Little Girl

Little girl, saddened heart
You can hide behind your smiles
We still see your pain
You can try to hide it
It hurts to watch you
It hurts to see you
It hurts to know you

Little girl, sorrowed eyes
You can hide behind your laughs
We still hear your pain
You can try to run
It hurts to hear you
It hurts to listen to you
It hurts to know you

Little girl, broken spirit
You can hide behind your actions
We still feel your pain
You can try to numb it out
It hurts to talk about you
It hurts to think about you
It hurts to know you

It wasn't your fault
Nor was it mine
It's just in the stars
The fault lies with them
Little Girl
Hide, run, or numb
The pain will never go away entirely
It will fade with time
Like every other memory

You're right...

I was a conference last Friday for a Multi Level Marketing event.

I'm not a fan of MLM. Although for some "the business" can very lucrative, it's just not my idea of a good time. And I want to have fun when I make money.

I didn't go to this event because a friend convinced me to go. I went because of a coincidence. I love coincidences. There's something unnatural about them. They feel like a chaotic series of events that should have no relevance together, and then BAM, it all makes sense.

I've learned opportunity never knocks. It whispers in your ear. One form of the whisper shows up through coincidences.

Let me explain.

I was having a conversation with a business partner about Napoleon Hill. When I hung up the phone, I had a text from another friend telling me about a speaker coming to my town who was a Napoleon Hill certified speaker. The text came in about the same moment the first discussion took place.

I called back my business partner and told him about the amazing coincidence. I bought a ticket to the  event, knowing full well that it was a sponsored event by an MLM organization. He decided to come to.

They had some product for trial. I wasn't a fan. 

The speaker was ok. He lost me at one point because he said something that contradicted one of my beliefs about money. An audience member sitting behind me asked him what he meant by getting money to work for you. His response had to do with creating groups of people who would sell more product. I whispered to the friend, that's not money working for you, that's people working for you.  I fundamentally believe he was wrong. He was promoting his MLM scheme.

Early in his presentation he spoke about never getting into an argument. He said that whenever a disagreement surfaces, he goes to his safe place by saying, "You're right". A fight needs at least two people. Someone not willing to fight squashes the debate.

Fast forward a few days and it was my turn at speaking on stage. I was presenting marketing and business strategies to new entrepreneurs.  Someone in the audience said something that was absolutely ludicrous. I knew he was wrong, but he was so adamant, I could not win. I even gave him an out and he didn't take it. I wanted to pull up Google to show him when I'm on stage I don't rent the stage. I fucking own it. 

But I didn't. And it bothered me for the rest of the day. Not because some smart ass was stealing my thunder. It was because my ego was telling me if this bastard shows me up here, then everything else I am speaking about comes into question. This was the only thing he said all day. And I let his words hurt me.

I still have a lot of learning to do... 

PS. The coincidence was no random act. Not only did I live on two sides of the same argument, I was bored at the event. I started brainstorming on a name for a new project I'm working on. The energy in the room was strong enough to inspire me with it. I shared afterward with my business partner. He loved it too. I'll give you one word - Gladiator. 

Stay tuned...

The secret ingredient to happiness

I will be happy when...insert expectation here...

I will be happy if...insert condition here...

Happiness is not based on expectation or conditions.
Happiness is not an event. Nor is it dependant on the future.

Happiness can only happen in the present.
So what's the secret?
Why does it allude some of us, yet get attracted to others like flies to shit?

I read recently that happiness is a derivative of gratitude. If we recognize all the things in our life and appreciate them, then the crappy stuff that eventually happens will carry less weight on our emotional state.

I take the good things in my life for granted. I think we all do from time to time. It's only when I sit down and take stock that I realize how fortunate I am. Happiness is a drug, like a swig of gin as it creates those good feelings. Unfortunately, like a drug, the more I try to consume, the sicker I get. The more I search for it, the further I stray away from it.

And like crack, each hit is less and less effective- so I'm told...

We all want to be happy. We search for it in the pursuit of things and events. The momentary attainment of events and things can be addictive. It's a hypodermic needle filled with chemicals. Something more addictive than heroine and harder to find than a two peckered billy goat. The happiness drug is dopamine. And dopamine is created by our brains.

I know this sounds stupid, but happiness cannot be found. It's a state of being. It's a choice.

When you're hungry, you eat.
When the happiness tank is empty, you fill it with dopamine fuelled by gratitude.

If happiness is inside of us then it will be where you are, when you're ready to receive it.

I conducted a personal happiness experiment recently. Every morning, I took a minute to think about all the good things in my life. Then at supper, before the kids scoffed down their food, we had a gratitude moment. At first the kids thought it was stupid. We didn't know what to say, so we'd say the first thing that came to our minds. To get more original in my answers, I started to notice the small pleasures in life so I could share them at supper.

As I paid more attention to the small things, I caught myself giggling multiple times a day.

I dropped my phone and it didn't break.
A friend bought me lunch.
The insurance is going to pay for the damages to my pool.
A friend asked for my business advice.
My son gave me a hug this morning.
The whole family went fishing together.
Mom told me she loved me today.
I was speeding and the cops flashed their lights but didn't pull me over.
I learned something new.

And then the best one...
I was drinking a breakfast smoothie in the car, when a dollop of yogurt escaped the top end of the straw and strayed downward toward my clean white shirt. I was all dressed up for an important meeting and was scared to look down. To my amazement, the liquid landed perfectly on the shoulder harness of my seatbelt. It never touched my shirt. I was saved, giggled and thanked God for his gracious generosity.

I challenge you to go on your own personal gratitude journey. For the next 21 days, write down three things that happens for which you are grateful.  Read them out loud before you go to bed and when you wake up. Then look all day for three new things you can write at the end of that day. And repeat for 20 more days.

You'll surprise yourself.

You'll be happy you did it.

What are you feeding yourself

What do you eat in the morning?
What about over a week?

Have you ever written down every last thing you put into your mouth over a seven day period?

Garbage in, garbage out.

I am not in great shape. For the past five months I have missed only three days of exercise. I'm proud to say that even in those three missed days, I doubled up the workout the following day.

Why am I doing it?
I don't like my weight.
I think I could stand to lose another 25 pounds.

It's not that I'm overweight.

My over-fit friend says that weight is lost in the kitchen, not in the gym.

I lost 15 pounds from the workouts, but it's been two months that I'm hovering around the same weight.

I think I eat pretty healthy.

But there is something I must be doing wrong.

I started monitoring everything that went from fingers to mouth.

Holy shit.

That's my problem.

I am treating myself too many times a week. It's ok to treat yourself, just not everyday.

When I wrote everything down, I was getting a treat everyday like a little dog that didn't pee on the floor.

Now apply that same thinking to what you're listening to, watching on TV and reading.

How much TV do you watch? You probably don't watch a lot. But write every hour down, including the show, the time. If you have the TV on in the background while you're cooking, that counts. Count how much TV you watch a week. How much of it is educational? Dr. Oz and Dr. Phil doesn't count as educational. They are informational, but their hooks are still based on entertainment.

Do you read? What are you reading? Facebook status updates don't count...

Do you listen to radio DJ's laughing and telling jokes, nonstop commercials trying to sell you shit, or do you listen to instructional audiobooks on your way to work?

What are you feeding your brain?

It's ok to treat yourself, just not everyday.
Are you treating yourself too many times a week?

Garbage in, garbage out - just like food.
Guaranteed...

One degree of separation from an icon

If you know me, you are now one degree of separation from Seth Godin.

Let me explain.

I don't really know Seth. He has written a number of books. Every one of them iconic in its own right. I was having a conversation with a friend about a business idea. Part of the strategy is to partner with an iconic brand, like a Seth Godin.

I googled him and found his website. Low and behold, his website had his email address. It says that he answers his own mail, but he doesn't answer all of them.

So now my challenge was to write something interestingly enough that Seth finds the time to respond.

And he does.

I got a message from Seth Freakin' Godin. That's how I actually addressed him in my correspondence.

His response was straight and to the point. But who cares. I feel like one of those teenage girls who was shaking when the John, Paul, George and Ringo show stepped off the plane in 1964 from a trip to New York.

Godin-mania is now in my bloodstream.

Please forgive me. But I just got a response from one of my heroes. I'm feeling a bit giddy...

Do you have someone you look up to?
Do you have someone you would like to talk to, but don't know where to start?
What if you could give a world leader a piece of your mind?

The internet will eventually make everyone accessible. It will take some time for the old doggies to die off - you know, those who hide behind assistants, private emails, and social media managers. More and more, they are becoming available to us.

Change is being embraced.

And I love it. The world is getting smaller and smarter. And we all can benefit from it if we decide to.

What are you telling yourself

Do you ever hear your inner voice? The one that doubts your skills, your abilities and your dreams.

I catch mine telling me I'm not good enough, I'm not worthy enough, I'm not smart enough, I'm not young enough. And I hate him for saying those things.

In a point of vulnerability, I tend to agree with him. And that drags me down. It stops my momentum. It slows my growth. And it hurts my feelings.

When I'm strong, I tell him to shut the F up. It's not always easy because the voice is "me". He's always sitting on my shoulder feeding me with lies.

If you ever have the same problem I have, here's how to shut him up.

Stay strong. Start doing things. Pick up the phone. Talk to people. Sell your idea.
When no one wants what you're selling, go back and find out if the idea is bad or if the potential client is just not the right fit.

Keep digging holes like a gold prospector. There's gotta be gold in them there hills. You just haven't found it yet.

The key is to put your head down and work. Learn to ask the right questions to your prospects. Listen. And then make sure your product or service fills that need. If it doesn't, it may be time to shelf and start a new. The IT startup world calls this a pivot.

It exists with every idea.

Confidence comes from doing the work.
Lack of confidence comes from sitting at home and contemplating about doing work.
Self doubt always shows up when confidence dwindles.

If you don't want to listen to the bastard telling you you're not good enough, keep your confidence up by going to work.

You're not just good enough. You're awesome. Keep going. You'll find success if you impose the Test, Measure, Refine loop into your daily work.

As a 13 year old boy, I planted a seed of doubt into my mom's head. She wanted to be an entrepreneur, but her oldest baby knew enough to be dangerous.

Self doubt is the biggest killer of dreams. Don't let it kill yours.

Stay confident. Keep working.

The night I almost died

Tasting alcohol for the very first time, I was about 16 years old. My mom was gone to bingo and my dad was having a beer, watching TV, when he asked if I wanted a beer. My virgin taste buds weren't ready for the explosion of bitterness that bombarded them.

I emptied the beer down the bathroom drain trying not to disappoint my dad and trying to still uphold my youthful masculinity.

In overcoming the taste challenge, I quickly developed a desire for alcohol.

The age to legally consume alcohol in my province is 19. I was drinking for a few years prior to the nineteenth birthday as most young people do. But at 19, I could legally buy my own booze. I could legally get into the clubs. No more faking, no more sneaking. On January 27, 1992, I was now legit.

As with most, the coming of age requires a party. My eventful day fell on a Monday. Monday is not normally a busy night for the clubs, but this Monday was different. One club in town was selling draught beer for 25 cents a piece. A perfect price for a young university student on a tight budget looking to celebrate his adulthood.

My friends promised to get me smashed. We started with a couple of rounds of shooters at the university bar, which I happily pounded back, without any regard to pace, taste, or price. Not wanting to pay a cover charge for my winter jacket, I had run to the bar from my dorm room, which was only a few hundred yards away.

While at the university pub, the bartender told us about the beer special at the other club. All seven of us, piled into a cab and continued our adventure to the more lively, cheap watering hole on this cold, January Monday.

I was already drunk when I left the first bar. My friends promised to keep me going and told me that everything was on them. Not having any money, I just went along for the ride.

It sounded like a good idea at the time. Famous last words.

The pitchers of draught were flying around the table like flies to a dead carcass on a warm July afternoon. I don't know how much I drank. After the first round of pitchers, the night blurred together.

I remember a few friends telling me they were leaving. They tied a helium filled balloon filled to my baseball cap so my chaperone could see me across the crowded bar.

In my drunken state, a few minutes after they left, I decided it was time to go home. The laughs were over, the boys were gone, the beer had stopped flowing. I stumbled outside to catch a cab. I didn't have any money. With no credit cards, no debit card, no cash and no buddies to help me out, I made the drunken decision to walk back to the dorm room about 5 kilometres away.

Did I mention it was a cold January night?
I was wearing an Esprit De Corps T-shirt.

I took off running for the first hundred yards, until my breath couldn't keep with to my awkward feet. It was 1 am in the morning and I had another choice to make: Walk the normal roads or cut across fields and backyards, trying to go in a straight line back to the dormitory.

The drunken decision again failed me. I remember walking up to a fence with barbed wire at the top. Clearly, they didn't want people on the other side. But I didn't want to turn back. I wasn't even 100% sure where I was. I chose to climb the fence. Once at the top, I negotiated the barbed wire so as not to rip a pound of flesh from my breast.

I lost my balance, and flew to the other side. Not sure if I passed out, blacked out, or knocked unconscious. But the next thing I remember is waking up on my back in a snowbank wondering where the hell I was. Quickly gathering my stupid thoughts, I jumped up and started running through the enclosed fence to the other side, Luckily the other side had an opening that I was able to squeeze through.

I was cold. I am not sure how much time had passed. Trying to stay warm, I pulled my arms inside my T-shirt and I tried to run through unknown territory, looking for a familiar sign of my university campus.

I started to cry. It was a drunken cry, coupled with a taste of frostbite. I wanted to lay down and rest. But something told me to keep going. Even though I was outside of my good senses, somehow I knew that stopping would be the end of my life. I cried to God. I cried because I was imagining my parents despair when they found out their stupid, drunken kid was found dead in a snowbank. I could feel their pain and I started talking out loud. I asked God to get me back home safely.  I thought about knocking on one of the dark houses, surely angrily awaking its inhabitants. But I was brought up to not bother people. I didn't want to wake anyone up.

So I continued my trek, all the while talking to God, getting colder, more numb and feeling extremely dumb until I saw through the trees of someone's backyard the brick entrance to what looked like the university.

I fell down, got back up and started running toward the gate. I had arrived. I had regained my bearings and a few metres and I was back in the comfort of warmth.

The last thing I remember that night was arriving at the dormitory front door and opening the doors. I was home.

The next morning, with all this still a blur between the headaches and the sore back, a guy who lived in our dorm, was laughing at me. He told me me what happened after I got back to the dorm.

I wandered into the common TV room. I untied the helium balloon from my hat and it floated to the ceiling. I jumped on a sofa to grab it. Without any balance or sense of strength, I fell off the sofa while angrily grabbing for the balloon. In my haste, I squeezed too tight and busted it just like Lenny in Of Mice and Men. Pissed off, I went off to bed.

The warmth of the dorm must have recirculated the alcohol into my bloodstream. I remember very clearly most of the events of the walk home, but nothing upon my return to safety.

I could've easily died that night, my nineteenth birthday. I think about that night often. Yet this is the first time I have openly shared this experience.