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Tag: growth

What if it felt like heli-skiing from your desk?

James Altucher recently interviewed Seth Godin on fear, anxiety and doing work that matters. They discuss the separation between the Do-ers and the Sitters, those who put themselves in the game and those who watch from the sidelines wishing they could play.

One of the main categorical differences is fear: the Do-ers don’t let it stop them. They find ways to circumnavigate their anxiety so that slowly, overtime, they can act and experience, learning tactics to manage stress along the way. The Sitters haven’t quite figured out how to conquer their fear. Paralyzed, they’re crippled by the weight of self-expectation and prediction.

Seth brings up an excellent point (41:25): no one learning to ski signs up for heli-skiing. First, they hit the bunny slopes, building up their skills before dropping down black diamonds and exploring out-of-bounds terrain. Some start climbing mountains. With adrenaline pulsing through their veins, they crave more — a greater rush, bigger accomplishments, challenge. Perhaps THEN they purchase a heli-tour to destinations they never before imagined navigating on skis.

Not everyone enjoys heli-skiing, or even skiing for that matter. We have different thresholds for anxiety and adrenaline. Your task is to find your edge, the line that seems scary to cross. The place you are most true to yourself, where your best and most meaningful work await. That moment you’re afraid. That’s when you have to sign yourself up.

Maybe you find that jumping-out-of-a-plane feeling writing silently at your desk. It might be ten minutes of scribbling in a private journal. A comment placed on a public forum. Emails sent to authors you admire. A site launch to publish your ideas.

We’re more forgiving to athletes than we are to ourselves.

It doesn’t have to be great.

In fact, it doesn’t even have to be good.

We put so much expectation and pressure on ourselves to do something amazing, to be really incredible and innovative and caring and original and… We stop ourselves from doing any thing at all.

We’re not just stopping ourselves. We’re stopping our teams. Our employees, our children. Ideas and dreams dead before they’re given a chance to take flight.

We must give up. Release control. Let things become messy, imperfect and ruined. Then, we will get started. Then, we will finish. Then, we can become better.

Bad work gives you room to improve. Lessons can be learned about how to get it right the next time around. Confidence is built, and habits are established. Habits of creation, productivity, perseverance and strength.

Need a community to help you get out of your own way? Check out Seth’s Your Turn Challenge or request to attend an upcoming dinner in New York City.

The world needs your work — bad, good or great.

The hardest part

The terror, the fear. The realization this is the moment that separates good from greatness. Your chance to succeed, to make your dreams real. The do or die.

Your stomach churns and your heartbeat quickens.

The leap.

You’re not alone.

The school boy entering his first class.
The athlete poised at the starting block.
His first college exam.
Her investor pitch.
Signing the contract.
The alarm goes off.

You’ve felt this before.

You survived.

You moved on to the next, bigger thing.

Accept the fear. It’s part of it. Then begin.

The best gifts you can give

Time.

For others and for yourself.

Give yourself the time and space to reflect and just be. No expectations of what should happen or what must be done.

We get so caught up in the day-to-day, making lists and checking obligations. We forget to step back and see, “How lucky am I? How did I end up like this?” It’s important to count the steps you’ve taken and recognize the work you’ve put in.

Be still. It is in these sitting moments your deepest dreams — and fears — become evident. Realizations like nothing is perfect, we can only work to make things better.

Gratitude.

We have no idea what the future holds.

I can only be grateful in this moment.

Autonomy (I will teach you to be rich and have a perfect body and find the love of your life)

There is one faucet wheel left in the kitchen. When you turn the water on or off, it drops with a loud CLANG into the tin sink. I’ve offered to have it fixed. “It’s not our house,” they say. I’ve been living here for just over one year; they’ve been here for seven.

I live among the people I work for (and with). Not only have I grown to love them like my own family, I’ve been offered a window into their lives, the trials they must suffer and how they see the world. One of the best gifts in life is a new perspective, and I’ve been lucky to be invited to share theirs.

I’ve compared the psyche of probationers and CMOs, entrepreneurs and monks, diamond sellers and social workers. There’s one significant difference.

It’s what marketing schemes and addiction recovery theories capitalize on. It’s what books promise when they tell you “I will show you how to get rich” and fitness models tempt with chiseled abs and downloadable workout videos. It’s how self help “gurus” sell monthly packages and some people start businesses while others stay at jobs they hate for years on end.

Autonomy.

Autonomy is the belief that you can do, and that you’re capable of doing. People who are depressed lose this. This is the tragedy when you see animals, even people, trapped, locked up, stuck. They’ve lost the belief that their actions have an effect, so they give up. This is the worst thing.

The belief in yourself comes BEFORE any plan or action. It requires confidence and courage. It is the seed from which work and ideas blossom. Where creativity takes flight.

It doesn’t have to be big. One thought, “I can do,” followed by “I am doing,” and finally, “I did it!” tends to ripple. A little thing becomes the next, slightly bigger thing. And before you know it, you’re making dreams come to life.

Start with the kitchen sink.

No one has it figured out

A large number of Nepalis work or study abroad.

Recently I found myself speaking to a young man preparing for his first year of college. He was scared as hell, understandably so, leaving behind his family and everything familiar to attend college in Louisiana. This would be the first time he traveled outside Nepal.

I was 17 when I left the cornfields of Longmont, Colorado for Manhattan’s concrete version. It was terrifying, and I cried the entire plane ride from Denver to LGA. My flight was just over three hours, and it took everything in me to not unlock the hatch. This guy was looking at three days of travel, layovers in several countries, and an immigration officer waiting at the end.

We talked about what he could expect — pop music and football fields, red and blue plastic party cups, kids from different backgrounds, movie popcorn, pizza delivery — and what not to expect — daily dal bhat, the hum of electric generators, saris, cows in the road, bargaining over prices. I taught him how to pronounce Baton Rouge.

I was told to study Humanities because this is what students were advised if they didn’t know what they wanted to do. I focused too much on grades and too little on experiences. It wasn’t until later I realized how valuable relationships with professors could be and that some my greatest lessons would be learned simply living in New York City. What I know now, at age 30, I failed to recognize then:

Nobody knows.

Some people are just really good at pretending. That kid who marched into the lecture hall, back straight, broad smile? I envied him. He said he was going to be an actor. I think he is selling shoes now in Lower Manhattan.

I had a girlfriend who lit up every room she walked into. Her laughter was contagious. I studied the way she talked to the lunch lady to try to figure out how she did it. One night I found her crying in our tiny dorm room closet, something I always did when she was out lighting up the city. She didn’t know, either.

Everyone is flailing. We fly through the air until we find something to hold onto: love, a promotion, a career change, money, a new job, adventure. We’re always wanting something, unless we give up or stop trying.

And this is one of the secrets of Project Exponential, it’s why dinners work. There’s a chance Your Something — your work, your passion, your failures, your connections — might be what someone else needs to find Their Something. And they might have exactly what you need to move forward with yours.

The student in Louisiana is fine. He likes Pizza Hut.