May 17, 2005
East Rutherford, New Jersey

I hate Bono. I fucking hate Bono.

I hated him the night I was dragged to see U2 perform at the Meadowlands in East Rutherford, New Jersey. And my beef wasn’t really with the band’s music (although that was a bit too “mainstream” for my early-’90s alternative taste); no, my hatred was personal.

I thought Bono was a boorish loud-mouth, a throbbing ego in leather pants and stupid sunglasses. God walking into a room! Puh-leeze. This guy was a political dilettante who would hector policy-makers with his naïve goals and his silly notion that “music and marketing” could make a genuine difference in a world rife with complex challenges. Save the world, blah, blah. How dumb. How self-absorbed. How annoying.

I really hated Bono.

And yet I was trapped. My pal Jersey John wanted nothing more for his bachelor party than to see his favorite band with his favorite friends and so, as his best man, I had no choice but to oblige him. I was determined, however, to be miserable.

Arriving at the Meadowlands Arena that night, I had only one prayer: Shut the hell up, Bono! Play some music and make it fast. We’ve got steak to eat.

But then—well, then everything changed.

About one hour into the show, the concert became church, a rollicking rock-and-roll revival. At this pulpit on this night in East Rutherford was this most bizarre preacher. His eyes were obscured by his yellow-tinted lenses. His leather jacket hugged his black t-shirt. He led a young lady to lie on the altar where she, no doubt, felt his hot breath and heaving chest as he laid himself atop her. He actually stretched his body over her and sang a slow, sexy song. He couldn’t live with her. He couldn’t live without her. The congregation roared, a roar of faith and jealousy.

But then the bacchanal evolved. What had been a tableau of sex and sin became a story of redemption. The preacher looked to heaven and, as his sermon unfolded, banners unfurled, flags of every African nation descended from the sky as he invoked the spirit of the great martyrs, Martin Luther King and Nelson Mandela, and urged us all to join the “journey of equality” they had led in their own time. The preacher rallied the assembly with scenes from the struggle, from the “bridges of Selma to the foothills of Kilimanjaro,” using the great leaps of history to imagine a near-future of perfect social justice. He commanded us to eradicate poverty, destroy AIDS, and stamp out bigotry wherever it exists.

And he did this all in a light-ring of love, literally, standing in the center of a massive neon heart as his church band began to strum the chords to the next rousing hymn, a song about streets without names and people without prejudice. 2

This was exactly what I hated so much about Bono. This is the show I dreaded I’d see. For God’s sake, in his litany of evils we ought to oppose, he might as well have included farts.

And yet…and yet I stood and raised my arms above my head, as if they were pulled by puppet strings. They swayed just once, with my palms up, fingers splayed and bending backwards, as open as could be, waiting to receive something, some sort of feeling or meaning just out of reach in the air above me. After that singular back-and-forth, my hands found their way down to my chest, my right hand over my left over my heaving heart. That’s how I stood through the rest of the night: hands clasped, body still, and voice silent. I was mesmerized.

What the hell was happening?

I had decided it was time to save the world. In that moment. In that instant, my mind popcorned with possibilities, teeming with the many ways I might make the broken world a place of peace and love. I wanted to embrace the people around me. Heck, I wanted to quit my stupid day job at the multinational ad agency where I worked, fly halfway around the globe, and dig irrigation ditches in the most impoverished nooks of the whole known world. I wanted to suckle orphan babies at my breast. In my black jeans and Morrissey t-shirt, I was moved.

Now, a little personal context: I don’t believe I was a bad person before that night. Sure, I worked in advertising as a brand strategist greasing the wheels of capitalism, helping banks and beer companies figure out how to sell you more of whatever they were selling, but I also gave some money to charity, occasionally volunteered my time for a worthy cause, and generally tried to be a conscientious citizen and thoughtful friend. But admittedly, I was no do-gooder.

And yet, while witnessing this spectacle, I wanted to be. I wanted to dance my way to Africa, where I would do God-knows-what to help the cause of goodness, but dammit, I would do it all with conviction. Distribute malaria-protecting mosquito nets. Teach poetry to children whose minds were as hungry as their bodies. Comfort the AIDS-stricken. Yes, yes, and yes. I would join this preacher’s “life cult” (as Bono would one day describe his band), and I would be a bigger and better and more beautiful version of myself for doing so.3

 

Demons Possess Us But So, Too, Do Angels

 

I was converted. And I know I’m not alone. If you’re one of the hundreds of millions of people who have seen U2 perform, you can testify to the quasi-religious power of the moment. You want to sing and move and write checks to Amnesty International. You feel a vital part of “one” human race. You see your brothers and sisters—the poor, the ill, the other-colored—as the angels they are. You commit to love the earth and the heavens and everything in between. It’s an irresistible energy.

And, to my surprise, this wasn’t a fleeting feeling of a newly-minted fan. This moment would actually change the way I worked. From this concert on, however, the goal of my marketing wouldn’t just be to sell more of this and make more of that, but to use my skills to help the companies in my charge create a better world.

Like U2 use their talent with instruments to improve the human condition, I was determined to use my talent with marketing to do the same. I’d come to believe that electric guitars and television commercials could be immodest tools for building a better world.

Yes, I know this sounds preposterous but, since that day, the questions I ask at work have changed: Can this bank do good? Can it democratize wealth or educate customers about the intricacies of the economy? Can this car company do more than just sell cars? Can it restore a sense of purpose to a divided nation? Can it point the way a new era of innovation? Heck, can this beer help twenty-somethings be slightly more interesting on a weekend night? I wanted to make marketing that would do something decent, if not great. I eventually joined General Mills as its Chief Creative Officer with the sole ambition of helping a giant food company become a good food company—less sugar, less chemicals, more real food. I wanted to fix the tragic relationship America has with its food.

And yes, all because of Bono, the very same man I once couldn’t stand.

While the work I’ve gone on to do has hardly dented the world with virtue, U2 deserve massive credit for the real deeds they’ve set in motion. They’re not just a circus of soft feelings, but a powerful progress machine that has accomplished a great deal of good, raising awareness and money for myriad charitable organizations (by some estimates, near a billion dollars).4 Through Bono’s (RED) project, Apple alone has contributed more than $200 million to stem the spread of HIV. U2 has used their celebrity to lobby governments, to direct the world’s attention to Africa, which is ravaged by disease, war, and poverty. Bono is the only rock star ever nominated for the Nobel Prize, an honor he received three times. Even President George W. Bush couldn’t resist Bono’s entreaties. The two partnered to bring record levels of foreign aid to Africa. “Bono floored me,” Bush said, “with his knowledge, his energy, and his faith.”5 That’s Bono: flooring world leaders and rousing their citizens. That’s Bono: inspiring.

The Power is in Your Pants

So how does Bono do it? What is the magic of this supernatural shaman? What spirit does he wield that possesses populations and politicians?

Bono once shared his secret with an interviewer who asked how he gets himself stoked: I don’t, he said, “You put on the leather pants, and the pants start telling you what to do.”6

Maybe it is that simple. For sure, somehow, from the cauldron of his leather pants, swiveling hips, song, and almost-delusional righteous passion, Bono conjures a mighty force: inspiration.

I’ve come to believe inspiration is the most powerful force in the world. It possesses us. It changes our attitudes, our actions, and in so doing, our very lives.

And yet this awesome force remains a mystery. We know so little about how it really works, how it arouses our emotions and shifts our behavior. To many modern thinkers, inspiration is little more than what it had been to the ancient Greeks: an occasional gift from mercurial gods. Even Elizabeth Gilbert—the Elizabeth Gilbert who inspired us to eat, pray, and love—sees bolts of creativity coming from “the supernatural, the mystical, the inexplicable, the surreal, the divine, the transcendent, the otherworldly.”7 Oh, dear. No wonder it’s been easy for scientists to dismiss inspiration as an artsy-fartsy phenomenon, and instead use their resources to study “persuasion” or “leadership.” They prefer to measure hard, testable behaviors. Inspiration, as it had been for centuries, is seen as an uncontrollable, unpredictable “strike” of insight.

But what if inspiration weren’t just some mystical, otherworldly force “beyond control” that we’re lucky to occasionally encounter, meanwhile waiting for it to strike on its own stingy schedule? What if inspiration were a power any of us could summon? What if, instead of just hoping to be inspired, we could each learn to be inspiring? In fact, what if we had to inspire if we wanted to accomplish anything truly great?

Thanks to some cutting-edge experiments in neuroscience, we can begin to cobble together a model for how inspiration “works” on our brains: strong emotions activate our mirror neurons, the neurons that help us learn by replicating—or “mirroring”—what we see. Like a baby sees her mother’s mouth move and begins to mouth the same words, we witness Bono’s righteous passion and feel that same passion ourselves. When we see the faith or determination or strength of a person, we feel strong ourselves. Essentially, emotions get “mirrored” by an audience. It’s biological.

 

“You put on the leather pants, and the pants start telling you what to do.”

 

But that’s the scientific explanation of inspiration. The more pressing question is how each of us can inspire as powerfully and consistently as Bono—or Bowie or Oprah or Lincoln or, better yet, our greatest teacher or best boss or favorite film. What are the tools we have and the tactics we can employ?

Now, based on my examples so far, you might think it has something to do with music, with grand performances in big arenas, and there’s no doubt those kinds of stages can easily become the sacred spaces where Muses descend. I’m aware, though, that most of you are not (yet) global rock stars. No, the inspiring you need to do rarely comes with a ready-built stage. You need to work your dazzling magic in far more mundane places: a conference room, perhaps, or an office or a classroom or a kitchen table and a car ride; often, it’s that place in your head where whispers of doubt nag at your most exciting fantasies.

So how do we bring the inspiring power of a stadium spectacle to the humdrum hallways of our everyday lives? How do we communicate to make people move even if we can’t carry a tune? Where Bowie and Bono sing, how do we talk like Muses?

There were certainly some clues at that U2 concert. In studying that band and some other great modern Muses we’ll meet, I’ve identified Six Skills of Inspiration: six ways of communicating—of being—that can help any of us become more inspiring leaders. These skills can be practiced for you and by teams, organizations, brands, and even art—any “entity” that communicates.8

1. Ambition: Get Delusional

U2, like the greatest Muses, set Delusional Ambitions. They want to eliminate malaria, end poverty, eradicate racism, and stamp out gender inequality. These are not modest goals; in fact, they’re preposterous. But as we’ll see, it’s the very audacity of these ambitions that inspires conviction. People are moved to do big things, to scale the highest summits and topple the most terrible enemies and so, as a leader, don’t fear the grand and the slightly crazy. In fact, it’s only when you set yourself and your team against almost-impossible goals that you turn yourselves into the most powerful people: underdogs, which are really just heroes spoiling for a good fight.

2. Action: Aim For Action, Not Attitude

U2 is a band of verbs. Pray. Dance. Sing. Donate. Buy. Write. Protest. Like Nike and Alcoholics Anonymous, their first priority is what they want people to do, not what they want people to believe. There’s wisdom in this approach: if you aim to change behavior, beliefs will follow; the reverse, though seemingly sensible, is far too difficult. So don’t waste your time trying to get your team to “buy into” your agenda or understand your vision; instead, be dead clear about what you want them to do. Identify your Inspir-Action, the specific directions that will set your audience on the path toward their Delusional Ambitions.

3. Atmosphere: Show Up To Stir Up

The ordinary is ordinary. It’s the enemy of inspiration. Muses disorient an audience. They surprise, provoke, and break the rules—because, once the rules are broken, the possibilities are infinite. So defy the conventional expectations. Create some WTF Moments by using all the tools on-hand to shift an audience’s expectations. U2, like many theatrical acts, does that with stadium-sized spectacle: stages cloaked in darkness then bathed in blinding light. But many inspiring leaders alter the atmosphere in equally powerful but more subtle ways: where they sit, how they dress, what they say. A teacher might sit on the floor and a coach could run laps with her team. Steve Jobs had his black mock turtleneck. Serena Williams dominates a tennis court in her full-body skin-tight catsuit. These are ways of showing up that create new opportunities by breaking old rules.

4. Attitude: Talk Like Music

In order to become a Muse, it helps to speak lyrically, with the kind of poetic phrases that become irresistible earworms. I’ll offer some techniques for doing that, but worry not if writing words isn’t your strong suit because, as we’ll learn, the real secret of music lies in its ability to transmit emotion. Words themselves are powerful creatures and, the more lyrical they get, the more power they possess, but the affect attached to those words—the feelings they carry—is what makes people dance, what makes people move. Look no further than U2, whose lyrics are filled with as many clunkers as gems. Look as well at Muses like Knute Rockne or General Patton whose gruffness was more powerful than their word choice. Heck, look at Helen Keller or the woman working her tail off at the gym—Muses who Talk Like Music without uttering any single word.

5. Affection: Love, For Real

Inspiring leaders don’t just ask their audiences to do difficult things; they express their confidence that the team can, in fact, accomplish those great things. You can do it! I see you! I believe in you! And when expressions like these are more than throw-away platitudes, when they represent a genuine faith rooted in an intimate understanding of a person’s unique powers, they become the get-it-done energy of inspiration. So find the Only-You Awesomeness of your audience and share it with them. You will move people when you know them and support them with the kind of conviction that never doubts their unique ability to achieve the great tasks at hand. You will move them when you love them. And the same goes for yourself: find the Only-You Awesomeness within yourself—your superpower—and hold it dearly.

6. Authenticity: Be True You

A leader can’t hope to move an audience if that audience sniffs a phony. As a band that grew up through The Troubles, hearing bombs explode on Dublin streets and losing friends to sectarian violence, U2 has a unique authenticity, one that bestows upon them a moral permission to preach about war and sectarian violence. Ironically, Bono is a creation, of course—a character, a rock-and-roll avatar constructed by a teenager called Paul Hewson. And yet he is so comfortable in his Bono skin, self-possessed and certain, sunglasses always on. Leaders can learn from that confident expression of character. Know yourself, for sure, and express yourself as a one-of-a-kind entity, a character with passions, quirks, and, yes, vulnerabilities and shortcomings all your own. In fact, we’re at our most “authentic” when we muster the courage to share our Shadows, the very things about which we’re most unsure or ashamed. These flaws inspire the broken parts in all of us.

 

So that’s our Muse Potion: Delusion, Action, Disorientation, Music, Love, and You—and, as you consider each of these skills, I hope you see the perplexing insight that lies at the heart of all of them: in one way or another, they all require you to be emotional and unreasonable. They each ask you to express yourself in a way that’s more feeling than logic. As we’ll see, emotions are the fuel of inspiration, and reason is its speedbump.

You’ll nod to the first part, for sure, agreeing that emotions are a potent whirlwind. You know they can move people. Passion, in particular, is powerful; it breeds conviction in those who feel it.

But it’s the second half of that statement that will probably trouble you. What do you mean, “reason is a speedbump”? What do you mean it gets in the way of inspiration? Are you really suggesting we become less logical?

 

Emotions are the fuel of inspiration, and reason is its speedbump.

 

Yes.

As you’ll see, analysis kills inspiration; in fact, “persuasion” and “inspiration” are actually opposite and antagonistic forces. The more we try to persuade—to explain, to convince, to argue—the less likely we are to arouse anybody to do anything. In fact, let me say that again because it is so darn critical:

 

The more we try to persuade—to explain, to convince, to argue—the less likely we are to arouse anybody to do anything.

Bono knows this. Like a Muse, he speaks to the hearts in the heads of his audience, so they can feel his passion, not analyze his argument. All the great Muses know this, even if they’d never admit it.

Here’s an analogy: In matters of exercise, the kind you do at a gym, “effort” and “comfort” are enemies. If you’re feeling “comfortable” when you exercise, you probably aren’t getting any stronger…Go on, just a few more push-ups…Now, does that mean you should exercise at maximum effort all the time? Of course not. You’d hurt yourself, kid. But in that inverse relationship between “effort” and “comfort,” you’ll have to find the right balance—the one that actually achieves your desired results. But make no mistake: as you add effort, you’ll subtract comfort, and as you add more effort, you’ll subtract more comfort. As you do, your body will change.

That’s how it is with inspiration. Passion and Reason work against each other. Passion is the energy that wants you jumping out of your seat. Reason wants you to sit and think for a little longer. Adding one decreases the other. Reasoning with your audience sticks them in the concrete of thinky-thinky land.

Does this mean we need to commit to being completely irrational, unreasonable lunatics? Of course not. You’d hurt yourself, kid. By all means, use your reason and logic and the full force of your big brain in figuring out what’s right and wrong, what you want to do and what you don’t, in composing your strategy. But then, when it comes to moving people, to inspiring, I’m sorry, but Passion and Reason are indeed enemies. You’ll have to find the right balance between adding one and subtracting the other.

And let me be clear: the truth that some terrible people, charlatans and snake-oil salesmen and bullies, “stir up” the emotions of mobs for very bad ends is exactly the reason that good people—people like you—need to learn to inspire. You can’t fight feelings with facts alone. To beat the bad guys, you’ll need the heavy artillery of inspiration.

This ability to sidestep logic, to quiet reason so that our passion can sing its siren song is the fundamental skill of becoming an inspiring leader. It’s encapsulated by this simple formula:

 

The Inspiration Equation:
PASSION – REASON = INSPIRATION

 

That’s right: to inspire, you’ll not only need to share your passion for what you want to accomplish but, as you do so, you’ll need to extract some reason from your communications. It’s not enough to be emotional. You’ll also have to make your communications less linear, less sensible, odder, more creative. There’s a great Russian word that captures the idea: ostranenie; it’s the process of “making something strange” and unfamiliar so that people see it in a fresh and exciting way.9 Or, as one famous advertising executive recommends, you’ll have to “put your ideas on acid.”

And you can—but it won’t always be comfortable. For one thing, communicating with emotional verve is a rebellion against a world that has taught us to tuck our strongest feelings tightly inside an armor of being right.

But the hardest obstacle to inspiration is actually one of our own making: our natural instinct to be clear and rational. We want to make sense. We want to make sense so desperately.

Well, we’ll have to let that urge go. And when we do, it’ll be worth it, for let’s get one thing absolutely clear: inspiration isn’t just some fluffy feel-good spirit that leaves us feeling great; oh no, it’s a power, a competitive advantage in any realm. Muses don’t just inspire. They kick ass. They win. And they do so with the full and fierce force of their messy feelings.