My friend Agnes Le has come up with a great motivational technique: Write a blog post about an important accomplishment before you actually do it. For lack of a better term, I'm calling this "pre-blogging."
Last week Agnes ran the 50-kilometer (30+ miles) Villa de Madrid race, her first ultramarathon effort after several months of intensive training. She reflected back on the experience in a great blog post, and as she makes clear, the process was about much more than running a race:
I have a confession. The past 4 months, I have been focusing on
ChiRunning and marathons (and talked non-stop about them, some people
would say, hahaha). There is however, a "head fake", defined so
beautifully by Randy Pausch in "The Last Lecture." If you have not seen his truly moving video
(free on the internet) or read the book, you should not miss it. Randy
describes a "head fake" as indirect learning, "when you teach somebody
something by having them think they’re learning something else". In
other words, key lessons people don’t realize they’re learning until
well into the process.
Well, this hasn't been simply about ChiRunning and marathons, but much more. It’s about life and how to achieve your dreams.
Agnes goes on to talk eloquently about the most important lessons she learned along the way--well worth a read--and then she adds a twist:
I have another big confession to make. I wrote this entry blog three
days before I ran the ultramarathon (I made some revisions today). Yes,
I cheated hahaha. But who said that you could not trick your brain?
See, it’s about visualizing success and acting as if it happened. I
made it a reality. The professional athletes do it. These are powerful
techniques to train your brain. Your brain does not like incoherence.
It will find a way to bridge the gap between your imagination and
reality, if you let it.
I love it. I'm reminded--yet again--of a paraphrase of St. Ignatius Loyola's Spiritual Exercises: "Perform the acts of faith, and faith will come."
Richard Oliver of the San Antonio Express-News quoted Tiger Woods on whether he was nervous about returning to competitive golf after an 8-month layoff while he recovered from knee surgery:
"The day I'm not nervous is the day I quit," Woods said. "To me, nerves are great. That means you care. (But) that's the greatest thing about it is just to feel that, to feel that rush."
I'm always terrified of the person who doesn't have [stagefright], because it means that the commitment is not fully there.
I find something very compelling about this approach to fear--and that's what it is, whether we call it "nerves" or "stagefright" or anything else. Rather than resisting our fear or pretending it's not there, we can acknowledge it and embrace it. Rather than view our fear as a harbinger of failure, we can re-frame it as evidence of our caring, our commitment, and view it as a precursor to success.
I'm not saying I've mastered this perspective shift--hardly. But I am finding that whenever I feel fear and "lean into it" rather than "back away from it," I tend to learn and grow a lot more. (Of course, that doesn't mean I have fun in the process.)
The photo on the right by Mickey Pfleger is one of my favorite sports images. It's a shot of San Francisco 49er quarterback Steve Young in an exhibition game on August 14, 1995. Having lost his helmet, Young still scrambled for an 8-yard gain--and this happened after Young had led the 49ers to victory in the Super Bowl
earlier that year, making his eventual selection to the NFL's Hall of
Fame inevitable. He had nothing to prove, but in a meaningless
exhibition game, he still couldn't help but go all-out. I fully agree with Charles
Barkley--athletes and rock stars aren't role models--but Young's a thoughtful guy, and I do find his dedication inspiring.
I'm thinking about football because the NFC and AFC Championships to be held in Phoenix and Pittsburgh tomorrow mark the conclusion of the 2008-09 NFL season. (The Super Bowl's of interest to marketing execs and fans of the two teams involved, but it's more pop-culture festival than football game.) So here's a quote from an interview with Young last September 3rd on KNBR that has stuck with me:
Don't waste a snap, don't waste a moment. Every time that you get in practice, scout team, I don't care, if there's a moment that you're…working on your craft, you act like you're going to be the greatest player ever, and you take every opportunity to learn from it and make sure you're ready. Because if you don't waste this time, and you prepare like you're going to start every day, then when your chance comes, your window opens and you'll go right through it. If you don't, and you wait for it to kind of come around and complain and moan…then the window opens, sooner or later a window will open, and you'll have wasted your time, and you won't make it happen.
I appreciate Young's primary point about readiness--the longer I live, the more I want to make the most of every every experience. But he's also making a deeper point about attitude and approach:
If there's a moment that you're…working on your craft, you act like you're going to be the greatest...ever, and you take every opportunity to learn from it.
The paradox embodied in that sentence jumps out at me: Act as though you're the greatest ever and take every opportunity to learn. Exude confidence and embody humility.
We're constantly encouraged to do one or the other, but it's striking to realize how much more powerful it is to do both at the same time.
We don't necessarily associate great leadership with kindness, particularly when discussing Vince Lombardi-era football. But former NFL player and longtime college coach Bill Curry had this to say in an interview with Tom Tolbert on KNBR this afternoon:
Unexpected, undeserved, unrewarded acts of kindness from great leaders...make great teams.
He was referring to the kindness showed to him as a rookie Green Bay Packer in 1965 by veteran African American players who took him under their wing and, in his words, "taught me how to behave." Curry had no black teammates in college at Georgia Tech and initially found the diversity he encountered in the NFL hard to handle. But influential team leaders such as Willie Davis apparently went out of their way to reach out to Curry and helped him adjust.
Curry expressed profound gratitude for his teammates' kindness, and in his retelling, that kindness was as instrumental as Lombardi's legendary toughness in shaping the '60s Packers into a tight-knit, cohesive unit. I'm not suggesting--nor was Curry--that Lombardi's approach was wrong, or that kindness alone would have had the same affect.
And yet it feels as though we hear about leaders' toughness all the time, and we never hear about their kindness. But when I think about the most effective leaders I've known and worked with, they had the ability to be both tough and kind as needed, and those aspects of their personality didn't cancel each other out. Rather, their skillful use of one approach complemented the other; their kindness meant even more because I knew how tough they could be.
NFL Hall of Famer Mike Ditka on tonight's Monday Night Football broadcast from San Francisco:
Head coaching isn't about X's and O's as much as people think. It's about dealing with people.
The pic notwithstanding (a cheap shot, I know) Ditka's offhand comment touches on an important truth: Domain expertise, in football or in finance, gets you only so far and no further. At a certain point in your field of endeavor, your success depends less on your mastery of tactics and strategy than on your ability to manage, inspire and lead people who are smarter and more highly skilled than you are.
Here are a few posts from recent years (updated January 2009) that continue to resonate with me. Topics include executive coaching, personal and professional development, leadership, management, motivation, organizational culture, and the process of change. I'll update this list every few months, but you're looking for a post that's no longer shown here, you can always find it using the search box below my Contact Info in the left-hand sidebar.
I was intrigued to read in Friday's Wall Street Journal that French soccer star Zinedine Zidane's popularity has increased dramatically since his infamous head-butt of Italian Marco Materazzi in the 2006 World Cup Final. (If you were in a monastery over the summer and missed all media coverage, here's a 10-second clip.)
At the time most people thought that the incident would be perceived as a black mark on Zidane and diminish his ability to win commercial endorsements (which earned him $11 million in 2005.) But as Marie Valla wrote in the WSJ...
[I]n the two months since [the World Cup...Zidane's] public appeal has soared.
"From an advertising point of view, Zidane's emotional charge is twice as big today as it was before the World Cup," says Frederic Raillard of Publicis' affiliate Marcel...
Through France ended up losing the match, Mr. Zidane was voted the country's favorite personality in a recent annual newspaper poll.
What's going on here? Zidane's impulsive act was clearly remarkable by virtue of its setting (the largest sporting event in the world) and its mysteriousness (Materazzi's taunting seems even less provocative now that we know he was insulting Zidane's non-existent sister). So it's logical that Zidane would be the focus of intense media scrutiny. And the increased attention resulting from that scrutiny certainly explains some of Zidane's increased popularity.
But underlying that mechanical explanation is something more emotional: the obvious impulsivity (even stupidity) of Zidane's act has a visceral appeal in a world where most public actions are scripted and mediated with the greatest care. Zidane was pissed--who really knows why, or cares?--and he expressed himself directly. Not intelligently or articulately, but directly. That's in stark contrast to 99% of other public figures, and it's made Zidane authentic and, frankly, more interesting.
We can and should decry Zidane's poor sportsmanship, disdain attention-getting stunts, and aspire to a world of ethical sport. Even Zidane says "I hope that none of these kids [at a junior soccer
tournament] will ever do something like I did." But there's clearly value in authenticity and, at times, in wearing our emotions on our sleeves.
Landon Donovan is a 24-year-old professional soccer player and one of the greatest American soccer players ever. Donovan was sufficiently talented to win a contract with a top German team at age 17, but despite expectations that he would be one of the first Americans to break into the Bundesliga, the highly competitive German league, and compete at a world-class level, he had a generally unsuccessful experience in Germany during 2004-05 and returned to the much less rigorous American professional ranks.
Donovan's poor showing in Germany seemed to result from a number of factors, including homesickness. But he's been criticized by a number of American soccer coaches, players and fans for his failure to succeed in that environment. They contend that rather than dominating Major League Soccer here at home without breaking a sweat, Donovan should be pushing himself harder to compete in the Bundesliga in order to make himself a better player and by so doing to improve the chances of the U.S. national team. Recent quotes from Donovan in an interview with Reuters' Erik Kirschbaum suggest that Donovan agrees that going to Europe would have that effect: "I'd probably become a better soccer player just from the
day-in, day-out grind of it there." However, he goes on to note, "I wouldn't be a better person. I wouldn't be a happy
person. I'd be pretty miserable."
So what should Donovan do? It depends on who--and what--he's working for, but that's a more complicated question than it seems at first. Is he working only for himself? And what does that mean: Maximizing his happiness by staying at home, or getting the most out of his talents by returning to Europe? Making good money by staying here, or making great money by returning to Europe? Will he be most fulfilled if he stays within his comfort zone, where he knows he can succeed, or will he one day wish he'd tried to compete on a bigger stage? And what about Donovan's obligations to others with an investment in his success? Should their perspective affect his decision?
Obviously, I don't raise the issue because I think we can answer these questions for Donovan; only he can answer them for himself. But I think they're worth asking of ourselves. Who and what are we working for? More to come.
Photo of Landon Donovan courtesy of nwistheone. Yay Flickr.
The Cincinnati Reds just arrived in San Francisco to kick off a West Coast road trip with major playoff implications. Before they left, Reds owner Bob Castellini sent each player a letter:
Your performance on the field has been awsesome all year. You NEVER
quit. Good luck on your West Coast swing. Please know upon your return
we will have done everything we can to fill the stands in these last
crucial homestands. You deserve nothing less from our fans and
management team.
Professional baseball players are among the most competitive people on earth, and they're obviously well-compensated--the average MLB salary was $2.6 million in 2005. It would be easy to assume that they don't need any extra motivation. But I love Castellini's approach here-he's clearly aware that a pat on the back can be important even when it might seem superfluous, and he's sending a great message to everyone in the organization: We're all in this together, and everyone's role is important.
Apparently inspired, the Reds came back from an 0-3 deficit to beat the Giants last night 6-3. Grrr. (Thanks to Geep at the SportsFrog for the heads-up.)
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