What ARE you looking

to do with your life?  

     Okay, your business is your life, or at least a humongous chunk of your life, yes?  That’s great.  I love my work and consider myself fortunate to be doing what I most enjoy as my means to earning a living so we’re in this together.  BUT . . .

     When did you last break away from your job

and thinking about your job to . . . hug? 

     Renowned Gestalt-based family therapist/author/icon Virginia Satir www.advanta.net/ said it takes 12 hugs a day to grow emotionally strong.  And you do know that being mentally and/or physically strong enough to do your job effectively, and excel, requires that you also be emotionally strong. 

     What good are you as a business or professional practice owner or manager if your emotional scale is tipped too far to the left or teetering on the edge of a breakdown, temper tantrum, road rage, or worse? 

     So what does your scorecard look like?  How many hugs today?  You initiated them or someone else did?  Planned or spontaneous?  Real or token?  Pitter-pattery or bone-crushing?  Start keeping track.  You’ll learn a whole lot about others and your self.  And the more you know about you, the better you’ll deal with others.

     Ah, dealing with others.  Right.  So now that your cage is arattlin’, lets’ try another quiz: When did you last pat someone on the back for a job well done?  A staff member?  A peer?  A teammate?  An opposing team member?  A child?  A parent?  A stranger?  Your spouse?  A customer?  A partner? 

     People –ALL people (and most domestic animals too)– appreciate being appreciated, especially for performing small deeds and accomplishing routine little tasks that ordinarily go unnoticed.

     Try a pat on the back accompanied by: “Thanks for taking the responsibility to do your homework before playing computer games!” or “Thanks for the great dinner; I really enjoyed that salad!” or “Good job with that regular weekly report; it’s nice to see your efforts be so steady and reliable!” or “Good hustle, Harry; you were almost safe, and you did knock in that run!” or “I don’t ever mention it, but you should know I appreciate that you just automatically do so much laundry every week, and never even complain; thank you!” 

     Or just: “Thank you for helping me become the person I am” or “Thank you for helping me become a more authentic person” or “Thank you for helping me to grow” or “Thank you for being so supportive when I needed it!” 

IF WHAT YOU’RE LOOKING TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE IS MAKE A DIFFERENCE IN LIFE, START BY MAKING A DIFFERENCE IN THE WAYS YOU SUPPORT AND APPRECIATE OTHERS. 

     In the process, you will “happily surprise” others, but you will astonish your self!  Guaranteed!  Thank you for considering these ideas! 

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Hal@Businessworks.US    302.933.0116

Open  Minds  Open  Doors

Many thanks for your visit and God Bless You.

Make today a GREAT day for someone!

“STILL CRAZY AFTER

ALL THESE YEARS” 

     Thank you, Paul Simon.  Yes, I may be.  And, yes, you may be too.  But your music is still the best.  And so are my blog posts (for those of you who are reading this, who are marching, even lumbering, along the road to success) if you’re using the posts like pitstops to fill up with sales fuel. 

     Whaaa?  I’m not even a salesperson!  BRRRrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaat!  Wrong!  You ARE a salesperson, even if you’re a ballerina, even if you’re a roofer, even if you’re a brain surgeon, or candy apple maker, or homemaker, or rocket scientist, or truck driver, or school teacher, or priest, or (add your own titles here).  You’ve been selling since birth! 

     ALL OF US are actively engaged in selling and the sales process every waking moment of our lives.  Of course we are.  When we’re not trying to convince others to buy our products and services, we’re attempting to persuade them to buy into our ideas and beliefs and wishes. 

     And when we’re not doing any of the above (like when we’re vegging out in some yoga class or on a nature walk), don’t our minds slip into some self-talk?  Don’t we inevitably tell ourselves to do or feel or say something, or not do or feel or say something? 

     Aw, c’mon, Hal, that’s stretching it a bit don’t you think?  Aha!  And isn’t that little question a mini sales pitch all by itself?  (And that last question as well!)  Probably the longest we succeed at removing our minds from some sales process is when we’re watching some no-commercial-interruptions no-brainer movie, and even then our minds will go slip-slidin’ away (Thanks again, Paul!). 

     How long can you play with a baby or even a pet without thinking about something to buy or sell or convince someone of something related to the baby or pet?

     Here’s what’s important:

To recognize and accept that life is all about sales and that that’s okay! 

     On the opposite end, by the way, it’s estimated that each of us (in the U.S.) is exposed to close to 5,000 sales or advertising or promotional messages every single day.  That’s like a bombardment even if it’s only 2,500. 

     So, what this should tell you is that YOUR sales messages are very easily lost in the clutter, like a sling-shot pellet in the midst of thousands of major explosives (Yes, I too have been anxiously awaiting the 11/23 season preview of the all new “24” TV series, so yes, I am thinking more about edge-of-the-seat firepower than I might ordinarily). 

     Your sales message must stand out, with the right words, the right look, the right feel, the right impact, and the right back-up support (from servicing to warranties and beyond!).  

     And getting to that point requires strong product/service knowledge, strong market and competition knowledge, a burning positive attitude, a contagious sense of humor [See yesterday’s post -HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!- below!], the ability to find a need and fill it, outstanding listening skills, and a willingness (like batters and pitchers) to test and adjust and test and adjust and test and adjust.  Halalpiar    

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“Where laughter fails

to heal, it never fails

to ease the pain.”

 – A terminal cancer patient

     I am convinced that nothing –nothing– is better medicine or better health food than laughter.  Nothing binds people together like laughter. 

     Laughter is the magic ingredient that’s the single most overwhelming key to success in business, professional practices (I know, it;s hard to imagine laughing lawyers, doctors and accountants, but stay with me here), marriages, families, organizations, and partnerships. 

     I did qualify the professional practice types with the word “success” which may or may not interpret as financial success.  Certainly it’s not in the context of the old medical self-love acknowledgement that “the operation was a success but the patient died.” 

     I’m talking about the success in life success, as in business life, social life, family life, religious life, outdoor life, academic life, you get the idea.  Laughter may not make you a success in any facet of life, but it’s hard as hell to think anyone could get there without it!  Ha! 

     Laughter is a universal symbol of mental and emotional health.  Mental and emotional health is increasingly credited by experts as the central source of physical health.

     Did you get the last laugh when you last laughed?  Or were you simply enjoying the spirit of the moment?  Come to think of it, when did you last laugh?  If you can’t answer this in terms shorter than minutes or hours, you in deep trouble, brother! 

     You better take two aspirin, drink lots of liquids, get to bed, and call me in the morning sounding so hysterical laughing that everyone else in your household thinks you’re sick!  Think you can do that? 

     Oh, and before you make the call, pitter-patter your little bare feet into the bathroom (in all probability, an especially essential trip after drinking lots of fluids anyway), and stick that face of yours in the mirror. 

     Er, maybe take care of the fluids first unless the mirror is, well, you know . . . now SMILE into the mirror!  No, not that dorky make-believe grin you give co-workers when they offer you a bite of their meatball sub or the one you save for the neighbor seconds after stepping backwards in your sneakers onto his Saint Bernard’s fresh deposit in your driveway. 

     I’m talking GENUINE smile here.  Go for it!  What’s the worst thing can happen?  Your significant other asks what you’re doing?  Ha!  “I’m smiling.” is all you have to say. 

     Give it your all.  Teeth.  Cheeks.  Eyes.  Something that will burst into a laugh when you actually realize it’s on your own face!  YOW! 

     Man, what a struggle.  You better start doing a lot more of that.  It’s good for you, uses fewer muscles than a frown, and might even make you some new friends!  Hey, a couple of laughs won’t kill you, y’know.  What’s that commercial?  It’s in you.  Do it.  HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!        

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Hal@Businessworks.US 302.933.0116

Open Minds Open Doors

Many thanks for your visit and God Bless You.

Make today a GREAT day for someone!

TIME & TIDE & LOST LOTTERIES 

     Well, I’m happy to say that I’m still alive (after thinking about yesterday’s post headline quote), though I am a bit achey after twice sliding (Aha!  Safely!) into second base during my 55+ seniors softball league winter game this morning.  I’d probably be less sore if we’d won. 

     And speaking of not winning, I also got a pile of legal papers today showing that I came pretty close to winning a $600,000+ inheritance from a former student who died last year and surprisingly named me in her will (as the only non-family member, eligible only if none of the four named relatives survived; and I just learned that two didn’t, but then, two did!).  C’est la vie.

     Then my computer service provider was down half the day, and –once again– I failed to win the lottery . . . BUT, you know what?  It was a great day to be alive, and the only thing better will be –tatata-tadah!– tomorrow!  Howcum?  Tomorrow, I get to go to work, and I get to figure out when and how to play in between the work!  It’s like gimme dirt in a room and a broom.  Instant gratification, sweeping.   

     I read where a famous writer, who recently died, was asked who in the world would want to be 90 anyway? He responded, “anyone who’s 89!”

     Well, I have a ways to go yet to get to 89, but you know the older you get, the more seconds (minutes?  hours?) each day that age-related thoughts start to pop into your head.  I remember a 20-something assistant I once had who found out I had just celebrated my 30-something’th birthday, told me I was “older than dirt” because anyone over 30 was older than dirt.  She’s now, let’s see, 35?  Hmmm. 

     What’s the bottom line? (as all the financial wizards of Wall Street inquire in too-little-too-late fashion).  You’ve already heard it.  Maybe if I say it again, you’ll actually think about it.  Maybe you’ll even act on it?  Whoa!  Miracles will never cease!  Ready?  Here it is (again): 

You are only as old as you think you are! 

     Period. 

     Hogwash, you call that?  Well, don’t take my word for it . . . do a survey (better than taking a poll; we’re polled out these days!).  Really!  Ask a bunch of old people what they think about that statement.  Ask yourself!  Me?  Ha!  I’m getting younger every day!Halalpiar        

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I couldn’t even imagine

                                                                              

hiring 99 out of 100! 

As you may know, I taught college (business, psychology, career development, creative writing) for many years, full time at Ocean County Coillege, parttime at Pace University and Georgian Court College and with the US Army Columbia College Extension Program.  At present, I’m loosely attached to the corporate training program of a small community college. 

     So, let’s say I have some sense of what college life is all about. 

     Or did!  Today that little piece of enlightened experience was smashed to smithereens.  Well, okay, it was severely dented; I’ve just been waiting a while to find someplace where I could sneek in that smithereens expression; it’s such a cool phrase. 

     Anyway, today I had occasion to be (what I felt like was) the oldest living human being in the middle of one of America’s largest and most populated university campuses. 

     My educated, experienced, objective observations?  99 out of 100 college students are just big high school students, and that’s a gracious understatement. 

     Walking through noontime clouds of cigarette and marijuana smoke, I thought I was thrown back into a time tunnel visiting San Francisco academic institutions in the early 70’s.  Aw, c’mon, Hal, there’s no more drugs and smoking on America’s campuses.  Right.   

     Overhearing how wonderful Obama’s decision was to consider adopting a puppy (nothing about the rest of his press conference, or unanswered questions about taxes, forthcoming Cabinet composition, exchanges with President Bush and all the former living Presidents, a peculiar side comment about Nancy Reagan, etc.), I was reminded of the lectures I used to give on selective perception, or, essentially, hearing only what one wants to hear. 

     At least a dozen students slept soundly (or were perhaps unconscious?) on benches and couches as thousands rushed past them to packed café tables brimming with pizza and beer pitcher lunches (Aw, c’mon, Hal, there’s no more drinking on America’s campuses.  Right.) . . . and more smoke. 

     Oh, and I was very nearly blinded by glittery body jewelry (counting, of course, only what was above, between, or creeping out of clothing, or those marvelous little glistening moments of illumination bursting forth from various tongues whenever the sun hit conversing, gasping, laughing, or drooling mouths at the right angle) . . . enough gold, silver, platinum, brass, bronze, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, to fill a flaming footlocker. 

     Now, I don’t much care how weird a lot of people choose to look; I’ve been there myself; but the pervasiveness of immature attitudes and behaviors that seem to be driven by unorthodox clothes (or lack of), makeup, jewelry, hairstyles and colors left me wondering about the challenge of corporate recruitment efforts, and the slim pickin’s American management has today in the business world. 

     I acknowledge this may not be the case when it comes to filling those beyond-IT-related positions, where wild and wooly and bizarre personalities seem to thrive. 

     So the new corporate America management teams need first and foremost to be surrogate parents, yes?  Go ahead, tell me what you think.  Tell me I’m wrong.  I hope I am.  I couldn’t even imagine hiring 99 out of 100 of the thousands I passed today. 

     That’s a sad commentary on parenting, on educational discipline, and on the take-everything-for-granted lifestyles that permeate today’s young people, descendents of the yuppies!  The times they are a changin’, sang Bob Dylan . . .  Halalpiar         

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     I’m not sure why

     . . . I choose right now to share this, perhaps just a whim, but I ran across some old lesson notes from my professor days and the following paraphrase that students used to love.  It’s of James Aggrey’s “The Parable of the Eagle” as represented in the classic 1971 Addison-Wesley Gestalt book on transactional analysis: Born To Win by Murial James and Dorothy Jongeward.  I thought you might enjoy it, and may want to share it with someone special:

Once upon a time, while walking through the forest, a certain man found a young eagle.  He took it home and put it in his barnyard where it soon learned to eat chicken feed and to behave as chickens behave.

One day, a naturalist who was passing by inquired of the owner why it was that an eagle, the king of all birds, should be confined to live in the barnyard with the chickens.

“Since I have given it chicken feed and trained it to be a chicken, it has never learned to fly,” replied the owner.  “It behaves as chickens behave, so it is no longer an eagle.”

“Still,” insisted the naturalist. “it has the heart of an eagle and can surely be taught to fly.”

After talking it over, the two men agreed to find out whether this was possible.  Gently, the naturalist took the eagle in his arms and said, “You belong to the sky and not to the earth.  Stretch forth your wings and fly.”  The eagle, however, was confused; he did not know who he was, and, seeing the chickens eating their food, he jumped down to be with them again.

Undismayed, the naturalist took the eagle on the following day up on the roof of the house, and urged him again, saying, “You are an eagle.  Stretch forth your wings and fly.”  But the eagle was afraid of his unknown self and world and jumped down once more for the chicken food.

On the third day, the naturalist rose early anfd took the eagle out of the barnyard to a high mountain.  There, he held the king of birds high above him and encouraged him again, saying, “You are an eagle.  You belong to the sky as well as to the earth.  Stretch forth your wings now and fly.”

The eagle looked around, back towards the barnyard and up to the sky.  Still he did not fly.  Then the naturalist lifted him straight towards the sun and it happened that the eagle began to tremble, slowly he stretched his wings.  At last, with a triumphant cry, he soared away into the heavens.

It may be that the eagle still remembers the chickens with nostalgia; it may even be that he even occasionally revisits the barnyard.  But as far as anyone knows, he has never returned to lead the life of a chicken.  He was an eagle thought he had been kept and tamed as a chicken.

     Just like the eagle, say James and Jongeward, a person who has learned to think of herself or himself as something she or he isn’t, can re-decide in favor of her or his real potential . . . and become a winner! 

     You may need a helper, and just the thought of leaving the barnyard may make you tremble, but taking flight? — It’s a choice!  

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No matter how you feel,

                                             

do not give up your right

                                                           

and responsibility to vote. 

                                                             

     Today, Tuesday, November 4th, we name a new leader of the free world. 

     And tomorrow, the order of the day –and the many days, and perhaps years, that follow– will be compromise. 

     No American President can ever serve the Presidency as an effective leader without respect for the Presidency from those who are, and who support, the defeated.  Why?  Because leadership requires cooperation and teamwork to achieve objectives that bring benefit to the majority, including the losers. 

     So, today, Election Day, is a day of reckoning, but tomorrow and every day thereafter needs to be a day of compromise and acceptance and moving forward using the strength of the best dreams, goals and resources that remain available. 

     For a future that serves us all, regardless of personal preferences and political alignments, the next four years’ worth of Tomorrows calls for active listening, and patience, and openness, and receptivity from each of us. 

     It requires that we make the most of what we have to work with and believe in, to achieve lasting peace, meaningful progress . . . and abundance of life, health, wealth, and spirit in the next four years, for ourselves and our families. 

     It requires that we each reach agreement with ourselves to pursue these values for our children, for our grandchildren, and for preservation of  balanced life on this fragile planet.     

     May God Bless our new leaders and give them the wisdom, vision, foresight and strength to captain our ship through the storms ahead.  

     No matter how you feel, do not give up your right and responsibility to vote.   Halalpiar 

Note http://blog.igburton.com for my new two-part blog series (Part I tonight and Part II this coming Thursday) on STOP HOLIDAY DRIVING STRESS . . . good stuff for all of us!     

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Imagine being featured performer

inside a shoulder-to-shoulder ring

of twenty or thirty shrinks! 

     Ever get yourself frustrated with a relative, neighbor, friend, co-worker, employee or boss who is just too damn busy to visit, socialize, go to lunch, get coffee before (or a beer after) work,  discuss books, articles, music, film or theatre productions, children or grandchildren, church, doctors, or the circus . . . anything that has nothing to do with work?  

     You know who I’m talking about.  Somebody you’re pretty sure is not on the wittness protection program.  It’s that loner who can’t find (or seem to make) the time for pleasure travel or experiences.  Often, it’s someone who’s rarely in touch with any sporting event or team, hobby, or community organization . . .  and is often distant to her or his own family?  

     Don’t feel rejected.  Odds are it has nothing to do with you. 

     In psychotherapeudic circles (I know, I know, they don’t sound like such great places to be either.  I mean just imagine being featured performer inside a shoulder-to-shoulder ring of twenty or thirty shrinks!  Yikes!  That’s enough to make you crazy even if you weren’t to start with) — anyway, in this psycho-shrink category of diagnostics, particularly as it emerges from Gestalt Therapy, people who create distance with others usually do it unconsciously.  

     By barracading themselves behind desks, office doors, and work schedules, it’s easier to explain their reluctance to get involved with others’ lives, and with themselves.  By consistently saying yes to others’ requests (to the point of his or her own detriment, exhaustion, for example), it’s easier to avoid intimacy (tenderness, empathy and affection, caring) at any level.  There’s always something to keep preoccupied with!  In Transactional Analysis (TA), this kind of activity is referred to as a subconscious “game” called The Harried Executive.

     I get accused of this on occasion, but my work, my writing, is my life . . . and I never avoid contact with those around me, though I will often delay an encounter until I’ve finished the sentence or paragraph I’m working on, and I will often avoid getting into situations that offer no personal reward . . . going to an opera or ballet, for example, because I do not understand or appreciate either (with apologies to my wonderful high school classmate, ballet star, teacher, and ballet aficionado friend Rhodie Jorgenson, whom I greatly admire). 

     The Harried Executive may have once been emotionally traumatized by allowing his or herself to get too close to someone else, and then been stood-up, or jilted, or in worst-case scenerios: cheated, beaten, robbed, or raped. 

     Percolating somewhere down deep in such an individual’s unconcsious mind is the fear of ever getting into that kind of situation again, and the misguided notion that avoidance of all things, people, and experiences that represent any kind of intimacy is the safest route to take.  Folks like this need help, but probably not from you, unless you have a Masters of Social Work.  Free yourself from guilt and worry and get on with your life and career.        

Note http://blog.igburton.com for my new two-part blog series (Part I tonight and Part II this coming Thursday) on STOP HOLIDAY DRIVING STRESS . . . good stuff for all of us!   Halalpiar    

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My punkin’s chunked!

     Nudged by friends, Kathy and I headed off to become part of Delaware history today in witnessing and celebrating the 23rd Annual PUNKIN CHUNKIN World Championship.  [See www.punkinchunkin.com for all the hokey details.]

     People come from virtually every state, and many different countries (including England, Bulgaria, and even California ;<) to see and experience man-made Rube Goldberg-style non-motorized catapult contraptions hurl real pumpkins hundreds of feet up into the air, and as far as nearly a mile across flattened cornfields . . . more impressive than even Reggie Jackson home runs in Octobers past.

     The devices use giant rubberbands, levers, pulleys, swivels, compressed air, heavy people jumping off ladders onto see-saw-style slingers, and virtually every other propulsion scheme known to science and garage inventors.

     Now, we’re not talking about small time events here.  There were approximately 150 venders and a a dozen world-class rides (two of which created instant nausea just to look at).  The schedule featured dozens of quality bands (including The Charlie Daniel’s Band and Randy Owen, Alabama’s lead singer) plus cooking contests, a Miss Punkin Chunkin Pagent, lots of fireworks, and food and drinks galore. 

     My unofficial guess is that there were at least a hundred thousand vehicles at the gourd flinging contests, a three-day weekend phenomenon. 

     Most cars and trucks and SUV’s looked to be filled with people and tailgate picnic paraphernalia (including full-length sofas; wide-screen TV’s; thousand-dollar grills; fully-stocked bars and kitchens on wheels; thousands of RV’s, ATV’s, golfcarts and motorcycles.  “A redneck Woodstock,” someone called it, though I must confess I didn’t see anyone cooking out on upsidedown shopping carts!

     $2 to park and $9 per adult admission probably translates to roughly $30+ average take per vehicle.  Much of the proceeds go to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital and to agriculture scholarship funds.

     So, good for you, Hal; what’s the point?

     The point is that the only incident we even heard about all day was that security teams reunited a lost three year-old with his parents.  Bridgeville, Deleware, and Delaware State Police were prominently in attendance, and good-naturedly tolerant. 

     The point is that electioneering was parked outside the front gate, and so were people’s economic woes.  My guess is that mainstream media would not have liked seeing so many happy spirited souls just three days before Election Day; it would have flown in the face of the grimacing, suffering images they’re trying so desperately to portray to sell more advertising time and space.

     The point is that the event is so utterly stupid that it’s just plain fun, and a distraction from political bombardments that was more than worthy of the couple of miles of trekking from parking space to the carefully planned pumpkin launch and drop and smash area. 

     The point is it was refreshing to see this piece of Americana alive and well and being enjoyed by people having a good time.  If you’re nearby, try it tomorrow.  If you’re not, it’s really worth planning for next year.  See you there!  Halalpiar    

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My brain is drained. 

My French is fried. 

Thank God this week coming is the last of the last!

     I am SO sick of politics.  I really don’t care anymore about who did what to whom under what circumstances however many years ago.  I resent the 24/7 bombardment of my senses . . . radio, TV, lapel pins, newspapers, bumper stickers, Internet, emails, road signs, telephone calls, even dog bandannas!  AAAAAAAAaaaaaaaakkkKKKKKKK!!

     Enough already!  My brain is drained.  My French is fried.  And into the home stretch, the lies get bigger and the assaults more ruthless. 

     Worst of all, there doesn’t appear to be any let-up until Wednesday morning.  Oh, yeah, we have another three whole days ahead of yelling and screaming and senseless accusations, charges and counter-charges. 

     Why does everything in America have to reduce itself in the Eleventh Hour to a ridiculous free-for-all mixed-martial-arts contest with everyone beating each other to a pulp? 

     What does it accomplish? 

     Who among those of us dumb and dumbers have not yet made up our minds about who to vote for, that some last minute fringe lunatic tidal wave of pronouncements is about to sway? 

     Tell me.  I’m really wondering about this.  How many votes do you think will jump on some bandwagon at the last minute because of some astronomically important statement being made that we’ve never heard before?  How many?  Tell me.

     Here’s what we need, people!  We need a three-day moritorium where no candidate says anything to anybody and no media reports of any candidate or issue are allowed.  We need a three-day retreat of peace and quiet to collect ourselves and our thoughts and allow ourselves to heal and become sane again . . . BEFORE we vote!

     Given the opportunity to stimulate our neurological systems with increased oxygen flow and relax our muscles with increased blood flow by taking lots of deep breaths and long stretches, and by temporarily withdrawing from the franticness and fanaticism of the outside world, WE WILL CAST A BETTER BALLOT!

     Oh, yes, and wouldn’t this fit right in with the lunatic taxation spread-the-wealth fringe element in society that’s focused on all things green and peace-symboled and artsy-craftsy and tree-hugging?  Even those folks would welcome a three-day peace period!  Besides, it might give them cause to reassess the candidates they’ve sold out their faith to.

     So, let’s see . . . how do we do something like this?  We get our elected representatives to introduce legislation.  Right.  I knew something this valuable to us, as human beings, wouldn’t be so simple.  It requires a campaign.  Something like a 24/7 bombardment of radio, TV, lapel pins, newspapers, bumper stickers, Internet, emails, road signs, telephone calls, even dog bandannas!     Halalpiar    

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