SHORT STORY: R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

rip_imageA small child struggled against the tide. He was thrashing, gasping and treading water to keep his head above the surface. A rip current had pulled him out to sea and now he was tired. It was time to literarily sink or swim.  Quitting would have been easy. All he had to do was silently slip beneath the waves.  But something inside of him wouldn’t allow him to do that.  He slowly began to kick his legs as he moved his arms.  Everything fell into synch.  Movement that was once frantic became purposeful.  Stroke, kick and breath. Stroke, kick and breath.  He felt strength return to his body.  Fear was replaced with hope.  He swam parallel to the shoreline, pulled himself out of the rip current and slowly headed to safety.

Peter woke up from his nightmare with a start.  Thirty years ago, he was the small child who nearly drowned at the beach. But this was the first time he had revisited that frightening day.

Sweat drenched his sheets.  He looked at the alarm clock. It as 3:30 a.m.

Peter’s wife Ann snored gently next to him and their dog Bob rolled over, snoring as well.  Neither realized Peter was awake.  Like so many years ago, he was struggling.  He was at another breaking point. And he felt alone.

He was thrashing around in the water once again. The past year had been a struggle.  He remembered the day he had been downsized. He had gone to the office like every other morning.  Sure, there had been layoffs, but he was too important. He was his job. But his own pride blinded him to the train headed his way.

“I’m sorry Peter, we’re going to have to let you go.”

When he lost his job, he lost a part of himself.  He was back to being the small child thrashing around in the water.  As he looked at blurry numbers on the alarm clock, he knew it was once again time to learn to swim. The next morning, he would take action.

“I’m surprised to see you, Peter.” The professor leaned back in her chair. Tenure meant she had a magnificent view.  Just outside of her window, hazy mountains loomed over the university’s campus. A warn sunbeam illuminated floating dust.

“I’m surprised to be here, Dr. Guardian.  In fact, I thought I’d be somewhere else today.”

“Like at work?”

Both sat silently.  Peter nodded.

Dr. Guardian rubbed her chin. She had been an executive at a Fortune 500 firm and a marketing guru before she decided to enter academics.  And she was the one professor in five years who had challenged Peter. She made him do better.  She saw his ability.  That’s why Peter had returned.  All because of five words:

“You can do better Peter.”

Peter remembered that’s what the professor had said when she laid the first test down on his desk. Peter had scored a 95.

“You can do better Peter.”

Peter looked up at his mentor as she said it again and asked, “But how? I’ve lost all respect for myself.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Ah, RESPECT.  I feel like busting in to a little Aretha Franklin.”

“Please don’t,” Peter said half jokingly.

“Seriously. You need a little RESPECT. R-E-S-P-E-C-T.”  The professor sang it off-key.

Peter knew his mentor was going somewhere with this, but just wasn’t sure where.

“Come with me.”  The professor beckoned as she headed out to the door.  “If I am going to be your teacher again, let’s do it in a classroom.”

G-2 was an underground bunker of an auditorium that normally sat 300 students. Peter remembered how many good naps he had taken in that room.  But today, he knew he’d learn a lesson of a lifetime. He looked up at the screen where the professor began to write.

R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

“Now, what is R.E.S.P.E.C.T.?  Simple.  Let’s break it down this way.” The professor began to write on the screen as she talked. “I really miss chalkboards, by the way.”

“R — Reliable.  You have to become reliable. Do what you say when you say when you are going to do it. That will give you an edge in this world. Honesty has to be your foundation.It will make you different. And better.”

Peter began to feverishly take notes.

“E – Effort.  This is the secret sauce. You are going to have to work your butt off. I know you are capable of it.  Of course, it has to be purposeful effort. But we’ll get to that in a minute. The bottom line, though, is that if you stop, you sink.”

Peter nodded.  The professor’s example hit close to home.

“S- Service. You have to provide and be a service to others.  QUIT thinking about yourself all the time.  It’s OK to take care of yourself.  Zig Ziglar said it best, “You will get all you want in life, if you help enough other people get what they want.”

“P – Planning. Which leads to purpose. Peter, this is your weakness. If it hadn’t been for me, you would have never gotten out of college. YOU must have a plan.  You HAVE to set goals.  There are a thousand great books on goal setting out there but let me sum it up to you this way — goal setting is the purposeful strokes you made when you started swimming when you were a child. You have to have a REASON to do what you’re doing.”

Peter remembered that day at the beach and underlined “Planning.”

“E – Enthusiasm. Energy. Excitement. There are enough Eeyores in the world. Trust me — I know I’m sick of complainers. Yes, times are hard. But the goal here is to be different. To stand out.  A smile and a little enthusiasm will make you special.”

Peter thought about how many times he had complained and gossiped at this old job. What if he had been different?

“C – Contentment.  This one is a little confusing for some, but trust me, you have to have peace with who you are.  It’s OK to want more. But if you don’t have contentment, you will never find happiness.  Life’s too short, son. Trust me.”

The professor looked at her wrinkled hand and then continued.

“T – Trying new things.”

Peter said, “You couldn’t come up with just one word?”

“No,” the professor said, “because this is too important!  Peter, you got comfortable at your job. You stopped trying new things. You sat down in your comfort zone and took a nap.  YOU have to keep changing. I loved being an executive and was well compensated for it. But I woke up one day and realized I wanted to teach.  And it has brought me rewards beyond imagination.”

Peter had thought about all of the honors the professor had received.  She was one of the toughest and most popular instructors on campus.

“Peter, you have constantly reinvent yourself.  The world won’t stop changing because you won’t.  You said you had lost respect. Well, there you go. ”

Peter looked at his notepad.  He had also recorded the professor’s lesson on his phone.

R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

He felt his strength returning.  He shook his mentor’s hand and charged out of the auditorium and into a new life.

One year later, the professor heard a knock at the door.  Peter stuck his head in and said, “You got time to see an old student?”

“More like a successful author,” the professor glowed. “I hope you are bringing me a book.”

Peter smiled.  “Of course. First edition. And I was thinking about what my second book will be about. But I need a co-author. ”

“Oh,” the professor said, “if you are looking for a brilliant and modest one, I’m your gal. What are you thinking about calling this book?”

Peter smiled. “R.E.S.P.E.C.T.”

The professor smiled and said, “Peter, I’m proud of you. You’ve gone from treading water to swimming with purpose. I knew you could do better. And you did.”

And at that moment, Peter swam toward shore — with respect.

 

 

 

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Fit2Fat2Fit Blog: Day 24

title-fall-fitness-12-weekI pushed a board on a football field 214 yards this morning. I went to the first hash mark and then back. Then back  across the field to the second hash mark and then back. And then I went 53 yards across the football field and then back. That was 106 yards right there.  As the black rubber pellets rose off the field and smacked me in the face, I wondered, “what the %^&* am I doing?”

But then I realized, I was doing it.

If you had asked if I could have done something like that a couple of years ago, I would have said, “You’re nuts.”

To truly be alive, we have to challenge ourselves with things that our brains tell us we can’t do.

So while I felt like I was dying, I was truly living.

That’s the Next Level.

 

 

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Personal Branding (No, not like a cow gets)

cow-surprised-340x226Personal branding is not about burning a circle K onto your butt. Nor is it the pinnacle of narcissism. It’s not about screaming, “Look at me! Look at me!”  No one wants to be THAT guy! (Unless you’re narcissistic, of course — then you don’t care what others think!)

Personal branding is making sure you stand out.  It’s making sure you are different and amazing. In this changing economy, average no longer cuts it.

Before I tell you what personal branding means to me, let me tell you my background. I have a marketing degree from the University of Tennessee. That was thanks to the advice of my Dad — “Even if you choose cartooning, you will have to sell yourself and your work — get a marketing degree.”  Good advice, Dad. You were right.  I’ve also been a “Creative Director” at a newspaper and for a newspaper syndicate.  And thanks to a changing career, I’ve had to figure out a way to keep food on the table.

That’s my resume. Sorry, no Ivy League Business School. Just 25 years of practical experience of making lots and lots of mistakes.

So here’s my definition:

My personal brand is simply an accurate reflection of who I am as a person. It is what people expect when they see my work, read my writing or hear me speak.

I said, “accurate.” I’m not a good liar (ask my wife — I have a horrible poker face.)  And the truth is much easier to keep track of.  You might have noticed that the biggest public implosions of personal brands are from people straying too far from their public image in their personal life.  Ask Tiger Woods or Lance Armstrong about it sometime.

It’s as simple as deciding who you want to be and being it. 

Recently, I was having a conversation with a fellow writer about personal branding. She was worried because she didn’t want to make her work about herself.  I agreed with her 100% — I once knew a newspaper editor who made the paper he/she/it edits about him/her/it.  I quit reading it because although the paper covers a really cool topic, the editor isn’t that interesting.  People don’t want to hear Me! Me! Me!  Trust me, it is easy to fall into that trap (I know from personal experience.) Valerie Gellar, a successful radio consultant, once told me that the second favorite word that people like to hear after their name is “you.”  So make your work “You! You! You!” Make it relevant to people.  Ask yourself, “how can you help them? How can you make others’ lives better?”  I told my friend to make her work her personal brand so when people read her byline, they new to expect amazing writing and storytelling.  She has and does.  And I think she has an amazing personal brand. Her work speaks for who she is.

Social media is an amazing tool in your personal branding toolbox. And because it is an instantaneous, unfiltered reflection of who you are, it also can bring about your doom (ask Anthony Weiner).   Tread carefully and purposefully. Don’t react. Think. Pause. Reflect. Post things you think others will find interesting.  It’s cool to show lunch every once in a while — but you don’t need to tell us when you have a bowel movement.

Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, etc are nothing more than platforms for great short story telling.  Have a great story to tell.  People will notice — even if it is a prospective boss who is doing a little research on you.  Imagine if you have post after post complaining about your old boss.  Ouch.

I make sure everything I do fits into my personal brand of humor and inspiration. My radio show, cartoons, speaking, social media and writing all fit under the main umbrella of who I am as a person.

So, just think of your personal brand as how you present yourself.  Make it an accurate reflection of who you are as a person. It’s what people expect when they see your work.

And then make yourself special. The rest will fall into place.

 

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Fit2Fat2Fit Blog: Day 23

title-fall-fitness-12-weekIf someone tells you that every day of exercise is awesome, they are lying through their lying teeth.

You will have bad days. You will have days when it is more of a struggle. You will have days when it hurts. You will have days when it just plain sucks. But you go do it anyway.

Because if you only do something when you feel like it, you ain’t going very far in life.

Today was shoulder day. And my left shoulder is on the mend. I pushed myself physically and mentally. And I pushed my tender shoulder.  Pain was my workout partner today. But I kicked pain’s ass.  (I’m sure pain will kick mine later today.)

I’m a metaphor guy.  My morning workouts are a good metaphor for my life and career.  I don’t rely on external motivation to get me going. I don’t rely on external motivation to push me.  It goes back to that man in the mirror thing Paul Lacoste talks about.

My workout is a reflection of who I am.

I was out there today, hurting, breathing hard, pushing, failing and succeeding.

 

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MRBA Free-For-All

Good morning! Another great week ahead!

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Fit2Fat2Fit Blog: Day 20

“Look, Marshall is steaming.”

I was. Not steaming mad — actually steaming. As in steam rising off my body. It was at the end of the workout and I was burning up.

I worked out with a cold today.  And felt the virus choke me every damn step of the way.

I have a unwritten rule: If the cold is in my chest or I am running a fever, I don’t workout (or do something light.). I had a fever yesterday —  but not this morning. So I got up and went to the track. And I  once I got to the track, I could breathe (I once had pneumonia and went from running 10 miles to barely being able to walk 100 yards in less than a week). So I worked out.

I ran my two warm-up laps and felt OK. Achy. Grumpy. But I made it around twice.

We then went to Clark’s station and I managed to keep up with everyone. After that, it was  Morgan’s station antitle-fall-fitness-12-weekd I once again, held my own. But I was sweating profusely (more than my normal gush). I could feel the virus fighting back.  Hard.

Connor and I did the squats routine. I was glad it was leg day for the sake of my shoulder (still sore). And my knees held out. Thankfully.

Then we went to running the A-frame.  Connor and I led the pack — I hung with him because I can’t see going down the stairs and usually use someone else to gauge the stairs. (Running without glasses has its risks.) We then went to the boxes for some footwork.  I pushed hard on it.

So by the end of the workout, I was steaming. I got home, took some cold medicine and was glad this week is over. I get to run tomorrow and will do a long run on Saturday.

The cold virus doesn’t have a chance.

 

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Fit2Fat2Fit Blog: Day 19

Woke up with a fever and a sore shoulder. And it was raining.

So took some cold medicine and slept.

Like the Guvm’nt, my body shutdown. Today is a rest day. title-fall-fitness-12-week

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Fit2Fat2Fit Blog: Day 18

Pushed my shoulder a little harder today. Unlike the Guv’ment, it did not shutdown.

But it sure felt like it.

It really smarts at this point and I’m trying to decide whether I’m going to go to workouts tomorrow and Thursday. Oh, if I skip PLS, I will run in the neighborhood (probably six miles each day). It’s just that when I do shotitle-fall-fitness-12-weekw up to PLS, I feel an obligation to do the drills.  I did this morning — except for one round of weights.  I worked hard and pushed myself as hard as anyone else. But I really, really don’t want to make my shoulder worse. I don’t have the time (or money) for surgery.

These are things to consider.

Other than that, I had a STRONG workout today.  I ran well and did Clark’s potpourri of pain quite well.  Morgan, I ran holding the weight with one hand because of my shoulder, not because I was looking for an advantage.  Chaz, thanks for letting me skip the pulldowns on the weights.  That would have fried my rotator cuff. The last two stations were pure running and I powered through them.  Running brings me joy.

We’ll see what tomorrow brings.

Unlike the Guv’ment, I don’t shutdown.  The question is, “do I slowdown?” I’ll see.

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Mr. Eiko

The thick August humidity fogged the windows of 45 Ernie Pyle Lane.  Inside the gray Victorian house, an elderly man pulled a tarnished pocket watch out of his pocket and gazed at the time.  A careful observer would have noticed a picture of a young Marine in the watch cover. But Douglas Burlingame payed the photo no heed. He carefully closed the case and put it back into his suit pocket. It was time for an important visitor.

He  shuffled into the parlor and sat down behind a handcrafted chess board.  It was noon and time to see a man who had appeared daily for nearly seventy years.

“Hello Mr. Eiko.”

A young, medium-build Japanese man sat down in the empty chair across from the elderly man.

“I wondered if you were going to make it today.”

Mr. Eiko nodded. He made it every day.

“So are you ready to play our daily game?”

Mr. Eiko smiled and set the chess game up.

The Japanese pushed a pawn forward with a bony finger.

Pawns.

Both men had once been pawns on a much larger and violent chess board.

Douglas moved his pawn forward, matching Mr. Eiko’s move.

Mr. Eiko then moved another pawn.

Douglas smiled. He had seen this move nearly 25,000 times.  He matched Mr. Eiko’s move swiftly and skillfully.

“You think you would have learned some new moves by now.”

Mr. Eiko had learned a new move. He swiftly moved his Queen and took Douglas’ pawn.

4074354476A burning lashed Douglas’ heart.  On the island of Okinawa, a Japanese infiltrator had snuck into his flooded foxhole and killed his best friend.  Douglas was supposed to be on watch.  After 21-straight days of combat, he had committed the unforgivable sin of falling falling asleep. And his best friend had died because of it.

Douglas had killed the infiltrator by jamming his fingers into the Japanese solider’s eye.

Mr. Eiko looked up at Douglas with his one remaining eye.

“You think you can beat me?”

Mr. Eiko smiled.  He never said a word. He never would.

The two men just continued to play chess.

“Dad are you, OK?”

Douglas quickly turned and saw his 60-year-old daughter Kate and her husband Bob standing in the doorway.

“I think your old man has gone nuts,” Bob scoffed as he walked toward the kitchen. “At least he’s not bitchin’ at me for driving a Japanese car.”

Douglas just stared at his daughter with tears in his eyes.

“He’s here again, isn’t he?” Kate said.

Douglas nodded and looked back at Mr. Eiko.

Mr. Eiko moved another piece on the board.

Kate could see the piece slide by itself toward her haunted father.

Douglas countered with another swift move and said, “Checkmate.”

The old man took out his watch and looked at the picture of his friend inside. The friend that his mistake had killed.

 

“I’m so, so sorry.”

Kate walked over and held her sobbing 87-year-old father’s head in her arms.  He had been so strong for so many years. She looked out the fogged up window, wondering if it was the humidity or something else.  “It’s OK, Dad. It’s OK. You’ve been forgiven.”

Mr. Eiko nodded and dissolved into mist.

 

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The Underdog

Malcolm Gladwell has a new book coming out tomorrow titled David and Goliath: Misfits, and the Art of Battling Giants. I’m a fan of Gladwell’s and believe his books, Outliers and Tipping Point are brilliant.  I haven’t read this one yet and have seen that some of the reviews are mixed. But I have read the New Yorker article it’s based on (http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2009/05/11/090511fa_fact_gladwell) and it’s excellent.

imagesGladwell’s question is this: Why do underdogs statistically seem to win as as often as they do against the favorites?  From the article, Gladwell points to two main areas: 1. The winning underdog doesn’t play the favorite’s game. 2. Relentless effort.

I’m fascinated why some people make it while others don’t.  My career, at least my career as an editorial cartoonist, is statistically nearly impossible to break into.  There are more NBA basketball players in this country than editorial cartoonists.  But I made it. I’m not as talented as some of my friends in the profession. I also wasn’t given a “big break,” out of college. I didn’t step into a great cartooning job at a huge paper — I was a janitor. But I had several “little breaks” along the way.  Each one of them led me to another “little break.”  And each time, I vowed to outwork my competition.  Yes, I had talent. But  it took more than talent. I know a lot of talented people who’ve failed and quit.

So Gladwell’s book’s premise spoke to me.  I didn’t follow the traditional path.  I worked relentlessly.

I guess technically, I was an underdog.

Now, as my career is being reinvented and redefined, I’m back to being one again. What will it take for me to start over?  What will it take for me not to be an underdog?

That’s why I’m thankful I live in Mississippi.  I’m surrounded by success stories of artists, writers, musicians, athletes, business people and others who didn’t listen to conventional wisdom. They were underdogs, too. They ignored the “Mississippi is too ____________” brush people always tried to paint them with. They did things their way. They were relentless.  And they succeeded.

I believe several of the guests on my radio show could qualify as examples in Malcolm Gladwell’s new book.  They were underdogs, but they beat the odds —  and won.

We are a state of Davids.  We ignore the odds and work relentlessly to overcome obstacles thrown in our way. We knock Goliath down and reap the rewards.

And that gives me inspiration — and hope.

 

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