Charles Schwab once said, “I consider my ability to arouse enthusiasm among men the greatest asset I possess. The way to develop the best that is in a man is by appreciation and encouragement.” I couldn’t agree more, which is why I feel it is necessary to address this important part of our culture.
Of the 8,765 hours in a year, the average working American puts in 1,695 hours for “the man.” That’s about 19 percent of your time. Sure, you may think you have 81 percent of your time left over, but with an average of 33 percent spent sleeping and another 2 percent in the bathroom, you have only 46 percent of those precious hours left for everything else you need or want to do. If you are a small-business manager, a poll done by Staples shows that for you it’s even worse. Not only do you clock in at the office or shop or studio or wherever your work takes you, but much of the precious time you have away from the workplace is spent on business affairs as well: even while driving, using the restroom, or spending time with your family. And in today’s economy, where smaller staffs require workers to be more and more productive, the statistics are probably similar for just about everyone who has a job these days, management or not.
Since work takes up so much of our lives, it’s vitally important that we not only find satisfaction in the job itself but in the appreciation we receive from coworkers and superiors for a job well done. At least, that’s the hope.
LOVE WHAT YOU DO, DO WHAT YOU LOVE
Finding a job in this day and age is difficult. Finding a job that is satisfying—almost impossible. Until I was about twenty-six years old, my goals all centered on becoming a career woman. I wanted to have babies at some point, but I thought that being a card-carrying member of the professional world would be the best way to feel intelligent and valued and important to society.
With that in mind, I worked hard to make honors in graduate school, and even harder when it came time to start searching for “the perfect job.” I wanted what Confucius talked about: “Choose a job you love and you will never have to work a day in your life.” I got lucky when a spot opened up at Miami Children’s Hospital, since I would be working with both inpatients and outpatients—exactly the location, specialty, and variety I was looking for.
Unfortunately, though, I soon found myself bored and searching for more. Going into it, I knew I was applying for a means to an income. Selfishly, though, I also wanted perfection. I loved the patient interaction and coworker friendships (even the rum cake we had each month in celebration of birthdays), but I soon learned that physical therapy wasn’t always about helping people. It was just as much about piles of paperwork—boring paperwork. Day after day, I fought the urge to not get out of bed in the morning, and most likely still would be doing so today just to fulfill my obligations and continue to pay off my hefty student loans.
But after my experience on The Bachelor and seeing how much fun the people behind the scenes in TV land were having, I wanted what they had: to enjoy heading to work every day.
For a short time after the show wrapped, I returned to the hospital to pay the bills, but when the producers asked me to come back for seconds as the Bachelorette, I knew I had to take that leap of faith and satisfy my curiosity for life beyond the walls of the physical therapy department.
I put my PT license into “inactive” status and headed out to California thinking I was meant to be there—at least at that point in my life. It was scary. I had put so much time and effort and money into becoming a therapist and gave it all up with only the hope that Mike Fleiss could make ABC buy in to his idea of The Bachelorette. Until that happened and I signed on the dotted line months later, I dabbled in hosting and correspondent work, and I won’t lie—I had an absolute blast.
But when I met Ryan Sutter, my focus changed again. It soon became all about being with him and the life we were hoping to create together. Luckily (and I mean really luckily), the paycheck that came after we agreed to televise our wedding allowed us to start our lives with a bank account that wouldn’t require my returning to the daily grind I had known in Florida.
Every so often, I felt a twinge of regret about not following through with what I had so fervently educated myself in and not continuing to try to make a difference in the lives of my pediatric patients. Those regrets didn’t last long. Once I was blessed with children of my own, I realized that what I truly wanted was what I had fought against for as long as I could remember: to be a stay-at-home mom.
Since I was a child, I had wanted to follow in my mom’s footsteps—get a good education, provide for myself, and even get dressed up in business attire to head to work every day. I thought it was enlightened and admirable. I was so opposed to old-fashioned feminine stereotypes, I even ended a relationship on the verge of engagement because I thought my boyfriend saw me only as a baby breeder and homemaker. I felt that would make me seem inferior and unsophisticated.
With age and a lot of time spent getting to know the real me, I now find those roles to be incredible opportunities as well as surprisingly powerful. I may have lost a little mental acuity to the fog of mommy brain, but my clueless brain, as I call it, still knows what’s important, and I don’t think there is a more important job on the planet than raising a couple members of our next generation.
That’s not to say that I look down on people with children who need to or decide to spend their workdays behind a desk, in front of a microphone, serving drinks, or in an apron or military fatigues. Everyone’s gotta do what everyone’s gotta do and I have mad respect for all the parents out there who work their tails off to support their families. The challenge for everyone, though, is finding something to devote your time to that is beneficial not only to your family’s bank account, but also to your personal passion account.
My advice: Keep evolving and keep searching for contentment. Years and experience may change you, so be ready. As you grow, establish new goals and embrace new paths. I didn’t reach the gateway to my present occupational path until I was thirty-four years old. And who knows: it may not even be my final professional path. I’m ready for it, though—ready to create a happy (work) place wherever life may take me.
WORKING HARD THROUGH HARD TIMES
For many, appreciation for the time you put in at work doesn’t come easy, or fast, or maybe even ever. But for some of the self-proclaimed lucky ones, they recognize at some point on their timeline the true gift of just being employed, even if it’s far from a dream job and it’s bursting with challenges. Instead, they realize, that job keeps food on the table, a roof over their heads, a sense of security, and that job has either changed or saved their lives.
It took my friend Janet years, but after suffering devastating losses, she finally realized the beauty of her job and the role it played in helping her find her inner smile again. As the granddaughter of a wealthy businessman in the banking and oil industry, she grew up not wanting for anything. For the first half of her life, she lived in the true lap of luxury, with multiple homes and private jets and extravagant, spontaneous trips to wherever her heart desired. Then she met John. John had moved to Janet’s hometown of Borger, Texas, for an internship that he hoped would take him to Florida. Instead, he ended up on Florida Street and was introduced to Janet the night he arrived.
Janet fell in love instantly. Having dreamed of her Prince Charming riding into Borger on a white horse, she knew it was a sign when he drove into town in a white Ford Pinto. (Close enough, right?) As John was adamant about staying single, his feelings took much longer to develop. But once they did, they never faltered.
Shortly after Janet and John were married, they began their journey to parenthood, eventually welcoming four healthy children into the world. Without the ability to sustain the lifestyle she had always known after her parents lost their fortune, they relied on the income from John’s civil engineering job and turned Janet’s craft and painting hobbies into a budding art business that allowed her to be a stay-at-home mom. They named the business Happy Everything, because in her words, they
“felt so blessed.” To this day, she still proudly creates personalized ornaments, growth charts, journals, keepsake boxes, stained-glass windows, trunks, canvases, step stools, and even pumpkins—each decorated by hand. All she needs is a general idea and her paintbrushes take over. She once told me, “I enjoy every second,” even if she’s under a deadline or the task at hand is difficult.
Besides her being a mother, wife, and Christian (not necessarily in that order), Janet’s art is her calling. She realized that it was much more than just a job after March 3, 2001—the day her entire universe was forever changed.
On her first real date, their youngest daughter, Lynley, was involved in a fatal car accident. Along with the boy who took her to the movies that afternoon, she was pronounced dead on the scene. She was sixteen. Three days later, Janet and John’s beautiful daughter was laid to rest.
After the service, their home was filled with those wishing to express their condolences. With forty friends and loved ones crammed in her workroom, Janet did what she had to do to escape the reality that she would never see her daughter again—she completed an order for Happy Everything.
For years she continued to avoid reality through her work, though the name of her business haunted her. She never wanted to see the words again. Thankfully, one of her daughter’s best friends convinced her that Lynley would’ve wanted her to stand by “Happy Everything” and continue doing what she loved. In addition to her loving husband and children, caring friends, and an unending faith, she survived the overwhelming heartache through her peaceful diversion of painting and learned to keep a smile on her face—no matter what.
Compared with the loss of a child, it may sound like a relatively minor circumstance, but seven years later, they were dealt further misfortune when John was let go from his job. Janet continued to paint, but her Happy Everything earnings weren’t even close to the salary John had brought home. He searched for a job, but for an overqualified fifty-eight-year-old, the task proved impossible for many years. They had savings and retirement money stashed away, but through a rash of bad investments and significant debt, they burned through that and had to declare bankruptcy.
And it got worse—three substantial blows worse.
The first involved giving up the lifetime of memories attached to their large home and moving into a garage. The second: At fifty-nine, John took a job that required twelve-hour shifts walking the perimeter of a hotel in Colorado on freezing winter nights to ensure that the grounds were secure. The third and final blow came when they had to make a trip to a local pawnshop to sell what had represented their love and marital commitment for the past thirty-five years: their wedding rings.
As someone who truly cherishes what my engagement ring and wedding band signify, I can’t imagine their sadness at saying good-bye to these precious tokens. Yes, they are only objects, but when you’ve worn something as a representation of the love you have for another person day and night for the better part of your life, it has to hurt down deep when you are forced to pawn them for cash.
Through it all, though, Janet put her whole self into doing what she loved—including painting—and her smile still prevailed. I can attest to that.
If my memory serves me right, I first encountered her bubbly personality in 2009. I had known of her and her business since the birth of my son in 2007 after we received a gorgeous stained-glass window she created for him, but we didn’t officially meet until a couple years later. I’ve hired her to make special gifts and paint faces at children’s birthday parties, celebrated baby showers and holidays together, and sat with her in my living room, trying to come up with a plan to light a fire under Happy Everything and get her back in the black. I knew, to a degree, of her and John’s financial setbacks, but I didn’t fully understand the extent.
Her beaming smile had hidden it all.
I don’t know that I will ever have the pleasure of meeting anyone else quite like Janet. Over the course of her life, she’s experienced tremendous highs, as well as the lowest of lows. She poured her life into her work to seek solace from pain, and through that work her pain was healed, and continues to be. Her business is now thriving, and I have no doubt that it is just the beginning of even greater success. She loves what she does and is grateful for the opportunity.
That, right there, is a recipe for Happy Everything.
HAPPY WORKERS ARE HARD WORKERS
Why do people leave their jobs? If you think it’s because they want to make more money, you’re wrong. If you think it’s because they want a career change, wrong again. If you think it’s because they won the lottery, nope, not even close. The number-one reason people leave their jobs, according to a Gallup poll of over 1 million American workers, is a bad boss. The study found that employees essentially quit their bosses, not their jobs—and all because of the way they feel they were treated.
Are you surprised? Or do you agree so much that you are one of the 2 million people who, according to Alan Hall in Forbes magazine, quit their jobs each month even in our poor economic climate because they didn’t like their boss?
Two million people every month! It seems to me that number would be much, much lower if workers were made to feel like happy contributors instead of stepped-on drones. Too many managers withhold their appreciation until it’s time for Christmas bonuses or end-of-the-year reviews instead of handing it out regularly.
So if you assume your employees are there only for a paycheck, start thinking—and start thanking. And if you need a little inspiration, pick up a copy of Charles Dickens’s classic tale A Christmas Carol. If you somehow missed this one in your high school English class, or when any number of cinematic versions show up on TV during December, from the classic Alastair Sim black-and-white film to the animated Mr. Magoo to the Muppets, the gist is this: the wealthy main character, Ebenezer Scrooge, finally awakens to the spirit of generosity and giving by the three ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future. He ends his reign as a thank-you miser and showers his employee Bob Cratchit and his family not only with money but with credit and praise.
If you’re a manager or executive, start expressing your gratitude to your staff on a regular basis, and just as Scrooge experienced, you will notice a difference not only in them but in yourself as well.
And this advice doesn’t pertain only to those who toil away in an office. Whether or not you have a traditional nine-to-five job, we all work with people and for people. Do you employ a babysitter? A plumber? Do you ever visit the doctor for a checkup or the hair salon for a trim? Showing appreciation to all of the people who keep our lives running smoothly not only creates pride and positivity, but promotes better on-the-job performance as well.
Now, who could use a pat on the back?
FRIENDS AT WORK
I’ve had lots of jobs in my life. My parents, in an attempt to teach me the importance of financial independence and a strong work ethic, encouraged me to start earning my own spending money at an early age. I mowed our lawn, washed cars, did chores at home, and worked as a babysitter in our neighborhood. When I was sixteen, I got my first “real” job, making iron-on T-shirts and running the cash register at a little shop in Chesterfield Mall called T-Shirts Plus. From there I went on to help people find the perfect bathing suit or skateboard at a store named Splash, organize restaurant seating as a hostess, watch over swimmers as a lifeguard, wait tables, file paperwork, answer phones, submit insurance claims, sell gym memberships, and start a career in physical therapy. I loved the feeling of paying off my bills through hard work and, after graduate school, actually earning a living.
One of my favorite jobs had little to do with the minimal amount I was paid, and everything to do with fun and friends and the opportunity to indulge one of my passions: dancing. It took three years of persistent auditioning to finally earn a spot as a Miami Heat dancer. Once I made it, the other girls and I became fast friends, especially a group of about six of us. We saw one another at least three or four times a week for rehears
als, during public appearances, and at about forty home games per season.
We bonded over our team, our love of dancing, and oddly enough, fake eyelashes. Required to wear a strip of MAC #2’s for every performance, we moaned and groaned about putting them on—well, at least I did. Even after taking training sessions with MAC makeup artists on how to properly apply them, I could never get it right.
Luckily, one of my closest friends on the squad was Ashley, the go-to lash applier. Practically every game, she would have to hustle from her full-time job as a social worker to the locker room at the American Airlines Arena to make herself up for game time. Even in a huge rush, she would always help me and usually anyone else who asked. Time was of the essence in the locker room but she didn’t let that stop her from going out of her way to literally lend a hand to her friends, something I always appreciated with a squeeze and a thank-you after each application.
After Ashley and I hung up our red sequin tops, we remained close—not just as coworkers who bonded over false eyelashes, but as two dance lovers who had established a true friendship outside of work. We palled around on the weekends, sung “Happy Birthday” to each other wherever we happened to be celebrating that year, dressed up side by side on Halloween, attended each other’s bachelorette parties, and witnessed each other walk down the aisle toward the loves of our lives. We met at work, but our friendship didn’t stay at work. She was the kind of friend I hoped to find in that job. I just wish she could’ve stayed my friend for a lot longer.
On April 6, 2006, a pregnant Mary Ashley Clements was involved in a horrific car accident. Neither she nor her unborn child survived. I’ll never get to tell her again how much I appreciated her presence in my life or her help with the little things, but every time I put on lashes or see her picture, I will always remember her unconditional kindness and genuine friendship.
Happily Ever After: The Life-Changing Power of a Grateful Heart Page 12