Awakening, 2nd edition

by Kuili, Ray N.

  Steve shrugged.

  “They turn you into a leader. I haven’t the slightest idea how they do it.”

  Alan

  Alan slowly shook the large lime envelope and poured out its contents onto the desk. So it has finally happened. They ’ve noticed. They ’ve paid attention. He was slowly savoring his triumph. Four— no, five —years of hard work ha d not been in vain.

  Those heated debates he had had with Tim and Larry: “You ’ll get lost in that crowd!” Tim had yelled back then , “You ’ll become a corporate pawn! Do you know why they call people ‘corporate assets ?’ Are you dying to be an asset?”

  But Alan knew what he was doing.

  If you’re smart, if you ’re bright, if your GPA is rock solid, if you know how to make a good impression, they ’ll single you out of thousands of fresh grads and will practically beg you to come and work for them, right? Tim and Larry had no objections to that statement. But if this is true, why can ’t you keep walking the same path? Who said that you must stop somewhere halfway between college and real life? Why can ’t you keep using all your talents and skills, and with the same persistence and determination rise up through the ranks, first catching up and then leaving behind those who had the advantage of an early start but didn ’t have enough brains to use it? Can you imagine anything that would prevent us from doing this? And then in ten years or so you could become the next of kin to the people who rule one of the major corporations, which—and here Alan would make a pause full of significance—which, as we all know, rule the world.

  But at that point, his friends were no longer in agreement with him. “You ’ve watched too many movies, ” Tim would snort. “These places are full of smart kids like you. And everybody wants a slice of it. What makes you so special? In ten years ’ time, you ’ll make head of department, and start waiting for your retirement days. That ’s your future, brother. Resistance is futile.” As for Larry, he would nod his brainy , eyeglasses—adorned head in agreement, while listening to Tim ’s loud maxims. He had little interest in becoming a big boss, but he wasn ’t without his own ambitions. Not that he wanted much. Just full recognition of his future accomplishments by th e world ’s scientific community and some fame. Like Time Magazine's front page. And perhaps, a Nobel.

  “I’m telling you, you ’ve got to go someplace else!” Tim would proclaim, encouraged by his friend ’s silent support. “Someplace else ” meant “The place where I ’m going .” For Tim wasn ’t going to join the corporate legions. Oh no, brother. Upon receiving his diploma he was about to proceed without hesitation to a known-to-nobody, privatively held, loosely structured tiny startup, one of those that , like mushrooms after a rainy day , had been popping up inside the glittering structures of the Technology Center. There, as Tim passionately believed and loudly argued, instant breathtaking success was waiting for him—success never to be experienced by fools who, blinded by evil PR machines, sell their souls to the corporate monsters.

  The startup was destined to flourish, to prosper, to rise above the petty competitors —and with it inevitably would rise Tim. And Tim ’s heart hurt as he watched his equally talented and bright friend getting ready to make a tragic mistake. “Tim ’s right, ” Larry would agree. “It ’s a risk —but no risk, no glory. Being in the right place, at the right time . . . w ell, you know how it goes.”

  But Alan didn’t want to take risks. He wanted to hit the bull ’s eye and he wanted it guaranteed—just the way he had always been.

  And who has had the last laugh? Where are Tim and Larry? Tim bangs away at his keyboard all day long in his startup. Only it ’s not the same startup he joined to rise and shine. That one died peacefully about two years later. And so Tim went to a former competitor, hoping that they would want him, and appreciate him, and please him. And they wanted him, and they pleased him, and they appreciated him, and they promised him the world. And they went bankrupt in six months.

  And Larry? Larry is stuck in his university; fights for grants, up to his ears in the local turf wars, groans whenever he needs to submit a new paper and teaches hopeless slackers. And so far no prospects of getting a Nobel.

  So what about Alan? Alan rules. Granted, he doesn’t rule the world yet. And not a company. Not even a division. But he has over a hundred people to manage. And it didn ’t take him ten years to make head of a department. Just two and half years, brother Tim. Just two and half. And yes, he may be a corporate asset, but a damn important one . Because now his name is even known at the very top, at those heights unseen from the ground to which inevitably, unstoppably , he will rise too. And they ’ve just decided to send him to this semisecret workshop that is a complete mystery even to his own manager.

  Alan gave the envelope a proud look. Damn, it feels good. It just feels good. Now let ’s see what they have to say.

  Five minutes later, it became clear that the organizers of the mysterious workshop had chosen not to reveal much to the students-to-be upfront. To be fair, they did provide some information, but in limited quantities. For example, they chose to share their excitement at welcoming yet another bright participant to their honorable establishment. They also chose to inform the reader about the fact that The Workshop had been in existence for many years and that every single instance of it was a tremendous success. They mentioned rather vaguely some extremely satisfied and extremely powerful clients, whose corporate identities they were not at liberty to reveal in a public document. They went as far as to show a picture of a cozy wooden lodge on the shore of a crystal lake along with directions from all major highways and the airport.

  They promised to supply, upon completion of the workshop , an extensive report accompanied by an analysis of leadership potential. This particular promise sounded less exciting, but since there was nothing that could be done about it, Alan just went on reading. Next, they promised to turn a bright participant into an equally bright leader. As supporting evidence , the brochure included a picture of a young man with an aquiline profile whose forehead was furrowed , à la Rodin ’s The Thinker , due to some heavy thinking process. According to the caption, the young man was a real participant of The Workshop captured in action.

  That was it. There was not a word about their approach, schedule or techniques. Nor did the brochure shed much light on why a Senior VP would be personally involved in this matter.

  Although there was something else: a plain white piece of paper with two short questions and a fairly strongly worded request to think about them and to come up with honest answers. The word honest was unambiguously underlined. Alan read the questions once again and grinned. Do they really expect honest answers? He tossed the paper carelessly back on the desk and stood up. Does it even matter what they expect and what techniques they use? The real value of this workshop is not in its content. What matters is that he ’s going there. As for the questions . . . w ho ’d answer this?

  “Why did I get into my current position? What do I want more than anything else when I think about my future career?”

  You know why. And you know what. But to say it out loud? You ’re not that naive, are you? He grinned again and began stuffing the colorful papers back into the envelope.

  Don’t we just love playing with words? A workshop that creates true leaders! What a line. A leader. Someone who is followed. Someone who is looked up to. Someone whose word is law. A rare breed. Do you want to become one of them? Then our workshop is just what you need! We ’ll turn you into a true leader , even if asking who ’s last in line has been a major challenge for you. As long as you have spent the p ast five years passing down orders issued by others, attending meetings with importan t participants and sitting on countless committees, you are qualified. You have potential while we have our methods.

  Let’s combine these powerful ingredients in a five-day act of unification—and , like the p hoenix , you will be reborn, this time a true leader. Your subordinates will start idolizing you, your wife will change her sour “What ’s that?” to
the sweetest , “Of course, darling ,” and your manager will value your advice above his own opinion. And, like a prophet , you will set off on a journey to lead your people to the shining goals that only your eyes can see. Try it, live it, enjoy it! It ’s free—your employer has already taken care of the fat bill. Don ’t lose this opportunity!

  A leader . . . What a clever use of English language. What a nerve. They honestly don ’t know what “leader ” means. For them it ’s just a new buzzword. Just another trend. Just a sound. A typical leader for them is an enthusiastic smooth talker who is very good at reading management ’s mood, proficient at running meetings and in possession of decent kiss-up skills. Ignorance is bliss. A true leader is something entirely different . . .

  It begins with the face. Old or young, fresh or tired, cute or unattractive—none of this matters. None of it. It ’s all about the faith. The faith that shines from inside. And the voice. Timbre is of no importance. It ’s the passion that makes all the difference. Authentic, impossible -to -imitate passion and bleeding faith dripping from every word, from every gesture. The context, the scope, the message—everything pales in comparison to these true signs of a leader.

  “ . . . It is a problem, it ’s a serious, big, ugly problem. But mark my words—we will tackle it and we will prevail!” “Hey, you! Play by our rules or get lost!” “Get rid of him. He ’s of no use to us . . .” “I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat . . .”

  Voices blending together into one Voice. Faces blending together into one Face. And behind the Face, behind the Voice, behind the assertiveness and confidence—inner strength and will. An unbreakable combination. A true foundation for everything else. Right circumstances, environment, education—all these factors are important, but they are worth nothing without it. That ’s what being a leader means. And , like it or not, you can ’t become one. No training in the world will ever make you one. You have to be born one.

  But obviously not a word will be said about this in that place. This workshop is going to be nothing but a boring extension of the boring fussy world I live in five days a week. People in this world take pride in using words that are more suitable for an army command center than for peaceful office workers. Strategy, losses, troops, power struggles . . . Although “strategy ” in this world refers to tasks such as finding ways to cut expenses by switching to a cheaper brand of toilet paper. And “power struggle ” usually implies the likes of complaining to the manager about a peer with the hidden agenda of seizing a couple of headcounts from the department next door. As for “leader , ” in this world he is often a harmless balding man who until he reached the age of seventeen had been going by the nickname Heffalumpy. Oh well . . . w hy grumble? At least this week will be different.

  Different people, different goals . . . It ’s good to have goals in life, isn ’t it? Except there ’s a fine print. Someone said that our goals keep us going, but it ’s our dreams that makes us tick. So if you disconnect your goals from your dreams don ’t be surprised if one morning you realize that your life is on autopilot.

  But what if you don’t have dreams in the first place?

  Chapte r Two

  The mountains were grayish blue. They stood silently, dissecting the fresh morning sky, their steep, broken lines stretching along the entire horizon. As if brought to life by the brush of a skillful impressionist, the ridges were changing their tint from a pale ghostly hue to a soaked -through full color. And beneath them, surrounded by the lush green mass of trees, lay the mirror of the lake.

  Michael slowly breathed in cool morning air. This balcony was too welcoming to leave quickly. The view alone was worth waking up at 5:00 a.m. and going for a three -hour drive. He could ’ve taken the option of arriving last night, but another day at work meant less surprises with the project ; h ence the jolly sound of the alarm clock at five in the morning and the crack-of-dawn trip.

  The mountain highway, fearlessly clinging to the rim of a breathtakingly steep canyon, gave way to a gravel road looping among majestic woods. The road ended unexpectedly with an idyllic landscape. Right in the middle of the landscape , a two-story lodge towered proudly. Its long logs had darkened with age, and it was easy to assume that this construction went back at least a hundred years. Yet the building was free of any signs of decay. On the contrary, the tall straight walls exuded sturdy strength like an ancient but still living and mighty tree.

  The lodge stood right by the waterline, its shiny windows looking out over the sleepy lake. Three snow-white powerboats, accompanied by a couple of wooden boats with bright -red oars, rocked softly on the waves by the short wooden pier.

  Flashes, then, like well-edited scenes in a movie : a professional welcoming smile from the concierge ; a spacious lounge with stuffed animals and deer antlers on the walls ; a room ’s dark wooden door ; a huge bed with a dark wood en headboard . The workshop was scheduled to begin in twenty minutes, but Michael had no desire to spend this time alone in his room. He tossed his jacket on the bed and left for the boardroom , where, according to the card on the desk, the workshop was about to take place.

  A cozy midsize conference room with a skillfully created business world atmosphere and a touch of comfort and relaxation welcomed visitors . Four round tables arranged in a half-moon and the glossy folders neatly placed on their surfaces hinted at the expected number of attendees . A rectangular table facing the round ones designated the place from which the wisdom was about to be imparted . Two of its cousins settled along the walls in the company of several flipcharts, boasting clean untouched sheets of paper.

  The room was nearly deserted. A lone respectable-looking round-faced man labored over his cup of coffee in the corner next to the buffet table with its selection of scrambled eggs, muffins and fruits. The man seemed fully engaged in the act of pouring just the right amount of cream into his morning drink. Michael nodded to him briefly on his way across the room, and stepped out on to the balcony.

  And there, separated from him only by the dew-covered dark wood railing, the beauty of the mountains that had just a woke n seized him. Somehow it reminded him of a photograph he had seen last week in National Geographic . He grinned to himself. How weird human life had become if the first thing that comes to mind in front of a striking nature scene is a picture from a magazine. Common sense would suggest that it should be the other way around. But , then again, who said that human life has much to do with common sense? These days you are considered a weirdo if you live without a phone. Yet nobody cares if you live without a purpose. Anything wrong with that picture? And so you stand here, overlooking this morning beauty, a nd you can ’t help but mentally map it to that bright photo: the colors, the lulling calm of the sleepy water and the pines running down the hill to meet the lake. And even the rushing powerboat—that photo had it , too.

  He took his eyes off the powerboat that was madly ripping up the calm water, and looked at his watch. All right, it ’s time to go. The show is about to begin in a few minutes, and a cup of coffee would be nice.

  The boat, meanwhile, valiantly reached the pier. A little dark figure jumped swiftly to the dock and began tying the knot quickly around the cleat . Michael watched the figure’s swift , fluid movements for a moment , then went back indoors .

  The room, now filled with a dozen people, felt cozier but now seemed even smaller. Michael stopped at the door, not rushing to go inside.

  So this is the crowd . Assuming that they used the same criteria across the board , e very one of these people must be a middle manager. Each one has risen quickly through the ranks. Each one has been demonstrating great potential. And of course, each one of them must be ambitious to some degree and dreaming about getting to the top.

  They also should be about the same age. At first glance, they seemed to all be in their thirties. And this sounds like the right age group. Bright young talents in their early twenties rarely end up in management. Much more often , they work enthusiastically around the clock, making
their employers richer and managers happier. And then suddenly some of them go off to set up their own companies, and a few short years later the entire world starts saying, “Wow” in astonishment, while the ambitious managers in their thirties desperately try to land a job at one of these hot new startups.

  Nevertheless, one youngster had somehow ended up in this crowd, although the jury was still out on his talent. Michael watched for a while this tall cherub whose cheeks were lightly tinged with youthful pinkness. The cherub ’s confidence suggested that he indeed was in possession of a talent, albeit a very special one. Observing his moves was definitely entertaining.

  Now he gallantly gives way to a graceful woman with a short , nearly boyish haircut. The woman says something to him, he replies and the expression on her face indicates that she likes the answer. And now he confidently shakes hands with a stocky mustached man. Complimenting this one would be a harder task, but it seems he ’s up to the challenge—a smile is forming under the mustache line. Way to go, cherub! And now he ’s looking to his right at someone, looking for too long, and as he slacken s the control over his face, his young age becomes even more obvious.

  Michael followed the awed gaze of the gray eyes. The cherub ’s freeze was understandable —t he blonde was a real looker. Better than a looker. She, of course, was well aware of this , which only served to add even more of a special touch to her movements, gestures and facial expressions. She and a brown-haired woman with a boyish haircut , constituted the entire female population of the room. Given her looks, she had a nice week ahead of her—a week filled with attention from ten bored men trying to pretend they don ’t care about making an impression on her.

  By the way, are there really only ten of us? Michael counted the attendees. Thirteen. A curious number. In addition to superstitious associations, the counting revealed two men in their forties, a security guard—or at least someone who could easily pass for one—and an inquisitive gaze from the blonde. That look told Michael that his stay at the door had been long enough . He returned the gaze and stepped into the room.