Saturday, July 28, 2012

The Taste of Success

“Celebrate what you want to see more of.” --- Tom Peters

I toted around a bright red autograph book my mother had given me for my 10th birthday. Friends and family members would happily write something cool in it. But there was one autograph I recall all these years later.

Soon after my birthday, Uncle Dick came to San Diego from Hawaii for a business trip and visited us. I flashed my new book at him and asked if he’d sign it. His smiled as he thought of something to write. When he pressed the side of his hand onto a clean white sheet, I peeked over his shoulder at the kitchen table. He had beautiful penmanship for a man; I remembered thinking as his hand danced across the 4X6 page. I read his note once, then again, and thought it was the weirdest thing ever.
Don’t suck a lemon. Suc-cess
 Uncle explained that we shouldn’t suck on lemons. They’re sour. But to suck on success, it’s sweet. He leaned in close to me and said, success will give you a good life. He asked what I could do to be a success. After some thought, I told him I could do my homework, get good grades, don’t get in trouble for talking so much during class, don’t eat sugar from the bowl, don’t forget my manners. I would have keep chiming out this atta-girl list; but honestly even at 10 I thought it might be easier just to suck on that sour old lemon.

But a funny thing happened. That recital of good deeds I gave to Uncle Dick made me kind of excited. I wondered if I could be a success at school.

I wasn’t a good student. I didn’t like homework. Only one “B” hung sheepishly amongst the “C’s” and “C—‘s” on my report card, and the “B” was for P.E. The only reason I remotely liked school was to play with my friends. Other than that, school was a drag. But I had a choice to make: Suck a lemon or suc-cess.

Since success was a new concept, I thought why not give it a try. Instead of doodling or having combat duo with my pencil and eraser at the small desk in my bedroom, I bit my lower lip, trying to write neatly and do the best I could. I wondered if the taste of success was as sweet as sugar from a bowl.

One day my teacher, Mrs. Krear, called me over to her desk when the class was dismissed for recess. I thought I was in trouble, but wondered how that could be, because I’d stopped talking to my best friend in class and I turned in all my homework. I stood nervously at her desk. A large wooden ruler lay like a stiff snake at the top of her desk. She used it all the time on the bad kids. Even I got a swat on my chubby knuckles for talking too much.

She said something that pulled my attention away from that monster ruler. She was pleased with my homework, but wondered if someone might have done it. I told her, it was only me. She smiled, saying how proud she was, and keep up the good work.

I nodded and dashed out the door to the playground, smiling over the taste of success. It was sweet.

Friday, July 13, 2012

Hello. Are You Flying Home?

Hello, Are You Flying Home?


You never know when you might be the highlight in a trip, a needed word, a special kindness...

I travel extensively and there’s one thing I’ve learned: An outgoing person, who flies for 2-3 hours without speaking to the person sitting next to her, amidst tight quarters in an airplane, can get uncomfortable and lonely. I tell myself, I’ve been speaking to large groups, being animated, answering questions. So I stuff my carryon under the seat in from of me with visions of closing my eyes so no one will bother me. Okay, so this is unfriendly, but I’m entitled to some alone time. Unfortunately, this lame excuse doesn’t make me feel better. What can make me feel better is really quite simple.

“Hello, are you flying home?” I ask the gal sitting next to me. Once she responds, I find myself wanting to get better acquainted. Sometimes the conversation ends there and we chat again when refreshments are served. Or we carry on a conversation for the entire flight, and before we know it, the 2-3 hour flight is over. I’ll occasionally meet someone who needs a sounding board or a word of encouragement. This is when being at the right place is an incredible honor.

On a trip to Sacramento, CA a woman dressed in a black suit flung a duffle bag in the overhead bin, straightened her jacket and asked if the seat next to me was available. I smiled and nodded. She fumbled with the seatbelt and let out a long breath.

“Hello, are you flying home?” I greeted her.
“Yes, I am and I can’t get there fast enough!” she said, nearly in tears. She told about being laid off after 25-years in a management position for the federal government. She had no idea what she would do next. She dabbed her tears with a Kleenex I had offered. I prayed silently while she poured out her heart, asking God for the right words to say. I felt compelled to say, “Now that you’ve survived this closed door, God has a new door for you.” She reached over, hugged me and said, “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that. You’re right. God has never failed me, He won’t now!”

Then there was a young woman, who sat next to me at the gate. Her father had died and she was going to his funeral. Soon, we began boarding and I asked if she’d like me to save her a seat. She nodded. During the flight, she kept thanking me for saving her a seat. Even though we hadn’t talked much, what meant most to her was that she wasn’t traveling alone. Sometimes, it’s what we don’t say that matters the most.

I met another woman, who had recently married a man with children and she was having a difficult time as a step-mom. I had shared that I, too, was a stepmom. We discussed the challenges we faced when everyone—new wife and children—was fighting over the same man.

And I remember the lady, whose son had married a woman who didn’t like her. She didn’t know how to handle her daughter-in-law. I shared what worked for me. “Just give your daughter-in-law some space, be consistently pleasant and supportive. Eventually she’ll come around.” Although this is easier said then done, a mother-in-law needs to be patient or she’ll turn into a monster-in-law.

These gals are everywhere in our lives—at Starbucks in front of us in line. She’s the cashier at the grocery store, the young gal who is scolding her toddler at the table next to us at lunch. These are people, living their own story. They are a “who,” not a “what,” just like you and me. Ask yourself what keeps you from engaging with others. Is it that you’re afraid of their reaction? Do they scare you in some way? Are you too tired or too busy? What are you missing if you don’t start the conversation?