By Mark Schaefer
The headline for today’s post is not sensational or exaggerated. There really was one single word that changed my life and I’d like to tell you that story today.
When I was in my 20s, I was brimming with ambition and determination. I was smart and a hard worker, so my early career successes were constantly rewarded. In fact, my company was aggressively pushing me forward with promotions and weighty new responsibilities.
I thrived in this environment but it was highly stressful. I was moving up the company so fast that I was almost always the youngest person in the room. At one point, I was managing a $1.5 billion account before I was 30 years old. Every day I faced a situation where I wondered “What am I doing here?”
The confidence the company placed in me was motivational and exhilarating. The sky was the limit and I was happy to be zooming up the company organizational chart.
But this furious pace of progress took a toll on me. Having so much responsibility at such a young age forced me to work harder to compensate for my lack of experience. By the time I was 35 I was in one of the most stressful global marketing jobs in the company and struggled to find moments of happiness. It seemed like I always had to be “on” and with the advent of mobile technology, there was no escaping work and endless customer demands.
The Crosby Effect
Robert P. Crosby
I had the great fortune of being selected for an extraordinary management training program that introduced me to Robert Crosby. Bob became one of the most important influences in my life. He had this inner glow and mesmerizing presence that made an impact on all who met him.
He had a fascinating background as civil rights activist in the 1960s and later, he was ordained as a Christian minister. When I met him, he was in the business world teaching classes in organizational development intended to propel my company’s next generation of leaders.
The training program involved tearing deep into our personal family backgrounds to uncover subtle dysfunctions that might limit our leadership potential. I was uncomfortable with this “touchy-feely” stuff and had a hard time expressing anything close to vulnerability at that point in my life. I wanted to be seen as a competent, stoic leader and I had built a strong psychological fortress to keep it that way.
But Bob continued to challenge me. I could see by his example that openness and even humble vulnerability could be a strength. It helped me and the other leaders in the program trust him and connect in a powerful way.
The word that changed my life
Bob relentlessly attacked my fortress for weeks. One day he provoked me by asking, “What is the emotion you feel most in your life?”
The answer was obvious — ANXIETY. What else would I be feeling being in this dumb program when there was so much to be done at work and at home?
In fact, I figured if you’re an effective business leader, you really didn’t have a choice. If you were hustling through a career, wouldn’t everybody in my position feel anxiety all the time?
I was probably being a bit of a smart-ass as I turned the tables and asked Bob the same question — What emotion did he experience most of the time? Without hesitation, he looked at me with his twinkling blue eyes and said:
“Joy.”
This one word literally took my breath away … because I knew it was true. This man clearly lived a life of constant joy (It was not unusual for Bob to enter a crowded restaurant and break into a stirring rendition of his favorite song, “Oh Danny Boy“).
In that instant, with one word, I set a new goal for my life. I wanted to experience life the way Bob did. I wanted to chart a path away from anxiety and learn to prioritize joy.
And so my journey began. I approached the training classes with a new openness and looked at the opportunity to learn from Bob as a precious gift instead of a burden.
The path continues
It took time to un-learn my old habits and shed a lot of baggage that was pushing “anxiety” to the top of my emotional hit parade. I had to learn how to stay centered and confident in stressful and emotional situations. I learned to better balance work life with healthy activities that helped neutralize corporate stress.
I miss those days with Bob, who just turned 90 and recently retired. I’ve been through a lot of tough times since then but I could still hear his gentle wisdom in my brain nudging me to make decisions that would help me find peace in my heart. Where would I be without him?
And I’m still learning. In 2016, I stopped looking at the financial results of my business and instead decided to choose projects that would create joy. I found that I am really good at being a “mini-Bob” and helping others through stressful business challenges, so I make it a priority to reach out to people who might be struggling.
I could be making a lot more money by making other decisions, but then I would not be as joyful.
If you ever watch a video interview with me from my office, you’ll undoubtedly notice a big silver word — “joy” — in my office to remind me to stay on the path.
I still hit bumps in the road like everyone else, but I’m proud to say that I’ve reached my goal. On this day, in this moment, my primary emotion is “joy.”
I hope it is for you, too.
Mark Schaefer is the chief blogger for this site, executive director of Schaefer Marketing Solutions, and the author of several best-selling digital marketing books. He is an acclaimed keynote speaker, college educator, and business consultant. The Marketing Companion podcast is among the top business podcasts in the world. Contact Mark to have him speak to your company event or conference soon.
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– Lia Paola Zambetti –
Senior Project Officer |Research Development and Collaboration |The University of Sydney
On a dull Saturday morning in the lab, I heard the words that changed my life. I had just finished changing the medium for my cells and was chatting with the only other person around, a senior postdoc from a different group. I started unburdening on my poor colleague, telling him how I was frustrated that very few people outside a small scientific community knew about our work. I was anxious because my postdoc contract was expiring and, faced with an impending deadline, I had a vague but gnawing feeling that perhaps I should finally take the plunge and leave the bench once and for all.
Lia Paola Zambetti
I mused that there must be a place for scientists who wanted to communicate their research rather than do it themselves. I knew scientists who wrote about science—I had done a little writing myself in the past as a hobby— and I began daydreaming about my ideal job. I imagined a role that encompassed various aspects of science communication, including writing articles for a general audience, editing technical manuscripts, and organizing science communication training for researchers. It was the first time ever that I articulated my perfect job out loud. Before that chat with my colleague under the hood, I only had rather vague and unconnected ideas about the next steps. My colleague brought me back to reality with a snap. “I don’t know about all that, but maybe someone else does,” he says. “You should tell all this to the director of our institute, exactly as you told me just now.”
The idea had not occurred to me, and I was hesitant. I knew our executive director only by sight and had never really talked to him before. I was going to ask a renowned scientist with a large lab advice on how to get out of research and do something so different from bench work – it didn’t sound very sensible after all. But, somewhat nervously, I made an appointment and went. At the meeting, I felt like I was rambling. I was sure that I was not clearly conveying what I wanted to say. Surprisingly, he took it in stride and let me talk.
All it takes to change your life is one random conversation under the hood.
At the end of my time slot, he told me that perhaps he knew just the person that may be able to help me. Less than a week later I was contacted by a communication director working in another part of our large organization. She asked if we could talk for 15 minutes or so. To my amazement, that quick chat turned into a two-hour conversation. She had been charged with setting up a new science communication office and was looking for scientists interested in working with her. She mentioned that the job would involve organizing conferences, being the editor for our institution’s journal, and implementing a science outreach program—and that, since we were just beginning, we could expand as we saw fit. It matched my wishes so well that it was uncanny. I didn’t dare hope that one conversation could transform my professional path. But almost two months, two more interviews, and a test later, I got the job!
It has been almost three years since I swapped pipettes and test tubes for meeting with scientists, writing and editing, and preparing presentations. For me, it was a change for the better. I particularly enjoy the varied tasks I am responsible for. On any given day, I may be organizing a talk or an outreach event in the morning and working as an editor or setting up communication training in the afternoon—and all the while I get to meet a huge number of new people and talk to scientists from all fields.
I am sometimes invited to events to share my career experience. I try to pass on the message that knowing—or imagining—what I wanted to do really helped. But it is not essential to have it all figured out right at the start. The main thing I always stress is that it is absolutely crucial to talk to as many people as you can, especially beyond your immediate colleagues, even when it feels odd, or unnerving – or apparently pointless. Anybody, especially someone not directly connected to us, will bring a new perspective to our problems and sometimes, all it takes to change your life is one random conversation under the hood.
Featured image is by Matt Walker69 from Flickr | Some rights reserved
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The Words That Changed My Life
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When I start having a panic attack, I never see it coming. One hour I’ll be fine, and the next I’ll be a shrunken, shaking heap. The reason I’m breaking down wouldn’t make much sense to anyone else— I can hardly rationalize it to myself. If anything, that makes the anxiety worse and much more unbearable: knowing that I sound crazy to everyone else, including myself. And I can’t predict it, control it or stop it.
Often times I tell myself that I’m fine and that there’s no issue. That’s because when I’m not in a meltdown, I feel like a 100% fully functional human being. Often I’ll go a couple months without incident, making it so easy to believe that everything is okay. This inner conflict can tear a person up inside. Sometimes it does.
How can you believe you’re normal when one minute you’re okay and the next you’re not, and you can’t explain why? It’s difficult. When I was first involuntarily reduced to a puddle, the word I used to describe myself was «broken.» Mental health issues, no matter how slight or serious, can have a major impact on a person’s self-esteem.
With the stigma around mental health, it’s difficult to put these feelings out in the open. You’re afraid of being judged. You’re afraid that once you point out how broken you are, everyone else will see it too and view you differently. Weaker, somehow. In some way, unknowable and distant. So for a while, I tried not to tell my friends about what was going on, until one day I opened up to someone really close to me. I told him about how broken I was, that I understood if he wanted to leave. His response would change my life:
«You’re like a stained glass window. All the broken pieces make you more beautiful.»
Not a denial of the fact I was broken because all of us are a little broken inside. Not an unsubstantiated promise that things would get better. An acceptance, an unconditional love and the proclamation of beauty in a person who would describe herself as average on a good day.
They say that each individual is unique like a snowflake or a fingerprint. But I think we’re all stained glass windows made up of the pieces of ourselves. Sometimes we focus on one or two pieces for so long that we forget to step back and see how they make up the whole picture. Sometimes we forget that the window looks a lot better when we let the light shine through.
So yes, it is possible to have pieces and still be a whole person. It’s hard to believe sometimes, especially in the middle of a crisis. I’m grateful that someone was able to remind me of that. I haven’t forgotten since.
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