A Generous Spirit

This week, I was going to write about Dan Pink’s new book about motivation, Drive.

Then, I also considered writing about Brigid Schulte’s article in The Washington Post, about a busy working mom’s search for leisure time.

I also thought about writing an arch, sassy essay on New Year’s Resolutions.

But I couldn’t write those posts. They seem so inconsequential.

Because I can’t get Haiti out of my mind.

The scope of the loss there is so hard to grasp. The only way I’ve been able to understand it is like this: It’s as if Land Shark Stadium in Miami, filled to the rafters for the Super Bowl, collapsed and suddenly every single person in the stadium – players, refs, fans, vendors, women selling programs, beer guys, security guards – died.

And as if every single car in the parking lot were filled with people who were hurt by falling debris from the stadium, had no gas, no food, no water, and no where to go.

And everyone in Miami suddenly had no power, no police, no firemen, no nothing.

Imagine if we began burying people in a mass grave in the middle of the football field.

That’s what Haiti is like.

And so much else feels insignificant.

Last Friday as I watched the news coverage out of Port-au-Prince,  I found myself feeling much the same way I did on September 11, 2001. I live four miles from the Pentagon, and I knew someone on that plane. I knew people who worked at the Pentagon, and a security guard who saved lives. Firefighters just down the street were among the first responders. I saw the smoke, I smelled the jet fuel, I saw the scorch marks. The loss felt so heavy.

One hundred and twenty five souls died that day at the Pentagon. Almost 3,000 people died in New York, Pennsylvania and DC as a result of the 9-11 attack. Our attention has been grabbed by other recent situations. Nearly 4,500 soldiers have died in Iraq since 2003.  Eight hundred and fifty in Afghanistan.  Six thousand five hundred people died from swine flu in 2009, worldwide.

All of these instances have received understandable media coverage.

But Haiti’s death toll is almost 1000 times that of the Pentagon. More than thirty times the losses of 9-11. Twenty times the soldiers lost in Iraq. Fifteen times that lost to swine flu.

It is so big.

So what can we do? We can, and have, given to charitable organizations who are on the ground in Haiti, delivering basic supplies, medical assistance and coordinating recovery efforts. In just a few days, $12 million has been generated in ten dollar increments for the American Red Cross by text messaging alone.

We are a generous people.

And catastrophes tend to bring us together, and bring out the best in us.

So I have an idea.

What if we could keep that generosity going? Certainly to Haiti as it rebuilds.

But also to Flint, Michigan, as it recovers.

And to Schenectady and Siler City. And to Des Moines and Danville.

And to Main Street and to your very own street.

Amid our personal concerns about our financial health and prospects for the future, what if we made a commitment to keep on being as generous in the future as we are right now?

What if, as a business owner, you hired someone and accepted a slightly smaller profit margin for yourself?

What if, as a homeowner, you hired someone to repair your roof rather than get up on a ladder?

What if, as a corporation, you added just one percent to your workforce?

What if, as a bank, you lent money to people who will use it to create opportunity for others through employment?

What if, as a society, we figuratively kept texting each other $10 each day?

Why, we’d change everything.

Always Let Them See You Sweat

So, here’s the thing.

In an effort to appear calm and confident…

In an attempt to be kinda cool…

In adopting the detached pose of the uber-jaded…

Some have decided that the only way to succeed at work is to never let anyone see you sweat. As if the tag line to an ’80s commercial was the Golden Rule.

And I can understand where this comes from. Really. Chickens with their heads cut off rarely engender confidence.

But.

If what you’re doing looks effortless and – poof! – produced just as easy as that… when, in point of fact, you have been working 16 hours a day for 10 days with 75 people on your team in order to produce that singular, flawless product…there’s a disconnect there.

And bystanders and bosses might think, “Hey, what she’s doing is not that hard. Any idiot can do it.”

And you don’t get the raise.

Or the bonus.

Or the contract.

And I know this how? Because it’s happened to me. Fairly recently.

I was asked to provide a proposal for something I do very well. I created a crackerjack plan, and priced it accordingly. And was told, “It’s not that much work. We’ll pay you half.”

Honey, it was every bit as much work as I proposed. Maybe even more. But, see – when I have done this work in the past, I have made it look easy. Too easy. So people think it’s no big thing. And not worth paying for, because it’s…no big thing.

[In case you're wondering, I turned down the opportunity to work for half-price, thank you very much.]

When I coach clients who are starting their own businesses – especially coaches and consultants – self-underpricing, self-undervaluing is a real Achilles heel. Especially for women. We want to look cool, calm and collected. We want to look professional. Maybe we hold a position no woman has ever held before. Or we feel weird about money.

So we say, “Sure, I can produce that for you,” even though we know it will take a miracle, two fortuitous accidents and some pixie dust to pull it off. And with any luck (we cross our fingers) we’ll break even.

But, never, under any circumstances, will we let the client know how hard it was to do.

Which means they may not pay the value of the solution you offer. Or balk at your bill when you send it.

Or let you go when the budget needs some trimming.

Don’t be a quiet sufferer. Instead, be the kind of person who says, “What you’re asking is hard, but I think I can do it.” Be the kind of person who is truly authentic about how much work is involved. Be the person who says, right up front, “What you’re asking will take me 40 hours to do at $X/hour. I’ll need two other people. And I can get it to you by Tuesday the 10th. How’s that going to work for you?”

And after you’ve delivered, rather than the rote saying of, “No big deal”, feel free to say, “It was a lot of work, but I’m really happy with the way it turned out.”

Value what you do, my friends, and others will, too.

Word to the wise – make sure you use the “I” pronoun. Ever noticed that when talking about work success men almost always say “I” while women often default to “we”? Women tend to be collegial and consensus-building kinds of leaders and managers, and have a difficult time taking individual credit. Think about it, though: which pronoun properly places credit where credit is due?

“I”, of course.

So, say “I”, and if you want to recognize members of your team who did a good job – because you’re fabulous you will want to – go ahead and say, “Tom really managed the spreadsheets” or “Megan was super with the contractors” or “Denise kept all the trains running on time.” Your people will appreciate the individual shout-out, and credit will be properly spread around.

Let me bottom-line this for you: when you let people see exactly how much effort you’re putting in — when you let them see an appropriate amount of sweat — you are giving them a way to understand the value of what you produce. Each drop of sweat adds to your perceived value. Each drop of sweat seals your expertise and ability.

So, forget deodorant commercials and their irksome jingles. Do yourself a favor: Always let them see you sweat.

You’re a superstar. All you’ve got to do is…let it show.

“OK?”

“We’re going, and we’re going now.”

How would you feel if you heard these words? Would it depend on who said them, and how they said them?

What if it was an all bold and capitalized statement: “WE’RE GOING, AND WE’RE GOING NOW.”

Or if it was said it like this: “We’re going, and we’re going now, OK?”

Which one would make you jump and run? Uhm, for me, the first one. That little “OK?” in the second version changes the complexion of the whole deal, doesn’t it? Isn’t it funny how the same sentence goes from being a bold statement of intent to a question of agreement? One word — “OK” with a question mark — shifts a string of words from leadership-action energy to wimpy I-dunno-what-do-you-want-to-do energy.

A client called this past week and said, “I keep being passed over for leadership opportunities. I know I have negative energy. How do I change this?” In my mind, I pictured a glass, half full, and wondered if I asked this client to describe it, she’d spend her time focused on how long it would take for the glass to break. She’s got that kind of negative cataclysmic viewpoint, which permeates her entire life and makes everything so much harder than it really has to be.

I suggested she start with her language — if you listen and monitor what you say, you might realize that you almost always say “no”, “don’t”, “should”, “won’t”… if so, honey, you are awash in negativity. To start the shift in the core of your being, every time you use a negative word you must immediately turn it around to something positive. So, “I won’t eat the chocolate sundae” gets paired with “but I will eat some popcorn.” This negative-positive pairing allows you to see the possible positive. Pretty soon you’ll stop using negative and you’ll be living solely in what you can be doing.

And to change your negative energy you have to watch how many times you end a sentence with “OK?” Because while some of us use “OK?” as a punctuator — kind of like “uhm” or “y’know” — the message you’re sending with “OK?” is that you’re really not sure. You need someone else’s agreement. You need their participation. You need their OK. Which may be true in some cases.

But certainly not with cranky toddlers, slouchy teenagers, recalcitrant employees or brand new puppies (I have two new 12-week old puppies this week, so I’m feeling this fairly acutely — not to mention that I live with two teenagers, but they don’t slouch. Much.).

We know that women leaders are often much more collaborative than their male counterparts. It is absolutely fabulous to be collaborative — but let me mention that if you are constantly passed over for leadership roles, then perhaps it’s even more important for you to look at your talk. Are you constantly ending declarative sentences with question marks? Are you telegraphing tentativeness?

When you come down to it, it’s not just women who can be tentative. I know a man who has an imperious first grade daughter. This six-year old rules the roost at home and attempts to do so at school, where all the teachers are mean. And the kids are stupid. According to The Queen. Listening to this father talk with his daughter and got me clear on the root of the matter — he ended every request to his daughter with “OK?”. So she is pretty sure that she gets the last say on pretty much everything at home.  And expects to be able to do the same thing at school. She has been given the leadership role, and expects others to be her followers. Especially her daddy.

Her daddy, who keeps saying, “OK?”

And maybe we say, “OK?” because we don’t want to seem mean, or bossy, or too big for our britches, or some other phrase we heard as kids. Maybe we don’t really think we’re smart enough or old enough or something enough to act like a grown up. Maybe it’s just become a habit. A habit that diminishes us, and puts us down one. The kind of habit that leads to living in a negative, nothing’s-working kind of place.

A habit that leads away from a happy life.

If things are not where you want them to be in your life, darlings, make a start by changing your language.  Commit to being clear, firm and focused. When you do, you’ll find that you shift right into positive leadership energy. And the person you will be leading first and foremost will be you.

Centered Enthusiasm

I have a feeling. The baby buds of a feeling, if you want me to share the specifics. It’s an itty-bitty hint. A twinkling inkling.

Know what it is? I feel like a corner has been turned.

I feel like things are getting better.

Maybe it’s spring that’s doing it. There’s that moment in winter — some bitter Tuesday in February — when all the trees are bare and look dead, but you know within each dormant tree are all the hopeful buds of spring. All those potential leaves and blooms and fruits are inside that tree, just waiting for the right moment to unfurl.

And that’s what today feels like to me. The world is unfurling.

I am going to hold on to that feeling and let it take me past the anxiety, past the worry and past the relentless drumbeat of bad news.

Last Friday’s free class on dealing with anxiety around the roller coaster economy, vanishing jobs and the uncertain world touched on this subject. If you’d like to listen to the recording of the session, go to www.lifeframeworks.com and click the play button just below my photo.

In the call, I cover 10 Things You Can Do Right Now To Stop Freaking Out. Catchy, huh? Number 8 “Be with positive people” prompted a couple of questions — how do you deal with negative or toxic people?

First, you have to identify the negative people in your life. They may be so close to you that you’re not even aware of their negativity — because they’re your husband, your wife, your mom, your best friend. Who’s negative? If you walk away from an interchange with them and you feel depleted, discouraged and generally down — they’re likely negative. If you mention something positive and they immediately turn it toward the dark side — they’re likely negative. If they use a lot of words like “can’t”, “won’t” and “shouldn’t” — negative.

Once you know who the negative people are, you can do the second thing. Which is: limit your exposure to them. “My husband? Limit my exposure to him? Exactly how?” you ask. I like the technique I learned when my kids were in the Terrible Twos — simply say, “Gosh, sounds like you’re really upset and need some time to get a handle on things. I’m going to go into the next room, and when you’re ready to talk calmly, come get me.” Then you smile and give a virtual pat on the head and go fold laundry.

Negativity usually stems from fears. And some of those fears are real, and some are imagined. For instance, were I to stand face to face with a bear my heart rate would climb, my mind would race, I’d sweat buckets, I would panic, I might even whimper a teeny-tiny bit. Those would all be normal reactions to facing a bear. However, I can have pretty much the same physical reactions by simply imagining that I’m standing in front of a bear. Ain’t no bear in the neighborhood, but I’m behaving as if there is one. Why do that?

Some people imagine a charging bear because they like the adrenaline rush. Some people imagine something terrible because it reinforces the negative view they have of the world. And some people imagine the worst because it gives them something to focus on.

I’ll tell you one thing: when you focus on the negative, you generally find it. And if you’re surrounded on every side by negativity, all you’ll see is the bad. You’ll never see the happy buds of spring, you’ll just see dead, lifeless trees.

Dadgummit, I am going to see the buds. I’m going to be happy. Because I feel happy. Not wishful, magical-thinking happy, but what I call “centered enthusiasm” — I know what’s going on in my world, and I’m still eager, enthusiastic and positive. Feels really right.

Why don’t you try centered enthusiasm this week, and see if it doesn’t shift your mood from negative to positive, from dark to light, from dormant to joyful blossoming blooms?

Go ahead — allow the unfurling to begin.

Your Hidden Treasure

Once upon a time a baby girl was born to loving parents. On the day of her birth they gave her a beautiful box, a treasured gift. By her second birthday, the loving parents had died and the little girl was living with her aunt.

Now, Auntie was a mean-spirited, angry and bitter old woman. As the girl grew into a lovely young woman, Auntie would remind her, “You’re no better than anyone else”, and “Don’t get too big for your britches”, and, more painfully, “You are as ugly as your mother”, for Auntie had doted on the girl’s father and ignorantly blamed the girl’s mother for his death.

So, the girl grew up believing that she was, indeed, unattractive, and hid herself behind unfashionable and unflattering clothes.

At school, the girl worked hard and excelled at her studies. In fifth grade, jealous and deceitful Teacher took her aside and said, “You’re not as smart as you think you are — you’re just lucky. Once your luck fades, you will fail.” The girl did not know that luck was more important than hard work. Auntie had never told her that. She began to worry more about her luck running out than her studies, and soon her grades began to fall. “Teacher was right,” she thought. “I am not smart. Auntie is right, too. Who do I think I am, anyway?”

The girl struggled to finish her schooling and began to look for a job. Auntie said, “Don’t aim too high, you’ll be disappointed,” so the girl took a job cleaning offices. It was difficult, dirty, boring work, but the girl believed she was not smart enough to do anything else. Hadn’t Teacher said? Hadn’t Auntie said?

Every day she rode the bus to work. One day Nice Man started a conversation with the girl. She liked how his eyes twinkled. He had a kind face. He was a happy fellow. He asked her to go with him for a cup of coffee. Now, the girl had never been on a date with a boy before because Auntie had told her that all men, save her dead father, were useless bullies. “Men are interested in only one thing,” Auntie would say. “And once they get it, they dump you in a hot second.” The girl did not know what to do — this man seemed nice. But he might be fooling her.

She did not trust her own instincts. Auntie had been right about so many things — perhaps she was right about men and relationships. So with a sad shake of the head she said no to the coffee, and from that day on did not talk to any men.

Ten years later the girl was numb, living the same kind of small, safe life Auntie led. She was old before her time. That spring, Auntie died. The girl did not know what to do. She had looked to Auntie for so much. How could an old, ugly, stupid cleaning lady make it in the world, all alone?

As she cleaned the small house she shared with Auntie, she found the beautiful box her parents had given her on the day of her birth. She did not know what it was as spiteful Auntie had hidden the treasure away. The girl gently lifted the lid and a small piece of paper fluttered to her feet.

She opened it. It was from her parents. It said, “You are the treasure. May you live a life worthy of all of your gifts.” Inside the box was an intricately engraved silver mirror. The girl took the beautiful, cool metal in her hands and held it up to her face.

With a blinding flash, the girl saw what her parents had seen in her even as a baby. She saw clearly into her own heart and she was astonished. Rather than the ugly woman she had thought herself for so many years, suddenly she saw a lovely young woman. Was that her? Was she really that pretty?

In a moment, her limiting thoughts about herself fell away. She was beautiful, for she could see that clearly with her parents’ gift. She was able to love, for she had loved even unlovable Auntie. And she was smart, because she had figured out these things about herself.

And she knew, too, that all of those things had been inside her, hidden her whole life, because that’s how others had wanted it to be. She had been made to act small so that others could feel big. She straightened her spine at that thought, and vowed to never again allow herself to be framed by what others thought about her.

The next day the girl sold Auntie’s house, quit her job, enrolled in college and began her life anew, knowing that her greatest treasure was within her. It always had been there, and always would be.

Moral of the story: To live fully, you must live without limits — whether imposed by yourself or imposed by others. Everything you need to be your best self is already within you. That is your greatest treasure.

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