PRACTICE 2
DO YOU EVER FIND THAT YOU’RE CONTROLLED BY OTHER PEOPLE, CIRCUMSTANCES, OR YOUR OWN KNEE-JERK REACTIONS?
If so, you may want to consider
PRACTICE 2: CARRY YOUR OWN WEATHER.
When you don’t carry your own weather, your room may feel like Sartre’s hell because:
• Life happens to you.
• Being a martyr becomes your brand.
• You limit your ability to positively influence others.
“Have you ever had to fire someone who was a favorite of everyone in the company?”
The question caught me off guard. I put my soda down and considered the man sitting across from me. We’d done some work together over the years and had kept a cordial relationship, which usually amounted to catching up over lunch when he was in town.
“I’m wondering if there’s a question behind the question,” I posed. My friend nodded, and I noticed a kind of weariness about him.
“Yesterday I spent hours meeting with the co-workers of a guy I had to fire. Everyone was really upset. Honestly, I was too—I can’t count the number of times I’ve gone out of my way to help him.”
I knew there could be several reasons to let someone go, and the last thing I wanted to do was pry into personal details, but obviously, my friend had something on his mind.
“I’ve had to let people go myself,” I replied sympathetically. “It’s never easy.”
My friend nodded. “He really touched a nerve with me. I mean, I’ve done a lot for this guy. And it’s not like he embezzled money or anything, but in a way, that makes the betrayal even worse.”
“Worse? What do you mean?”
“Turns out he was doing work for a competing organization after hours, and he never mentioned it. It shows you how little he thinks of me and the company that’s supported him,” he replied, growing angry. “I can’t believe he traded it all for practically nothing.”
“So how did it turn from a discussion to a firing?”
“Well, there wasn’t really much of a discussion. When I found out what had been going on, I let him go. Now, even the CEO is questioning my decision, and everyone thinks I’m the bad guy in all of this.”
I had to hide my growing concern—maybe the CEO hadn’t been that far off. Then again, there was probably more to the story.
“Look, loyalty matters to me, and people know that I make decisions quickly,” my friend continued. “I had no choice.”
• • •
I believe we are never without choice. Of course, that doesn’t mean things don’t happen outside of our control, or that our choices can’t be severely limited. As immortalized in the words of Viktor Frankl, Holocaust survivor and author of Man’s Search for Meaning: “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”5
I have a colleague who shared the story of a memorable professor he’d had as an undergrad. Every day, this short and somewhat rotund man would walk across the college campus, coffee in hand, seemingly incapable of being in anything but a good mood. He would greet students warmly, often stopping to talk with them about their day and was one of the most popular professors on campus. One morning a spring thunderstorm broke over the school and, having misplaced his umbrella, the professor still took his usual walk to class. When he arrived, he remained as cheerful as ever as the students peeled off their various layers of wet gear, somewhat annoyed at the unexpected downpour. One student, noticing the professor’s ever-pleasant disposition but soaked shirt, remarked, “Hey, Chuck, aren’t you at all bothered by the rain?” Chuck smiled in response.
“Sure, but I benefit from my lack of height—it takes longer for the rain to reach me.”
Not a single person on the campus had any control over the weather. Most reacted to the unwelcomed moisture by allowing their moods or the external nature of the storm to negatively affect them. They complained about the sudden drop in temperature or the fact that they got a bit wet. They allowed the darkening clouds to dictate their mood, longing for the sun to make an appearance and lift their spirits. It’s easy to feel like a victim with such thoughts, surrendering to the belief that we’re helplessly subject to the external world. And when others are the source of our dismay and helplessness, it’s easy to cast blame, level accusations, and adopt a victim mindset and language.
However, the professor made a different choice. Rather than react to the weather outside, he carried his own. He looked inward instead of outward. This happy teacher decided how he was going to think and feel based on what he valued, regardless of whatever storm happened to break. This choice is a defining characteristic between those who choose to carry their own weather and those who don’t—reacting to the external world as a victim or staying true to what you ultimately value. In the case of our short-statured professor, he valued the opportunity to come to class and do what he loved, to create a positive environment where his students could learn, and to plant educational seeds that might bear fruit for years to come. What was a little rain compared to that?
The esteemed Bishop Fulton J. Sheen, well known for his early radio and television work, expressed it this way: “Each of us makes his own weather—determines the color of the skies in the emotional universe which he inhabits.”
At the foundation of carrying your own weather is the ability to pause between stimulus and response. The earliest humans learned “fight or flight” as a way of reacting to potentially life-threatening situations. Fast-forward to the modern world. For most of us, the challenge of daily survival is no longer the standard. Our stresses now come in different, less life-threatening forms. Yet, external stimuli naturally cause us to react quickly, and sometimes inappropriately.
Thankfully, we have more than just the reactive part of our brain to work with. As human beings, we share the unique trait of self-awareness—the ability to see and evaluate our own thoughts. It gives us the capability to pause, step back, and see ourselves along with the paradigms we adopt and use. In effect, it gives us the freedom to proactively choose our response.
My good friend and colleague Aaron, who works as the director of recruitment in our organization, is an example of this principle. The best recruiters tend to put a lot of time and energy into finding and presenting the right person to the organization, and Aaron is no exception. I remember one candidate Aaron had worked with for several months. This highly sought-after individual was fielding overtures from several companies, but Aaron had gone to great lengths to build a relationship and favorably present our organization to her. I even remember Aaron going out of his way to meet with her on a Saturday, giving up his own free time with his family because it was the only day she could fly in. This person was truly exceptional. She stood out from all the other candidates presented to the team.
After all the time and energy Aaron had invested in the recruitment process and final interview, the hiring manager got back to him: “We really like her,” the manager announced, “but we’d like you to look for a few more candidates we could interview.”
Most people would want to put a fist through the wall at this point. Aaron knew this exceptional candidate would be recruited by another organization. I was there when the news was delivered and had been rooting for this candidate all along. I struggled with my own rush of emotions as I watched Aaron listen and draw a slow breath. Remarkably, he pushed the “pause button.” “Sure, I understand,” Aaron responded. “I know you need to have confidence that we’ve found the right person to succeed in this role. I’m happy to keep looking.”
Frankly, I was amazed. My respect for Aaron deepened. Later, I pulled him aside and asked how he managed to be so positive in the face of this frustrating rejection. “Todd, if the hiring manager isn’t excited about the candidate, that person isn’t going to succeed,” he replied. “And since that’s the outcome that matters, I just need to find the right fit.”
I wish I’d had Aaron’s maturity earlier in my career.
As a young recruiter myself, I’d engaged a colleague to work with me, but it turned out she wouldn’t come for less than a thousand dollars more than the company was paying me to do a similar job. To my surprise, my boss approved the higher salary request. I was incensed. “Wait a minute!” I complained. “I’ve been with the company for four years. I found this person, and now you’re going to pay her more than you pay me?”
My boss simply responded that you pay what it takes to get the right person. I returned to my office full of negative and angry thoughts. It’s not fair! Why should I get paid less? My boss doesn’t appreciate me. Maybe I should stop working so hard. Maybe I should look for a job somewhere else? These thoughts persisted over the next few days, and I essentially wallowed in my own victimhood. One evening I was complaining about the situation to my dad, expounding on the great injustice I was suffering. He listened patiently as I blamed my boss, my friend, the job itself, and anything else I could come up with. When I had finished, he looked me in the eye and asked, “Have you thought about what you could do to qualify for the extra thousand dollars? Fairness in the marketplace is about getting a fair price for what you can do.”
Suddenly, it hit me. I’d been spending my time reacting to my emotions rather than choosing to focus on what I could do to influence the situation. Where I saw a great and woeful injustice, my father saw an opportunity to broaden my thinking about my role. The next day, I approached my boss and asked, “I appreciate you listening to my frustration the past few days over this pay issue. What would you need to see from me to consider raising my pay as well?”
I remember his reaction to this day—as if he’d been waiting for that simple question all along. “I’m so glad you asked, Todd,” he replied. “Right now, it’s taking ten months on average to recruit a new physician. If we could shorten the recruitment cycle to six months, I’d feel great about looking at your compensation.” I reluctantly let go of feeling like a victim and started focusing my time and energy on shortening the recruitment cycle. And it worked! It was a tough lesson, but I learned the benefits of carrying my own weather versus the consequences of playing the victim.
Let me return to my colleague Aaron. The power of carrying your own weather is so great that it can overcome even the most difficult storms we face. At forty-three, Aaron went in for a routine eye exam; Aaron’s doctors discovered a brain tumor that had been growing for the last fifteen years. Instead of panicking or falling into despair, Aaron calmly made appointments and went through the process of getting the tumor evaluated and treated. It was benign but was causing swelling on his optic nerve, which affected his vision. If left untreated, the tumor could become life-threatening. The doctors scheduled an emergency surgery to remove the growth.
The day after surgery, I visited Aaron. I was impressed with his positive attitude. “They think the surgery went well,” he announced from the hospital bed. “They’ll run some scans in a few weeks, but I’m feeling optimistic.” As the weeks passed, his health continued to improve. I couldn’t help but wonder if his attitude was a significant factor.
Months after the procedure, he met with us at work just to express his thanks for our support. He began to get emotional, not for the severity of the situation or the pain and suffering he’d had to endure, but because of his appreciation for the important relationships in his life. “I’m sorry,” he told us, “I’m just overcome with gratitude—for my life, my family, and for my friends here at work.”
Aaron decided a long time ago not to let external factors dictate how he would feel, which allowed him to deal with everything from recruiting challenges to one of the most traumatic periods in his life. As I reflected upon Aaron’s ability to carry his own weather, I was hoping to be able to share the benefits of carrying one’s own weather with my friend who had reactively fired his long-term employee.
• • •
“So how did it turn from a discussion to a firing?”
“Well, there wasn’t really much of a discussion. When I found out what had been going on, I let him go. Now the CEO is questioning my decision, and everyone thinks I’m the bad guy in all of this.”
I had to hide my growing concern; maybe the CEO was right. Then again, there was probably more to the story.
“Look, loyalty matters to me, and people know that I make decisions quickly,” my friend continued. “I had no choice.”
“May I ask you a question?” I posed. My friend nodded. “What do you want your reputation or legacy to be as a leader?”
My friend paused. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
“I was thinking that we could take a step back from the termination and look at the larger picture.”
“Okay,” my friend replied as he thought it over. “I want to be known as a person who gets things done.”
“Good. How about when it comes to people?” I asked.
“Well, I want them to get on board and get things done with me.”
“Sure, but how do you want them to feel about you as their leader?”
My friend answered right away, “I want them to respect me.”
I let the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “I know it may sound obvious, but why do you want to be respected?”
My friend stared at me over the table. “Why do I want to be respected? Well, I’m their leader for a reason. I hope I have something to teach or offer them.”
“So let’s continue with that thought. Imagine your team has gathered at your retirement party and they’re each sharing what they personally learned from you. What would you want to hear?”
My friend thought it over for a moment. “I’d like to hear that they were as loyal to me as I was to them—that I took the time to mentor them and make their lives better.”
“Okay, and please don’t be offended by this question,” I said, “but think about how you just handled this last situation. Does it reflect how you want to be seen as a leader in that regard?”
My friend stared at me from across the table. “I guess it doesn’t—I kind of lost my temper.”
“It sounds like you reacted that way because you felt that this employee was being disloyal.”
“At the time, yes.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I mean, I never really sat down and talked with him about it.”
“Perhaps that’s why you’re troubled by it now. You let your first emotions get in the way of taking the time to understand the situation. You made a choice that likely didn’t align with your values, which, if I heard you right, includes being a mentor and a positive influence in your employees’ lives.”
My friend paused and then asked, “So, what do I do now?”
“What happened is over. I don’t know how things work in your company, but you may want to begin some damage control with your CEO,” I suggested. “And as difficult as it can be when our emotions are high, remember in the future, you always have the choice to hit the ‘pause button,’ even if it means taking a five-minute break to gather your thoughts. Use the time to reflect on what’s important to you, like your legacy, or what gets said at that retirement party down the road.”
“I suppose that’s something to think about,” my friend admitted. “Either way, looks like I have some work to do.” I agreed, hoping my friend would take the lesson to heart.
Carrying one’s weather can express itself in many ways: from the simple choice to keep a pleasant or professional disposition, to not allowing the events around us to spin the needle of our moral compass. But at the heart of it is always a choice, and that power can never be surrendered unless we allow it.