Someday I’ll be able to have an international consulting company, move back to San Francisco, and learn more about art, photography—maybe even take a few dance lessons. I’ll be able to write that book, I’ll be able to take that trip to India and stay in an Ashram to finally learn how to meditate … and mostly, I’ll be able to learn about so many things, contribute and make a big difference in the world. Someday, but not today.
Today I’ll just try to get through another 200 emails, pretend I’m listening in meetings with the occasional look up from my computer, eye contact with the person speaking, and nod my head, and hopefully check off a few things on my “to do” list. OR I can learn how to work differently instead of working harder, and I can listen to that person speaking and perhaps even coach him to not read his slides; Someday can be today—filled with lessons and opportunities to contribute
I’ll share a recent experience of this.
I was leading an all day offsite with the sales team a few weeks ago. An hour before the meeting was supposed to start, Stu, the head of sales, kept changing the agenda, added a few things and took some discussions out. His cell phone rang. He let me know that due to an unexpected customer visit, he would have to step away for a few hours during the day—how perfect since the time he needed to step out was the time in which he was supposed to talk about his expectations of the team and how they could work more effectively together—this was not how the morning of a perfect offsite was supposed to go.
As I walked back to my office trying to take deep breaths and figure out how I could make the day work with this big change, I suddenly felt the ground move from under my feet. I tripped and fell to the floor. I live in California, but this was no earthquake. I looked down and realized that the heel of my shoe had completely broken off! And Stu was right behind me. I knew he was thinking, “What kind of flaky, clumsy facilitator is leading our session today?” I laughed it off, and quickly ran to Lynn’s office to help me rectify the situation. Lynn and I could always count on each other to be there when we needed support. She pulled out a large roll of silver duct tape and attached the heel back onto the shoe. Great solution, but I didn’t think that was going to work. She offered me her shoes for the day—which happened to be loafers—not quite the look I was going for—oh, and they were a size bigger, but they would look better than a pink pump with a flower on top and silver duct tape on the bottom.
