Usually, I don't consider myself smart enough to take on the folks at the Harvard Business Review. But this article, passed along by my good friend Barry Moltz, caught my attention. It describes entrepreneurs as being in the grip of a compulsive disease, from which most fail miserably.
You see, I've always thought of being an entrepreneur as a very sober, rational choice, while having a job seems risky and crazy to me.
Take my case. I am one of five children, all with engineering degrees. And the only one to be self-employed since my great-ancestor John Gallagher sold pots and pans from a cart in Portland, Maine in the 1800s. I've now spent more than a third of my career working for myself, most of it selling my own services (writing) or content (books, speaking, webinars, etc.).
From where I sit, I have seen so many of my friends and family members lose their jobs over the last couple of years – most after long tenures of working really hard. Good people whose only crime was making too much money, being 52 years old, or being in the wrong place at the wrong time when some executive decided to "align the company with our future strategy." Many of them had to wait months to get back to work again. And the percentage of smart people I know who have gone through this is, to me, stupefying.
Me? I don't have a job that can get whacked at any time. I have 20 or so clients. If one client or three happen to drop out, big whoop. And much of my work is booked in advance or on contracts, so it doesn't feel all that insecure to me. Plus, I rather like the boss. I even get to kiss the vice-president every day.
Perhaps this is a terminology issue. If being an entrepreneur means launching the next Silly Putty or creating a new social media paradigm, perhaps it is a disease that carries a high risk of failure. But if it means selling things people normally buy, whether it's dinner or freelance writing, I feel it's a very rational, practical, and risk-averse mindset - especially as we age.
Does that mean that I feel everyone should go out and be entrepreneurs? Nope. If the thought of living in a world of cash flow rather than paychecks makes you blanch, keep punching in with my blessings. Ditto if you love your job. And double ditto if you aren't sure what you would do and where your clients would come from.
It does mean, however, that I don't think - I'm looking at you here, Harvard - we should look at entrepreneurs like some strange species of zoo animal. I personally think we're pretty normal myself. If not a little moreso.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
The Do-It-Yourself Family Therapy Kit
I sometimes joke that when I am not busy defusing angry people on stage as a public speaker, I get in the middle of family arguments. I am about to graduate soon as a marriage and family therapist, and actually, I enjoy it tremendously. It is gratifying work where couples and families often move from a place of anger and pain to re-discovering one another again, with a little guidance.
At the same time, I have to be honest with you: what I do is really pretty simple. There is more science behind it than you might think. And you can do it yourself in your own relationship. Looking back on several hundred therapy sessions, I could boil many of them down into five simple rules:
1. No criticism. Ever. Really. Before my first session with a family is over, I tell them my mantra: you can never successfully criticize anyone for anything, ever. There are few less successful undertakings than trying to convince someone else they are wrong.
We all have a hard-wired survival instinct to push back against criticism – listen carefully – no matter how right it is. Get this and everything starts changing.
2. Ask for what you want. So now what happens with all those grievances you have with your loved ones: the crumbs in bed, the bad attitude, the affair two years ago? Here's what you do: ask them for something specific and actionable. And remember, NO criticism.
I can read your mind right now. You are saying, "Look, I've asked my partner over and over and over to stop doing X, and she keeps doing it anyway." No you haven't. You've been complaining to her in a tone of voice that would curdle milk, and she's responded with human nature. So try it again: "Agnes, honey, I would love it if you could do X. It would make me so happy. Where could we go with this?"
Maybe the other person will say yes. Maybe they will say no. Maybe the problem is unsolvable, like when she wants children and he doesn't. Either way, you'll be talking productively, instead of watching the other person respond passively or aggressively to your gripes. So ask them to go mountain climbing, see a movie with you every week, or kiss you passionately. Then watch what happens.
3. Ask what they want. What makes your kid happy? What is your partner most worried about? How do they feel about the X that you are asking for? Knowledge is power, and most of us spend too much time wondering what to say to someone and not enough time wondering what to ask.
4. Cheer the other person on. Do you have a rotten kid, or a complaining spouse? Pop quiz – how often do you compliment them, or say things that accept them for who they are, or comfort their mistakes? There is a stronger correlation between these things than you might think. People are capable of amazing transformations when they feel loved and supported.
5. Create your own great life. In grad school, they teach us a spectrum. At one end people are "enmeshed" – highly reactive and dependent on others for their emotional well-being. At the other end they are "differentiated" – loving and secure, but not needy. We want you to be more differentiated and less enmeshed. So start being a great partner or family member by making yourself happy.
Is that all there is to it? Well, not always. But as long as you both care, and aren't beating each other with sticks or recovering from trauma, this is actually a pretty good summary of where a family therapist might lead you. Try it for yourself, and watch some amazing things start to happen with the people you love.
At the same time, I have to be honest with you: what I do is really pretty simple. There is more science behind it than you might think. And you can do it yourself in your own relationship. Looking back on several hundred therapy sessions, I could boil many of them down into five simple rules:
1. No criticism. Ever. Really. Before my first session with a family is over, I tell them my mantra: you can never successfully criticize anyone for anything, ever. There are few less successful undertakings than trying to convince someone else they are wrong.
We all have a hard-wired survival instinct to push back against criticism – listen carefully – no matter how right it is. Get this and everything starts changing.
2. Ask for what you want. So now what happens with all those grievances you have with your loved ones: the crumbs in bed, the bad attitude, the affair two years ago? Here's what you do: ask them for something specific and actionable. And remember, NO criticism.
I can read your mind right now. You are saying, "Look, I've asked my partner over and over and over to stop doing X, and she keeps doing it anyway." No you haven't. You've been complaining to her in a tone of voice that would curdle milk, and she's responded with human nature. So try it again: "Agnes, honey, I would love it if you could do X. It would make me so happy. Where could we go with this?"
Maybe the other person will say yes. Maybe they will say no. Maybe the problem is unsolvable, like when she wants children and he doesn't. Either way, you'll be talking productively, instead of watching the other person respond passively or aggressively to your gripes. So ask them to go mountain climbing, see a movie with you every week, or kiss you passionately. Then watch what happens.
3. Ask what they want. What makes your kid happy? What is your partner most worried about? How do they feel about the X that you are asking for? Knowledge is power, and most of us spend too much time wondering what to say to someone and not enough time wondering what to ask.
4. Cheer the other person on. Do you have a rotten kid, or a complaining spouse? Pop quiz – how often do you compliment them, or say things that accept them for who they are, or comfort their mistakes? There is a stronger correlation between these things than you might think. People are capable of amazing transformations when they feel loved and supported.
5. Create your own great life. In grad school, they teach us a spectrum. At one end people are "enmeshed" – highly reactive and dependent on others for their emotional well-being. At the other end they are "differentiated" – loving and secure, but not needy. We want you to be more differentiated and less enmeshed. So start being a great partner or family member by making yourself happy.
Is that all there is to it? Well, not always. But as long as you both care, and aren't beating each other with sticks or recovering from trauma, this is actually a pretty good summary of where a family therapist might lead you. Try it for yourself, and watch some amazing things start to happen with the people you love.
Monday, August 30, 2010
How to stop criticism in its tracks
Are you constantly being criticized by people? Perhaps bosses, or spouses, or parents, or friends? And do you feel worn down by it?
Here is a neat little tool I recently developed for my therapy clients. It is a worksheet where you plug in the right words, and then watch the other person's criticism go down the drain. It is based on very powerful, evidence-based principles of strength-based communication.
It came into being when I would instruct people to "acknowledge" or "validate" the other person, and they had no idea how to go about it. So I would whip out a sheet of paper and write down a step-by-step procedure, and suddenly everything became clear. Try it yourself and let me know what you think!
The criticism-stopping worksheet
Step 1. Begin your response with, "Well, of course!"
Step 2. Describe the worst possible thing the other person might be imagining. Don't hold back!
Step 3. State your own case. Use facts, stay positive, and never, ever use the word "but."
Step 4. Ask "What do you think?"
Here are some examples of how it works:
Mom: What a stupid idea you have about majoring in acting!
College student: Well, of course! I'll bet you worry that I am going to end up a starving actor who hangs around your house drinking beer in my underwear until I'm 43. In reality, I am planning to see how I can use the acting skills I learn to succeed in business, while I try to build a career. What do you think?
Boyfriend: Sheesh – here you go with another crazy business idea!
Girlfriend: Well, of course! The last business I tried failed miserably, so you are probably worried that I am going to crash and burn again – and take our finances with it. Here is how I am planning to gradually bootstrap this business this time (...) What do you think?
Wife: You never pay attention to me. You are always in front of your computer.
Husband: Well, of course! You probably feel like I am married to my career instead of you these days. I have been pretty busy, but perhaps we should schedule a "date night" every week just for us. What do you think?
So what do you folks think? Welcome your comments!
Here is a neat little tool I recently developed for my therapy clients. It is a worksheet where you plug in the right words, and then watch the other person's criticism go down the drain. It is based on very powerful, evidence-based principles of strength-based communication.
It came into being when I would instruct people to "acknowledge" or "validate" the other person, and they had no idea how to go about it. So I would whip out a sheet of paper and write down a step-by-step procedure, and suddenly everything became clear. Try it yourself and let me know what you think!
The criticism-stopping worksheet
Step 1. Begin your response with, "Well, of course!"
Step 2. Describe the worst possible thing the other person might be imagining. Don't hold back!
Step 3. State your own case. Use facts, stay positive, and never, ever use the word "but."
Step 4. Ask "What do you think?"
Here are some examples of how it works:
Mom: What a stupid idea you have about majoring in acting!
College student: Well, of course! I'll bet you worry that I am going to end up a starving actor who hangs around your house drinking beer in my underwear until I'm 43. In reality, I am planning to see how I can use the acting skills I learn to succeed in business, while I try to build a career. What do you think?
Boyfriend: Sheesh – here you go with another crazy business idea!
Girlfriend: Well, of course! The last business I tried failed miserably, so you are probably worried that I am going to crash and burn again – and take our finances with it. Here is how I am planning to gradually bootstrap this business this time (...) What do you think?
Wife: You never pay attention to me. You are always in front of your computer.
Husband: Well, of course! You probably feel like I am married to my career instead of you these days. I have been pretty busy, but perhaps we should schedule a "date night" every week just for us. What do you think?
So what do you folks think? Welcome your comments!
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Corporate communications: Talk to the hand
An old joke among my fellow engineers goes something like this: A man goes up in a hot air balloon on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Soon he gets caught in a big gust of wind and becomes completely lost. Seeing a person on the ground, he descends and calls out to her, "Where am I?" She responds, "You are in a hot air balloon." He replies, "You must be an engineer, because you just gave me an answer that is technically correct, but completely useless."
Now, here is my own hot air balloon story. Recently, an over-the-counter medication that my wife and I use regularly went completely AWOL. We could not find it in any store, and every major online retailer was mysteriously out of stock as well. But we hadn't heard anything about it being discontinued, so I e-mailed the company.
The response I received did note that "we are aware of the problem," but the rest of it was corporate twaddle about how they "appreciate the time I have taken to contact them" and "would be happy to assist me in the future." I will not reprint it here, to protect the guilty, but I will translate it into plain English: We are too stupid to know when, where, or if you can purchase our products, or to even acknowledge you directly.
Shortly before that, I called another large company after discovering the PFFFTTT of a broken inner seal on their orange juice. This time I was subjected to a lengthy interrogation – including being asked no less than three times if I really, really didn't have an alternate contact number – and was then ordered to keep the product in my refrigerator until I received a letter from them. This week I finally received the letter, which magnanimously informed me that I was now free to discard my own orange juice.
The lesson in both stories? Most organizations don't realize there is a simple way to turn their customers into raving fans, sitting right under their noses: change the scripts they use to deal with the public.
The word "script" strikes fear into the hearts of many customer advocates. But to me, there is great joy in good scripts. Back when I was director of customer services for a large NASDAQ software firm, great scripts that used people's names, paraphrased their concerns, and used solution-oriented language formed the bedrock upon which we built high service ratings and strong sales growth. Unfortunately, most organizations use robotic scripts that sound like they could care less, like the ones above.
Another important reason for good scripts: your own front line people. When someone like me, who is unfailingly polite, comes away feeling annoyed by transactions like these, I can just imagine how customers with lower EQs react. This is probably why your staff sound like robots who would rather be doing their taxes than working for you.
Let's close with a rare good example. A few months ago, some goof managed to hack my Apple iTunes account and charge themselves a gift certificate. When I finally figured out how to e-mail Apple (which is like trying to call the Pope), I received a response that began, " I understand you are concerned about purchases that were made with your iTunes Store account without your permission or knowledge. I realize how upsetting this can be for you. Thank you very much for reporting this to us." Wow. Perfect. And probably being cut-and-pasted just like all the other corporate responses I get. See what a difference the right words make?
(P.S. Shameless plug department: Do you want corporate communications that help your customers adore you, your employees love coming to work, and your sales go through the roof? Connect with me (gallagher -at- pointofcontactgroup.com) for a nice no-sales-pressure-whatsoever chat, anytime!)
Now, here is my own hot air balloon story. Recently, an over-the-counter medication that my wife and I use regularly went completely AWOL. We could not find it in any store, and every major online retailer was mysteriously out of stock as well. But we hadn't heard anything about it being discontinued, so I e-mailed the company.
The response I received did note that "we are aware of the problem," but the rest of it was corporate twaddle about how they "appreciate the time I have taken to contact them" and "would be happy to assist me in the future." I will not reprint it here, to protect the guilty, but I will translate it into plain English: We are too stupid to know when, where, or if you can purchase our products, or to even acknowledge you directly.
Shortly before that, I called another large company after discovering the PFFFTTT of a broken inner seal on their orange juice. This time I was subjected to a lengthy interrogation – including being asked no less than three times if I really, really didn't have an alternate contact number – and was then ordered to keep the product in my refrigerator until I received a letter from them. This week I finally received the letter, which magnanimously informed me that I was now free to discard my own orange juice.
The lesson in both stories? Most organizations don't realize there is a simple way to turn their customers into raving fans, sitting right under their noses: change the scripts they use to deal with the public.
The word "script" strikes fear into the hearts of many customer advocates. But to me, there is great joy in good scripts. Back when I was director of customer services for a large NASDAQ software firm, great scripts that used people's names, paraphrased their concerns, and used solution-oriented language formed the bedrock upon which we built high service ratings and strong sales growth. Unfortunately, most organizations use robotic scripts that sound like they could care less, like the ones above.
Another important reason for good scripts: your own front line people. When someone like me, who is unfailingly polite, comes away feeling annoyed by transactions like these, I can just imagine how customers with lower EQs react. This is probably why your staff sound like robots who would rather be doing their taxes than working for you.
Let's close with a rare good example. A few months ago, some goof managed to hack my Apple iTunes account and charge themselves a gift certificate. When I finally figured out how to e-mail Apple (which is like trying to call the Pope), I received a response that began, " I understand you are concerned about purchases that were made with your iTunes Store account without your permission or knowledge. I realize how upsetting this can be for you. Thank you very much for reporting this to us." Wow. Perfect. And probably being cut-and-pasted just like all the other corporate responses I get. See what a difference the right words make?
(P.S. Shameless plug department: Do you want corporate communications that help your customers adore you, your employees love coming to work, and your sales go through the roof? Connect with me (gallagher -at- pointofcontactgroup.com) for a nice no-sales-pressure-whatsoever chat, anytime!)
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Five Life Lessons I've Learned from My GPS
Last month, I finally joined the 21st century and purchased a GPS system for my iPhone. And now that I've been using it for a few weeks, I have discovered something amazing. It is not just a travel accessory – it has also become sort of a spiritual advisor.
Here are some of the life lessons I have learned from my GPS:
1) Slow down. Picture this. My wife and I are having a great time at Rehoboth Beach, Delaware last week on vacation. So great that we lose track of the time. And now here we are sitting in a traffic jam at the beach, 120 miles away from a Phillies game starting in less than two hours, for which I had $70 worth of tickets. So I drive like a maniac to get there, as my GPS continually updates our precise arrival time, and save ... a whole two minutes.
I am one of those type-A people who is constantly rushing through life. And what the GPS is telling me is that all that cortisol squirting through my bloodstream is really for naught. I may as well relax and enjoy myself more, because rushing the rhythm of life doesn't help me anywhere near as much as I thought.
2) Trust in a higher power. Years ago, getting somewhere required me to be in control of everything. I had to purchase maps, look up routes, get directions (yeah, I know, men never ask for directions...), and then keep track of the route along the way. But now, I have to put my trust in the GPS. I set a goal, it tells me only where to turn next, and I have to follow it.
In life in general, I also often feel that I have to be in control of everything. But I really am not. There is a saying that "man plans, God laughs," and I need to laugh along more. Life itself only gives us directions one turn at a time, and I am slowly learning to trust that each step will lead me to a good destination.
3) You get to do things over. What happen when I ignore the pleasant, detached voice of my GPS? It simply tells me what to do next. No criticism, no raised voice. It doesn't even tell me it is recalculating the route, like some models used to do. It just pleasantly tells me where I can turn next to get back on track.
So what would happen if every boss, every parent, and every spouse suddenly started acting like a GPS? Never criticizing, never saying "I told you so," just patiently telling the people they love how to get back on track again? I think the world would be a much better place.
4) Stay charged up. GPS systems need a lot of power, and I cannot use it for very long without plugging it in to be charged. This is a good reminder that I too need to stay "charged up" with good food, quality sleep, and positive people as I careen through one busy day after another.
5) Think big. What would you do if you knew that you could never get lost? That you could find your way out of any situation? That you couldn't fail? Would you take on bigger and better things than you are now?
Like most people, I used to have terrible stage fright. Nowadays I speak comfortably to audiences of hundreds of people all the time - and in fact, even one talk I gave to 5000 people felt like another day at the office. What changed? The simple belief that I cannot fail. Whatever happens on stage, living in the moment and not worrying seems to get me through it. And this is turning out to be a great perspective to have for just about everything in life.
So to my surprise, it turns out that I am getting directions from my GPS at several levels. Where is yours leading you?
Here are some of the life lessons I have learned from my GPS:
1) Slow down. Picture this. My wife and I are having a great time at Rehoboth Beach, Delaware last week on vacation. So great that we lose track of the time. And now here we are sitting in a traffic jam at the beach, 120 miles away from a Phillies game starting in less than two hours, for which I had $70 worth of tickets. So I drive like a maniac to get there, as my GPS continually updates our precise arrival time, and save ... a whole two minutes.
I am one of those type-A people who is constantly rushing through life. And what the GPS is telling me is that all that cortisol squirting through my bloodstream is really for naught. I may as well relax and enjoy myself more, because rushing the rhythm of life doesn't help me anywhere near as much as I thought.
2) Trust in a higher power. Years ago, getting somewhere required me to be in control of everything. I had to purchase maps, look up routes, get directions (yeah, I know, men never ask for directions...), and then keep track of the route along the way. But now, I have to put my trust in the GPS. I set a goal, it tells me only where to turn next, and I have to follow it.
In life in general, I also often feel that I have to be in control of everything. But I really am not. There is a saying that "man plans, God laughs," and I need to laugh along more. Life itself only gives us directions one turn at a time, and I am slowly learning to trust that each step will lead me to a good destination.
3) You get to do things over. What happen when I ignore the pleasant, detached voice of my GPS? It simply tells me what to do next. No criticism, no raised voice. It doesn't even tell me it is recalculating the route, like some models used to do. It just pleasantly tells me where I can turn next to get back on track.
So what would happen if every boss, every parent, and every spouse suddenly started acting like a GPS? Never criticizing, never saying "I told you so," just patiently telling the people they love how to get back on track again? I think the world would be a much better place.
4) Stay charged up. GPS systems need a lot of power, and I cannot use it for very long without plugging it in to be charged. This is a good reminder that I too need to stay "charged up" with good food, quality sleep, and positive people as I careen through one busy day after another.
5) Think big. What would you do if you knew that you could never get lost? That you could find your way out of any situation? That you couldn't fail? Would you take on bigger and better things than you are now?
Like most people, I used to have terrible stage fright. Nowadays I speak comfortably to audiences of hundreds of people all the time - and in fact, even one talk I gave to 5000 people felt like another day at the office. What changed? The simple belief that I cannot fail. Whatever happens on stage, living in the moment and not worrying seems to get me through it. And this is turning out to be a great perspective to have for just about everything in life.
So to my surprise, it turns out that I am getting directions from my GPS at several levels. Where is yours leading you?
Sunday, August 01, 2010
The real "Secret"
If you follow my blatherings on Facebook or my blog, you probably know that I am no slouch as an author nowadays. In recent years my books have been pretty successful on Amazon, nominated for major awards, published in several languages, yada, yada, yada.
Now, here is something you didn't know. I am only the second best writer in my household.
Here is why you don't know that. My darling wife writes jaw-dropping fiction. She has a talent for painting incredible landscapes of tortured psyches and the human condition. She could take a simple trip for pizza in a small rural town and turn it into an existential masterpiece. And her plots are intricate but refreshingly inventive. If you were to read one of her books you would be gripping the arms of your airplane seat, or staying up way too late turning the next page.
Except that she hasn't completed a book yet. Why? Because she never pictured herself as a successful author. She would say things like, "people say that we're all just mosquitoes in the middle of the ocean." And she turned messages like that into an unspoken belief that she was never good enough, so why bother. Which is why we average five published books apiece nowadays – ten for me and none for her.
Of course I love her madly, novel or no, so no pressure from my end – but with time and encouragement, she is finally starting to see the gifts that I have always seen. Today she is finally working in earnest to complete her first real novel project. It is going to be incredible, and what I have seen so far is incredible already. So stay tuned.
But this brings up another point for you – yes, you – to think about. The difference between Colleen and I is not our writing talents. (If it was, we would be living nicely off her royalty checks.) The difference is the mental images we hold of ourselves. I always saw myself as a successful published author, even 20 years ago when I was like Father Mackenzie, writing the words to a sermon that no one will hear. So I acted like a success, and made choices presuming that I would be one. And guess what happened?
So now, I look at all the other big goals in my life. Moving back to Ithaca in the 1990s, when we were tired of living in big cities. Escaping the corporate grind. Becoming a full-time writer and speaker. Each of these goals were things that I pictured clearly in my mind for a long time. Between that and studiously ignoring my friends' well-meaning "reality" ("Everyone starves in Ithaca." "You can't quit your job in a recession." "No one makes a living as a writer."), all of them came true.
This was true for much more than career goals. Like becoming a homeowner in the overheated Los Angeles housing market of the 1980s, when everything seemed out of reach, by being patient and finding the right condo and the right deal. And then there were more personal ones. Like when I dreamed at age 18 of meeting a soulmate, right down to the dark, curly hair and the wire-rimmed glasses – and how we met and fell in love soon after. Looking back on those days, Colleen surprised me recently by saying that before we met back then, she had imagined someone just like me as well.
The bestselling book "The Secret" talks about what they call the power of intention – you will attract what you think about, and the universe will align itself to provide it. For an Irish Catholic like me with an engineering degree, its premise is frankly a little too spooky, kooky, and get-rich-quick-y for my tastes. But here's where I think the real secret is: when you hold a goal clearly in your mind, universe or no, *you* will start making all those tiny, subconscious choices that will ultimately make your goals happen.
This isn't a new concept. I first read about it decades ago in the 1960s book Psycho-Cybernetics, where plastic surgeon Maxwell Maltz talked about how you can put your subconscious mind to work on any goal you can imagine for yourself. And by golly, it seems to work pretty well for me. It is still in print after all these years, and I've just picked up a new copy to re-read. Maybe you should too?
Now, here is something you didn't know. I am only the second best writer in my household.
Here is why you don't know that. My darling wife writes jaw-dropping fiction. She has a talent for painting incredible landscapes of tortured psyches and the human condition. She could take a simple trip for pizza in a small rural town and turn it into an existential masterpiece. And her plots are intricate but refreshingly inventive. If you were to read one of her books you would be gripping the arms of your airplane seat, or staying up way too late turning the next page.
Except that she hasn't completed a book yet. Why? Because she never pictured herself as a successful author. She would say things like, "people say that we're all just mosquitoes in the middle of the ocean." And she turned messages like that into an unspoken belief that she was never good enough, so why bother. Which is why we average five published books apiece nowadays – ten for me and none for her.
Of course I love her madly, novel or no, so no pressure from my end – but with time and encouragement, she is finally starting to see the gifts that I have always seen. Today she is finally working in earnest to complete her first real novel project. It is going to be incredible, and what I have seen so far is incredible already. So stay tuned.
But this brings up another point for you – yes, you – to think about. The difference between Colleen and I is not our writing talents. (If it was, we would be living nicely off her royalty checks.) The difference is the mental images we hold of ourselves. I always saw myself as a successful published author, even 20 years ago when I was like Father Mackenzie, writing the words to a sermon that no one will hear. So I acted like a success, and made choices presuming that I would be one. And guess what happened?
So now, I look at all the other big goals in my life. Moving back to Ithaca in the 1990s, when we were tired of living in big cities. Escaping the corporate grind. Becoming a full-time writer and speaker. Each of these goals were things that I pictured clearly in my mind for a long time. Between that and studiously ignoring my friends' well-meaning "reality" ("Everyone starves in Ithaca." "You can't quit your job in a recession." "No one makes a living as a writer."), all of them came true.
This was true for much more than career goals. Like becoming a homeowner in the overheated Los Angeles housing market of the 1980s, when everything seemed out of reach, by being patient and finding the right condo and the right deal. And then there were more personal ones. Like when I dreamed at age 18 of meeting a soulmate, right down to the dark, curly hair and the wire-rimmed glasses – and how we met and fell in love soon after. Looking back on those days, Colleen surprised me recently by saying that before we met back then, she had imagined someone just like me as well.
The bestselling book "The Secret" talks about what they call the power of intention – you will attract what you think about, and the universe will align itself to provide it. For an Irish Catholic like me with an engineering degree, its premise is frankly a little too spooky, kooky, and get-rich-quick-y for my tastes. But here's where I think the real secret is: when you hold a goal clearly in your mind, universe or no, *you* will start making all those tiny, subconscious choices that will ultimately make your goals happen.
This isn't a new concept. I first read about it decades ago in the 1960s book Psycho-Cybernetics, where plastic surgeon Maxwell Maltz talked about how you can put your subconscious mind to work on any goal you can imagine for yourself. And by golly, it seems to work pretty well for me. It is still in print after all these years, and I've just picked up a new copy to re-read. Maybe you should too?
Thursday, July 29, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, July 23, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, July 02, 2010
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!
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!
Saturday, June 19, 2010
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!
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!
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
Podcast: Difficult workplace conversations on The Career Clinic
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!
Thursday, May 20, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, April 23, 2010
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:
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:
Friday, April 09, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
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.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
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.
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.
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