Jean Marc XO vodka is the finest in the world in my opinion, and a couple of our favorite restaurants stock it just for me. At the Post Office Café in East Greenwich, the manager, Christopher, asked one of his other customers to engage in his favorite hobby and make a lamp out of one of my many exhausted bottles.
And for those of you who thought I was kidding, here are the tulips I’m raising in my retirement. (I am kidding.)
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I’m a product of the pubic school system when it was an impressive place to learn, even in the inner city. When I attended grammar school, teachers were regarded as the most highly educated people in the community, were respected, and were authoritarian. In Hudson School, in Union City, NJ, there were perhaps 30 teachers, only one of whom was male.
The school itself was a former cheese factory of some kind, a three-story structure where the janitors were forced to place traps in the dank corners in the winter to control the rats and mice which, through countless generations, had populated the place. The cheese was simply a dim, racial memory for the current vermin.
In the third grade, I was the kind of kid you probably hated. I was teacher’s pet, vied with a nerdy girl named Carolyn for top honors in every category, and was saved from extinction by the fact that I was also one of the best schoolyard athletes around.
About once a month, a special teacher would visit us in Miss Mandelkern’s third-grade classroom. Her job was to focus on spelling and language, and she would be allotted about an hour of classroom time. I don’t recall her name, but she was quite old (especially to a third-grader), and wore a horrible wig, which was immediately identifiable because it was always skewed somewhat to starboard.
One day she launched an exercise to have us provide a word that began with each letter of the alphabet. As others volunteered “cow” and “dog” I bided my time.
Sure enough, we arrived at “X.” I waited, a cheetah on the savanna, poised for a monumental explosion of speed. A girl offered “X-Ray.”
“No,” said the special teacher, “that has a hyphen.”
I allowed the silence to continue for several delicious seconds, then up shot my hand. Miss Mandelkern beamed.
“Xylophone!” I pronounced, as my classmates stared in envy (or it could have been revulsion).
“No,” said the special teacher, “that starts with a ‘Z.’”
Miss Mandelkern lost eye contact with me as I slumped back, stunned. My classmates began to snicker. I don’t remember what happened after that, I may have wound up in the nurse’s office.
Later that day, one of my friends said, “I looked it up over lunch. ‘Xylophone’ does start with ‘X.’ You were right!”
I learned from that 8-year-old experience the following:
1. A position of authority does not create infallibility.
2. Those in authority often back each other, at least through passivity, ignoring (or even harming) the customer.
3. Life isn’t fair. You can be right and still fail.
4. If you feel powerless, you can be easily cowed by those with power, even when they’re wrong.
5. I would never, ever, let anyone tell me that “xylophone” begins with anything other than an “X” for the remainder of my life (though I do now keep “xanthic” and “xenium” in reserve).
I don’t care what’s on your business card or how many initials you have after your name. What you tell me had better make sense and not contradict what I know to be true. Play that on your marimbas.
© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.
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Of all my books, Million Dollar Consulting is by far my best seller, having something over 400,000 readers, in its fourth edition, and on the shelves for 18 consecutive years. That is relatively rare. Its name has created perhaps the most powerful brand in solo consulting, and its use is a registered trademark, as in Million Dollar Consulting® College. I can trace probably 90 percent of current revenues directly or indirectly to it.
So how did this come about?
I wrote my first book in 1988, when a colleague asked if I’d be interested in co-authoring a work on innovation (we would both conceptualize, I would write). The resultant The Innovation Formula went from hard cover to soft cover, became part of a HarperCollins strategy series, was picked up by Wharton, Villanova, and Temple, and was translated into German and Italian.
Based on its success, I pitched and wrote my first solo book for HarperCollins, Managing for Peak Performance. That went from hard cover to soft cover, and was translated into German. Based on that success, I pitched and wrote a strategy book, Making It Work, which never made it out of hardcover for the same publisher. And that was my last book with HarperCollins to this day, having placed my first three with them. (I now own Making It Work, and have re-released it as Best Laid Plans, a far better title.)
I then set out to write Confessions of A Consultant, which would inform executives about good and poor practices, how to choose consulting help, what to reasonably expect and pay for, and so forth. I had read in a National Speakers Association magazine that an agent named Jeff Herman liked to represent speakers and consultants. I sent him my first thee books and my latest idea, and he immediately signed me. (He is today responsible for placing my three best-selling books, and is still my agent.)
Confessions was rejected 15 or 18 times. Then one day Jeff called me in my car while I was returning from speaking in Hartford. I had one of the first car phones in New England in 1991, and it was a regular phone handset hard-wired into the dash of my Mercedes 450 SLC.
“I’m at McGraw-Hill,” said Jeff.
“McGraw-Hill!” I shouted. “They like the book?!” I considered McGraw then and I do now, to be one of the great business publishers.
“No, they hate the premise, but they are interested in publishing a book on how you can make a million dollars a year in solo consulting. That part of your credentials impressed them. Can you write a book like that?”
“In six minutes,” I whispered.
“I’ll tell them six months,” he said, putting his hand obviously over the phone, and then responded, “We have a deal, I’ll work it out.”
Four months later I had finished the manuscript and had offered to meet once again the senior business editor at McGraw, Betsy Brown, in her Manhattan office. This was our third meeting.
“We’re going into production tomorrow,” she said, “and we can’t call this Confessions of a Consultant any more. What do you want to call it?”
Standing, I said, “I’ll give it some thought.”
“Sit,” she said (you tended to do what Betsy Brown ordered, a strikingly beautiful woman who took no prisoners and whom I was always chasing after in the halls despite her stilettos). “I want the title right now.”
“Betsy, I don’t know what to tell you. It’s a book about how to make a million dollars consulting.”
“Ah, and there it is!” she said.
The rest is not just history, but my present and future.
What happened during this crazy journey?
• I agreed to write a co-authored book, though I had never done a book.
• I pitched a second and third book to the publisher.
• I joined a professional association and searched it for resources.
• I found an agent, having three books to bolster my credibility.
• I did not get depressed over all the rejections.
• I readily agreed to change the premise of the book.
• I visited my editor.
• I used a spur-of-the-moment title.
• I recognized a brand when I saw one.
• I was willing to transform my business.
I’m not smart enough to tell you what’s going to happen tomorrow, but I’m agile and quick enough to jump on what’s happening today. My story is not unique. You can find these combinations of luck, accident, resilience, and talent all over.
My reaction is to always push the throttle forward. I’ll slow down only if I begin to lose control. In the meantime, I intend to take a fabulous ride.
What about you? Are you racing into the turns or riding the brake?
© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.
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The floods up here didn’t get to our house, which is on high ground, but our pond flooded and the waterfall erupted, taking out our water main. (You can see photos elsewhere on this blog.) Yesterday, upon our return from New York, the plumbers finally were able to restore things, and the water company arrived to turn the water back on from the street.
We’ve had the same plumbers—an extended family—for 20 years. I see them about 4 times a year for various things (this is a big house). We’re on good terms and know each other. I thought.
The father explained to me that the water should be fine but he was having it tested. “One thing, I’m afraid, will affect you,” he said seriously.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“For a few days or so, your wife won’t be able to cook,” he said kindly, as if consoling me.
“We’ll handle it,” I assured him. (We eat out 7 nights a week.)
Unanticipated event: Since we can’t drink the water for another few days, I’m not letting the dogs drink it (even though they drink out of the pond on occasion) and I’m filling their bowls with bottled water. Koufax particularly loves this, and I’m thinking I may have a longer-term problem here….
© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.
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“When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now,
Will you still be sending me a Valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine?
If I’d been out ’till quarter to three, would you lock the door?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I’m sixty-four?”
(From “When I’m Sixty-Four”
by John Lennon/Paul McCartney)
Arose this morning intending to make my birthday just another day, though every day with me is something special. The granddaughters are walking. My daughter and her husband are doing very well. My son is acting and directing, midway through grad school in Florida.
Maria and I are just back from Hawaii and London. I have five books and three major initiatives planned for 2010 (almost finished with “Million Dollar Speaking”), and for the next two days I’ll be involved with a brand new workshop. A cartoon strip will be appearing in the next 30 days here, we’ll be in New York next week, I’ve just acquired 17 front row, mezzanine seats for the Mentor Hall of Fame members to see the new Twyla Tharp musical about Sinatra, and our Bora Bora plans are set for the Million Dollar Club.
Back to this morning. Koufax saw my workout clothes and went back to sleep with Buddy Beagle. I went into the garage and decided which of the two Bentleys to drive. I heated both the seats and the steering wheel, and rolled off to my personal trainer. After that agony, I began my day in earnest, with some mentor calls and writing.
We’ll celebrate at dinner on Saturday officially, at one of my favorite steak places, Providence Prime, with a suitable, incredible wine.
The calendar says I’m older, but I can still feed myself. My hair isn’t all that bad, and I’m stronger than I’ve been since college. Never thought I’d be 64. But it beats the hell out of the alternative. And I think I’m in the most creative period of my life.
Who knows, maybe I’m just talking to myself. But I’m certainly enjoying the conversation.
© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.
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I have three new books I’m writing; four new global initiatives; trips to New York, Florida, and Bora Bora to coordinate; and six new restaurants I want to try. However, I’m distracted by a nagging concern.
Is ice skating a sport?
Can there be any activity classified as a sport where men wear feathers and women wear, well, as little as possible? Pole dancing isn’t a sport, though the Times had an article this past Sunday that there’s a movement in that direction. I would assume that’s from yoga classes and not Bert’s Gentlemen’s Clubs, Inc.
I realize that there’s a great deal of athleticism in skating, what with spins and leaps, although most of it is invisible, except to hummingbirds. Is it really a sport if it takes slow-motion replay to appreciate it? (Was that a triple, quad, or dodecagon?) Then I realized that hockey is a sport, and if you’re seriously dealing with a beer during the game you can easily miss a goal, and it’s more than likely to be the only goal. Which probably explains the interest in curling, during which you could read War and Peace and never miss any action. But can an activity with brooms be a sport? Well, cricket players wear sweaters. But, I digress.
I’ve been on the board of a ballet, and watching the dancers I realize that they are far better conditioned than any athletes, and they also jump and leap. But no one considers dance a sport. We’re not about to see the Royal Ballet competing in London in 2012.
Hold on, there’s ice dancing. That’s a sport. But again, we’re talking costumes and music. And all that sultry stuff, with tangos, and embraces, and meaningful eye batting. We’re almost back to Bert’s clubs.
Yet you can’t ignore all those jumps and leaps. What compares to ice skating that is unarguably a sport? Gymnastics resembles it, and that’s clearly a sport. Yet you don’t see fancy outfits with fur and feathers on gymnasts, although gymnasts’ attire is very skimpy, but that’s okay because everyone is 12 years old, lying about being 14. Yet gymnasts don’t work in pairs and the teams are people on different apparatuses. Who does things as pairs in athletics, akin to ice skating pairs?
Synchronized swimming! There’s a sport that involves people acting in concert, doing the same thing concurrently. No, wait: That’s been disqualified as an Olympic sport. That won’t do.
I guess one could judge by the fitness of the participants. In that case, I’d be inclined to keep ice skating as a sport, except for all that crying, win or lose. Grown men weeping like babies. Coaches crying. What’s that all about? And the flowers tossed all over. Can you imagine throwing flowers to a wrestler or basketball player? You’d be the one crying.
And if we went by fitness, well, then clearly golf and bowling are not sports. Although bowlers at least drink beer like people watching hockey, which I know is a sport. Except when it’s a fight.
© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.
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Here are some thoughts for beginning 2010 with the right philosophy and mentality. (In Cole Porter’s “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” Sinatra sings, “Use your mentality, wake up to reality….”)
Remember Y2K? Not exactly going to be more than a minor blip in the footnotes in Wikipedia, is it? No airline crashes, no banks collapsed, not even the alarm clocks failed. The “swine flu” has proved to be a rather average illness, with fewer deaths than those caused by the normal, seasonal influenza. All deaths are tragedies, but we must retain proportion.
Global warming? My reading tells me that no one is really sure how much humankind is contributing or even if we can seriously alter what we are contributing. The Russians just announced plans to create rockets to engage and deflect an asteroid that’s due in the next 20 years, that most scientists estimate has one chance in 450,000 of hitting us. (The Russians are understandably sensitive, since the last rock of this sort DID hit Siberia and leveled about 80 million trees a while back.)
There are those claiming that the government is hiding aliens somewhere, and that the Mayan calendar is predicting the world’s end, and that excess spray tanning will eventually end life as we know it. (Maybe it already has—have you taken a look at some of those “stars” on “Dancing with the Stars”?!)
We can’t fall victim to the panic epidemic.
My point is that we (fueling and/or fueled by the media) have a tad of a tendency to be apocalyptic. I’m not deep enough to tell you that it’s meant to represent expiation for our sins, or redemption for our hubris, or simply deal with the fact that, basically, no one understands the universe.
I can tell you this: Live each day to the fullest you can. That needn’t be a flurry of activity, it may be spent in quiet contemplation. But it should not be subsumed in fear. It should not be wasted in constant apology, but rather invested in ongoing contribution.
We are all too ready to believe that there are huge, uncontrolled forces trying to destroy our lives or at least manipulate our futures. I’m here to tell you that’s not so, and that empirical evidence does not support such a belief system.
My computer wasn’t affected by Y2K, nor was my brain (which recognized panic and overwrought reaction at the time). I’m concerned, not detached, about the challenges we all face, but I’m much more concerned about the pragmatics of how we educate our children, take care of the helpless, and make the streets safe, than I am about claims that medium-rare cheeseburgers will kill me if that asteroid doesn’t.
Maybe I can get the Russians to work on the burger thing. They apparently have plenty of time on their hands. But, in the meantime, I’m going to enjoy everyday life, try to improve the lives of those around me, and thereby improve and enrich my own.
© Alan Weiss 2010 All rights reserved. Alan’s latest book is Thrive! Stop wishing your life away….
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ALAN’S TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS FOR CONSULTANTS
By Alan Weiss
(with apologies to everyone from the 16th Century and prior)
On the first day of Christmas
My efforts brought to me,
A large dose of self-esteem.
On the second day of Christmas
My efforts brought to me,
Two new ideas,
And a large dose of self-esteem.
On the third day of Christmas
My efforts brought to me,
Three great colleagues,
Two new ideas,
And a large dose of self-esteem.
On the fourth day of Christmas
My efforts brought to me,
Four great referrals,
Three great colleagues,
Two new ideas,
And a large dose of self-esteem.
On the fifth day of Christmas
My efforts brought to me,
Five inspirations,
Four great referrals,
Three great colleagues,
Two new ideas,
And a large dose of self-esteem.
On the sixth day of Christmas
My efforts brought to me,
Six clients buying,
Five inspirations,
Four great referrals,
Three great colleagues,
Two new ideas,
And a large dose of self-esteem.
On the seventh day of Christmas
My efforts brought to me,
Seven leads a-calling,
Six clients buying,
Five inspirations,
Four great referrals,
Three great colleagues,
Two new ideas,
And a large dose of self-esteem.
On the eighth day of Christmas
My efforts brought to me,
Eight speaking requests,
Seven leads a-calling,
Six clients buying,
Five inspirations,
Four great referrals,
Three great colleagues,
Two new ideas,
And a large dose of self-esteem.
On the ninth day of Christmas
My efforts brought to me,
Nine columns printing,
Eight speaking requests,
Seven leads a-calling,
Six clients buying
Five inspirations,
Four great referrals,
Three great colleagues,
Two new ideas,
And a large dose of self-esteem.
On the tenth day of Christmas
My efforts brought to me,
Ten agents calling,
Nine columns printing
Eight speaking requests
Seven leads a-calling,
Six clients buying,
Five inspirations,
Four great referrals
Three great colleagues,
Two new ideas,
And a large dose of self-esteem.
On the eleventh day of Christmas
My efforts brought to me,
Eleven innovations,
Ten agents calling,
Nine columns printing,
Eight speaking requests,
Seven leads a-calling,
Six clients buying
Five inspirations,
Four great referrals
Three great colleagues,
Two new ideas,
And a large dose of self-esteem.
On the twelfth day of Christmas
My efforts brought to me,
Twelve vacation days,
Eleven innovations,
Ten agents calling,
Nine columns printing,
Eight speaking requests,
Seven leads a-calling,
Six clients buying,
Five inspirations,
Four great referrals,
Three great colleagues,
Two new ideas,
And a large dose of self-esteem.
© Alan Weiss 2009. All rights reserved.
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Every year at this time, as the weather turns decidedly colder and the leaves begin to fall, we see the arrival of some kind of beetle, which my wife and I call “the brown bugs.” They seem to lead a brief life in the cold, and they appear outside on the balcony and inside in the adjoining master bath, where they slowly explore the immediate vicinity. The photo shows one that I found crawling by me in my den this morning.
The Great Dog Trotsky used to simply eat them. (He was very adept at eating bees, by the way, and would sit silently in the flower beds, stunning them with a quick nip, then bopping them with a huge paw, and devouring them. He taught our terrier to do that. “Protein,” said my wife.)
Buddy Beagle finds them too slow to try to play with, although they do fly like ungainly World War II B-24s, and Koufax would not deign to even touch a bug, much less devour one. Whatever their natural enemies are, they seem to have disappeared, since there are more than the usual number this year. We see about four a day, though it may well be the same bug four times, I admit.
My wife puts them gently outside (where I’m convinced they come right back in again) and I simply tolerate them, since they only last about two weeks. They are hardy critters, not minding freezing temperatures. I absently noted one in the dogs’ upstairs water bowl, floating, and forgot about it. A day later, when I emptied the bowl into the Jacuzzi, the floating bug seemed to shake itself, and then walk away, none the worse for a lengthy immersion!
These bugs move slowly and fly slowly, resembling a bad Japanese science fiction movie with lousy special effects. But in their fortnight or so, they emerge, eat, mate, and I assume lay eggs for the next generation. This group confines itself to a small corner of our home. I’ve come to admire them.
I know that some of you would consider calling in the insect police, or fumigating the place, but we live here on six acres and saw four deer the other day on the way to our morning workout. I can’t be selective in enjoying nature. Live and let live. Who am I to destroy life that really isn’t causing me any problem?
I’m going to have to call my wife to remove the one in my den and put him outside. I’m sure I’ll see him again before too long.
© Alan Weiss 2009. All rights reserved.
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In 1882 the first Labor Day parade took place, an assemblage of thousands of people taking an unpaid day to celebrate the worth and value of their work. In 1894, Congress, with its usual speed of a decade having gone by, got around to making it an official day of recognition (meaning for most people, it’s now a paid holiday).
As entrepreneurs (the usual denizens of this blog), I’d like to suggest that there is a fundamental difference among “work,” “job,” and “career.” You can substitute whatever words you prefer, but here are my definitions (which I’m sure wouldn’t stand the rigorous validity tests of, say, Wikipedia):
Work: Temporary provision of physical and/or mental labor for compensation. It is transient by nature. (This is the problem with many “stimulus” plans for public works, for example. They are temporary and disappear.) You can work as a subcontractor to a consulting firm or a building company, until the project is over or your particular contribution is fulfilled (or no longer required). You “work” on a problem or an assignment. The focus is on your input, and the work is often singular, e.g., doing taxes, painting a building, writing a program. The pay reflects the time that is put in.
Job: Organized contributions which are continually (one hopes) required, normally involving diverse work. One can have a job as an accountant, consultant, plumber, radio talk show host. Our accountant’s job may include this kind of work: tax planning, investment advice, payroll services, and so forth. Jobs can be organized by others, or one can be self-employed. They are also usually input-based, commonly compensated by a time unit or event or task, and are featured by a title or description of the tasks: Your job is vice president of retail banking; your job is to drive the bus; your job is to sell insurance.
Career: Contribution of value which constantly evolves, expands, and extends one’s impact on customers, clients, and others. A career is not dependent on job title and can readily change to suit the times or to help change the times. People with careers tend not to identify with titles (and, hence, are never crushed when their title may be taken away by others), but with output and results of their talents. They will easily change the work, and alter the jobs, to create the desired outcomes. You may “work” at drafting, or have a “job” as an architect, but the career would be improving urban aesthetics or creating higher quality family interactions. People with careers are entitled to earn compensation based on the value of their contributions (though many tend not to do this, having been influenced by their former “work” or “job”).
As a consultant, for example, I’ve improved organizational and individual performance. As a mentor and coach, I build communities of learning and growth for the members. I’ve never seen myself as “producing reports” or “running focus groups” or “conducting a training” (a locution which is as bad as “gone missing”).
We’ve all experienced doctors, lawyers, designers, accountants, engineers, consultants, coaches, and other professionals who see themselves doing a “job” (filled with jargon, concerned about their own time, and focused on the next task), or even worse, merely “work” (just fill out the forms and see the secretary). Yet I experience postal workers, for example, who, despite some of the worst management in the history of public service, still see themselves making contributions (“I put some extra postage on this, you can pay me when you see me, because I knew you wouldn’t want it to be delayed”), rather than merely going through the motions of their work. My plumbers make contributions, they don’t just “work.” This isn’t about class or education or position. (Yes, good plumbers do not charge correctly!)
It’s about attitude.
So, despite the connotations of college kids looking for jobs, let’s call this “Career Day,” and start considering our own careers, and what they should be looking like starting tomorrow.
I don’t know about you, but work boors me.
© Alan Weiss 2009. All rights reserved.
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