a loud “sproing!” and then walks off to plan his next attack with his ACME catalog and seemingly endless supply of coyote currency.

Saturday morning morality was not always so cut and dried.  Was I supposed to be cheering for the Roadrunner, who had super speed and enough intelligence to avoid the perpetual traps that were set for him?  Or was I supposed to admire Wile E. Coyote… who never gave up, even after suffering humiliating defeat after defeat in his attempt to get some food.  I mean… maybe he had a coyote family back at his cave and little cubs who were starving too?

Perhaps this cartoon was more sophisticated than we thought.  Was Chuck Jones showing us the futility of chasing after something we know we’ll probably never get?  (But wait… don’t give up because your next bright idea might just work.)  Or was he just trying to make us feel a little bit better about our own pain?  (Gee I had a rough day, but at least I didn’t fall off a cliff and crash in a tiny puff of smoke at the bottom of the canyon.)

Whatever the director’s intent, I think the Roadrunner cartoons were really about the entertainment value of humiliation.  It’s the same magnetic trainwreck effect that drives the popularity of reality contest shows like American Idol today.  Humiliation sells.  But is it really just harmless fun to watch the poor untalented coyote candidates get mocked by the roadrunner judges and sent home crying? Can’t we just start the show after the good ones are selected? 

As the lines blur between hero and villain, between civility and cruelty, I ask… who do you identify with more – the gleefully talented Roadrunner, or the tragic Wile E. Coyote?

Me?  I gotta run.  I’m hungry and I can’t find my ACME catalog.

The Harry Potter legacy

Harry Potter holds a special place in my memory.  I used to read the books one chapter at a time to my kids when they were small.  Just before bedtime, with my son on my left elbow and my daughter on the right we’d curl up on the big master bed with extra feather pillows.  I’d do my best to bring the story to life with different voices for each character. 

I remember my son slapping the page and exclaiming “I just hate that Malfoy!!” as I was reading him with such a snotty tone.  My daughter asked me to pause when she got a little too scared by my evil, gravelly Voldemort voice.  I remember both kids cheering “YES!!” when Harry won the quidditch match for Gryffindor.  I didn’t know it at the time, but I was instilling a love of reading books – a love of imagination – in my kids that will last throughout their lives.

Any book or movie series that achieves worldwide popularity is bound to draw both praise and criticism.  All I have to say to J.K. Rowling is… thanks.  Any work that can get kids to line up for a midnight release of a BOOK is not a bad thing. 

Last night I saw a TV interview showing Rowling’s first visit back to the humble flat where she wrote the first Harry Potter book.  She experienced a wave of emotion recalling the faith that she lived on all those months, believing that she was creating something that would matter to someone. I am inspired by J.K. Rowling and appreciate the gift of her perseverance.

If you are working on a project of faith, you have no idea whether it will impact one or 100 million.  But that is no reason to stop.  Keep going and finish it.  The one person it impacts might just be you.

Can’t make this stuff up #2

Just wanted to share some more random and entertaining stuff overheard on the ACE train.  All of these actual comments were collected from one continuous 20-minute conversation between 2 guys sitting behind me.  To the best of my knowledge, there were no drugs involved.

You know the name of the company Google? It’s not an acronym. It’s a number one with a thousand zeros after it. Look it up. (Editor’s note:  Actually it’s spelled googol, short for googolplex, which has 100 zeros.  I didn’t have the heart to tell him.)

Who would win in a battle between a leopard and a gorilla?  Don’t bet any money on the leopard.  That’s like Tyson and Holyfield… one punch.

Look up “bunny rabbit and a python” on youtube. It’s sick, man. The punk-ass snake tries to climb a tree to get away from the bunny.

Why would you have a girl with the last name kamikaze?

Wild duck is very gamey. Have you ever had a grouse?

I knew a guy who had a crawdad farm in his backyard.  It’s a lot better than raisin’ chickens I’ll tell you that.

What about a beaver fighting a snake? You’d have to know if the beaver was overweight.  If he is… he’s never gonna get it. Who sang that?  Destiny’s child? No, En Vogue.

The water moccasin is the Lance Armstrong of snakes. Don’t count him out.

I give them good marks for having a general “animal” theme, but the plot needs to be tightened up, don’t you think?

Recession pep talk #3

Has the death of Michael Jackson pushed the recession out of the headlines, or are things really getting better?  I’m not talking about leading economic indicators.  I’m wondering what’s going on inside your mind.  Aren’t you tired of worrying and behaving like things are going to get worse?

I’m not being naïve – there are real economic forces at play.  People are hurting from months of unemployment.  Retail operations have shortened hours and closed locations.  It’s harder to borrow money.  But these “reactions” are a reflection of what is going on inside the collective consciousness of consumers around the world.  Just like the cycle started downward when consumer confidence started to slip, the economy will cycle back up when confidence is restored.  So what kickstarts confidence? 

Maybe we can influence the point that the bungee cord reaches its elastic limit and start to fly upward again.  Maybe we shouldn’t wait for news anchors who make their living on bad news to tell us when the cloud will lift.  Maybe we can start lifting ourselves through our own will power, attitude and action.  Set your fear aside, take some forward-looking steps and tell your friends about it.  With the speed that good news travels through social media channels, the ripple can grow into a wave.

The choice is yours.  Wait for another shoe to drop, or go shopping for some new shoes.  Who wants to take the first step?

Who wants the keys?

Many of us are natural followers, always happy to let someone else assume the burden of leadership.  But what happens when the leader is suddenly not leading so well?  What responsibility do you have as a follower to make things better?

I’ve worked for lots of great bosses in my life…but let’s set those aside for a moment.  Take a moment to think of one of the most INEFFECTIVE bosses you’ve ever worked for. Meaning no disrespect to the Three Stooges, I bet that boss’s behavior fit into one of three categories…Larry, Curly or Moe.

• Larry – A punching bag and a general pacifist, he or she can’t make a decision without checking with someone first.  Basically a non-entity filling a corner office.
• Curly – Fun is the answer to everything. This one listens but can’t focus on real priorities. Business is down and so is the morale?  Forget fixing the business problem…let’s do a teambuilding event!  Woob woob woob woob woob woob!!
• Moe – Decisive but oppressive, this one motivates by fear.  If you only want short-term results, then by all means scare people to death. (Personal note:  I believe a true leader motivates a team through desire to succeed, not fear of failure.  Needless to say, I didn’t get along well with Moe.)

Have you worked for a Larry, Curly or Moe in your career?  Just like I’m doing right now, we expend too much energy complaining about our leaders’ lack of leadership, instead of doing something about it. 

My suggestion… if you see a leadership vacuum, fill it. The world is full of people who can identify problems, but not so many willing to solve them.

I worked in a restaurant when I was younger, and the General Manager Joe Still was conducting an all-hands meeting on a Saturday morning.  We were annoyed with the early hour, and with everything that was “wrong” with the operation.  Joe listened to about 20 minutes of our whining and complaining without saying a word.  Then he stood up, walked to the center of the large group and pulled out a large ring of silver and gold keys from his pocket.  He threw them down on the floor with a loud rattling CLANG.  I’ve never heard a room go from loud to silent so fast in my life.  He slowly made eye contact with each one of us in a slow sweeping arc before asking,

 “Who wants the keys?”

He repeated, a little louder, “WHO… WANTS… the KEYS?!”

It was the shortest and most effective motivational speech I had ever heard.  We all immediately stopped complaining, and were willing to show personal leadership in our respective areas for the benefit of the team.

The next time a tough job or controversial project arises, don’t complain about it.  Step up and volunteer to lead.  Lead from where you are, regardless of the official “organization chart” power structure. It’s an opportunity to show what you’re made of.  The world doesn’t necessarily need more leaders, it needs more leadership.  And anyone can lead, whether they have the official title or not. 

If you can inspire those beside you – you may even inspire those above you.

Encounter bats

No… it’s not an episode of “When Animals Attack.”  I’m talking about a confrontational therapy tool from the 70’s.  These cloth-covered foam encounter bats were used for anger and aggression release, allowing two people to have a “safe and fair fight”. They could also be used to hit pillows, chairs and in my case… little brothers.

My mom was willing to try anything to get me and my brothers to stop fighting, so she bought a couple of these bad boys for her, uh… bad boys.  She told us to use the Encounter Bats when we got mad, instead of wrestling and punching each other.

They looked innocent enough, and we welcomed the opportunity for a legal hit.  The first few clonks on the head were kind of fun.  Soft and cushy.  But after repeatedly banging on each other over the next few weeks, the foam center wore out and actually tore loose inside.  The hard plastic core could now be fully felt… if you swung it hard enough.  (Talk about having a major breakthrough.)  It only took a few more body blows from the “kid-safe” bat before I went crying to mom.

This reminds me of the way people sometimes criticize each other. At first your words may be constructive, soft and cushy, with no intent to harm.  But if you repeat the same criticism often enough, it starts to feel a little hardcore to the recipient. 

Here’s something I learned at Toastmasters.  If you’ve got a constructive critique for a co-worker or family member, start with something positive, then deliver your suggestion for improvement, and finish with another positive.  Then let it go. 

It’s up to that person to receive it and act on it.  You’ve done your part by offering your perspective and it’s time to move on.  If you keep delivering the same blow over and over again, it’s going to eventually touch the core… and someone’s going to go crying to mom.

Just something to think about.  Did I mention that you look nice today?

Which tree do you see?

There’s a famous Barbara Walters interview question – “If you were a tree, what kind would you be?”  Or maybe it was Gilda Radner making fun of Baba Wawa on SNL.  Whatever.

This dead tree caught my eye during my morning commute.  I had to pull over and take a photo; maybe it was the dramatic sunrise lighting, maybe the way it was just laying on its side… like it was pushed over by a giant.  As I framed the photo, I noticed the vibrant green tree living right next to it.  Same hillside.  Same weather conditions.  One tree lives… and one is a skeleton of its former self. 

Perhaps this is why I noticed the dead tree in the first place – it was in such stark contrast to the leafy green one.  Or maybe my subconscious mind is just wired to notice death first, kicking in my reptilian instincts for self-preservation.  This can be helpful for actual danger, but most of the time… just annoyingly stressful.  Especially if you spend all day on high alert, preoccupied with the worst that can happen, and not enjoying the good news that is all around if you consciously look for it.

There was only one dead tree among hundreds of successful green trees I passed by this morning. I guess it comes down to a choice.  If you focus less on attention-getting scary news, and focus more on good news, you might just have a less stressful day.

Take another look at the photo.  Which tree do you see?

Talk to me

Marketing is about show business.  You spend time and money to put on a show that will hopefully lead to business.  But is your company really welcoming customers with open arms when they arrive?

In his blog post on the “Death of Retail”, Stephen Richardson makes the point that big retail chains are trying to get their businesses in line through cost-cutting. This is ultimately a dead end street – perfect cost, no pesky customers.  Stephen asks the key question “What are you doing to provide VALUE to your customers?”

Value to me is simple.  Give people more than they expect and more for their money.  I’m not talking about more “stuff” for my money.  I’m talking about a better experience.  The customer service moments I remember most are the times someone actually talked to me.  Not a scripted, leading question like “Are you finding everything OK?”  I mean striking up the lost art of conversation.

I was in a Hallmark store in the mall, searching for a unique gift for my mom.  As I was browsing through the slightly dusty glass shelves, one of the store clerks stopped by my side and said, “The artist who created the mold for that sculpture lives right here in Northern California.” 

I looked up, a little surprised that someone dared to talk to me. 

“Really?” I gave her the look that said “Go on.” 

“He lives out in the gold country by Big Trees state park, and for over 30 years he’s been making a living doing wood carvings of bears and wolves. We’re lucky to have that item for a limited time.”

I was intrigued and interested in what she had to say.  It was definitely not the typical “Can I help you with anything?”

This goes beyond the retail industry to any business where you have to <gasp> talk to other humans to make a sale.  There’s nothing like a story to grab someone’s attention.  It could be the story behind the product itself, or a testimonial about someone else who used your service.

I suppose this is a skill that could be trained.  More likely it is something that should be hired – employees with friendly personalities and the ability to communicate with strangers.  My point is this… if you have to prioritize your training budget, spend it on conversation skills and throw out the scripts.  It just might put some more business back in your show.

Life tasting

Connoisseurs know how to taste fine wine.  You look at it, swish it, smell it, say something intelligent, close your eyes, take a sip, let it sit on your tongue and then… spit it out?  What’s up with that?!  Apparently this practice allows you to taste many more wines at the same sitting without getting rip-roaring drunk.  I always found this a curious behavior, if not a little gross.  As a kid taught never to waste food and drink, wine tasting seems like an incredible waste to me. 

We don’t spit out fine chocolate after tasting it, just because the calories are bad for us (though it might be fun to watch people try.)  “Gee Muffy, this 68% Brazilian Cacao with Almond is just delightful… ptooey!!” 

I say choose a few less wines and drink them in with full gusto.  And wouldn’t it make sense to apply the same approach to your goals in life? Pick fewer goals and go after them with more focus and enthusiasm?   If you attempt too many new activities all at the same time, you may not really experience the fullness of each one, and come away discouraged or unsatisfied.  That’s a shame. 

I just took a second look at my “life tasting” list – personal goals that I want to achieve this year.  I put the cork back into a few and staggered the rest to roughly 30-45 days apart, giving plenty of time for each one to breathe.  So far I’m enjoying each challenge and haven’t had to spit out anything.  Shouldn’t life tasting be about the quality, not quantity, of goals you achieve?  Drink it in!

Father’s Day fish story

Click to watch this 8-minute “story with a point” video.  I’d like to dedicate it to my father, Jim Goad, who organized a memorable fishing trip in March. 

Added bonus:   My dad’s stated secret to happiness… “Looking forward to waking up each day, and finding something positive to be thankful for.”  Thanks Dad!

David and Jim Goad

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

P.S. I highly recommend Toastmasters for anyone seeking to improve their communication and leadership skills.  www.toastmasters.org

When to stop – Yosemite story

(Longer than usual post, but an important story.)

Climbing Yosemite’s Half Dome is not for the faint of heart.  It’s challenging.   That’s why I set the goal to do it this year. 

We set out at 7:00am yesterday to do the 8.5 mile mountain hike to the base of Half Dome. The weather turned from sunny to cloudy as we approached the top.  Pete had done this before and was willing to lead me up the final stretch – two cold steel cables anchored in the rock, with wooden boards spaced 8 feet apart to help with footing.  Traction is usually not a problem with good shoes on rough granite.  I put on my leather gloves, pulled the drawstring a little tighter on my hood, and started the ascent with my buddy Pete eight steps in front of me. 

We made it about half way up, roughly 200 feet. That’s when the hailstorm started.  Hail?  How did a 20% chance of precipitation turn into a hailstorm?!  I set this goal back in January, to hike a total of17 miles including the summit of Half Dome.  Now Mother Nature was throwing me an icy curve ball.  But when the going gets tough, I’m supposed to keep going, right? 

We were scaling a nearly vertical granite wall like Batman and Robin climbing up a Gotham building, but there were no funny celebrities opening the window to say hello.  Instead we were being passed by inexperienced and underdressed tourists as they slowly slid by us on the way down.  Yosemite is crowded with hundreds of hikers in June… but this was not what I expected.  I’m confident in my own strength, but didn’t anticipate the lack of strength in those around me, the narrowness of the two cables, and oh yeah… the wet, pea-sized hail.  This was indeed turning into a dangerous situation. If anyone fell, they could easily take me down with them. Looking left and right I realized there was nothing to stop a slide down the sheer stone wall.  I looked up ahead, to see an unmoving mass of at least 100 people disappearing into the cold, cloudy mist.  No pain, no gain, right?

As the storm began to get worse, fear began to ripple through the long line of descenders.  Fear of lightning made the people at the top yell down at the others to hurry.  The yelling created even more panic.  A young girl in sandals slipped right beside me.  She reached up to grab the cable with one hand.  My gut instinct was to reach out to help her.  But both my hands were locked in a grip on my own cable holding my full body weight, so I could not reach her.  She luckily got helped up by a guy just behind her. Don’t tell anyone, but my determination just turned to fear. 

When I got to the next board, I looked up at Pete.  I don’t know what was showing the most tension, the steel cable or Pete’s face.  “Hey Dave, are you SURE you want to do this?”  He had done it 3 times before, and didn’t want to deprive me of getting there my first time.  But I got the hint.  It was up to me to turn around or keep going.

I remember asking another hiker earlier if the summit was worth it, and he had said “Oh yeah, you don’t want to come this far and NOT go to the top!”  But now that I was hanging on a slippery granite cliff in a hailstorm, every step seemed to have a diminishing return.  I looked up at the mob of people disappearing into the mist above, which obscured any view I might have had from the top anyway.  Pete looked me in the eye one more time, “It’s up to you Dave, but I really don’t think it’s worth it.”  That was my moment of truth.  I wisely chose the better part of valor, and we retreated back down to the base.

I wish this story had a happy ending.  We eventually made it down to the valley floor just fine, but 20 minutes after we left the cables, sadly, one of the other hikers did not.  We saw the helicopters and rangers hustling up the trail, and got the final news when we reached bottom.  My heart goes out to the family of the guy who didn’t make it.  It also served as a sobering reminder that I made the right decision to turn back when I did.

I was expecting to learn a lesson yesterday about how to keep going when the going is rough, but I actually learned the opposite… when to stop.  I’ve always heard that if you really want to do something, model after someone who’s done it before.  But the same goes for knowing when to change course.  My fellow thrill seekers: when something just doesn’t feel right, I encourage you to trust your instincts and more importantly trust the person who’s been there before.  What is your life worth to your family?

Thanks again, Pete.

When no offense is the best defense

Have you ever been called out into a public battle?   I don’t mean Thunderdome style hand-to-hand combat.  I mean being unfairly, aggressively challenged during a business meeting on your ideas, facts or opinions.  And when everyone else is watching, it adds a level of intensity and heightens your need to mount a defense.  Or does it?

When a peer chooses a public forum to go after you, it’s usually for one of the following reasons:

A)    They’re just a big jerk and need to take a chill pill

B)    They are envious and want to knock you down in front of the boss

C)    They are hoping that others join in on their criticism

D)    They have a legitimate point

If the reason is A, B or C, don’t join the fight.  Find a tactful way to take the discussion offline, which translates to “let’s not perform for the group.” 

If the reason is D, this is an opportunity to show your receptiveness.  Say something like “That’s a good question. We actually considered that issue in our planning, and apparently haven’t covered all the ground we need to.  I’d be happy to get your suggested solutions in a follow-up meeting.  Will Wednesday work for you?”

Of course this all depends on who’s calling you out at high noon.  If it’s your boss, you may just have to take the bullets in the town square. Because challenging the boss in front of others is a major CLM (Career-Limiting Move.) But don’t accept hostility from peers in public.  Take a breath, listen and deflect like a pro.  Bullies won’t know what to do with you.

Of course, once you get them alone…

Ctrl Alt Defeat?

Hi, I’m a PC. Not the nerdy guy in the commercials, but a genuine PC user.  I have nothing against the Mac.  I use whatever laptop my company gives me.  And since I’m familiar with Windows, I’ve also bought PCs for my family at home.  Like most people, I stick with the system I learned on, because the change doesn’t seem worth the effort. 

Though now I must admit… Apple has my attention.  Big kudos to TBWA/Media Arts Lab for producing the long-running ad campaign with 2 actors personifying PC and Mac.  In a very entertaining way, Apple keeps driving home the perceived advantages of the Mac OS over Windows – less viruses, less crashes, less headaches.  You Macintoshies will know whether this is actually true or not (no technology is perfect) but every time I get a virus or reboot my crashed PC, I think of those commercials.  And I don’t laugh.  I nod my head silently in agreement.

Microsoft is trying to fight back with their own commercials, depicting small business owners, graphic artists and cool young people claiming to love their PCs.  (Funny rumor:  these commercials were made on Macs by Microsoft’s agency.)  Microsoft’s “I’m a PC” spots are well done overall – especially this cute one – but honestly they just remind me about the funnier, edgier Apple commercials and come across as a little desperate.  Suddenly, the market-leading gorilla is like Avis – “We’re #2 but we try harder.”

So let’s hear from the Cult of Mac out there, especially those who switched from PC. Tell me why I should switch to a Mac and what I would specifically gain from the change.  I’m too old to care about being cool, so you can skip that storyline. And I don’t hate Bill Gates or feel like rebelling against a large successful corporation (I actually work for one.)  I’ve got a Dell laptop and a Blackberry, and I’m ready to take the punches. Bring it.

(Please post your comments using the link below.)

Hook, line and stinker

The Popeil Pocket Fisherman!  Who remembers the amazing invention that captivated the nation with late night commercials in the late 70s?  Will you admit that you actually owned one?  Did you know they still sell them today?

For the uninformed – Ron Popeil (Ronco), a highly successful inventor and early infommercial millionaire, unveiled a fishing rod and reel that fit neatly into its own little plastic casing (with compartments for extra hooks and lines.)  It could fit anywhere – like your glove compartment, your backpack, or in your (very large) back pocket.  It was not available in stores!  Only through a TV offer!  Only for a limited time!

 I finally bought into the hype – because you never know when you just GOTTA fish.  It certainly wasn’t practical to carry around a long fiberglass rod and tackle box all day!  I fell for it. Hook, line and tiny sinker. I got a tremendous deal at $14.95, originally listed at $29.95 (hey, I’m not stupid.)  It looked a little cheap but functioned just fine.  But more importantly, I soon discovered that I didn’t really “fish on impulse” as much as the commercial announcer had implied.  In fact, it was a little embarrassing to even keep in my trunk where I might have to explain what the heck it was or how much I spent on it.  Geek factor 10, captain.

Ron Popeil may have been a brilliant marketer, but the Pocket Fisherman is what I call “a solution in search of a problem” – a product that doesn’t really deliver on a real promise to fix a real problem, and isn’t really used much by the customer.  So before buying anything on TV after 11pm, I encourage you to sleep on your decision first.  For any of my fellow marketers who are trying to tell a story about a product that doesn’t really deliver on its promise, do you ever have trouble sleeping?  Just keepin’ it “reel.”

Agree or disagree?  Please add your comments below.