Michele Woodward

Powerful Coaching. Powerful Results.

growth

That Time I Learned Something New About Myself

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When I was just getting started in my career, a slightly old friend passed along some advice.

“If anyone important asks you to lunch,” she said, “make sure you order steak tartare and Scotch neat, just to show them how tough you are.”

My nose wrinkled at the thought of raw meat mixed with raw egg yolk and firewater for lunch. It’s highly probable that I responded with, “I dunno. How about a Cobb salad and a Diet Coke?”

Truth is, I’ve never been one to choose something just to make a point. It’s not how I’m wired.

Plus, even at a young age, I had decided that Scotch was not the distilled spirit for me.

I mean, Scotch. Just the sound of it conjures up people with expense account lunches and questionable moral underpinnings. Like club members at a club I wouldn’t want to join. Like your lawyer’s lawyer’s drink of choice.

I wrote off Scotch years ago with the throwaway line, “I am not grown-up enough for Scotch.” Oh, I had tried it, like everyone did. And it smoked, and burned, and made my eyes water, and was highly unpleasant. So deciding I wasn’t a Scotch drinker was easy – I merrily went along my way without the slightest bit of angst that I was missing something by exempting whisky.

Until, that is, I went to Scotland this summer and my mind changed.

Because there in the windswept Orkney Islands, I was finally taught how to drink whisky properly.

Hadn’t realized there was a right and a wrong way to drink liquor until a wise, gruff Viking of a man opened my mind and showed me a thing or two. Turns out I had been doing it wrong.

He taught me that fine single malt whisky needs to be treated the way you’d treat a fine red wine. You drink it warm. In a small, special glass. Maybe add a drop of water to open up the flavors.

I mean, who knew Scotch even had flavors?

You sip it. You let the flavors settle in. You appreciate the long finish.

You enjoy, in a slow and reasoned way.

And guess what? The whisky I drank became a pleasure.

The thing I thought I was not grown-up enough for became something I was excited to learn more about.

All I needed was to be taught by someone with deep knowledge.

Funny, huh?

Now that I’m home, I find my mind turning to other areas of my life where this might also be true. What could I possibly come to enjoy if I were just taught by the right person?

It’s a great question, isn’t it? And perhaps one you can ask yourself today, too.

Because the world is a big place, just packed with interesting things to learn and do. And, asking to be taught a thing or two by someone with deep knowledge isn’t a sign of weakness – maybe it’s your passport to new adventures.

 

Getting Started (A Reflection)

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It’s my birthday this week.

I don’t have a problem telling you my age – 56 – because I’m younger than many and older than some.

I think about this a lot – for my grandmothers, fifty-six was a completely different experience.

Because their life expectancy at birth – with no antibiotics, anesthesia or other modern medical advances – was somewhere around forty-five or forty-six. Living beyond that must have seemed like bonus time.

For my grandmother Bea, who died at age 67, turning the age I am now meant that she only had twelve more years of living ahead of her.

Of course, she didn’t know that.

As a young child, all I knew was that Mama Bea looked old, and even pictures of her at fifty-six don’t look the way I look at fifty-six.

My other grandmother, Fern, lived to 101 1/2. Turning fifty-six was well beyond what she had expected, but she had an whole other entire lifetime ahead of her.

Of course, she didn’t know that, either.

I don’t imagine either of them would have been able to fathom my life at fifty-six.

Having a business – well, Bea owned and managed rental properties so she could have understood that pretty clearly – but working out of a home office, coaching men and women in Europe, Asia, Latin America as easy as talking with someone in Tulsa or Topeka? Unfathomable.

Making a very good living at it, too? They’d accuse me of making up tales.

Being at the height of my professional power and connectedness? Now, there they would be utterly dumbfounded.

And maybe just a little bit proud.

Because in their day, it was men who were at the pinnacle of their professional careers – and earning power – at fifty-six.

And now I am, too.

This is a huge shift that has occurred in my lifetime. Once upon a time, a fifty-six year old woman would be considered old, ready for the pasture, useless.

Today, though…

Today, this particular fifty-six year old woman is just getting started.

My work has never been better. My reach is global. My impact is lasting. I am creatively on fire.

And, most importantly of all…

I’m having one hell of a good time.

 

 

What’s Really Important

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MTW and LaFo

I’m writing this just before I leave the house to fly to Atlanta for the funeral of my dear friend, the writer and brand strategist Laurie Foley.

You’ve all been so kind these last weeks as Laurie’s condition progressed ever closer to her death.

In fact, you were cheering for her back in 2014 when she went into remission: I wrote this then, You Get To Decide, and I heard from so many of you that her story was inspirational.

And the response to my more recent posts, Real and Raw and last week’s The Price of Friendship have been warm and embracing for me. Just when I needed it most.

So, I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

And I thank Laurie for bringing friendship, kindness and caring into such sharp focus for so many through her dying process. Even when she had so little strength, the woman had a lot of energy.

Take care of yourselves, friends. And take care of those you love. Make time for them. Honor them. Be kind.

It’s loss like this which reminds us what is really important.

 

Tell Me Something Good

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There are times in any of our lives when we feel off step, out of sorts, maybe even stuck. For some of us, these moments come when we find ourselves at a moment of change.

Maybe that change is something you’ve invited. Maybe it’s univited. Maybe you don’t even realize there’s been change until it’s done.

Regardless.

You find yourself completely at sea and there is no breeze to fill your sails.

What do you do?

Will you stay stationary? Or move?

Will  you stagnate? Or grow?

(In case you’re taking notes, “movement” and “growth” are always preferable to “stationary” and/or “stagnate”, just FYI.)

But how do you do it? How do you start moving when you’ve been in the doldrums for so long?

Good thing I know the answer.

There’s one thing to do that’s guaranteed to move you.

One thing to ask yourself. One thing to get clear on. One thing to own and implement.

Here it is – you ask yourself: “Where in my life, right now, can I do something good?”

Sounds kind of simple, doesn’t it? But it’s really kind of hard to do when you’re locked in a box and can’t seem to find a way out.

And you owe it to yourself to find a way out.

You know, I’ve long held that all of us humans have the same purpose in life – to be a force for good in the world, in our own way. And meaning comes from however we decide to do good.

So when you’re stuck in place and can’t seem to find a way out, look for something good to do.

Look for some way you can contribute.

Maybe you focus on customer service at your job.

Maybe you mentor someone.

Maybe  you volunteer.

Maybe you buy coffee for the person in line behind you.

Maybe you figure out what’s missing in terms of creating good in the world… and you do it.

Regardless.

There is a ton of research that shows that finding the way to matter in the world – in ways large and small – is more impactful on your life than even being happy.

So work on finding meaning in your life. Do something good.

One thing. You can choose.

Then drop me a line and tell me how it goes so we can sing one of my favorite songs together.

 

 

How The Really Successful Get That Way

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The pendulum certainly does swing.Pendulum Of Foucault In Pantheon Of Paris

Seems to me like we are in the widest part of the arc these days with…analytics. Maybe the better word is “metrics”. Or maybe “algorithms”.

Oh, shoot – let’s just say “math”, shall we?

I continually hear stories about how organizations are driving accountability by taskifying every single function of every single employee and then measuring them according to an allegedly quantifiable “goal”, though if you ask me there are so many things at work which just cannot be quantified.

Such as creating strong relationships with customers.

Such as mentoring the next generation.

Such as being a genuinely nice person.

I have railed against the Tyranny of the Bean Counters for some time. But in some ways I get it, I really do.

I realize that there are some people for whom nothing is real unless they can see it, touch it, taste it – and make a little check mark signifying that it’s been documented.

And I know there are some people who are deeply suspicious and are certain that everyone would take advantage of lax supervision and become total slackers if given half a chance. [because, perhaps, they fear that this is what they would do in that circumstance. Just sayin’.]

And then there are those who have worked for large consulting firms, which take bean counting to a whole new, quite expensive level.

These folks represent the far part of the pendulum’s arc and have created a unrelenting emphasis on quantification and numbers. But it’s my fervent hope that at some point the pendulum swings back and rests at the middle point, where there are good goals – but also where the unmeasurable is valued and appreciated.

Because, in the end, success is not driven by numbers but by meaning.

Doubt me?

A recent study led by Yale professor Amy Wrzesniewski and Swarthmore professor Barry Schwartz looked at motivation using a group of 11,320 West Point cadets. They wanted to learn if the most successful people are driven by an internal motive, or by what they call an “instrumental” or external motive, or a combination of the two.

One might think that successful people have a perfect balance of internal and instrumental motives. They care about their work, and they care about getting the corner office – doesn’t that sound like the right mix?

But, guess what? The study showed something…different.

People who are motivated solely by what others will think, or how much money they will make – instrumental motives – tend to be unsuccessful over time than those who are internally driven.

Interesting, huh?

So, what if you have a blend of both internal and instrumental motives?

“Remarkably, cadets with strong internal and strong instrumental motives for attending West Point performed worse on every measure than did those with strong internal motives but weak instrumental ones. They were less likely to graduate, less outstanding as military officers and less committed to staying in the military,” say the study authors.

Now, back to the bean counters.

This study clearly shows that they’ve got it all wrong. Giving people better job titles, more money, the corner office as a prod for increased performance? Not going to work.

OK, maybe you get some short-term results – and you can certainly check a box off a list – but over the long-term your organization won’t really be successful because you’ve transformed internal motives into instrumental ones, which are ultimately much, much weaker.

The researchers say, “Rendering an activity more attractive by emphasizing both internal and instrumental motives to engage in it is completely understandable, but it may have the unintended effect of weakening the internal motives so essential to success.”

Meaning. Purpose. Learning. Growth. This is what we all need to be successful.

So, if you want success, transform your focus. Shift your own personal internal motives – the Big Why of why you’re doing whatever it is you’re doing – toward what it means, how it helps, what you learn, how you grow.

And if by chance you have the power to transform an entire organization, get cracking on amping up theses collective senses in your people – starting from the top right on down.

Because, “Our study suggests that efforts should be made to structure activities so that instrumental consequences do not become motives. Helping people focus on the meaning and impact of their work, rather than on, say, the financial returns it will bring, may be the best way to improve not only the quality of their work but also — counterintuitive though it may seem — their financial success.”

And so the pendulum begins to swing back.

 

 

 

Can A Horse Save A Man?

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Man with horse


Whatever I was going to write today… you can read that another time.

Today, I want you to read this inspiring story from The Washington Post – and tell me, isn’t there always light at the end of the tunnel? Isn’t there always space for redemption?

Can’t you always change?



The Bluest Sky

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I was feeling rather smug that morning.

I stood on the tee box of the seventh hole, under the bluest sky I’d seen in some time, the crisp early fall air like a tonic in my lungs. And I was playing my brains out – 2 strokes over par after the first six holes of a nine hole golf tournament.

I was even nervously allowing myself to think, “I could win this thing!”

I stood on the tee box in the casual pose I’d seen pro golfers strike, arm on hip, hand on the end of the club, leg crossed over. I posed like a woman who was going to win, baby.

But then I saw something. Coming over the ridge, a golf cart. I squinted. It was the young golf pro, and she was barreling directly for me. She screeched to a halt and breathlessly said, “Mrs. Woodward, you have to come in. Your husband called.” She must have read something on my face, because she quickly added, “Your kids are fine. Everyone’s fine. It’s just that both World Trade Towers in New York have collapsed, there’s a bomb at the Pentagon, there’s a bomb at the State Department and something up at the Capitol.” Panic started to well up inside me. “Your husband wants you to get the kids and go home.”  I nodded, processing it all, and threw my bag on the back of her cart and we sped off. My playing partner stepped out of the porta-potty just in time to hear me say, “I concede.  I have to go.”

And I didn’t think about golf again for a very long time.

It took well over an hour to drive the six miles home. I picked up the kids – confused, frightened – on the way. During those gridlocked minutes in the car, I felt like a sitting duck. The local all-news radio station was reporting on fighter planes scrambling, and commercial planes landing. They also reported that there was one more plane, on the way to The White House.

The White House, where I had worked, and where so many friends were working that day.

Crossing the Chain Bridge, I glanced to my left and saw a column of black smoke streaming over the tree tops. The Pentagon burning.

I could smell it.

It was surreal.

Our house is about a quarter of a mile from the Potomac River. Between the house and the river is the busy and noisy George Washington Parkway, which is traveled by 80,000 people every day. Usually, the hum of the cars whizzing past creates a gentle susurrus that can be as comforting as sitting by the ocean. And we also live under the flight path for Reagan National Airport, and the steady rumble of landing and taking off every six minutes is a part of the environment. It’s a noisy place.

But that morning, under the bluest sky, I stood in my front yard and heard… nothing.  No traffic. No planes. Nothing. I held my arms out, as if I could embrace the world and share our pain, when I heard the first one. One deep tone. Then another. The National Cathedral had begun tolling its bells. Then the bells from other churches began to ring. Mournful, yes. But hope, too, in each tone. Hope. Hope. Hope.

I stood there, barefoot, broken-hearted, on one of the most beautiful days of the year. Worried. What could possibly come next?

I did an inventory: I had a husband I loved, I had great kids I could parent full-time. I had my family, my friends. We were blessed. We were safe. We were going to be okay.

That’s what it looked like under the bluest sky. But the reality of the next ten years proved to be quite different than I ever could have imagined.

If a visitor from the future had told me,  that morning out on my front lawn, that in the next ten years:

I would divorce the man whose ring I wore on September 11, 2001, after learning some hard truths.

He would move away, remarry and start a new family.

I would be a single parent.

I would give up being a full-time mom and go back to work.

I would be diagnosed with cancer.

I would struggle financially.

Family and dear friends would die unexpectedly, some painfully.

My children would face challenges which would stop us in our tracks.

If the future visitor told me all that on September 11, 2001, I would have said, “You have to be kidding. It can’t possibly go that way.”

But if that visitor was telling the truth, he’d also have had to tell me the fantastic parts of the coming years:

That I would be known as a writer, with blogs and books.

That I would work with people all over the world – from Asia to Europe, from Canada to Mexico, from Alaska to The Keys – and help them find more fulfilling work, and meaningful lives.

That I’d meet strangers who would grow dear to my heart.

That a certain 8-year old third grader would become a happy, thoughtful, kind, six foot tall college man with a thriving business he created from scratch.

That a little kindergartner would grow into a willowy high school athlete who studies Latin and history, and never forgets a friend.

That I would fund my own retirement account.

That I would own my resilience, know myself and grow comfortable in my own skin.

If the visitor from the future had told me under the bluest sky that I would grow to be more myself – more happy, centered and creative – than I’ve ever been, I would have said, “Dude, you’re talking to the wrong person.”

Because I hadn’t a clue on September 11, 2001. I thought I was happy. What could possibly change?

Only everything.

And always for the better, I’ve learned.  No matter how it seems in the moment.

Looking forward the next 10 years, to September 11, 2021, what will happen?  What change will I meet, and how will I handle it?

I have no idea. None. But I do know this: I am not afraid.

Because even all the pain of the last ten years has been exponentially outweighed by all the love. By all the connections. By all the growth. By all the learning.

On September 11, 2001, three thousand people lost their lives. They had no chance to experience the last ten years of living. But we did. We still do.

Don’t you think we owe it to them to embrace whatever it is that’s coming? And embrace it with love? With kindness? With creativity?

Yes, we do. And I will. I will live with my feet in the grass under skies both blue and gray, and remember the sound of bells tolling, hope, hope, hope.

Stand with me?

Photo: Jamie McIntyre © 2001