“If I told you what it takes to reach the highest highs, you’d laugh and say, ‘Nothing’s that simple.’ But you’ve been told many times before, Messiah’s pointing to the door, and no one had the guts to leave the temple.” – from “I’m Free” by The Who
“If I told you what it takes to reach the highest highs, you’d laugh and say, ‘Nothing’s that simple.’ But you’ve been told many times before, Messiah’s pointing to the door, and no one had the guts to leave the temple.” – from “I’m Free” by The Who
“That’s what a writer does. A writer’s job is to tell the truth.” – Andy Rooney
I was reading an article about Andy Rooney’s death earlier this week, and I came across that quote. Rooney, best known for his curmudgeonly opinion pieces at the end of episodes of “60 Minutes“, is one of my heroes. Granted, I haven’t worked my way through all 1,097 of his show-enders, but what I’ve seen consistently is a man who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. He didn’t hold back.
Sometimes he offended people, sometimes he caused an uproar, but he always spoke his truth. He didn’t form his opinions by sticking his finger to the wind or consulting focus groups; he knew where he stood. Whether you agreed with him or not, whether you like him or not, you got the sense that he was a person of conviction.
You know what a BHAG is, right? It’s an acronym for Big Hairy Audacious Goal, and if you have any, you know they can be scary. In fact, BHAGs are all about setting your sights on something that really scares the piss out of you.
The first definition I could find for “audacious” was “extremely bold or daring; recklessly brave; fearless”; I like that. It conjures images of people running into burning towers to save the lives of complete strangers, and risking (or losing) their own lives in the process. It’s a noble attribute that we all aspire to but that very few of us ever have the opportunity to test; I don’t think it’s the definition I’d use to describe a goal. After all, just because the goal is big and hairy and makes your knees knock land your heart skip beats doesn’t mean you have to pursue it recklessly.
I like this definition better: “recklessly bold in defiance of convention, propriety, law, or the like; insolent; brazen.” Or even this one: “lively; unrestrained; uninhibited”. I think that captures the spirit of a BHAG: you’re doing something that flies in the face of your norm, something in defiance of the conventions and limitations of your current life situation, something that your family members or friends might consider insolent or brazen, something uninhibited; in short, something all you. BHAGs are about speaking and living your truth.
But how do you pursue a Big Hairy Audacious Goal, well, audaciously? After all, audacity isn’t a quality that’s encouraged in our society; in fact, audacious children are scolded, disciplined and medicated in an effort to get them to “just behave”. And it’s no different when they leave school and go off to work: audacity and middle management are blood enemies. So how do we learn to behave audaciously again?
Well hello there; it’s been a while, hasn’t it. Don’t worry, though: I’m not going to bore you with the details this time. I’ve just been off hibernating. Ruminating. Percolating. Meditating.
The Foo Fighters have always been a favorite band of mine and their new song “Walk” (the video above) takes it to a whole new level. It’s a fantastic song on a lot of levels, but more than anything it’s the lyrics; they really hit home right now. I am, indeed, learning to walk again. I’ve certainly waited long enough. So…where do I begin?
Everything is moving. My business is steadily growing, I’m working on a couple of joint ventures that look promising, and I have a project in the works that’s looking to be incredibly fun and exciting. At the same time, I’m getting acquainted with being single for the first time in a long time. And I’m performing again.
Last week was another one of those “learning” weeks.
It all started on Wednesday when my BFF Carolyn posted the video for Nickleback’s song “If Today Was Your Last Day” on Facebook. I’m not a huge Nickleback fan, but I love the message of this song. My favorite line: “Against the grain should be a way of life. What’s worth the prize is always worth the fight.” After all of the discoveries from the past few weeks, you’d think I’d be used to this by now, but hearing this song stopped me in my tracks and reminded me just how fragile life is and how I shouldn’t be wasting any time doing things I don’t really care about.
Then came the hard lesson: on Friday morning, I learned that a kid I had known out in Calaveras County, and who I’d spent some time mentoring when I lived there, had died in a car accident the day before.
Holy. Shit.
He was only 20…newly married…his whole life ahead of him. And gone. Just like that. His Facebook page is still up…his friends have been leaving messages and tagging pictures. Welcome to mourning in the digital age. I keep going back and reading the new posts and thinking over and over about the delicate thread we hang on by.
Yesterday I promised to reveal the question that has transformed my life and taken me from playing small to playing larger than I ever have, from showing up as the janitor to embracing my inner rock star and finally, finally starting to live on purpose. But before I do, let me tell you a little about the events leading up to this discovery and how taking some of these steps can help you to finally quiet those voices in your head that keep telling you that you’re not good enough.
I’d been up visiting family in Oregon for my niece’s graduation. On the way home, we decided to stop overnight in the little town where I grew up, Cave Junction, Oregon (go ahead, Google it…you’ll be stunned). We spent Sunday night at my uncle’s house, and Monday morning we decided to putter around town for a few hours before heading back home to Sacramento.
It had been a long, long time, like a couple of decades, since I’d spent any significant time in CJ (that’s what we locals call it). I’d been back in my adult life for three occassions: the funerals of my grandparents, the funeral of my cousin, Steven, and the wedding of my niece, Kristy. Each of those trips had been accomplished, round trip from Sacramento, in a single day. Meaning in and out, no time for sight-seeing. This time was different; no one was in a hurry, and we just wandered around a bit.
And then it happened: I said I wanted to go to my old elementary school and take a picture and, as soon as I set foot on that hallowed ground, I started shaking and getting choked up, then crying. It made no sense. There I was, a grown man, standing in front of this timy little school and weeping. Ummm…WTF?
You know how sometimes a person pulls a Thoreau and wanders off into the woods to do a little soul-searching, then when they come back all they want to talk about is all the existential shit they discovered while they were off with the trees, but all you really want to talk about is what a bitch Becky at work is being? Yeah, it’s gonna be one of those posts.
You see, while I haven’t been off “finding myself” in the woods, the place I was wandering was almost as scary. I’ve been on walkabout in my own head, and let me tell you: it’s no walk in Central Park in there. Unless we’re talking about the scene in that Roy Scheider/Meryl Streep flick “Still of the Night” where the crazy killer lady is just on the other side of that tunnel waiting to kill someone; it’s kind of like that Central Park.
And what did I find on this dark and dangerous excursion? As corny as it sounds, I think I finally found my self-worth.
Look, you and I have entered into a kind of unspoken arrangement: you come here because you like the things I say or because what I talk about resonates with you (thank you for that!), and I come here because I’ve realized that openness and honesty are the first steps on my road to redemption. On your side of the unspoken agreement, you’ve concurred that if you like what you read you’ll come back again, maybe leave a comment, maybe tell a friend or two, and help grow this community of rebels and non-conformists. On my side, I’ve agreed to share it all, no matter how messy, in the hope that something I say or do will be just the thing you needed to see or hear today.
One of the realizations I’ve come to over the past few weeks of breakdowns and breakthroughs is that I have to, at all costs, stop pretending to be someone else. You’d think that would be pretty easy; on the surface, consciously, we don’t like to think of ourselves as posers.
And yet, every day, we do and say things that are out of line with what we really want to do and say. I’ll wager lunch at your favorite drive-thru restaurant that you did it at least once today; I know I did. Why do we do it? Because we’re afraid. Afraid of what other people will think, afraid that we might be wrong, afraid that nobody will like us if we let them know who we really are.
Meanwhile, we’re slowly dying inside. Keep turning off those aspects of your personality that you fear, one by one, and eventually you’ll wake up one day wondering who you are and what you’ve done with your life. Trust me when I tell you that it’s not fun. Fruitful and necessary, yes, but not fun. Because it’s at that point that you have to start untangling yourself from the story and sorting out which bits are the real you and which bits were the version of you that was engineered to please others.
The problem for some of us is that we’ve spent so long pleasing others that we’ve completely forgotten what, exactly, it is that’s important to us. We get so caught up in school and work and kids and activities that we never take the time to reflect on the direction we’re headed.
A friend reminded me the other day of the parable (variously attributed to Alexander the Great, Cortes and others) of the adventurer who, on landing on the shores of his destination, burned his ships to send a message to his men that there was no turning back. She had recently had a “ship-burning” moment of her own and was at the same time ecstatic and nervous.
I had mine last Wednesday, and I know exactly what she’s talking about.
You see, setting the ships on fire is fun: you get to play with matches and lighter fluid, which is always a good time. It’s only when you’re standing on the shore, watching the flames engulf every last scrap of wood, that you get the sinking, “Oh shit!” feeling in your stomach and begin to wonder if you did the right thing and whether you remembered to pay the insurance premium this month.
Don’t get me wrong; I know that burning the ships was the right thing to do. If I hadn’t, I don’t think I’d ever have broken away from some of the things that have been holding me back. I’m simply acknowledging the fear, owning it, staring it in its ugly face, getting ready to let it go.
Neil Senturia is not your typical…well, he’s not your typical anything, at least as far as I can tell from his new book I’m There for You, Baby – The Entrepreneur’s Guide to the Galaxy, Volume 1 (WARNING: affiliate link). What I can tell you for certain, though, is that Mr. Senturia knows how to tell a story.
I haven’t had this much fun reading a book since I was a kid reading They Shoot Canoes, Don’t They? by Patrick McManus (yep, another affiliate link…sorry, but it’s just easier than logging out of Amazon). I don’t often laugh out loud when I read business books, but this one had me chuckling, snickering and, occasionally, guffawing (I may have just made that word up…sorry about that). Even better, I learned a thing or two along the way.
The book is a series of stories built around The Baby Rules, a set of entrepreneurial truisms culled from Senturia’s experiences as a real estate mogul, venture capitalist, Hollywood writer and all around deal-making addict. But don’t make the mistake of believing everything you read; Rule #109 states “Never let the facts get in the way of a good story.” Senturia’s grasp of the ridiculous, his razor-sharp wit, and his blunt-force-trauma style of truth-telling make for a great read.
One of my favorite lessons, and one that made me stop and think about my own journey, is Rule #19: “Entrepreneurs do not do it for the fame or fortune – they do it for revenge.” I’ve been thinking about that one ever since I read it; it’s been dogging my steps, haunting my sleep, and generally driving me nuts for weeks.