So, I gave him $20 and was happy to help out.
“There’s a sucker born every minute.”
—Attributed (incorrectly) to P. T. Barnum
I remember just a few things from history class in high school. One of them was the day our teacher, an enthusiastic man with black curly hair, brought goldfish to the classroom when we were discussing the 1950s. There were a lot of important events we discussed about the decade, the least of which was the goldfish-swallowing craze.
But, one of the things I vividly remember (actually, I can see it right now as this is being written) was our teacher reaching into the bowl, grabbing a live goldfish, and dangling the squirming fish above his mouth—before letting it fall. And then him looking at the class with his cheeks puffed out, before … actually swallowing the fish!
Keep in mind, this was in rural Indiana. Either sushi wasn’t yet invented, or it hadn’t made its way across the cornfields.
I also remember a story about Thomas Jefferson, one of our Founding Fathers.
Jefferson and several other men were traveling by horseback through rural northern Virginia during a winter evening. It was a cold, harsh evening. The horsemen were riding single file along the trail, approaching the point of crossing a stream on their horses.
As they approached the stream, they could see an elderly man in the dark alongside the trail, who stared silently as each of the men on horseback passed him by. As the last rider in the group was passing, the old man looked into the eyes of the horseman and asked for a ride across, explaining that there didn’t appear to be any other way to cross without getting wet.
This last horseman was, of course, Thomas Jefferson, who happily agreed to provide a ride. Jefferson dismounted his horse and helped the nearly freezing old man onto the horse. Not only did Jefferson take the man across the river, but he also continued riding some distance to take the old man to his destination.
As Jefferson helped the old man down from the horse, he asked the man why he waited until the last horseman was passing before asking for help, as surely that left only one remaining chance of being taken across the stream.
The old man, who did not recognize Jefferson, explained that he’d seen a lot in life, and that when he looked into the faces of the other men, he saw little empathy and therefore felt his request would fall on deaf ears. But when he looked into the face of Jefferson, he saw kindness, compassion, and empathy.
That story resonated with me and made me always want to have that kind of face. To be that one.
Of course, sometimes it doesn’t work out, or you get tricked. But the good outcomes probably greatly outweigh the costs. That’s what I tell myself.
So, fast forward back to the future. It was exactly one week after I helped the man with the stolen battery, when I was back in Newark for a follow-up meeting and parked in the same parking lot.
And I swear … to … you … as I was walking through the parking lot, the same man who I’d given money to the prior week, also happened to be there at the same time. He sees me, nods his head to get my attention, and walks over to me, smiling.
You might have guessed that the man recognized me, insisted on paying me back, and that we’ve been friends and colleagues ever since. Turns out he was the chairman of a $3 billion company and happened to be in need of senior marketing/business development executive. That small act of kindness and coincidental meeting resulted in my joining his company and enjoying many years of friendship and business success.
But that’s not what happened.
What actually happened, is that he walked up to me and said, “Excuse me, sir. Somebody just stole the battery from my car, and I just need $20 more so I can buy a new one.”
Here’s how I look at it. I might be an easy mark, but that’s a small cost for having a kind, compassionate (and perhaps naïve) face.
“At fifty, every man has the face he deserves.”
—George Orwell
Love Over Gold
I reread the article in the New York Times, titled “For the Love of Money,” by Sam Polk,9 wherein he wrote about his being addicted to money (among other harmful substances). Mr. Polk worked on Wall Street as a bond and credit default swap trader. He discussed being disappointed making only $1.5 million in his second year at the hedge fund, and then a few years later, while just 30 years old, being unhappy with a $3.6 million bonus. In 2010, Mr. Polk quit his job, after demanding $8 million instead of $3.6 million.
In the article, Mr. Polk talked about something he described as the addiction to money. He seemed quite candid in revealing his own addictions and shortcomings and gave credit to hard work and his counselor for helping him make changes. While Sam Polk took a critical look at himself, he also described a wealth addict’s distorted perspective. As an example, he mentioned McDonald’s CEO Don Thompson, whose compensation in 2012 was $14 million—including an $8.5 million bonus—the same year his company published a financial guide for its low-wage employees offering advice how to survive on low pay. The guide presumed that workers should have a second full-time job (and no heating bill).
While it seems crazy for anyone in Mr. Polk’s shoes (likely expensive and new) to be angry about a $3.8 million bonus, I’m not passing judgment. The world is full of several billion people, from all walks of life. What’s more, there has nearly always been huge differences in wealth.
But the article did have me thinking about choices people make, and what makes for a meaningful work life. We might not always be able to do exactly what we want in our work lives, but it’s probably a worthwhile exercise to think about what is meaningful to us as individuals.
Here is a start at what meaningful work includes (for me).
The desire to be involved with innovation. Innovation and technology contain the promise of doing things better and faster, of leveraging human capability (bulldozers increase our physical capability, computers leverage our mental capabilities).
Improve the world. Yes, it sounds corny … but it could be argued that everything we do makes a difference. With that in mind, we’re either improving and contributing (being a good parent, volunteering to pick up some trash in our town, holding a door for someone), or we’re not (forwarding more erroneous, fear-based emails; doing nothing). Sure, there’s a theoretical neutral line, but my guess is you’re either adding to the good, or you’re not.
Working alongside great people. Great people not only make it happen, but you can’t help but learn and improve with them as your colleagues. These folks have characteristics that include being knowledgeable, collaborative, inquisitive, genuine, hardworking, value-driven, creative, generous, thoughtful, striving, open-minded, and having an abundance mentality.
Personal growth. Humans are designed to learn and grow. Learning feels good and is empowering.
An opportunity to contribute. Everybody wants to have helped move the needle—whether it’s the calculations that went into cooling the circuit board, the driveline installation instructions, or an element of the product launch campaign. Everybody wants to have helped.
An opportunity to teach. In addition to being natural learners, we all have something to teach. Everybody is an expert at something. Help those around you.
Being on the team. Sure, we’re each individuals. But it feels good to be a part of a team, to be a contributing colleague, to collaborate wholeheartedly. Don’t hold back, be a part of the whole. And yes, it’s best when the whole is greater than the sum of the parts.
Making a difference. Steve Jobs called Apple’s huge attempts at product innovation … “making a dent in the universe.” Even if your work is not that far reaching, it still matters that you’re intent on bettering things, on doing what hasn’t been done before, on making a difference.
Work hard. This might seem a bit counterintuitive, but working hard is meaningful because it is necessary for clearing every major hurdle. Hard work moves the seemingly unmovable. It’s what results in new products, improves operating efficienc
ies, and creates a demonstrable sales tool that wows. It’s what drives revenue.
I could probably come up with a few more … but money hasn’t even yet made the list.
You Won the Lottery!
It’s often impolite to talk about winning, especially where luck is involved, like the lottery. And I get that. Although people love to play the lottery, that’s evidenced by the $70 billion Americans spend on lottery tickets each year. That’s far more than the $18 billion spent on sports tickets or the $11 billion spent going to the movies.
And every lottery ticket is bought by someone hoping to win. Everybody wants to win, and they imagine what it must be like to find out. Here’s what I imagine it would be like.
It was from a phone call one evening in the middle of a typical week. When I heard my wife’s voice, I knew within milliseconds something profound had happened. Her voice was trembling; she said she checked the numbers four times before calling. Shots of electricity pulsed through me. I felt disoriented.
It was in the evening; everyone else in the office had already left so there was no one to tell. Not that I would have anyway. For one thing, it’s private. For another, my hands were shaking and I was perspiring.
I do not remember driving home, but I do vividly recall being greeted at the front door as though I was an astronaut returning home from a historic mission to Mars. We methodically confirmed the numbers. It’s easy, the same numbers are used every time—13 for my mom’s birthday, 3 for my dad’s birthday (he’ll be the first one I call later that evening), 22 for our daughter, 30 for our son, 9 for my wife’s birthday, and 1 for me (I was born on the first of the month). The numbers match.
And maybe due to some minor obsession remaining from childhood, or maybe because I’m feeling delirious and need some grounding, I say, “Let’s just check again 10 times.” And that’s what we do, and each time my wife makes a check on a scrap of paper. Confirmed. Confirmed. Confirmed … 10 times.
The first call is to my dad, who’s nearly 70 years old at the time. He’s worked for nearly 55 years. I start by saying, “Dad, you are a winner.”
I learn later, when you pick 6 numbers from a pool of 49 numbers, your chances of winning the New Jersey jackpot are 1 in 13,983,816. That’s 1 shot in almost 14 million.
Statistics and probabilities can be difficult to comprehend, so here’s an accurate comparison. If you had one pet turtle—the size of a laptop computer—that roamed in a pen that was one mile long by a half mile wide (that’s 14 million square feet), and one day you were flying in a helicopter over the property and you randomly threw out a Frisbee, and it landed directly on top of that turtle … that would be 1 in 14 million.
It seems really unlikely, but clearly it happens. And that got me curious about other probabilities, of things that are happening all around us. For example, do you know what the odds are for each of us being born? It’s easy to determine, I found a study from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) that explained a fertile woman has 100,000 viable eggs, on average. A man produces 12 trillion sperm over the course of his reproductive life. The probability of the right sperm meeting the right egg (to create you) is 1 in 400 quadrillion (that’s a 400, with 15 zeros).
If even one different sperm met one different egg, you would not be reading this.
That probability is certainly difficult to comprehend, so here’s an accurate example. If you consider the surface area of all the oceans in all the world (70 percent of Earth) … and if you had just one little pet turtle with about a one-inch shell—and that little turtle was swimming somewhere (anywhere) on the surface of any ocean anywhere in the world (which is about 400 quadrillion square inches), and one day you were flying in your jet on a transoceanic flight and you dropped a single postage stamp, and it floated down through the clouds, and it landed on the back of that turtle … that would be 1 in 400 quadrillion.
And that puts the far more likely odds of winning the New Jersey lottery in perspective.
Which brings us back to where I began, when I imagined what it would be like to win the lottery.
Now, the reality is, I did not win the New Jersey or any state lottery. I’ve actually never bought a lottery ticket. This was just an imagined scenario, as described above.
But both of us did win—the far more valuable and unimaginably impossible odds of being born, of being here. Each of us won that lottery. Invest your time and resources wisely!
One, Two, Three, Four (Drum Intro)
We’ve all turned up the stereo and blasted a favorite song. And loudly sang along. And probably danced alone in the living room. Maybe even played a little air guitar.
We call singers, songwriters, and musicians “musical artists” for a reason. Their work, their art, can inspire us. Immediately put us in a better mood. Change our attitude.
And, as with any work of art, it’s personal to each of us. You might be moved by Beethoven’s Symphony No. 4. For someone else (me, for example) it would be Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run.” The music is different. Yet, to each of us, it’s truly amazing art.
Most people probably don’t think of their own work as art. The standard thinking goes—whether you’re an engineer, homemaker, marketer, or teacher—aren’t you just doing a job? The answer is—hopefully—no.
Certainly many of the folks at Apple, Nike, Tesla Motors, Amazon, and countless other companies (big and small) think they’re doing work that matters a great deal. They take their work seriously. They are changing the world with their craft. The first words in the Wikipedia article for the word “Art” state, “Art is a diverse range of human activities … these activities include the production of … art.”10
When you strive to do your best work, you’re creating art. You might not have considered that before. And thinking of your work as your “art” probably seems aggrandizing and even a little disconcerting. After all, it probably isn’t great (yet). But, it is your art.
And with practice (a lot of practice), your “art” might have an impact on others. So keep honing your craft and practicing your art—whatever it is. Most important, strive to do great work. Your fans are waiting for your next masterpiece.
How September 11 Broke My Heart and What I Try to Remember
I was in the World Trade Center less than a dozen hours before the attack on September 11, 2001.
For years I commuted in and out of New York City, and each day I’d be in the World Trade Center in the morning and the evening. Usually my commute would have me driving partway, and then taking the Port Authority Trans-Hudson (PATH) train into the World Trade Center. Occasionally, I’d drive partway and take the ferry across the Hudson River, which would let off its passengers adjacent to the World Trade Center.
On several occasions, either heading into the city or coming home in the evening, I would cross paths with a neighbor from the small New Jersey town where we both lived. He was much admired by my family and me. When my daughter was a young girl, he was her first soccer coach, and he set the watermark for what a coach should be. She played for probably another ten years on traveling and high school teams, yet his name was always invoked as the best example of patience, encouragement, and kindness. My son, who was a little boy at the time, was enamored with the coach’s Land Rover, and, in fact, my boy had his own toy Land Rover Matchbox version.
Normally, I was content to commute to the city in silence, probably thinking about (sometimes dreading) the work to be done. But on the days my neighbor and I crossed paths, we always enjoyed each other’s company and would spend the time talking about life and family. Occasionally, we drove together from our town.
There is one occasion that I often think about. Despite it being a cold and blustery New Jersey day, we thought it’d be fun to take the ferry. After boarding, we climbed the stairs to the open-air upper deck. The morning air was freezing. There was just one other person outside with us, though he stood close to the wheelhouse to shield himself from the harsh wind.
We walked to the stern of the ferry, where we’d get a better view of the skyline, and stood alongside the white railing. Squinting from the morning light reflecting off the choppy water, we stood quietly in the cutting wind and watched the city grow closer, our eyes watering from the wind. I was wearing a knit hat and remember thinking maybe his head wasn’t cold because of all his hair.
We walked into the World Trade Center before going our separate ways. For me, it meant heading outside to continue walking to an office a few blocks down the street on Broadway, while my friend would make his way to the bank of elevators to head up into the tower.
The night of September 10, I worked late and was the last person to leave the office. It was approaching 11 p.m. The World Trade Center was nearly empty, as I made my way down the stairs and escalators to catch the PATH train to Harrison, New Jersey, where my car was parked.
The next morning, on September 11, rather than immediately heading out to the city, for some reason I grabbed my guitar and sat down to play. Perhaps subconsciously, I felt like taking some time in light of the previous late night in the office. An hour later, I was still playing when the phone rang. It was a panicked call from a friend checking on my whereabouts. What he told me didn’t make sense. I remember thinking, How in the world could a pilot fly into the tower?
Like millions of people around the world, I turned on the television and stood in slack-jawed disbelief. Later that morning, I walked through the woods in town, up to the top of a hill to look the twenty-some miles toward the city. I watched the smoke rising.
It would be impossible to express how sad I was about the loss of my friend and the heartbreak his family had to endure.
Evolve or Die Page 4