Amaz-ing Introductions

February 3, 2013 By David Griesing Leave a Comment

You already know you never get a second chance to make a first impression—so there’s no better time than now to start taking advantage of every opportunity.

Within seconds of meeting someone, you’re sized up and put in convenient categories, so while that’s happening, why not nudge your new acquaintance’s thinking and feeling in the directions where you want them to go. (I’ve talked about the art of introducing yourself once or twice before.) As with everything you set out to accomplish, you need to be clear about what you’re after and how to move your ball down the field in a user friendly way. As with everything, practice improves performance.

Initial impressions tee up the next stages of engagement, when new people fill in the blanks that interest them about you. When you establish rapport and mutual interest, the returns are continued attention, affiliation, support, and collaboration.

Unlike a face-to-face encounter, first impressions are usually two-dimensional when you’re applying for a job. It’s submitting an introductory letter or resume. Or if you just want to announce your availability, it’s a flyer or on-line posting. As with real time encounters, you’re aiming to establish common ground while creating positive expectations about things not already known about you and what you have to offer. In other words, you want to make your two-dimensional introduction as three-dimensional as possible.

So I loved Phillipe Dubost’s recent job posting for the position of Web Product Manager.

Dubost provides all the key information about his years of experience, proudest accomplishments and his customers’ positive experiences. But what sets his job posting apart is his playful adaptation of the standard Amazon sales page to sell himself. It’s complete with “star ratings,” “product description,” his “frequently bought together” items, the announcement that there’s “only one left in stock—order soon.” and, even one of those “Add to Cart” buttons. You should check it out. (Many thanks to Loretta James for sharing!)

Dubost has attracted a lot of attention with his job posting (more than a million views to date), but it’s what it tells us about his ingenuity and playfulness, the things he knows about social engagement, that will land him the job.

Your introduction doesn’t need to be as distinctive as his. But it does need to pack as many of the positives about you as possible into it, and Dubost’s does that. If you have a personality and a sense of humor, figure out your own way to get them across too.

Maybe it’s a picture of you as a child doing some of the same things you’re doing now—and want to keep on doing. Maybe it’s a quote from somebody that captures a side of you better than your own words can. Maybe it’s . . . .

I’m profiling Dubost’s Amaz-ing Introduction to jump start you thinking about whole new ways to put yourself out there when you want to yield something amazing in return.

(When Phillippe finds the job he’s looking for, I promise to let you know. Or you can follow him yourself on Twitter @pdubost. In the meantime, welcome to his cheering section!)

Just Plain Funny #2

December 16, 2012 By David Griesing 1 Comment

I like a newspaper I can hold in my hands because sometimes the stories across the folds can talk to one another in ways that never seems to happen on a screen. That kind of exchange took place in my newspaper today.

For as long as I’ve been reading it, the Wall Street Journal has a funny, odd or just plain ridiculous story at the bottom of Page One. At some point, the Page One editor must have decided that stories like this are good antidotes to the calamities, logjams and shenanigans chronicled above. These daily stories always froth over to the last page of the “news” where they brush up against the beginnings of the “commentary” section on the other side of fold. It’s here that strangely compatible bedfellows sometimes meet.

Page One’s dollop of the day today was about a long-standing West Point tradition celebrating the graduating cadet, who by academic and other standards, finishes dead last in his class each year. Because of some “informal” information sharing, everyone but The Goat knows who he is on the big day, and when his name is called out from the graduating roster, the cadets erupt into the loudest cheer of the day.

There are two kinds of Goats, according to a disappointingly dry piece in a publication called Failure Magazine. There are cadets who labor through the muck to the bitter end, and those who take the experience just seriously enough to fall inebriatedly over the finish line. Of course, several of the Good Time Goats were actually pretty smart and went on to make history (Generals Custer and Pickett, for example). Several middling cadets did pretty well too. (Eisenhower reportedly said: “If anybody saw signs of greatness in me while at West Point they kept it to themselves.”) But it’s the ones who always struggled to do their best, while barely making it to the end, who are the real heroes of the story.

Unclear whether to be embarrassed or proud of their accomplishment, most of these Goats eventually seem to settle into being good sports about it. For example: “In my class, no one else can say that they’re the Goat and no one else can say that they’re part of this special lineage that dates back so far,” said good sport Roberto Becarra, Jr. in 2007. Somewhat earlier, the bespeckled Goat (below) seems to have had a similar reaction.

When asked about these persevering Goats by the Journal reporter, James S. Robbins said:

The tradition of the Goat is important because it kind of encapsulates that American spirit of—yeah, you’re going to have the top and they’re going to get recognized and they’re going to get stars by their names and all that other stuff. But, you know what? The guys further down, they have their chance too, and they can succeed too and it’s important to recognize them.

While his insight might have been more penetrating had he been a psychologist or meteorologist instead of an historian, Robbins’ remarks did manage to counterpoint similar observations about the value of “keeping your head up” and “putting one foot in front of the other” on the facing page of the paper, where a Journal writer reviews a new book by Nassim Nicholas Taleb called Antifragile.

Taleb’s singular perspective is that theories follow practice instead of the reverse. It’s not “the Soviet/Harvard notion that birds fly because we lecture them how to.” We learn by doing it first, and make up the theories that contain all of our how-to-do-it wisdom later on. It is, as the reviewer notes, “a startling [chicken v. egg] insight,” because what Taleb’s debunking allows is a flat-out celebration of the creativity involved in doggedly keeping at it. The many virtues of trial and error.

Taleb makes up the word “antifragile” to mean not only hardy, but also something that has been improved through repeated failures, becoming more resilient in the process. From this perspective, the persevering Goats are not just plodders: more than a few of them embody the adaptation that is at the beating heart of natural selection. As Taleb’s reviewer notes:

If trial and error is creative, then we should treat failed entrepreneurs with the reverence that we reserve for fallen soldiers.

This is why experience is the best teacher. It’s why “A” students who master the theory often work for the “B” and “C” students who rightly suspect that the magic lies elsewhere. It’s why rigidity and too much seriousness is always a bad idea. And it’s why the loudest cheer really should go to somebody who has not only failed most prominently, but also has the spirit to get up and keep trying.

modern-times — CHARLIE CHAPLIN IN “MODERN TIMES”

Not that it’s always so easy.

The Power of Laughter at the Most Serious Times

August 3, 2012 By David Griesing 1 Comment

I just returned from the #140edu conference in New York City, where I talked about our needing to have a discussion about values in our schools so that our kids have “toolboxes for living and working” when they go out into the world. (You can find much of what I had to say in posts I’ve filed here over the past month on values training, on learning your vocation, and on a school’s values being the beginning, not the end, of the discussion.)

Of course, values are not just something we should be talking about in our schools. We should be having conversations about what’s important to us—and how to act on our beliefs—with families, friends and colleagues so that we can boldly (and optimistically) face the difficult decisions that inevitably confront us all. When you know what’s important to you, a lot of the bad stuff that comes your way can be put in a proper context, liberating you to move forward in a way that makes sense to you in spite of all the challenges and uncertainties.

But that’s the serious part.

As with all of the #140 character conferences sponsored by Jeff Pulver, this one was an amazing collision of thought leaders and their thoughts, with results that managed to be playful one minute and profound the next.

Because of the range of its take-aways, and still finding myself a little hung-over from “that amazingly broad moment,” I’d like to share with you a couple of stories (one from the conference, and the other from half a world away) because of what they have to say about the power of laughter at the most serious times.

In the “recovery room” outside the auditorium of the 92^nd Street Y where the #140edu presentations were occurring in a fire-hose of 10-minute intervals, I found myself talking with a young teacher. I quickly discovered that she needed to make an immediate decision to quit or keep her job in a Bronx classroom before the next school year starts. We weren’t three lines into our conversation when she said: “I can’t imagine going back.” What she didn’t say was: “I’ve been sitting on this fence for awhile, and I don’t have another job.” Her school had plainly done nearly everything it could do to make her feel devalued.

I appealed to the serious-grounded-thoughtful-and-obviously-talented part of her by saying: “The best decisions I’ve made in my life were like jumping off a cliff with no sense of the bottom or how horrible it could be. But if you believe in yourself and in what you are trying to do, you will land successfully—stronger and better—and never look back. At least it had always worked that way for me.”

At this penultimate moment of seriousness, she looked at the huge nametag they had given me and said: “Don’t you find it ironic that we’re here at an education conference and your name is spelled wrong?” Of course, I hadn’t sensed the irony because I hadn’t noticed. Because I hadn’t, and because of her inability to be anything other than a “teacher correcting misspelled words” during a conversation about a key decision point in her life, all of our seriousness deflated into laughter.

Now there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes! At that moment, her laugh made my jumping-off-the-cliff advice seem like it would really work for her—and there’s a good reason for that. Realizing goals you truly believe in is a whole lot easier if you can also manage to see the funny things that are happening around you along the way.

At around the same time we were talking, but a half a world away, another collision of the dead serious and truly playful was going on.

Belarus, one of the former Soviet republics, has one of the most deplorable human rights records in the world.

Sweden is close enough geographically that some of Belarus’ wafting stench led two of its courageous citizens, Thomas Mazetti and Hannah Frey, to try and do something about it. Their goal a few days ago was raising awareness, challenging indifference, and expressing their solidarity with the human rights activists in Belarus, whose very small voice is barely heard outside their troubled country.

Mazetti & Frey — Thomas Mazetti & Hannah Frey

Mazetti and Frey believed enough in the values of freedom, courage and responsibility that they spent $184,500 of their own money to rent a plane, personally fly it over Belarus, and drop 879 teddy bears with parachutes bearing human rights slogans into the country.

While they managed to fly into and back out of Belarus without being shot down, killed, or imprisoned, there is no question that they put their lives at risk for something that was of the utmost importance to them. But notice how they did it. They alleviated their serious moment with teddy bears, and as a result, every news organization in the world picked up their story.

The #140 character conferences, a young teacher in the Bronx, and two Swedish activists all have something to say to us about finding a place where the most serious purpose can spend time with laughter and a sense of humor.

I’d love to hear your stories about when you’ve found a way to bring either laughter or lightness into your deepest commitments—and while doing so, made it far more likely that you would reach your personal goals.

Just Plain Funny #1

May 15, 2012 By David Griesing 1 Comment

This is the first in an occasional series of stories that bring a smile to my face (even in the re-telling), and may do the same for you.

As many of you already know, I’m in the throws of my daughter’s-graduation-from-college-week in New York City. While there have been several noteworthy aspects to it, having the President of the United States as your only child’s commencement speaker was certainly one of them.

Of course he doesn’t just stroll in and provide a little inspiration. You line up hours before. You too get the opportunity to meet members of the secret service up close and personal. Snipers gaze down on you from the rooftops. You get to deposit your water bottles, umbrellas and other weapons in trash cans outside. But despite it all, there are amazingly palpable feelings of expectancy as the pomp & circumstance builds to a presidential salute of your daughter’s Class.

(If you’re lucky enough to have the combined firepower of Barnard College and Columbia University contributing to logistics—as we were—you also are delighted to discover that there are only a handful of functioning port-o-potties for a couple thousand people to share during roughly 7 hours of secure confinement on the commencement grounds. Emily being a psych major and all, I was sure it was some kind of experiment involving a control group’s sense of urgency, attempts to suppress irritation, and on-going ability to sacrifice painfully for a college education.)

Barnard has been the women’s college at Columbia since 1889, and not surprisingly usually features a distinguished woman as its commencement speaker. Indeed, the President’s immediate predecessors in the speaking slot were Meryl Streep, Hillary Clinton and Sheryl Sandberg, who is Facebook’s Chief Operating Officer.

In describing the tradition he was stepping into, I don’t know whether the President was relying on his own speechwriters or came up with the hook that follows on his own (it was really hard to tell), but there’s no question that his timing was perfect, and his relish in the embedded why-not-just-call-it-like-it-is almost sublime.

“You set a pretty high bar [here] given the past 3 years,” the President intoned. “Hillary Clinton. Meryl Streep. Sheryl Sandberg. These are not easy acts to follow. But I will point out that Hillary is doing an extraordinary job as one of the finest Secretaries of State America has ever had. We gave Meryl the presidential medal of arts and humanities the other night. Sheryl is not just a good friend, she’s also one of my economic advisors.

It’s like the old saying goes: Keep your friends close, and your Barnard commencement speakers even closer.”