Leading Mama

Community-Sourcing: Leadership isn't DIY

I frequently get thanked for things I didn’t do. That’s because I take on projects that are way too big for one little mama to do all by herself. Like collecting, packaging and distributing cookies to more than 2,000 service members at holiday time. Don’t get me wrong, I love, love, love to bake. But 12,000 cookies? 10 days from now? Forget about it.

Photo by Tim Lewis shared via WikimediaCommons

 

I’m something of a yes-mama. I simply can’t say “no” when I’m asked to take on an enormous project. I’m a project junkie. But I know I can’t be a do-it-myself project junkie.  That would be ludicrous. And it isn't necessary!

 

People love to help with meaningful projects, so reaching out gives others the opportunity to do good. They'll also bring skills, talents and resources that Leading Mama just doesn’t have. Sometimes more is more. So I say “bring it.”

 

Crowd-sourcing is a relatively new concept in business. It amounts to getting people to build products without payment for their labor, and it flies in the face of years of pay-for-performance management. Community leaders have been doing something similar for hundreds or thousands of years. Think barnraising technology for the modern world.

 

I call it community-sourcing: harnessing the energies of community networks and everyday people to accomplish a shared pro-social goal.

 

Community-sourcing could help you collect coats for inner city kids or items for the school’s silent auction. It could be used to build affordable housing or clean up and refurbish a dilapidated baseball field. You could community-source a website or blog and get rich content from hundreds of contributors in the virtual community. If you're a ScaryMommy fan, you know what I mean. She has an eight-week waiting list for guest contributors to the Scary Mommy Society and the content is outstanding.

 

Done right, community-sourcing not only gets the job done. It gets the job done faster, smarter, and better. It builds community. And – if you have a tendency to take projects way too big for one person – it just might save you from yourself.

 

How could community-sourcing help you with an upcoming project? And what's stopping you from using it?

Scary Business

In this week’s Prosperous Writer E-zine, Christina Katz relates her experiences at the recent Associated Writers and Writing Programs Conference in Washington, DC. She asked the participants in a social networking session whether they see themselves or their writing as a business. The result? Only 20% of the attendees raised their hands. She was shocked.

 

I am a freelance writer. Writing is my business. And if I had been in Christina’s audience, I would have raised my hand. But I understand why so few people did.

Claiming an identity as a business person is scary.

Doing it in public is even scarier.

Here’s why:

1) Claiming an identity is a commitment. It demands action.

You cannot say you are a writer if you don’t write. And no matter how good a writer – or cook, coach, crafter, singer, stylist, designer, or widget-maker – you are, you cannot say you are in business unless you market and (hopefully) sell your work.

 

2) Selling your work feels a lot like selling yourself. Especially for artists, and especially for women.

Putting a price on your work makes a statement about the value of your ideas, your time, and your creations. And negotiating the value of your work can be off-putting, not to mention downright frightening. Why? We don’t want to confront our own assessment of our value and we don’t want to open ourselves up to scrutiny. As long as your work is a hobby, you don’t have to find out what it, and, by extension, you, are worth. Safety first, right?

 

3) Business has a certain connotation. It is cold and detached. Impersonal. It can be ruthless. Business is dirty and corrupt.

I know these are stereotypes, but these qualities spring to mind without warning when we think about business, and there’s the rub. Claiming we are in business means getting past all that emotional baggage. We want to believe we are thoughtful, creative, and socially aware. These traits are hard to reconcile with our knee-jerk beliefs about business.

 

4) Businesses pay workers for performance, and motivate increases in production by offering larger and larger incentives. Daniel Pink, author of Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us calls this Motivation 2.0

Unfortunately, lots of studies in psychology show that paying people to do tasks they find inherently meaningful and intrinsically motivating is apt to backfire. Athletes paid top dollar for their performance fall out of love with the game. Kids paid to color pictures stop coloring because coloring isn’t fun anymore. Writers worry that being paid to write will mean they no longer find it gratifying, energizing, and expressive. We don’t want money to mess with our mojo. We – incorrectly, I think – equate selling our work with selling out.

 

5) Being in business ups the ante. As long as we don’t claim we’re worth too much, no one will call us out. We can dabble, bumble, and fail at a hobby. The stakes are low. Giving ourselves permission to dabble, bumble and (possibly) fail at our work takes a lot more courage. But risk-taking is vital to any enterprise, including writing.

 

I am proud to say I am a freelance writer. I recognize my work has value and ask others to recognize it, too. That doesn’t make what I do less gratifying, less energizing, or less noble.

 

I am an enterprising mama. As Merriam-Webster defines it, that means I am marked by an independent energetic spirit and a readiness to act. My enterprise is writing. It is difficult, complicated, and risky. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

How about you? What's your enterprise? Be bold and claim it. I double-dog dare you.

Learning in Progress: It's Okay to Make Mistakes

“Yestertime,” Carson and I played “cheerios” in the living room. Then, we went outside to play in the “no.” We were cold, so we went inside for some hot chocolate with “mushmellows.” I told him the knock-knock joke about the bananas and the orange and he called me a “mee-on.”

Did you hear what I heard? Mee-on sounds a lot like moron...

 

So I asked him to explain. He said a mee-on is a funny person who makes people laugh. “A comedian?,” I asked. Yep. "A mee-on," he repeated. I laughed out loud.

 

Not too long ago I was worried Carson had a speech delay. It is so hard to watch your child struggle to express what they want (Read Cheryl @ Mommypants description here). Now, he talks non-stop from morning ‘til night. He used to call his dad “na.” Now he calls him Dad. Or Chris. But only when he wants attention and isn’t getting it.

I’m fascinated by the idiosyncratic words he uses and the errors he makes. Yestertime means “sometime in the past.” It might refer to something that happened a year ago, and it might refer to yesterday.  I like this word so much I started using it, too. Yestertime is great concept for someone who can’t remember what day of the week it is most of the time.

 

When we play “cheerios,” we line up tiles on the floor matching end to end – you probably call the game dominoes. Words that start with “sch” or “sn” or “sm” are also problematic. School is “cool,” snow is “no,” snake is “nake.” Smoothie sounds just like movie.

 

I love his words. Sometimes they make me laugh. Sometimes they provoke a game of twenty questions. Sometimes we sound like we're doing a "who's on first" routine.

“What’s an X?”

“Where did you see it?”

“Do you mean Y?”

“Hmm. Can you say it again? I don’t understand you.”

“Was it in a movie?”

“Did you learn it at cool, er, school?”

 

His speech has advanced enough that this process rarely ends with him dragging me in the other room to show me (rather than tell me) what he means. That’s progress.

 

But what I find most inspiring is this: He makes lots of mistakes. But that never stops him from trying.

 

Few adults learn something new and put it to use immediately, when they aren’t sure they’ve got it right. We want to rehearse in private. We don’t want to feel foolish. We feel lousy if people correct us. We’d rather keep repeating the past if trying something new means we might screw up. We’re more focused on getting the correct result than on learning new skills. And that’s unfortunate.

 

You can learn a lot when you play with concepts and accept mistakes as part of the process.

 

Failure isn’t fatal. Even three year olds know that.

 

I Need You to Need Me

Several times a day, my three-year-old says “I did it all by myself, Mom.” He takes off his clothes at bath time…all by himself. He opens the front door to check on his pet praying mantis…all by himself. He gets up in the night to use the potty…all by himself. When he really wants to rub it in, he says “I not need you anymore, Mom.”

Can you hear my heart breaking?

One of the central challenges of leadership and parenting is getting beyond the need to be needed. Constantly, crucially needed.

Of course it feels good to take care of others. And small babies need us to do most things for them. They lack any measure of self-sufficiency. If you doubt that, ask the mom of a newborn baby that needs to be fed, burped, diapered, and soothed to sleep. Keep in mind that newborns do little besides eat, sleep, and poop – and parents help with most of it!

But how quickly they become independent.

My almost-five-month old baby is a champion sleeper. She goes to bed uneventfully by 8 p.m. and wakes up gurgling at about 6:20 a.m. She’s been doing this since about 3 months old.

Now, I’m not bragging, just sharing. Please, sleep-deprived comrades in parenting, don’t hate me because I am well-rested. Lest you think I’ve cracked the code on sleep training, let me proclaim to the blogosphere: her successful sleeping has nothing to do with me. Nothing. Zilch. Zero.

She sleeps through the night because she soothes herself back to sleep when she wakes up. She puts her index and middle fingers in her mouth, sucks noisily (seriously, you can hear her in the hallway), and back to sleep she goes. Leading Man says that a two-finger salute is baby speak for “I don’t need you anymore, Mom.” My heart would break were it not for the deliciously uninterrupted sleep this affords me.

I believe good leaders encourage others to build skills and act autonomously, even when the results are not immediately perfect. Then they offer guidance on how to improve. And good parents do the same.

So, if you see my three-year-old wearing his shoes on the wrong feet, please don’t tell him. He still needs me to do that.

The Business of Education

At a time when family budgets are shrinking and unemployment is on the rise, more and more schools are paying students for academic achievement. In Chicago, financial incentives are offered as part of “Green for Grades.” In more than 100 Texas high schools, the nonprofit group Advanced Placement Strategies pays up to $500 to kids earning top scores on AP English, math and science tests. 

Have I lost touch with reality or does this seem like a really bad idea to you, too?

 

Psychological research consistently shows when you pay people to perform tasks, they lose interest in them. It’s as if they think to themselves “If she’s got to pay me to do this, it must be really boring.” Kids paid to color pictures decide they aren’t so fond of coloring anymore. Professional athletes lose touch with the thrill of the sport when they’re overpaid and under pressure. What’s worse, when external incentives disappear, most people stop doing what you paid them to do.

 

Remind me – what makes the cash-for-grades exchange a good idea?

 

Business leaders might compare this practice to incentive systems for employees. There are several similar systems in business practice – profit sharing, working on commission, bonuses for exceptional performance.

 

Since school funding depends on student test scores, the practice of paying students for grades amounts to an educational profit sharing plan. Sort of – but not really. In profit sharing programs, employees typically share in the company’s profits as a group, not as individuals. Profit sharing programs encourage employees to work as a team for the good of the organization. One employee’s success is irrelevant if profits are down across the board. Everyone has to achieve or no one does.

 

WashingtonD.C.’s “Capital Gains” incentive system and other programs nationwide reward individual performance. These programs amount to work on commission for students. The more good grades they post, the greater their individual financial rewards. Other students’ success is irrelevant. And no work means no pay.

 

I know it’s tempting to believe financial incentives will motivate kids to stay in school and get good grades. But if school is work, and education is business, then we know paying people more can’t make them care. And it can’t make them stay where they don’t want to be. 

 

Nearly a quarter of all American’s change jobs each year, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics. Though 89% of managers think their employees quit because they could make more money elsewhere, only 12% of employees leave for more money. The #1 reason people quit their jobs is BAD MANAGEMENT. 

 

Bad bosses fail to involve people in decision making. They fail to appreciate employees’ contributions. And they fail to develop employees’ talents and abilities. One study found workers are almost four times more likely to leave because their skills are not being used and their careers are not being developed than because of salary.

 

Before paying another poor student to earn a passing score on the state-mandated math test this year, maybe educators need to re-think what truly motivates students. Just like adults, kids appreciate opportunities to contribute to something bigger than themselves. They like being part of a team. They want to make a difference in the world. Not later – NOW.

 

Kids’ enthusiasm for learning new skills (animation, photography, auto mechanics) and developing talents (art, music, athletics, drama) is automatic. We don’t have to pay them to play baseball. We don’t offer incentives for drawing or singing or photography. Because learning is incentive enough.

 

Unfortunately the intrinsically satisfying nature of learning is undermined by teach-the-test academics. There’s no room left for exploring what is interesting to students. No time for group projects and service learning. Education has been reduced to assembly line production – no room for creativity remains.

 

If assessment-centric decision making, educational inequity, and an inability to see how education matters in life have de-motivated students to the point we must pay them to learn, we’ve got a problem no amount of money can fix. Really.

 

To Err is Human, To Admit It Is Leadership

I'm reading a book by Carol Tavris and Elliot Aronson entitled Mistakes Were Made (But Not by Me): Why We Justify Foolish Beliefs, Bad Decisions, and Hurtful Acts. Both giants in the field of social psychology, Tavris and Aronson review 50 years of research on cognitive dissonance and self-justification, explaining how we tend to rationalize, justify, ignore, and evade evidence suggesting we’ve erred. 

 

The fragile ego needs protection, after all.

 

Tavris and Aronson remark, “To err is human, but humans have a choice between covering up and fessing up.” And most often, when confronted with proof we’re wrong, become even more tenacious in our own self-deception and self-defense.

 

It’s easy to find public examples in politics and on Wall Street these days. Just last night as we watched 60 Minutes, I wondered how hedge fund managers who made MILLIONS of dollars on credit default swaps and derivatives could live with themselves as they watch the US economy crumble before their eyes. People are losing their homes, their retirement savings, their jobs. 

 

The answer, of course, is that bankers and hedge fund managers and legislators responsible for the credit crunch live with themselves “exactly the way the rest of us do.” Now I’m not saying you or I have made bad decisions that impacted millions and millions of people (and Tavris and Aronson didn’t say that either). 

 

What I am saying is the psychological process of self-justification that allows them to sleep at night is the same one that allows you or I to live with the knowledge we’ve screwed up and hurt those we love, perhaps deeply.

 

In the last 24 hours, I’ve had two opportunities to admit a mistake. I confess in the more emotional, personally meaningful situation, I responded just like social psychologists would predict (and their predictions are not usually very favorable). In the less emotional, more black-and-white business-related situation, I very quickly (though not without embarrassment) admitted my error, explained how it happened, expressed my sincerest apologies, and asked for a gracious response from the individual I wronged. (And I'm happy to say the situation was resolved positively.)

 

The difficult situation was an argument with my husband, who felt I was critical of his parenting behavior. I fairly quickly dug in my heels (“I did not criticize you”), justified my behavior (“You started it”), and walked away from additional confrontation (literally).  

 

In the minutes that followed, what flashed through my mind was all the evidence to support my position, and a host of unspoken arguments to counteract his. I won’t list them here, and I’m glad that – at least this time – I kept all those not-so-kind words to myself. Keeping my mouth shut certainly isn’t my nature. 

 

Without the prompting of Mistakes Were Made, I’m not sure I would have re-evaluated what happened yesterday. Actually, I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t have. 

 

While I easily find fault with my hair (it’s flat today), my thighs (not as thin as they should be), my housekeeping (not a high priority), it’s much harder to see mistakes in my own behavior. I think that’s true for most of us. Real life requires a little (well, maybe a lot) of self-deception. We all make bad decisions at times, and sometimes our behavior hurts others. In order to feel like good, honest, caring, capable people, we justify it. Then we remember it selectively, culling out the parts that aren’t so flattering like we cut bad boyfriends out of our college photo albums. 

 

While I still don’t believe I criticized him directly, I certainly see how my husband interpreted it that way. And I am truly sorry I hurt him. That seems like a step in the right direction. I admit I’ve got a ways to go.

 

Now if those hedge fund managers would fess up, we could all sleep better tonight.

Customer Service Part Deux

If you think my experiences with Nissan changed forever the fabric of my impatient personality, you’ve got another thing coming. Patience doesn’t develop over night. But the “opportunities to excel” (read time-wasting, soul-stealing customer service fiascos) just keep coming.

 

One of the joys of moving every 2 years or less is I get to establish new service with one or more telecommunications companies. These companies have a deservedly bad reputation for customer service. Here’s my most recent example. (WARNING: This is a LONG story. Pour a cup of coffee before you read on.)

 

When we moved to Virginia, I decided to hook up to cable internet rather than DSL. Since I was opening an account with the cable company, I decided to purchase phone service via internet as well. I called Comcast and ordered the service I wanted. Two weeks later, their rep came to install.

He worked feverishly for five hours installing one modem for the internet-based telephone service, and an additional wireless router for our home computer network. Five hours. He hadn’t installed this particular equipment before, so ours represents the steepest part of his learning curve (at least I hope so). He apologized for the long service call but finished the job that day. Our phone and internet service worked flawlessly.

 

Fast forward three months. Leading Mama has been busy. I’ll admit while I pay all our bills on time, I don’t always read them. The first bill from Comcast seemed high, but I chalked it up to new service charges and installation fees and dashed off a check.

 

This month I opened the bill ($121.48 for internet and home telephone) and again muttered under my breath “Why is this bill so damn high?” And then I turned it over. On the back of the bill under Comcast Bundled Services, it says “Preferred Bundle includes Digital Pref with On Demand, Performance High-Spd Internet, Digital Voice Unlimited, Triple Play dscnt included.”

 

Hmmm. Triple play – cable television, Internet, and phone. Only I don’t have cable TV, I have satellite. And I’ve always had satellite.

 

I quickly called Comcast and explained the situation. The sympathetic representative explained she did not have the ability to turn off my cable TV service (which I do not have), and issued a customer care request. She told me I’d receive a call within 24 hours.

 

When 48 hours elapsed, I called again and asked to speak with Customer Care. Again, a representative said my account showed a cable box at my address. Only I’ve never had a cable box. I explained the original work order, and subsequent installation fiasco while digging through my haphazardly organized files of important papers. At last, I laid hands on a single sheet of blue paper, folded in quarters. On the back side, our installer had noted my email account name and password. On front was our work order and his hand-written comment: Installed 1) Digital Voice Modem and 2) Wireless Router.

 

Aha! This crumpled blue paper proved the nonexistent cable box was, well, nonexistent. The customer service representative said I’d have to take my blue paper to the local Comcast billing office to resolve the discrepancy on my account. Imagine my excitement – I get to take a busy, clingy toddler to the cable company’s billing office where I will prove that I don’t have cable and reclaim my long-lost moola. Whoopee!

 

On Monday I drove to the billing office, evidence in hand. A well-spoken and helpful service representative (again) noted my account shows a cable box at my address. I handed her the blue believe-me, I-really-don’t-have-a-cable-box slip of paper. She pecked at the keyboard, stared at the work order, pecked at the keyboard some more. Carson amused himself swinging like a monkey from the “lane ropes” on either side of the service window.

Thirty minutes later she’d worked it out. Comcast owes me $10.67. Two phone calls and one trip across town, and all is right with the world. Leading Mama emerges victorious.

 

Or so I thought.

 

After his gymnastics workout in the Comcast lobby, Carson went down for a nap. And I sat down at the computer to work.

But it didn’t. And I didn’t.

 

There on the screen where the internet should have been was a box that said “Welcome to Comcast. Click here to Install.” So I clicked. Nothing. The internet was no where to be found.

Again, I called Comcast. I explained what was on my screen and informed the representative of the morning’s billing debacle resolution. Her response? “Oh, you always lose internet service when there’s been a change of service on the account.” Are you kidding me? I “changed my service” by removing cable TV (which never existed) and now I have no internet service. Yes, that’s how it works.

 

To make a very long story a little less long, this rep worked for 90 minutes and couldn’t reset the modem/router. She said she’s call back when she finished. Four hours later, she hadn’t called. So I called Comcast again. Another representative worked for over an hour to reset the modem and finally admitted defeat. The system would reset my modem within 72 hours, but there was no fix she could do at the moment. She said to keep checking, it might be reset sooner, but call back if I didn’t have internet service by Thursday.

 

On Tuesday morning, I hopefully clicked on Internet Explorer. Leading Mama is not patient, but she is optimistic. Wonder of wonders, the internet appeared. The system reset my modem in the night and I could get back to living my life. But I’ll never reclaim the time I spent canceling cable television I never ordered and never received. Apparently, that’s just the cost of modern living.

 

Putting the Cuss in Customer Service

Patience isn’t one of my virtues. But lately I seem to have more patience-testing trials than I know what to do with. Here’s Exhibit A.

 

My Nissan Pathfinder (a.k.a.“the money pit”) has always had only one key. I bought it used and after hours of negotiating over new tires, warranties, etcetera, the fact that the dealer had only one key was not a battle I wanted to fight. Of course I’ve always feared I’d lock myself out, and in the 5 years I’ve had the money pit, I’ve done so only once. Triple A rescued me quickly.

 

Well, in the last year, the key has been falling apart piece by piece. First, a chunk of black plastic that covered the microchip in the corner of the key broke off, leaving the little blue chip exposed. It made me nervous, but not nervous enough to shell out $170 for a new key.

 

The money-pit and I limped along with our chip hanging out for about a year. And then it happened. The key broke so it could no longer attach to a key ring. Frantic constant worry I’d lose the key soon ensued. When it fell from my pocket once in our street out front, I went from zero to crazy lady in about 3 seconds. And I stayed that way for 45 minutes it took me to find the key. Last week I went to the local Nissan dealer to get keys made. I figure if it’s my money or my life, I’m choosing life. 

 

We went early, before Carson’s play date at the park. The service rep told me it would take an hour to make 2 new keys and reprogram the old one. An hour with a get-me-to-the-park-play-date toddler and nowhere to go. We walked. I entertained as best I could. Even my best attempts to divert his attention at the nearby Home Depot (the only business open at that hour) were not enough. We ended up back in the dealer’s showroom where Carson colored the showroom plate glass windows with the free crayons they gave him. Hey, any shelter in a storm.

 

An hour and a half later, my keys were deemed ready, and I paid $302 to go on my way. We hurried to the play date, and then home for a later-than-warranted nap. In our driveway at home, I decided to test all three keys. (When they brought the money-pit around at the dealer, it was already running – and we were late for the park – so I didn’t think to test the keys then.) Two of the three keys worked. One new key and my old, broken down key. Suddenly the new key was a $300 key. And that’s not okay.

 

When I called the service manager back, he apologized and said I’d have to come back. They would reprogram the keys for me. (Oh goody, I can’t wait to spend another hour plus trying to keep Carson from coloring the sides of a shiny new Nissan Murano!) I told him I’d be there the next morning.

 

When we arrived, I asked if this would take more than an hour again today in the exasperated way only a teenager or toddler’s mother can ask. He assured me it wouldn’t. Off we went to the kids’ table in the showroom. Carson colored. And charmed the salespeople. I worked on article outlines and kept one eye on the boy. We paced by the service office to make sure they remembered we existed. I let Carson play with the vending machine buttons in their hallway. Still no luck.

 

Finally, 90 minutes later the service rep came and told me that one of the keys “dropped the encoding” after a few minutes, and must be a bad key. He had ordered two new blank keys from the warehouse in Baltimore and would call me when they arrived so I could come back and go through the reprogramming procedure AGAIN. Imagine my excitement. He handed me my old broken down key and I left. Let’s look at the scoreboard:

Nissan Dealer:	$302
Leading Mama:	-$302	and 4 hours time

 

And still, I’ve got nada. Zilch, zip, nothing. Same ol’ broken down key. Can you believe it? I couldn’t. The following morning my service manager called at 7:15. I say “my service manager” because at this point it feels like we’re dating. I see more of him than I see of my husband. Truly. He says the keys have arrived. I’m sure my response was not the giddy-with-excitement reaction he had expected. We went to the dealer that morning to visit our new keys and have them reprogrammed again. Happily, 45 minutes later he emerged with two new functioning keys and my old broken down one. I tested all three in the parking lot. They work. Hurray!

But I figure the cost of the entire transaction in money and time makes each new key worth approximately $275. That’s if I bill $50 per hour for the time I spent getting keys made. Two keys = $550.

 

Patience isn’t one of my virtues. Leading Mama’s time (like yours) is priceless.

 

Ready, Set, Fail

As I scanned the business headlines this morning, an article entitled "How to Recover from Failure" caught my eye. The piece shows how entrepreneurs and political leaders get their wits about them and move on, despite massive, and often very public, failures.

In the sentimental closing section, Vice Presidential candidate Joe Biden even credits his mother with teaching him to stand up to challenges and fight back when all seems lost. Moms and dads everywhere should pat themselves on the back helping children "get back on the horse" over and over again. Teaching kids to fall gracefully and  to get back up again is, after all, a big part of parenting.

As I've been studying and practicing freelance writing, I wondered how people prepare themselves for failure. I know, it sounds defeatest to go into something expecting to fail and preparing for "the worst," but I can't help it. I've sent articles and queries to several national consumer magazines in the past month and that little devil on my shoulder shares his doomful doubts from time to time. He says things like, "That was a mistake," and "They'll never take you seriously." If he were real I'd strangle him.

A fellow student in my online writing class asked yesterday "Do I have to post my work?" The instructor replied that no, she did not have to post her work, but recommended she do so. I'm sure the student on the other end felt she was being encouraged to fail. Worse, it would be public (virtually public, anyway). I had asked a different question. My question was "Can I post some of my queries here for you and my classmates to read and make comments?"

I call it the READY, SET, FAIL approach. Here's why you should try it:

• Because risking public failure cements your commitment to the venture. I've met with many would-be entrepreneurs in my role as business consultant. Some brought me beautifully written, well-researched business plans. Others' plans were scribbled on the backs of gum wrappers. Some hadn't written a formal plan but positively burst with ideas when I asked how I might help. What they shared was a belief that their ideas were worth pursuing and the courage to commit to them.

• Because until you put your work out there, you can't get feedback on it. You've probably heard that Thomas Edison failed on the first 1,000 attempts make a lightbulb but he didn't lose hope. Rather, he says he learned 1,000 times how not to make a lightbulb. This is part truth and part mis-truth as Edison did not actually invent the lightbulb (it predated him by 50 years). Edison worked to identify a suitable filament for incandescent lightbulbs, one that would allow them to burn brighter and longer. What he did say was this:

 "After we had conducted thousands of experiments on a certain project without solving the problem, one of my associates, after we had conducted the crowning experiment and it had proved a failure, expressed discouragement and disgust over our having failed to find out anything. I cheerily assured him that we had learned something. For we had learned for a certainty that the thing couldn't be done that way, and that we would have to try some other way."

Thomas Edison interview, published January 1921, American Magazine.

• Because regret is a worse fate than failure. Studies of elderly people are revealing in this regard. When asked about their lives, few people say they wish they could change what has happened to them. Keep in mind, BAD things happen to people. They fall out of love, lose their jobs, and suffer debilitating injuries. But they seldom wish they could change these things. It seems tragedy has forged their character and to undo what's been done is unthinkable. What they DO regret is places they didn't go, projects they didn't pursue, relationships they let die over time.

So it seems wise to adopt the READY, SET, FAIL approach. Put yourself out there and see what happens. Remember, failure isn't the worst thing that can happen. Regret is. Commit to improvement and be persistent. When you fall, dust yourself off, figure out what you've learned, and lead on. Now, that's success.

Are You Linked In?

Are you LinkedIn? Is your face in the “book?” (FaceBook, that is.)  Do you Yahoo!? Got space on MySpace? Blogspot? CafeMom?

  

 

As I’ve been updating my networking site profiles and website information, I find myself waxing a bit nostalgic. Wasn’t business better when we stopped by colleagues’ or competitors’ offices, made phone calls, had lunch? Weren’t families better when we lived up the road from Grandma’s house and she didn’t have to watch the kiddos grow up via webcam?

 

 

  

Business banter loves the global marketplace. You can work on both coasts simultaneously, outsource your IT operations to Asia, and sell to multiple markets without leaving your home office. Suddenly suppliers’ competition skyrockets and it feels like everyone is a potential customer.

 

As families become more mobile and move further from their extended kin, moms and dads go global, too. We join parenting groups (I love mine!), make playdates, search for sitters online using giant databases of profiles (check out sittercity.com to see what I mean). Perhaps it has always been the case that “It Takes a Village” to raise a child, but the village is virtual these days.

 

  

I can’t help but wonder if all this social networking hasn’t had a paradoxical effect. We’re more connected than ever and yet we’re lonelier. We spend increasing amounts of time crafting our “selves” online (personal or professional profiles, websites, blogs). Yet our identities feel less authentic, our brands less compelling. It’s hard to tell what is real and what is creative fiction.

 

  

Interviewers for the General Social Survey asked people the following question:

 

  

“From time to time, most people discuss important matters with other people. Looking back over the last six months, who are the people with whom you have discussed matters important to you?” List their first names or initials.

 

 

Stop and answer this on scratch paper before you read on…

Come on, humor me and answer it.

 

The result? The number of close confidants reported has dropped nearly one third, from 2.94 to 2.08 in the last 20 years. The drop is depressing, but the absolute number is sadder still. In the year 2004, the average person said they discussed important matters with only 2 people?! What kind of social networking is that?

 

Social connections are important stress busters and they’re still the way business gets done. So before you update that profile, take a few minutes to invite a friend or coworker to lunch. Oh, and don’t forget to call your mom.