AN OLD SAW THAT CUTS

"Don't go near the swimming pool until you learn how to swim."

I overheard a neighborhood mother provide that interestingly perplexing instruction to her five-year-old son. At some level the statement made sense. The saying, "Don't bite off more than you can chew" makes the same sense.

But it's not good sense.

You can't learn how to swim unless you go near the pool, and you'll never know just how much you can chew until you've bitten off too much.


Lesson: Saving yourself from ever failing may save you from ever succeeding

THE TARNISHED GOLDEN RULE

It was after a particularly long and tough football practice.

We all lumbered on the bus that would take us back to our warm, safe (i.e. away from the coaching staff) dorm rooms. I settled in for what I expected would be an uneventful ten-minute ride back to the college campus. My expectations were not met.

The bus sat; we waited, waited and waited some more. Just before our tempers got to the mean side of ugly, the bus door opened and in flew the head coach hissing through clenched lips and flared nostrils.

"You guys stunk up the place tonight. I won't even ride on the same bus with you -- I'm walking back, now get out of here." He slammed the bus door and stormed into the frigid, black Wisconsin night.

There we sat, in silence, dirty, grimy, tired and thoroughly chewed out.

The reality of the situation hit me --WE did such a poor job that HE was going to walk miles in the cold Wisconsin night! I'm sorry but I had to laugh (quietly). My bemused assessment of the ridiculousness of the situation was not shared by everyone. My teammate sitting next to me said, in a wavering voice, "How can you be laughing, the coach thought we did such a s____y job that he won't even ride with us."

I recognize I was a bit old to be first getting this basic insight, but at that moment, I finally got it -- not everybody is motivated by the same thing!

The coach "walking" brought me to stifled laughter directed at the coach and my teammate to frustrated disappointment directed at himself.

My football coaches, in both high school and college, attempted to motivate me, and everybody else, through fear. It wasn't until my senior year in college when the local newspaper wrote a complimentary article about me, and I had one of my best games that next week, that I realized I was motivated by praise. If my coaches had praised instead of criticized, I don't know how good I could have become.

I had the opportunity to observe Vince Lombardi working with the championship Packers of the '60s. One of the major reasons Vince was so successful and is remembered, is because he spent the practice praising those who needed praise and raising hell with those who thrived on raised hell.

How are you motivated? How are those you wish to motivate, motivated?


Lesson:  "Do unto others as you wish others to do unto you" doesn't always work when it comes to motivation.

GETTING AND GIVING

"I give them eight hours of my blood, sweat and tears, and they give me money and a dental plan. We're even."

That certainly is a good start in defining a low-grade, give-and-take, internal relationship with a job, but I don't believe anyone's work is that shallow. If you wish to be excited, passionate and truly committed to what you do for a living, you need to look outside of the job itself for your getting and giving.

Getting

Nothing is wrong with getting. How excited, passionate and committed you are doesn't matter, if you can't make a living at that which you're attempting to make a living at, you can't keep doing it. The bottom line prevails. First things first, work must support you in the manner in which you wish to be supported before you can move on to passion, excitement and commitment.

But all can't be about getting.

What you get from your job: money, benefits, social status, self-esteem, an extended family, and a home away from home often may seem to occupy an all-too-large chunk of your relationship with work. How about what you give through your work?

Giving

The job you do must be recognized by your department, your company, community, and some segment of society as beneficial, or you could not make a living at that pursuit.

How do others benefit from what you do for a living?

Consider the hardy, robust relationship you would develop with your work if you focused at least as long on the benefits you provide as you do on the benefits you derive.


Lesson: What you give with your work is every bit as important as what you get.

BOB AND PATTY: A FABLE

His name was Sir Bob the Bombed, and he was the drunkest knight in the land.

Sir Bob was a member in good standing (and standing was not always easy for Bob) of the knights of the round table. The shape of the table is important because with Bob staggering around and bumping into furniture on a regular basis, if it had been a square table, it might have severely damaged the trunk of Bob's family tree. (This will become important later in our story.)

Falling off his horse, relieving himself in his armor, forgetting his own name and mistaking turtles for rare roast beef on a hard roll were daily occurrences for our hero.

Sir Bob was a mess.

Princess Patty the Pure, on the other hand, put the newly driven snow to shame. Be assured the vile devil alcohol never crossed her lips. Patty had not "known a man," (she didn't even know she didn't "know") nor would she say manure if she had a mouthful. Princess Patty was a lady in every sense of the word.

Helping peasants learn English as a second language, playing Mr. Potato Head with the children of the palace, and giggling over "Knock, Knock" jokes with her handmaids pretty much filled out Patty's days.

Princess Patty was class.

The Princess had only one discernable flaw; she was enchanted with that wild and crazy knight, Sir Bob. Bob, on the other hand, had only one discernable virtue; he had the hots for Patty.

Patty thought, as has been many a woman's downfall throughout time, she could change Bob. While Bob, as has been many a man's downfall throughout time, didn't think at all.

This thinking (and non thinking) led to Bob slurring the big question to Patty. Patty was delirious as was Bob, but for different reasons.

The king, anxious for some little kinglets, agreed to this odd coupling.

From here our little fairy tale begins to unravel.

In an act Patty wished to forget, and Bob could not remember, a child was conceived. Sir Bob the Bombed and Princess Patty the Pure produced wee Willie the Wise.

We have a nuclear family about to blow.

By virtue of his newly acquired status, Bob was invited to attend all of the biggest parties in the kingdom. In the beginning everybody loved Bob. Putting the lantern cover on his head always got a laugh. It got to a point where everybody was laughing at Bob -- except Patty.

Patty tried with all the force of her niceness to cover for Bob. "He's had a bad day; he's draggin' from fighting the dragons." "His horse broke down this morning; that's why he was late for his meeting with the peasants' union." "He was out in the rain and the hinges of his armor rusted, so he couldn't take Willie to the father/son games at the castle."

After years of making excuses for Bob, cleaning up after him, doing all the parenting, beating herself with a big blame stick and crying into an uneasy sleep every night, Princess Patty the Pure was a wreck.

One morning Patty woke up (alone as usual) with a startling insight - she'd had it up to the top of her bejeweled crown!

She made an appointment with the in-castle support group (Princesses Who Love Drunken Knights Too Much). Patty found out five things at her PWLDKTM meeting: 1) She was not alone. 2) She was important. 3) Bob was not in charge of her happiness. 4) Willie needed her all the more now. 5) If a change was going to be made, Bob would have to make it.

So Patty got on with her life. Bob on the other hand still didn't get it.

Three hazy years later, on day three of a three day binge, Bob rode into the castle courtyard looking for a little excitement. Patty had long since moved to another part of the castle, and Willy was too busy building a replica of the castle in his sand box to even acknowledge someone who meant so little to him.

Bob leaned over to scoop Willy up. The sight and smell of this drunken mess terrified Willy and he screamed. The loud noise spooked Bob's horse, Wild Turkey, who reared up and came back down -- right on Willy.

Now Bob had everything he worked so hard for - nothing.

He lost the wife who once loved him and the child who once trusted him. He needed to find someone to blame -- how about the horse, the castle help, the economy, his father (Albert the Abuser), the king, the distillers of the demon rum - somebody/something/anything.

Bob wandered the kingdom for the rest of his days looking for who was responsible for his rotten, stinking life. He accused the weather, fifty farmers, plenty of peasants and a partridge in a pear tree. He still couldn't find the right something to blame.

Bob woke up one morning and found the bird singing outside his window was a vulture. He lived his final days the same way he lived his entire life - without a clue.

As Bob breathed his last drunken breath, still committed to finding who was to blame, he glanced into his armor hanging on the wall, beheld his gnarled, knotted, twisted reflection and died. Sir Bob the Bombed died never knowing he finally had found the only person on the face of the earth who was entirely responsible for Bob.


Lesson: When looking for someone to be responsible for your life, you need look no further than your armor.