A Matter Of Perspective

Think of what you have over what you have not.
Think of who you are over who you are not.
Think of where you’ve come over where you have not.
Think of when you learned over when you did not.
Think of how you’ve grown over how you have not.

Think of what you do over what you do not.
Think of who you can inspire over who you inspire not.
Think of where you can improve over where you can not.
Think of when you should make a difference over when you should not.
Think of how you’ll make the world a better place over how you will not.

Success. Fulfillment. Satisfaction.

It all starts with perspective.

More With Less

I am a huge fan of the TV series Justified. For six seasons, the show brought a potent mix of vibrant characters, dark comedy and dramatic tension to my living room. It also brought this gem of a line into my consciousness.

“Boy, you say 40 words where four will do.”

Nine words of brilliance. Brilliance that cuts deep.

I am a writer. While it might not be the way I make my living per se, putting words on paper is my greatest talent.

Yet this gift comes combo-packaged with the curse of long-windedness. Indeed, I often say more than I need to in my writing; worse still, I become an unconscionable blabbermouth when I spend extended time with family and friends.

I know why this happens. I subconsciously feel the extra words will allow everyone to understand something I previously implied. I often have trouble deciphering implied meanings, so I aim to be an empathetic communicator for all who I can connect with.

But this strategy is foolish. Writing is about forging an emotional connection with your readers. Verbal communication with one’s inner circle is no different. That connection can be powerful when done right, but every extra word or unnecessary thought dilutes its potency, much as water dilutes alcohol.

This is why the most influential communicators have mastered the art of efficiency. Writers from Mark Twain to Seth Godin have imparted wisdom in short phrases, time and again. The impact of their words outweighs the amount of text on the page. The absence of explanation gives the audience something to chew on, making the prose more impactful and memorable.

My goal is to have this impact both with my writing and my verbal communication. So I strive to show restraint, to listen more and to think before speaking, every time.

It’s a challenge, but one that’s critical for me to take on. For if I want to be the best communicator I possibly plan, I must master this manta:

Say more with less.

The Show Me Moment

“Do you have any questions?”

Five simple words. One question mark. But when they were directed towards me in my younger days, I’d transform into an arctic glacier.

It all made sense. Still does.

You see, I was a shy kid, the son of teachers. To me, routine and familiarity were crucial back then; going off-script was deadly. If I asked questions when prompted to, whether it was in class, at an interview or elsewhere, it would show that I didn’t get it, that I couldn’t follow. Little did I know back then, but the silent treatment instead proved that I truly didn’t get it.

Leaders don’t follow. Leaders communicate.

A prompt for questions is not a chance for the stragglers to catch up; it’s a chance for the best and brightest to stand out. Those that ask quality questions when prompted simultaneously prove their retention abilities while upping the ante by stimulating intellectual conversation.

With apologies to the great state of Missouri, it’s the real Show Me Moment.

I don’t know for sure when I figured this out and shook myself out of my adolescent daze. But I do know that for the past decade or so, I’ve made it a point to come up with high-quality questions at nearly every job interview, webinar or presentation I’ve been to. I’ve used a combination of advanced research and on-the-fly thinking to come up with these questions, but more importantly, I’ve rarely hesitated to ask them.

I’ve also found that you can learn a lot from the way a presenter, interviewer or teacher answers the questions you pose. For instance, I find when someone says, “Great question” and pauses before responding, it means my question hit the mark. I caught them off-guard in a good way — as they now have to think of a response on the fly.

Eliciting the “Great Question” response is powerful for several reasons. For one, it shows that you’re ready to take the discussion to the next level intellectually For another, it turns the tables on the person asking for questions; instead of them taking you out of your comfort zone, you’ve taken them out of theirs. And when those gears are suddenly and unexpectedly firing in their mind, a funny thing happens. You suddenly become more memorable to that person.

In essence, asking high-quality questions can help you stand out in a productive, non-obnoxious way. You’ll be seen as a great communicator, a sophisticated mind and a person worth paying attention to. This is true not only in the classroom, conference room or presentation space, but throughout life as a whole.

So don’t be afraid to ask those questions when prompted. Seize your Show Me Moment.

A Better Resolution

A new year is upon us. The changing of a digit on the year field was, once again, strangely a cause for celebration, indulgence and clichéd Year In Review lists. But once the confetti cleared and the hangovers lifted, something far worse took over our collective consciousness — those dreaded New Years Resolutions.

If you can’t tell, I’m not exactly a big fan of New Year’s. I mostly view it as a clerical holiday mixed with too much drinking, something we arbitrarily celebrate to inflate our own importance. In the natural order of the universe, it’s quite strange for billions of people to go nuts and drink champagne at a certain point of a random winter’s night. But because we’ve standardized our calendar to stop at a certain point, we’re convinced that something different has happened once it does.

Which leads me to those damn resolutions. Since we’ve deluded ourselves into thinking that something magical happens when the clock hits midnight on New Year’s Eve, we collectively decide to make broad changes at that time — whether that’s losing weight, saving money or being nicer to others.

But here’s the thing: Arbitrarily making resolutions simply because it’s a new year is selfish.

Don’t believe me? Well take a step back and think about what the impetus for some of those resolutions are? A weight loss resolution is often a reaction to holiday overindulgence, or a single-minded quest look good in a swimsuit in the summer. A resolution to save money is similarly inward-focused; we’re more likely to use that money to buy more things for ourselves than to help those in need. And if you have to make an arbitrary resolution to be a nicer person, well, shame on you.

These resolutions don’t really have much of an impact on the lives of those around us. They just make us feel better when we look in the mirror — or at least make us feel less guilty.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with self-improvement. But the start of a new year shouldn’t be the driving force behind it. For one thing, our heart is likely not spearheading these changes. For another, it’s harder to stay accountable when you’re doing something because a calendar told you to.

This is a big reason why none of my self-improvement initiatives have started in January. I started working out regularly two and a half years ago, and I’ve yet to go a week without at least 10 minutes on the treadmill since. I gave up McDonalds 18 months ago and haven’t set foot in a Golden Arches, Burger King or Wendys since then. And my last sip of soda was three months ago. All three decisions came from the heart — not an arbitrary date on the calendar. Because of that, I’ve remained committed to them.

So as this year continues, I urge you to make resolutions. I urge you to seek changes that make your life better and improve the lives of those around you. But most of all, I urge you to only take up these resolutions when your heart is fully committed to them.

Happy New Year.