Labels

I am not much for labels.

Some of you may know that I am now working two days a week as a psychotherapist, to finish my graduate work, and I hear all sorts of labels there. Sometimes clients borrow them from our profession: My roommate is bipolar. My son has borderline personality disorder. She's a narcissist. He's a nut.

Other times these labels spring from the client's life. My son's girlfriend is a tramp. My daughter is married to an ex-convict. My boss is a control freak. My long-suffering husband is a saint to put up with these rotten kids. Or perhaps worst of all, I am a loser.

If we are honest with ourselves, we see labels as things that helps guide us away from the rocks on the shore of life. Like a speed limit sign or a construction roadblock, they are supposed to lead us away from bad things and toward good things. So we use them as a shorthand to put all of the other people in our lives into neat, little boxes, in hopes of making us safer and happier.

Now, here is why I want you to stop using them:

First, labels aren't what we call "actionable." They do not tell us anything or help us change anything. There is no therapeutic intervention for being married to a "bum" or being a "nut," for example.

Second, they are often wrong. One of the great things about therapy is that we are trained to hear all sides of a story, from all of the players involved. So more often than you might think, the "tramp" daughter is settling down with someone she loves after a couple of conflicted relationships, the "saint" father constantly criticizes his children, and the "rotten" kid is intelligent, sensitive, articulate, and acts very nicely around people who do not constantly put her down.

Third, they do not tell the whole story. Does calling someone "bipolar" also let you know that they are creative, caring, and a faithful partner? Does "ex-convict" accurately reflect the reality of someone who works hard every day and loves his children? Do "saints" ever make their families completely miserable every day by creating an atmosphere of disrespect?

I see just one good use for labels: when they help people understand something that they can fix. So if we diagnose someone's child as having ADHD, for example, they may move from being "bad children" to someone with a treatable medical disorder. Pointing out that a couple is in what we call a "pursuer-distancer" relationship may help them learn to communicate better. And someone who suffers from a severe anxiety disorder may find it liberating to learn their problem has a name, and a way out of it.

So what can we do without our comfortable, familiar labels about people? Talk about specific behaviors and specific reactions. Learn to articulate how you feel and what your boundaries are. And above all, try to understand and respect everyone you cross paths with, including yourself. If you can succeed in doing that, I have a label for it: wonderful.

*P.S. Important disclaimer: the examples in this article are generic and do not reflect my actual clinical cases.

Dear retail store

Here's why I don't buy things from you anymore.

Today I was at a bookstore getting some professional books for my graduate work. Yes, I could have ordered them online, like I usually do. But I read them first in your store, and wanted to be fair about it. So here I was at your checkout counter with about a hundred dollars worth of books.

But instead of simply ringing up my copy of Psychotherapy for Fun and Profit, you started asking me a whole bunch of questions. It went something like this:

"Do you have our membership card?"
"Sorry, I do not"
"Would you like to purchase one? It is only $25."
"No thank you"
"But you would save $14 on your purchase today if you bought one"
"No thank you"
"So tell me, do you live around here?"
"Yes"
"Well, then, you would certainly save money if you purchased this card. You are more than halfway there already with today's purchase."
"No thank you. Really."
"Don't you buy enough books to make this worthwhile?"
"I usually purchase my books online"
"Well, your membership will save you money on our website as well"

For a moment there I honestly wanted to be helpful. I wanted to explain sympathetically that there were too many cards in my life already, and that the thought of netting $7.63 a year didn't really excite me. But then I wondered, philosophically, what has led us to the point where businesses routinely subject their paying customers to interrogations like these? I thought it was their job to serve us, not the other way around.

So I just stood there with a quizzical expression on my face, and you then let out a deep sigh and continued blathering on about how you couldn't understand why I wouldn't want to save money, as you finally rang up my purchase. And I will leave it as an exercise to the reader how anxious I am to return.

Of course, I realize this isn't really your fault. Or the fault of the boss who pressures you to act this way. Or even the corporation that probably makes your job dependent on selling enough of these memberships. It is really the fault of the law of unintended consequences.

You see, once upon a time, some brilliant person at your headquarters discovered that by hassling Every Single Paying Customer to purchase these memberships, their revenue went up. And so upper management probably gave this person a raise, and then ordered you folks on the front line to annoy people as, silly us, we would try to buy your books.

Of course, this makes us buy more online so that we don't have to deal with Dracula behind the counter. Which leads to market declines you blame on everything from the economy to your debenture financing. Which leads you to pressure your staff to sell, sell, sell even more, as we retreat further to cyberspace and develop even less patience for being "sold." See where this is heading?

As a postscript, I had this conversation with nearly *every* store I went into today, each of which wondered why I wasn't using their specific Discount-a-palooza card. I am still not sure why they haven't figured out the idea of just discounting their products and treating me nicely. But while they ponder that, I am heading back to my computer.

Just the facts, ma'am

The biggest surprise about studying to be a marriage and family therapist isn't how often friends want to talk to me about their relationships. Rather, it is how I have completely lost my ability to answer them.

It's not because I am getting more stupid with age. (Please don't all comment at once. :) It is because we do exactly the opposite of what friends do. When you are having a conflict with someone, a friend will normally clasp their head in their hands and say, "Wow! What a horrible person the other person is! And how right you are!"

MFTs, on the other hand, are often accused of being neutral in a conflict. Actually, we are much worse than that: we take everyone's side. The lofty clinical term for this is "multidirected partiality." In plain English, it means that we try to teach everyone how everyone else sees the world – and then leverage that to build new relationships and better ways of problem solving. So a lot of what we do involves helping people see the other person's position and speak to its interests. We do this not to kiss up to people, but rather because, clinically, it is pretty much the only approach that works.

This isn't what friends want to hear, of course. And I certainly understand and respect why. Emotionally, it is much more satisfying to have someone take your side against the bad guy or gal, and that is what friends are expected to do. So while I certainly express lots of empathy for people, the minute I actually start to answer their questions I am on thin ice. Because I am trained to get them thinking about how to engage in dialogue with these dirty, rotten, horrible (fill in your own adjective here) people.

So does this mean that friends can't ever ask me for advice? Really, I don't mind. Just as long as they realize that they probably aren't going to like my answers. (Oh, and while we're at it, you should also never ask a budding psychotherapist how they are doing, because they will probably tell you! That's why we are no fun at parties either.)

Meanwhile if, lucky you, you don't know me well, here is a small example of what we teach people. It is a powerful technique called "reframing." It means that you stop labeling the other person, and start boiling down your interactions with them into cold, hard facts. For example:

• "He is a goof-off" becomes "He is two days later with his projects than most of us."
• "She is a control freak" becomes "She makes sure we finish all of the paperwork"
• "My boss is stabbing me in the back" becomes "My boss feels free to share his opinion of me with others, just like I do"
• "My co-worker is always angry" becomes "When my co-worker says X, this is how I respond"

To try it out for yourself, just stop saying the things on the left, and start saying the things on the right. Then watch what happens. It helps a lot, right? That's what my clients tell me. And do you see why my friends think I've grown three heads when I suggest a heaping helping of it?

But it *is* extraordinarily powerful. Think about it: when a coach tells a team they "choked" or "stunk," those words are not only scary but useless. There is no such thing as an anti-choking procedure or a non-stink drill. What actually happened is that they dropped a critical pop fly in the eighth inning, and that can be dealt with. Move from criticizing people to troubleshooting facts, and you will be amazed at what you can address and resolve. Good luck!

Take two!

If you've read my past blogs, you know that if you ask me what I do for a living, I might stand there tongue-tied. Because I do a lot of things. But for much of the last 15 years, except for a stint in the early 2000s managing a call center, there have been two main ones. I generally make about half of my living writing for people and half as a public speaker.

Which got me thinking about the whole career identity thing that most of us have. The majority of us are encouraged to be X, and be a good X – whatever X is. Often, we define our sense of self around what we "do," as opposed to who we are. Like my parents, who had a typical Fred-Flintstone-and-Wilma relationship where he had his career in engineering and academia, and she was a homemaker.

I had a couple of X's in my career too. First was a technical career that took my wife and I all over the United States, and later a management career leading call center and software development teams. I did well in those fields, even winning awards and serving on government advisory committees, but truth be known, I can't look back on those days as a time where I couldn't wait for Monday morning.

So one of the best things that ever happened to me was in late 1994, when word got around that layoffs were coming at the big software firm I was at. I went to the CEO, said, "Ooooh, me, me, me, pick me!", and left with a one-year consulting retainer – as well as the knowledge that from then on, I would have to eat what I catch. Along with the discovery that, for the first time in my life, Mondays were something to really look forward to.

But that wasn't the best year of my life. 1996 was. The year that my consulting retainer ended and all my other work ground to a halt for almost six months. Was that scary? Surprisingly, not as much as I thought. Suddenly I had time to really think, and started spending afternoons at the Glenwood Pines enjoying a Pinesburger, taking in a great view of the lake, and starting to sketch out a series of notes for what I really wanted to do.

It turned out there were lots of things I wanted to do, including writing for people and training. Some of those notes eventually became my next book Smile Training Isn't Enough, as well as laying the groundwork for my first training program. And more important, I started making connections with other people. By the time 1996 ended, I had earned enough to get by from more than a dozen different things – and started to get the sense that while I no longer had a career doing X, I could, in fact, learn to fish.

Now fast forward 15 years later. Those notes at the Pines eventually became the basis of nearly everything I do today, and I enjoy every minute of it. And as I look around me, a lot of other successful self-employed people I know are also "ands": writers *and* speaking coaches, therapists *and* professional photographers, etcetera. They aren't hung up on being just one flavor, and neither am I. Which leads me to the lesson I want to leave with each of you from this blog:

Stop thinking of yourself as someone who only does X. God gave you 168 hours every week, and you can spend them however you wish. And life is too short not to start going after all those little "x"s you've always wanted to do. Perhaps they will turn into a career – or, as in my case, more than one of them. Take two, or three, or five of them if you wish. Move toward the things that really give you pleasure, invest your time in them, and great things will happen. Good luck!

Podcast: Difficult workplace conversations on The Career Clinic

Last month, I had a great interview on the nationally-syndicated radio show The Career Clinic(R), hosted by Maureen Anderson (http://www.thecareerclinic.com/). We talked for a full hour on how to handle some of your most difficult workplace conversations, using concepts from my latest book How to Tell Anyone Anything: Breakthrough Techniques for Handling Difficult Conversations at Work (AMACOM, 2009).

This was no softball author interview. Maureen, a fellow AMACOM author herself, regularly hosts guests ranging from bestseller Harvey Mackay to What Color Is Your Parachute? author Richard Bolles (one of her mentors), and in my case she went right for the tough questions: How do you fire someone? What do you say to someone who is gunning for you at work? How do you have a "strength-based" conversation when someone just blew off something really important, and you're pretty angry about it?

So how did I do? Well, you'll just have to listen - here's a link to a podcast of the full show (18MB): http://bit.ly/bsFj6X. But I will say that (a) I've rarely had more fun on an interview, (b) you will learn a lot of new things you can use right away in your own tough workplace conversations, and (c) I did get invited back. Enjoy!

The Giant Ice Ball

Do you ever have one of those days where you can't seem to do anything right? I just did. Today seemed like a never-ending case of brain lock, with client issues, grad school, bills, you name it. If there was a way to do something stupid with anyone, I was certainly able to figure it out.

Thankfully no major harm was done. Even more thankfully, I am not beating myself up about it. For one thing, I just came off the road and often have a day or two of brain freeze afterward. For another, I've been incredibly busy, which is always music to the ears of any self-employed person, but it also means that, well, I've been incredibly busy. And finally, I'm human like everyone else.

Which leads me to an important communications skills issue: what do you tell yourself when you mess up? And what do you tell others when they mess up?

According to psychologists, we construct reality from the words we choose. Tell yourself you are a failure and, by golly, you are one. Look in the mirror and say you are the greatest, and you're right again. You see, your subconscious cannot differentiate between real experiences and imagined ones, and so it hangs on your every word.

So, against that backdrop, here is one of the greatest things I've ever heard - something I've been telling myself (and occasionally others) ever since:

First, the context. Back in the 80s I once accepted a job offer and then almost immediately had cold feet. It brought my homesick wife back East, but aspects of the work itself were far out of my comfort zone. But I sucked it up and moved there. And then, two weeks before I was supposed to start, got offered another job out of the blue that I was much more comfortable with. So now, here I was going from office to office at the first company, with my tail between my legs, explaining my decision to everyone.

Many of these people were not happy, and understandably so. Some gravely intoned how disappointed they were. Some were subdued. Some were clearly upset - like the person who lost a hiring bonus for attracting me. But then I finally got to the office of one of the company founders, and his words have stuck with me ever since:

"Rich, I believe in the giant ice ball theory. Thousands of years from now, the world will turn into a giant ice ball, and no one will care about any of this. Good luck at your new job."

He was right. Today, a quarter-century later, the world still hasn't turned into a giant ice ball yet, but no one cares anymore.

Today that ice ball is one of my best friends. Last year I was on the losing end of a contract bid that would have set me up nicely for years. This year a new interpretation of state law threw a major monkey wrench into my graduate clinical work. And I had a serious auto accident that smashed up my relatively new car. How did I react to all of these things? A lot better than you might think. In fact, in each of these cases I said "darn" briefly, and then reflected on how good I really have it and went back to work.

Same goes with many of the routine frustrations that come with my line of work, from late payments to cancelled flights. I'm not always perfect, but most of the time people are surprised to find that I'm not really upset with them when things go wrong. Why? Because I have a giant ice ball in my back pocket.

So try the giant ice ball on for size with your own situations. See how you feel, and see where it leads you. I'll bet life will become a lot cooler in more ways than one.

My big sales secret

Last year was a good year for my consulting practice. And while I was doing my taxes, it struck me that my income came from nearly 20 sources. Each a client with a story to tell. This got me thinking about how many of these client relationships spring from one core sales secret. Here it is:

I don't sell. Ever.

Seriously. If you've ever met with me, you probably noticed that I could care less whether I make the sale. I don't "close." I don't "overcome objections." I don't have a "sales cycle." Instead, we talk honestly about what you need, and what I can offer you. If I am not an outstanding choice for you, in your judgment or mine, I am happy to suggest other options. And then we'll shake hands.

Likewise, if you work with me, you may have noticed I am not constantly angling for more work. There is a thoughtfully chosen reason for this. I believe you are an intelligent person who knows what you need and when you need it. And I want you to feel every bit as welcome coming back to me three years later as you do three weeks later.

Is this a stupid, naive, or lazy way to sell? No. Here's why:

Think about all the people you've met who really wanted to make the sale. People whose partisanship toward their product or service was obvious. People who would probably never, even on pain of torture, suggest something other than themselves. Do you trust them? Would you go to them for impartial advice? Do you seek to create long-term partnerships with them? Well then. I'll bet that any purchases you made from them were despite their so-called sales efforts, not because of them.

You see, many of my clients are people I've partnered with for a long time. I cherish these partnerships, whether they use me every week or once every couple of years. They already know I am really good at what I do, and even when they don't cross my palms with silver I value being colleagues with them. Most of them probably would have gone running for the hills if I was constantly - or, for that matter, ever - foaming at the mouth to sell to them.

I learned this philosophy from, of all people, a car salesman. For years and years, Jeff has always patiently let my wife and I test drive one car after another, never presses us to make a decision, and knows his products cold. He never asks us stupid questions like, "Are you prepared to buy a car today?" or "What would it take to get you into this vehicle?" That's why we've purchased close to $100,000 in cars from him over the years, and hope to purchase $100,000 more. And why he's always busy every time we see him. If Jeff's employers ever make him read a sales manual, they're toast.

There aren't a lot of Jeffs out there, either on the car lots or in my profession. But I do feel there is a reason that he and I both seem to do really well most of the time: people like dealing with us. So stop caring about making the sale. Throw out most of what you've read on selling, and start thinking about building relationships. And above all, completely blow people away when you work for them. Then all sorts of good things will start happening to you.

Rich Gallagher unplugged: A truly "lights out" presentation

This week I was the guest of the Albany-Colonie Regional Chamber of Commerce, as the keynote speaker for the annual business awards breakfast. Five minutes before I was scheduled to speak, the power went out, plunging the meeting room into darkness except for candles that were fortuitously lit at each table.

One great thing about having done this for 15 years is that nothing surprises me anymore. (In fact, this was my second power failure as a speaker!) So with no PowerPoint, no microphone, and no lights, we all moved forward and had a great time anyway. Here's a clip from the event:

The ministry of communications

Normally you don't have to look very far to find examples of people who don't communicate very well. Or worse, seem to have no clue how their public statements will be taken by people. But frankly, I expected much better lately from Pope Benedict and the Vatican.

First of all, I am no Pope-basher. I am, in fact, a devout Catholic who grew up wanting to become a priest, albeit open-minded enough to respect everyone's faith and support things like gay rights. And it is from exactly this position as both a Catholic and a communications skills expert that I find myself increasingly gritting my teeth: Catholicism has been taking a beating in the public eye lately.

Which leads us to the latest issue to rock the Church - its response to how it handled pedophile priests decades ago, often shuffling these child abusers to other parishes to keep molesting children, and bottling up these cases for years at the Vatican. As more details come to light, and as they circle closer to the Pope's own past, the Vatican has been issuing a raft of heated denials as well as condemnation of the press.

However you feel on this difficult and sensitive issue, from a communications skills perspective we are simply hearing too much about the Pope and not enough about the children. The Pope is not just the CEO of some big spiritual corporation. He is the Vicar of Christ. And as Christ's representative on earth, he is supposed to at least try to sound less defensive than your Aunt Mabel from Yonkers. Think about how some of the recent headlines about the Vatican might sound if Christ had uttered them:

"Christ decries press conspiracy against Him"
"Christ claims subordinates shielded abusers, not Him"
"Christ silent about abuse crisis during Easter Week"
"Christ calls accusations 'absolutely groundless'"

Not exactly what you would expect to hear from someone who willingly gave Himself up on a cross, right? While I can't speak for Him, I picture Him weeping for the children. I see Him doing everything He could to tend to them. Above all I see Him following His signature trait from the New Testament, which is doing the right thing, whatever the cost, and not caring a whit about how people judged Him personally. So for starters, if Christ is your boss, we expect you to sound a lot more Christ-like. Especially when we are talking about children who were sexually abused.

So what would I say in a situation like this? Here is how I might advise the Pope, not that he is asking me. First, man up and take ownership of what happened. If, as we are learning, US bishops begged your office to defrock child abusers and there was no action taken for years, then as Ricky Ricardo would say, you have some 'splainin to do. Do it. Second, stop blaming other people: it is not the press's fault this is an issue, nor can you lay this at the feet of some vast anti-Catholic conspiracy. It is ultimately your problem to deal with, and hopefully learn from.

Finally, and most importantly, don't just sit on your throne and ignore the rest of us. We are talking about abused children here, not to mention people leaving the Church in droves. Unless you want to risk going down in history as the Pope who made Catholicism irrelevant in the 21st century, you need to show remorse, humility, and a genuine horror at whatever you were part of, and then learn from it. Not just the "this is bad and we wish it hadn't happened" apologies issued to date, and the ecclesiastical butt-covering that has followed. That's a little like me trashing your car and then saying, "we understand the horror of damaged cars."

Ultimately, I feel that this crisis will end the same way that apartheid, the Holocaust, and so many other atrocities ended: when the victims forgive us. That will ultimately depend on the words and actions of the people at the top. For this to happen, their communications need to be a little more Divinely inspired, or at least pass muster with any lay corporate communicator. Good luck and God bless.

Let's do lunch!

When I lived in Los Angeles in the 1980s, a common phrase in the entertainment industry was "let's do lunch." Its meaning had little to do with sitting down to eat - rather, it was a sarcastic play on Hollywood-speak that really meant "drop dead - I'll probably never be in contact again."

Seems like we're doing a lot of lunch lately. I was just going through this past week's correspondence, and the number of people who never responded to me - or worse, glowingly promised things and then went ostrich - is truly amazing. There are a lot of people out there whose mommas never taught them to answer e-mails or phone calls.

Now, of course, there are times when no response is absolutely called for. If I am trying to sell you something and you aren't interested, you don't owe me a call. (I don't do cold-call telemarketing anyway. Ewww.) And I'm not even counting all those people who are late paying my invoices or following up on projects with me - that's life in the self-employment lane.

I'm thinking more about people who breathlessly ask to meet with me and then disappear off the face of the earth. Those special ones who send me an e-mail, leave off the attachment, and never respond to my request to send it again. And then there are all those garden variety I'll-get-back-to-you-next-week-but-not-really types. Yada yada yada.

Mind you, this isn't most people. The vast majority I deal with are absolutely wonderful folks who are generally as responsive as I am. But there are a few who are the communications skills equivalent of people who leave the seat up, and they seem to come in waves. This week just happens to be a bigger wave than usual.

So, is society really getting more rude? I'll call you next week about it. Promise.

The theory of relativity

Normally, getting five hours of sleep in a stale-smelling budget hotel room isn't my idea of a good time. But last night it was like ambrosia.

You see, my 50-minute connecting flight home from Detroit to Ithaca last night turned into a four-hour ordeal, much of which I spent cramped in seat 5C of a small regional jet, before the flight was finally cancelled. First it was a gate delay, then de-icing, then concerns over the weather for landing. We were actually loaded on and off the plane a couple of times until they finally decided to rebook everyone at 1 AM.

So what struck me, as I now walked through the vast emptiness of Detroit Metro Airport with my hotel voucher in hand, was how *good* a bad situation suddenly felt. Sure, I had looked forward to sleeping in my own bed and seeing my sweetie that night. But after being on a hot, crowded plane full of cranky people, it felt absolutely delicious to bathe in the silence of an empty terminal, stand in the cool night air waiting for a hotel shuttle, and then finally have a space that was mine, all mine, for a few hours of rest.

This got me thinking how every situation is relative, on a small scale or a large scale. Even when we were stuck on the plane, small changes like the engines starting up or the ground crew coming on board triggered major mood shifts, where I would leap in an instant from being sore and tired to being awake and alert. Same with those little points of contact that strangers develop in a cramped space, from knowing smiles to shared stories. What first seemed like an endlessly bad time was, in fact, a collection of vividly changing moments.

But for some people, these moments of relativity seemed completely lost on them. One man on our flight, for example, was a bundle of anger and nervous energy who seemed primed to explode. While most of us bore up under the delay with relative good humor, he jumped out of his seat repeatedly to complain to the lone flight attendant, cut in front of everyone when we lined up for rebooking, pounded his fist on the counter, and bent the ear of anyone within arm's length about what a horrible experience this airline was causing.

Which got me thinking about a deeper level of relativity. The night before, arriving in Louisville for my speaking engagement, my cab driver asked politely if I'd had a good flight. I responded in kind by asking how his night was going, and he drew a deep sigh and shared that he was worried about his family in Haiti. Asking if everyone was OK, he said that some were and then, softly, that some were not. I shared my condolences and offered my prayers, but for the most part I frankly didn't have words that could adequately respect his quiet dignity in the face of loss.

So to be honest, last night I was wondering what would happen if Mr. Pain-in-the-Ass from our flight were to talk with that cab driver from Haiti. Would he rejoice that the wife he was constantly complaining to on his cell phone was alive and would see him in a few hours? Marvel in the privilege of being in a warm hotel bed with clean sheets? Perhaps even learn that creating connection and compassion might help him feel better about his own situations?

I don't know. But I do know that keeping things in perspective helps me a great deal. That's why I smiled at a beleaguered gate agent that night and joked, "No stress in your life tonight!" before worrying about where I would end up for the evening. Why I didn't mind lugging the bags on my shoulders through yet another concourse. And why, ultimately, I felt a sense of peace and comfort being alone on a cold and late night in Detroit. Everything is relative.

55

55 is a strange age.

For one thing, you aren't young anymore, but you aren't really old. A little over 15 years ago I was still in my 30s. A little more than 15 years from now, God willing, I will be in my 70s.

I have no idea what it feels like to be 70, but 55 really doesn't feel very different from 35. Except when my ophthalmologist suggests that I need to start looking at trifocals. Or I look down at my waist. Of course, I can do something about the latter problem, and I plan to. Starting next month. Maybe.

For one thing, my generation's 55 somehow doesn't seem as old as my parents' 55. Checking out my Facebook friends, for example, a lot of people my age look pretty much the way I remember them from college. And when I was young, I presumed that by this point in my life I'd be married to (and still in love with) some white-haired old lady. Instead, I'm married to a 61-year-old who still looks like Shakira. Lucky me.

For another thing, there is something to that whole wisdom thing. When you've been through the same experiences enough times in your life, you get used to them. When I got that first dent on my brand-new 1979 Mercury, it felt like a disaster. A few months ago, when a high-speed collision with a deer smashed up my new Volkswagen, I realized that I could care less about cars - just very sorry for the poor deer and very thankful for walking away in one piece.

The same logic applies to lots of other life experiences. I like to think that I wake up every morning feeling the same way I did when I was young, but in reality it's a different me that opens up a large utility bill or waits on an hour-long line for airport security. But I still react the same way to a beautiful sunset or freshly baked biscuits.

Best of all, no one cares what I'm doing with my life anymore. I am in the twilight of my career. Which means I can do whatever I feel like doing nowadays.

For example, some kids grow up wanting to be a fireman. I always wanted to be a psychotherapist. I even had a dual major in engineering and psychology at Cornell. But I succumbed to the lure of a booming technical job market in the 70s and 80s, and never could figure out a way to tell my family and friends - or my mortgage - that I really wanted to stroke my chin and say, "Tell me how you feel about that ..." Now, thanks to the magic of being 55 - and three years of grad school - I've starting practicing this year as a real shrink under supervision.

Of course, I'll still speak, train, and write for people, just like I always have. Because I like doing those things too. And that's the point. No one cares. And if I want to be a fireman next year, by golly, I'll do that too.

All told, if I had known what things would be like, I would have turned 55 a long time ago.

A New Year's resolution: Down with willpower!

A lot of you out there are going to make resolutions for New Year's Eve. And let me guess: a lot of them are going to involve Calvinistic promises to eat less, exercise more, be nicer to Mom, or work harder at your business. And you are going to fail at all of them.

Here is why I am so sure about that. These resolutions all involve willpower. And you may not realize it, but willpower is often the worst thing you could try to develop in your life. In fact, I would like you to start looking at willpower for what it really is: the enemy of success.

For my first example, let's take something I see every week as a therapist: conquering your fears. If you are afraid of driving on the freeway, you might think that the best thing to do is screw up your courage, get behind the wheel, and point your car resolutely toward the on-ramp. You know, like all those platitudes about "doing the thing you fear."

Wrong-o. What you are actually doing is sensitizing yourself to your fears, and probably making no progress at all - or worse, setting yourself back. Clinically, the most effective way to conquer fears is to change how you think about them, and then take tiny baby steps that desensitize you. Ironically, while having fears is very scary, getting well from them is often painless if it is done correctly.

For example, I once used to be afraid to fly. (Never mind that I am a former engineering supervisor at Boeing Aircraft.) And I had "exposure" out the kazoo, logging over a quarter million air miles during my management career, all the way up to 19-hour flights to Asia. But then one day I had a two-hour telephone counseling session from a pilot-turned-therapist who runs http://www.fearofflying.com/, focusing on how I viewed the experience of flying. I literally hung up the phone from that session and said to myself "Now I'm ready for this." And ever since, for 50,000 air miles and counting, flying has been like stepping on a bus.

Now, let's take dieting. Something I've done often. What happens every time is that I cut back my calorie intake, get on the treadmill three times a week, and lose exactly 10 pounds. And then get stuck. And stay there, seemingly forever. After which I get fed up and go back to my normal eating habits. So this New Year's, I am not "going on a diet." Instead, I am going to talk to a nutritionist and learn how to eat better for the rest of my life.

Moving to more sensitive territory, let's talk about your career. Do you think that working harder is the cure for your job woes? That is how your boss thinks, of course. I've got a much better idea: pick the most fun thing you could possibly be doing and become absolutely incredible at it. When I finally left corporate life to spend every day doing what I love, many years ago, it wasn't just the best emotional move I ever made - it was the best financial one as well.

Finally, since this is a communications skills blog, let's close with my favorite subject: getting along with people. Resolving to be nicer to others never works - you either slip back into your old habits, or you open your mouth and nothing comes out. Most people feel like deer frozen in the headlights in their most difficult situations, until they are taught to say the right things. Then it becomes incredibly easy to be nice to people, resolve conflict, and negotiate what you want.

So, if your business struggles with infighting, difficult customers, employee motivation, high turnover, or any other communications problem, I've got a dandy New Year's resolution for you: go to http://www.pointofcontactgroup.com/ and see what we can do for you in 2010. And then watch what happens when you replace willpower with a much more potent force: skill power.

The end of the whatchamacallit decade

Next week we reach the end of the decade that never was.

Think about it. Have you ever heard anyone use a term to describe these last ten years? I haven't. Sure, back when we partied like it was 1999, we talked about calling this decade the "aughts." But if I gave you a nickel for every time someone has actually used that phrase, you'd have, well, nothing. Same with the "oh-oh's," but even more so, because that sounds too much like "uh-oh." Or, as the Jetsons' dog Astro would say, "rut-row."

The 2000s don't count, because that is a millennium. We get to use that one for the next thousand years. And while we're at it, we've lost a whole century here as well - history teachers who blandly talk about things like the 1600s will find themselves tongue-tied describing the first hundred years of this new era. And so we disappear into mute silence about a large chunk of our history.

Radio stations were among the first to develop corporate amnesia about this decade, using phrases like "hits of the 80s, 90s, and today." Do you think that ten years from now, they will be talking about hits of the 90s, the aughts, and today? I didn't think so either. And now, all those news shows and countdowns reviewing the last decade are coming up with a novel way to describe it: "the last decade."

Perhaps it's the growing realization that the 90s will soon be 20 years old. That people who were born after Wang Chung broke up have children of their own now. Or worst of all, that the next ten years aren't going to get any better: even if you wanted to talk about "the teens," you can't do that until 2013, and probably don't want to anyway. Whatever it is, our nomenclature for dates has succeeded in creating a massive vacuum in history.

This will all get better in 2020, of course. If we are doing well economically by then we could even make like our great-grandparents and call it the Roaring 20s. After that we'll be OK again for another 80 years or so. In the meantime, we could perhaps make like the Chinese, who simply refer to this as the Year of the Ox (or by number as the year 4705, 4706, or 4645, depending upon which epoch you use). Or better yet, stop trying to fit time and history into neat decade-long boxes. That's what I think we "aught" to do.

TV or not TV

I never watch television, unless there is a baseball umpire on the screen somewhere. But since my darling wife finds 200 cable channels more entertaining than I do, it is often on in the background at our house. And frankly, there is a lot about it I simply don't understand.

Perhaps those of you who watch television more often than me could help me figure some of these things out. Here goes:

-Why does the Food Network never prepare any, um, food - as in, something you would actually serve your family or friends? Unless, of course, you serve them things like braised eel with garlic aioli on a bed of risotto.

-Where do all these people under 30 come from purchasing houses on the Home and Garden Channel for sums like $852,000? And do they all sell crack for a living? When I was that age I was scraping up a $4,000 down payment on a $78,000 condo.

-How come they call it The History Channel when it is actually filled with people like Gnostic bishops, UFO hunters, and end-of-the-world theorists? Perhaps the idea of calling it "The Kook Channel" didn't pass muster with the ol' marketing department.

-Whose brilliant idea was it to rename the SciFi Channel to SyFy? And why do they call it either of those things, when most of their shows involve teenage girls uttering bloodcurdling screams as they outrun some pustulating monster? I'll bet talent auditions at SyFy are pretty straightforward: "Next? All right, honey, let's hear what your scream sounds like."

-Memo to people like Bill O'Reilly, Chris Matthews, and Glenn Beck: do you folks ever smile? And did your parents teach you not to interrupt your guests in mid-sentence? None of you are getting invited to our house for dinner. (Oh, all right, Keith Olbermann, I'll make an exception for you, because you used to work with my brother at WVBR in college, and he tells me you're actually a nice guy. But smile once in a while as we're passing the potatoes, OK?)

-When newscasters tell us to "stay tuned for this important story" for 40 minutes and counting, do they really think I am going to sit there in slack-jawed suspense? Instead of simply going online and reading the story myself three clicks later?

-I am as much a fan of diversity as anyone, but do we really need five different Nickelodeon channels? Or am I missing something here?

All I can say is that I am looking forward to Spring Training in another three months or so. Then watching television will start making sense to me again.

Our Christmas letter

Dear friends,

Like many people, Colleen and I have fallen into the habit of sending an annual letter every December, rattling off the great things that have happened with us: places we've been, things we've accomplished, and so forth.

But how many of you wake up each morning thinking of other people that way? We don't, and you probably don't either. So this year, we decided to share some of the things that are really important to us. Here are some of our "real" highlights of 2009:

-Colleen and I are both as madly in love with each other as when we first met nearly 37 years ago. In fact, probably more so.

-Colleen is also madly in love with this guy, who is now three years old. And my desire for her to be happy obviously still extends to having live animals in our household.

-Rich wakes up every morning doing work he really enjoys - albeit too much of it sometimes - and is celebrating nearly a dozen years of being self-employed as a writer, author, and public speaker. And most recently a budding psychotherapist, starting in private practice under supervision this past summer and hopefully graduating soon.

-Colleen remains the resident landscaper, photographer, and stained glass artist. And has a truly great novel in the works. One of these days people will discover that she is the real writing talent in the family.

-We don't feel any older or dream any less big, even though we are now 55 and 61 respectively. About the only thing that feels different from our 20s is needing three different pairs of glasses nowadays!

-We cherish our connections with you, our good friends and colleagues. Being in contact with great people every day makes our lives very sweet indeed.

Rich will just brag about one thing, because it meant a lot to him: 2009 was a career year for him as an author and ghostwriter, including a national #1 customer service bestseller and a finalist nomination for a major book award. Details are elsewhere on his blog or Facebook page if you're interested.

So how are you? And what things are important for you at this point in your lives? We'd love to hear from you, and wish you the very happiest holiday season and a blessed 2010.

Love, Rich and Colleen

Taming your worst clients

Business owners: do you have clients who drive you nuts?

A while back, business growth and customer loyalty expert Carol Roth contributed her unique take on creating a great customer experience, right here on my blog. This week it's my turn to return the favor, on her no-holds-barred business advice blog. Check out my take on taming your worst clients:

http://www.carolroth.com/unsolicited-business-advice/

Thanks a half a million!

I just went through this year's pile of royalty statements and discovered that I've reached a very cool milestone: lifetime gross sales of my books have now topped half a million dollars and counting.

Most of that sum goes to my great publishers, of course, and gladly so: it is thanks to their investment in me that I have had the opportunity to sell books in large quantities. And my share is divided up over more than 15 years of writing seriously, so financially it's not like I've won the lottery. I still joke to my wife that she had to settle for marrying someone *named* Rich.

But still, how many people do you know whose hobby is turning into a million dollar industry? It got me thinking and reflecting about how far I've come over the years doing something I love.

How did I get there? First, watching other people succeed, and discovering that it was indeed possible for mere mortals to get published. Second, becoming a student of the genres I write in: I always was (and still am) the guy in the bookstore running his fingers along the text of other books, studying their opening hooks, paragraph structure, and core messages. Finally, and most important, I simply wanted it badly enough: even today, when I have a spare moment, the first place it goes when I'm not making eyes at my sweetie is my next book project.

Looking back on all of this, it's very cool selling half a million dollars worth of something I enjoy doing so much. (When you count books I've ghostwritten for other people, it's actually closer to three quarters of a million. But those are their books and their ideas, I was just the wordsmith.) Above all, I hope to have made a difference in the lives and communications skills of all those people curling up with a good Rich Gallagher book. Thanks everyone!

Guest blog: Carol Roth on how Trader Joe's gets customer service right

It is a true privilege to have Carol Roth - a nationally-known business consultant who has helped companies ranging from startups to Fortune 500 literally raise billions of dollars, grow, and get closer to their customers - share her thoughts about customer experience in this guest blog, which sprang from a recent conversation we had about one of our favorite stores. If you haven't seen Carol's razor-sharp wit and cutting edge business startup advice, you are really missing something: visit her online at www.carolroth.com.

If you follow me a bit, you may know that I love food and I love shopping. But when the two are combined into a task called grocery shopping, well frankly, that never really ranked high on my favorites list. That was until I was introduced to Trader Joe’s.

If you don’t have a Trader Joe’s nearby or have never ventured into one, it is a small footprint specialty grocery store. Their products are mostly their own label, sourced throughout the world, from wood-fired frozen pizzas to 73% Belgian dark chocolate nonpareils (they have lots of healthy stuff too, but I prefer the carb and sugar categories). But it is not their yummy offerings or even their natural ingredient focus that sets them apart. It is the customer experience.

While it can be intimidating to go into a different style of grocery store, the Trader Joe’s staff is beyond friendly. I have been to stores in at least five states and have found at every one that the staff says hello and offers help if you look confused or lost. If you need to find a product, they won’t just point somewhere, they will walk you to the actual product. You don’t even have to empty your shopping cart- they do it for you as they scan. The cashiers always seem ecstatic to be there; they are knowledgeable about their products and will comment on their favorite items from your order or make suggestions on other products you might want to try as they bag your selections.

These little gestures all add up to an enjoyable experience for something that, let’s face it, is really just a chore. And Trader Joe’s creates a premium shopping experience without premium prices (their prices are actually very good). I will contrast this with other premium natural grocery stores that have a god-awful customer experience. I won’t name names (*coughWholeFoodscough*), but there is one specialty store that is incredibly expensive, yet its staff always makes you feel as though they are doing you a favor by letting you shop there. This particular store has employees who are more focused on restocking shelves than helping customers. Often, I can’t even get to the shelves because the employees are blocking them (sorry to be in your way, Mr. Stockboy- as a customer, I hope I am not inconveniencing you by trying to purchase groceries) and once, an employee dropped several 16 oz. bottles of Metromint water on my foot because he was more concerned about restocking than letting me through the aisle.

Trader Joe’s proves that any business can make a customer feel special and create a great experience, regardless of industry, focus or price points. As we continue through the most competitive time for business in history, customer service will become even more important as a point of differentiation. Who knew that you could find great lessons in customer service by visiting a grocery store?

Note from Rich: Carol speaks for many of us. My sweetie and I just went to a Trader Joe's in the Philadelphia area, and people couldn't be nicer - from the woman stocking the shelves, who stopped what she was doing to explain the intricacies of the Kalamata olive oil we were buying, to the checkout clerk who cheerily asked about us as we were going through the line.

And sadly, my experiences with Whole Foods could probably fill another blog. Here's one: years ago I used to love their peanut butter (nowadays I'm allergic to peanuts, go figure). And I would visit one store on business trips and find them sold out. So they would tell me to call two days ahead next time. Which I did. Only to discover next time that, oh, now I'm supposed to call *more* than two days ahead. Not that they cared.

So ... what are *you* doing to brand your customer experience, and get everyone on board with delivering it?

How to be stone cold self-employed, part 3: getting clients

Now we get to the fun part: where do your clients come from? How to get people to pay money for your products or services is easily the most-promised and least-delivered thing in nearly every book on the subject of self-employment.

To me, the best advice on getting clients came someone who wasn't even writing about self-employment: televangelist Robert Schuller. He asked a wealthy potential donor how to raise a million dollars for his ministry and got a one-sentence response: “How do you catch a moose?” He thought about this and realized he needed to be where potential donors were, and think like they think – and by putting that principle into action, he eventually raised his million.

When you are starting a business, the same principle applies: think like a moose. This means answering one simple question: How do your buyers already buy what you are selling?

-If you mow lawns or do landscaping, the point of first contact for most customers may be as simple as the Yellow Pages or the Pennysaver.

-If your employer finds its consultants through professional society contacts, speak and publish within that professional society (and P.S. do a great job!).

-If you last bought a specific product through web searching or direct marketing, there you go.

In short, doing what other people already do to get clients – and doing it better – is good, being “creative” or taking guesses at how to market yourself is usually bad. So before you drop money on a direct mail campaign, or start knocking on doors, or rent an aerial billboard, ask yourself honestly if you know at least two people who have bought your wares that way.

So how do I get my own clients? Glad you asked. When I was in corporate life, nearly every in-house training program was arranged by the human resources department. So, for the training side of my business, I contact HR or training directors in appropriate organizations, and build partnerships with organizations who serve these departments. (For example, I've taught communications skills training for my local community college's business extension for years now, and they farm me out all to organizations all over central New York.) Likewise, I also partner with people who broker content for things like white papers and webinars.

Another thing I do a lot of is speak for free. I call this "wheeling out the dessert cart," because when I show people up close and personal what I have and how good it tastes, they usually want some. When I get up in front of a group, and send them away knowing what to say in their most difficult customer or workplace situations, invariably a few of them go back and say, "we have to get this guy in our organization." So, in a very real sense, one of my best marketing approaches is lots and lots of me.

As for writing, both my own experience and national surveys tell me that word-of-mouth is most common way to get business, so I spread the word far and wide among people in my network about what I do - a network that includes people who hire writers. I also get a substantial amount of business from people who find me on the web, so I make it a point to have easily searched, high-content web sites with my specialties and home town in the HTML tags.

Finally, far and away the most important thing I do to get clients is totally blow people away with service and quality once I get a gig. Good marketing helped me get started, but referrals and repeat business forms the vast majority of why I am usually so busy.

So there you go: I've just told you more in one blog entry than most of the 40 kazillion books on self-employment I've ever read do about finding real clients - think like a moose. Happy hunting!