I love movies; someday I’d like to write some screenplays, or even produce a movie. Likely, this is among the (too many) things I dream about but will never get around to doing. If only I had 10 lives, or even get by on a few hours sleep each night, then perhaps. But, for now, in fleeting free moments, I’ll just let my mind wander to creating movies that only fit within a certain genre of “feel good” stories about overcoming adversity, leadership, and someone finding their “thing” in life–sometimes through the unlikeliest of people or circumstances.

So today Zoe woke up quoting scenes from Finding Nemo, a great movie, and begged me to watch it with her this morning. And, since it’s what one could classify as a crappy day and am postponing my bike ride–at least until this afternoon when it heats up from 42 to 45 degrees–I decided to sit down and see it again. Royce also joined us. There’s are some great scenes in the movie that make me think a lot about life and business, and I really do think it’s true to form.

So Marlin, Nemo’s dad, is on this quest for his son, and for most that have seen it the story revolves around this entire journey. And what I love about it is that he gets saddled with Dory, who is clumsy, charming, sweet, forgetful, and aloof. Yet he’s dependent on her. And despite Marlin’s hard core all out effort to find Nemo, they keep getting sidetracked–sometimes, usually, via Dory’s delinquencies. And this heavily annoys me. There’s little that I like in the movie about Dory, she’s just…well…annoying and incompetent. And we all have people in our life that we feel like are distractions or keeping us from getting what it is we want (perhaps sometimes it’s us), or where we feel like we’re supposed to be headed. I’m inclined to get really impatient with these people and events, I don’t love the tangents at times. A lot of times.

Finding Nemo, though, was this little reminder that some things are just a force of nature, and they’re going to go. And go, and go. Especially if you keep pushing. There’s an element of destiny to life. There’s also an element of “you’ve got to create it”, but often I think we discount the breaks and detours along the way that help us get to one of the milemarkers in life. And today’s reminder wasthat sometimes the detours and those “distractions” are not only part of the enjoyment of the journey (almost always after the fact), they also in some way help us get there, even when we can’t see it.

And a lot of times, I’m so fixated on getting there, and pushing hard to do it, I don’t.

I hate germs.

And I can’t stand touching the door handle on the way into a public bathroom, but particularly so on the way out. So like some, I use the paper towel to open up the door handle on my way out. Sometimes–usually–there’s a trash can near the door on the way out. At my office there isn’t one.

And I’d move the trash can from where it was, to a location by the door. Which was just as convenient for those who didn’t use my method, and it would offer a receptacle for those who use the “towel on door” methodology.

But it kept moving back to its old location. Frustrated, I finally would just throw my paper towel down by the door once I opened it up and headed back to my office. Someone else would clean it up at the end of the day, I figured. I didn’t really think it through that blatantly, I just didn’t want to get germinated, and I couldn’t keep moving the trash bin. So I did this “right by the door paper towel toss on the floor” for 2-3 days.

Then one night I was leaving the office around 10pm. I was tired. Frustrated. Annoyed. Work, which overall goes really well and I genuinely am passionate about, had been particularly difficult that day. And I was sluffing out the door muttering to myself something about how hard my job was, the challenges of life in a raw start-up company, how difficult it is to be a CEO, and blah blah blah.

Translation: I was whining to myself.

Which I don’t think I do very often, but it had captured me as I was locking up the door.

And as I’m turning around I hear a little girls voice. I thought I was mistaken, it was after 10pm on a weeknight. But, sure enough, I saw a little girl–maybe 6 or 7 years old–running after her dad down the hallway. Her dad, as it turned out, was the janitor for the building–a hardworking immigrant, always cheerful and exceptionally fastidious. It was obvious as he was just finished cleaning the men’s room. The same one where I’d been casually throwing my door-opening-paper-towel-pieces by the door for a few days.

Suddenly a wave of my absurdity was cast over me. Not just for the extra trash I was leaving for this guy, but for how I was feeling about myself as I leaving the office. Here I was, fortunate in 500 different ways. Whilst making his job more difficult through my selfish little trash deposits. And here he was, I’m sure also in some ways very fortunate, but also going through the challenges of life cleaning buildings on the second shift. With his young daughter in tow.

I then realized, my job is easy. And isn’t particularly admirable.

His job, however. Now, that’s admirable.

I’ll forever remember it.

And I’ll never, again, throw a piece of paper towel by the door.

We spent the weekend of September 11th in New York City a few weeks back (for those still trying to figure it out, I moved out East in June and took a job to run a start-up company, our update in a forthcoming post). I was in the City all day Friday for meetings, one that was supposed to last 90-minutes which continued for eight hours. By the sixth hour of meetings, with no end in sight, I told E and the kids to come into NYC and we’d stay the night. We’d already planned on getting up early to drive in to spend the morning at the 9/11 memorial. By the way, before I dig much deeper, please note all photo credits go to the amazing photographer and writer Jodi Kendall; www.jodikendall.com

We had a great night that evening over Tomoe Sushi during the kick off of “Fashion Week” in Manhattan, and the following morning we awoke early and caught the R subway line down to Rector Street, but not before taking the kids to a typical Manhattan-style coffeecart (“regular” with two sugars for me and E), a kaiser roll with butter, and an everything bagel w/ cream cheese. Kids loved it.

Riding the subway south brought back so many memories; the hotel we stayed at Friday night was, literally, less than 300 yards from my old start-up company in midtown (right by Macy’s, 35th and Broadway). And I used to take that exact subway from our apartment, departing from Rector and jumping off at the 34th street. On this particular day, Saturday,  September 11th 2010, I was doing the reverse commute nine years later, down to the area where we lived during the event.

As the subway clickity clacked from stop to stop the late summer smell of the subway brought back so many memories; a smell of heat and humidity, sweat and metal, urine and basement…Oddly pleasing yet borderline nauseating. Like skunk.

“Rector Street, Rector Street next stop! Brooklyn-bound R-train last stop in Manhattan” barked the conductor, and I wandered ahead with one kid in tow tightly wrapped around my hand, and another kid being corralled by Erica. I can’t remember which kid it was, but I was squeezing her hand so tightly–never forgetting for a minute the time I saw a guy fall into a subway that came all too close to being crushed by an oncoming subway train. As well the time when I was ten years old in Chicago and having a guardian angel change my life as a result of a near-death subway experience. I’ll forever compensate for those experiences by overprotecting our kids in subway stations. It’s now in my DNA. It’s interesting how life’s experience dramatically change you. Sometimes, in ways that you can’t or won’t let yourself change.

As I started to walk out the subway on the gum tattered steps, the morning sunlight rays streaking through the underpits of Manhattan transit as I climbed the steps, I forgot about kids, work, my wife, and my life.

Transcendence, I think is what they call it. The colloquial definition, not the Kant definition.

And I was lifted back to nearly 10-years ago on such a crisp summer morning; this Saturday was no different. I walked over to Broadway, one block south of our old apartment, two blocks north where the World Trade Center used to gallantly stand. And the memories flooded. As did the emotions coming with it.

Sorrow, at the tragedy that happened years ago.

Inspiration, to be able to see and hear again the stories of so many people who were so valiant during such a difficult part of time.

Anger, at not just the events that occurred years ago, but also those who used the day as a platform to espouse personal political belief, like those who maintain a conviction that 9/11 was an “inside job” to the  drama around the mosque as well as proposed burning of the Koran’s (all of which I also have personal opinions about, but the 11th was a day to memorialize those lost–not to use as a platform for  political gain or statement-making).

The sights and sounds so powerful, the air resonated deep with conviction. I’d been downtown since the actual attacks, staying in our apartment a few blocks south of the WTC after 9/11, to our move out of the City a month thereafter, to various visits over the years. But, Saturday, well, Saturday was different.

Trinity Church, made very well known during the events of the day and thereafter, lined with flowers and luminaries memorializing the many who passed.

Feeling the methodical notes played with the breath of human life through the bagpipes singing solemnly in the background as we walked closer to the memorial.

The quiet rustle of people walking by, calmly and contemplatively, with shared glances of an understanding of the sacred ground on which we stood.

Hearing, name after name after name, hours and hours worth of names, read by family and friends for those whose lives were savagely claimed.

Seeing the bright morning sun eclipse through the 9/11 memorial as I stood with both kids and Erica by my side, near my sister Jodi, as I stood with many others and simply cast a gaze upon the worksite of regentrification as well great sorrow.

Watching other Americans, one with a British accent to my left, an Arab-American to my right, a group of Amish Mennonites standing behind me, with every other imaginable nationality in close proximity, all paying tribute to those whose time had past.

An experience that can’t be articulated or “explained”, but something that, again, has changed the way that I look at the world and our life.

It was, simultaneously, not enough and also too much.

This weekend, as many of you know, a legend passed away.

His name was John Wooden, and while his amazing coaching skills that led to an incredible array of victories for UCLA, more than that he was an amazing human being that has transformed so many peoples lives. So, without any wordiness, I’ll let a few videos do the talking. Thanks, John. You were, and still remain, an inspiration and wealth of wisdom for so many.

And, the below video from TED (such a great resource for knowledge) is a gem. 17-minutes, well worth the time…

Last night I had the opportunity to speak/facilitate a small group discussion around Coachability and Listening.

So the guys didn’t need to take notes, I promised I’d circulate the culmination of ideas and discussion points captured as we shared the dialogue. I thought it might be a good blog entry, so decided to simply publish my notes on this blog entry which is somewhat a “Part Two” to the Coachability posting that I wrote weeks back.

So here’s the outline, Coachability Part Two from the Men’s Small Group last night:

Coachability. Who cares, why’s it matter?

It’s upstream to all other wisdom, knowledge, and best practices. If we’re not coachable (learners, teachable, open, listeners, willing to change behavior and improve, etc) then we’re hugely rate limiting our potential–regardless our talent.

The resources used for the dialogue:

“They Call Me Coach” by John Wooden, book of Proverbs (whether you’re religious or not, this is a book filled with wisdom that people from all various faiths could appreciate–at least in part, if not whole), and a YouTube clip from Marshall Goldsmith–not exactly riveting, but it’s five minutes of a great premise and I think he’s right on:

So out of the dialogue, here were some of the best practices and ideas generated that I’m passing on. BTW, one of the key premises to the evening was that we’re not striving for anything profound, if that happened great. But the real objective were a few clear, simple, and actionable items that we could use starting today to take meaningful steps towards improvement:

1. Realize being “Coachable” isn’t innate in most of us. Most of us don’t even like receiving, let alone asking, for sincere coaching. And though you might have all the talent in the world, we won’t come close to fulfilling our potential without the key Coachability factor.  Realize you’ll resist, defend, brush off, or deflect feedback. It is in your nature to want to hear things that will stretch and sharpen you. For most of us. But it can become a part of you with time, patience, and practice.

2. Also realize, the more you ask, the easier it gets to hear the feedback and focus on your improvement areas (or, simply improving those things you’re already naturally talented in). Learn to love feedback. Takes training and discipline. At first it hurts. Then it hurts a bit less. Then a bit less. Then not much at all. Then you start to enjoy it (usually). Pretty soon, it becomes a natural habit that’s easy and conversational.

3. Coachability seems defined beyond just teachability, though synonymous to a degree the Coachability factor incorporates both the willingness to listen/learn as well as change and improve behavior.

4. Make it a point to ask people for feedback at least once a week. If you haven’t done it before, ever (and some in our group hadn’t), find someone you respect, pick something that you really want to get better at, and ask them candidly for a few things you’ve done well and a few things you can improve upon. And when you’re picking people, don’t just pick people who like you or you know will go easy. Get it from a variety of sources, your employees, customers, friends, mentors, kids, spouse (though I know for those of us married it seems like we probably get enough feedback as it is, that seemed to be the humorous consensus of the group yesterday ).

5. Find a mentor, someone that can give you unvarnished feedback regularly and that will help you progress along your journey.

6. Speaking of unvarnished feedback, remember how hard it is for the giver to actually provide candid feedback. Either they might fear you, or they might fear a “retaliation”, or they might simply not want to hurt your feelings or get into what could be an awkward dialogue. Make sure you explain you want to improve, and help them peel back the onion. First pass and they might only be sharing with you superficial stuff. To get good feedback, again and again, you can’t retaliate. You can’t resent, you can’t become bitter, you can’t become defensive.

7. Focus on your non-verbal, be open and friendly/warm, calm, relaxed–not all tensed up, arms crossed, scowling and whatnot (which we’ve all done–or at least I have). And with your verbal, don’t get defensive, don’t be annoyed or frustrated

8. Don’t assume all feedback is right on. Try to reflect rather than respond. Sit on the feedback for a day or several days, and really try to assess whether it’s relevant to you. Don’t dismiss it because you don’t like it, dismiss it only if it really is inaccurate.

9. Let’s remember that you can’t please everybody (but don’t use this as an excuse either). Part of your vice is probably your virtue. For example, for me personally I know there are times when I’m too hard charging, or too demanding and have too high expectations. But that’s also part of what is my strength, so for me to eliminate it altogether would be neutering something that’s innately me–and a skill. For me to balance it and know when to emphasize and minimize is what’s important. So remember there’s an ebb and flow, and also that not everybody is right about the feedback you receive. You can’t make everybody happy, and you can’t be doing anything productive in life without some criticism.

10. When you get great feedback, focus on a few core things and them implement, practice, refine, and re-assess.

This is only a small smattering of what we came up with, but I wanted to try to limit it to ten key ideas or principles around the Coachability factor. If you have other ideas or suggestions, please share them as a comment below.

So to the guys that I got to hang with last night (Neal, Bob, Mark, Doug, David, Matther, Don, Chris, Dan, and Alfred) thanks for such a lively discussion and the great ideas you helped to generate on ways we can be more successful at one of the key characteristics most of us lack to varying degrees. Loved the time, the ideas, and inspiration I received from each of you.

As many of you now know, yesterday with the internal team and today with the entire external field organization I announced publicly my resignation from Univera as the CEO of International. I’ll be wrapping up my time at Univera through the end of May.

I have nothing but the greatest things to say about my time at Univera. The people involved, and particularly each of the field leaders as well as some key people internally (special thanks to Regan, a great boss and friend, as well as my teammates, too many to mention), have been nothing short of exceptional to me–you’ve been true partners all along the way. I’m also grateful to Bill Lee, who has provided me such an incredible opportunity these past four years.

It’s now been 4.5 years, and after several expanded roles at Univera, I can think of no other job in North America that could have stretched me as much as did these past experiences. From good times to exceptionally tough times, from long-term strategic planning to dealing with urgent “today” issues, from driving to objective decisions based on market data to those decisions related almost wholly to heart, emotion and subjectivity, there is no other job that I can think of which would have been as powerful an accelerator in my personal and professional life as this one. It’s been 15-years worth of experience in a little under five years of time. And while I have learned so much, at the same time, I feel like I’m just getting warmed up.

Which puts me at a place in my professional career where, for a variety of reasons, I have selected to take a different path and move onto the next thing professionally. The dream that has existed at Univera for each of you still remains; for me, however, for now my dream and destiny rests elsewhere (the details of which I’m keeping quiet about for now). While I’m very excited about my future, I’m also bittersweet for the reasons each of you know.

What’s next?

As some of you recall, at Convention two years ago when I spoke about our goals and dreams, I made a firm commitment to achieve four goals in my life and created a plan in order to achieve each one. Two have been accomplished (a certain business goal, and also my trip back to Kolkata, India), yet two still remain to be completed–and I’m stubbornly determined to accomplish them both, in addition to some new ones along the way.

The two goals? One is to complete a book I am supposed to write, and it needs to be done this year. The second is a physical health goal, specifically to get down to 15% bodyfat. So I’m still going to succeed at these, no matter how frustrated or off course I’ve been with them both (and as an aside, neither should you be frustrated by any delays in your goal setting/achievement…you can still accomplish them, stick with it, keep re-loading as needed…don’t quit, don’t quit!), and those are going to be a focus this year in addition to my new professional endeavors.

And, there’s more writing I’ll continue to do. It’s not for lack of content that I haven’t blogged for the past month, for a variety of reasons I just felt better to let it rest. But I’m going to continue blogging.

And my focus will largely continue to be about personal development–to try to write in an authentic way, without idle BS that so often peppers our talk that gets in the way of truth, and to try to continue to share stories of people who have done either the ordinary or extraordinary, or have learned lessons along the way.

Some of them are stories of the deepest magnitude, a hero who touched–and saved–so many lives, like that of Rick Rescorla during 9/11. Others have been fun filled gifts of laughter and play, like the Forever Wedding Dance couple who taught us a simple lesson about celebration and having fun. And then there are stories about the unbridled passion to make a difference in the lives of kids–like Geoffrey Canada with the Harlem Children’s Zone. None  of those are original content, simply the pulling of stories of others with a few pieces of commentary alongside.

And it will continue to be sprinkled with some personal stories and anecdotes–some involving my business endeavors and others around personal experiences. So those things will continue, and I hope you’ll freely participate along the way. You can also follow me on Twitter (@richraz2) or on Facebook (“Rich Razgaitis”).

What I get absolutely fired up about is to see people pursue their passion, whatever and wherever that may be, so that each of us can find their destiny and achieve greatness (which, has nothing to do with title or money). These can mean radically different things for all of us. The key, though, for every one of us, is to find and pursue with unbridled passion those things for which you and I were intended.

That is when the magic happens.

It’s the reason that I love movies like Crazy Heart. Stories of redemption, personal calling, overcoming a struggle to achieve greatness. I read a great quote the other day: “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” I love to connect with those who are fighting the hard battle–but also remain determined and destined to achieve greatness. At the same time, I would love to imprint upon others a distaste for apathy in a way that makes them sick. Yes, we should hate apathy (in most all cases) because it’s one of the greatest thieves from you pursuing your purpose. Being apathetic is giving up, it’s not caring. And once we’ve lost the heart and passion to care, well, I don’t know how to reignite that again–let alone help someone win.

So onwards with the stories of perseverance towards purpose.

Erica and the girls are both torn yet excited for our future. They, too, went “all in” with us on this Univera journey. I’m thankful for the sacrifices they’ve made to let me have the time and adventure with each of you. They’re ready for the next move, though, and are resilient and excited despite this being bittersweet.

I will miss each one of you. Tremendously. Together we have gone through it all, especially those of you who have been on this journey with me for years. It is, really, too difficult to put into words without sounding trite or filled with hyperbole. There’s a lot that’s happened. A lot we learned. And even more we gained.

So I’ll leave it at this: together we’ve been through it all, and I love you a lot. No matter what.

Thanks for a great journey.

Your friend,

Raz

The reason I write in my blog is to connect with people. Not just from one segment of life, but from many. Usually the focus revolves around finding your purpose, passion, and renewal.

And as part of the thread of stories I try to share experiences and observations in leadership, volunteerism, wellness, as well as some events that are simply personal experiences that fall in none of those particular categories and, might, at times, be more personal.

Today’s entry is one of those. So if the personal aspect is too much, please skip this one today. The first entry that I made a year ago was here: Happy 4th Birthday Buddy.

Here’s today’s entry…

Dear Levi,

Today marks what would have been your 5th birthday.

This year I’m home instead of on the road, and lots has changed in our life–some for the better, and other parts not so much. But we’ve learned a lot, and we’ve grown a lot. God has been really gracious with us, and me, more than I deserve I am sure.

Royce is getting to be such a great soccer player, and has become so exceptionally good at reading. At night she reads to Zoe, sometimes “illegally.” She has a little flashlight that she pulls out after we’ve turned the lights off and I often catch her continuing to read into the evening. Mom makes her stop (as she probably should) but the truth is I sneak in and give her a little thumbs up when I catch her reading and tell her it’s okay. She has such a heart for people, and an exceptional ability to communicate with others. And she’s intense, in a high-achiever way. Perhaps sometimes too intense (that’s probably from my DNA). I admire and love her passion and enthusiasm for life.

Zoe is amazing as well in her own unique way as well, she has such a compassionate heart. And is so incredibly creative. You should see (or maybe you did?) the latest “dog feeder” invention that she made out of who-knows-what materials–I can’t believe what she thinks up! I love it, every day it seems there’s a new contraption for me to scope out. Her ability to develop deep relationships and comprehend complex information is pretty amazing too. She processes so quickly, I love her ability to think thoughtfully and deeply for such a young kid.

I’m so proud of both of them, and so is Mom. And today I know we would be equally proud of you as well. I wish I knew your attributes that I could brag about, someday I’ll find out what those are specifically. I’m sure there would have been, or are, lots.

We talked about you a great deal this week, and more than ever, we miss you.

Yesterday and today, especially.

You might not know it, but Royce and Zoe each have their own “baby song”, which kind of represents them as a kid. This whole thing started with Royce, when she was in the hospital NICU as a preemie and we didn’t know whether she would live–or if she did the kind of life she would have. At many points the outlook was grave. During our daily drive to Morristown Hospital, Mom and I often would hear the song by Marvin Gaye (probably one of my favorite artists) “Aint No Mountain High Enough”, which came to symbolize our confidence and belief that everything would be okay with Royce.

Of course, we still play that song and think about those days. So, naturally, about a year ago Zoe wanted her own “baby” song that represented her! We chose, with a strong bias from Zoe, “I’ve Got a Feeling” by Black Eyed Peas!!! LOL. I think that’s hilarious. You can listen to the song, I think the lyrics are fine, but don’t watch the YouTube video–it’s a little too racy. Especially for up in Heaven. That could be awkward.

So you’re the last one without a song, and yesterday I thought we should pick a song for you on your 5th birthday. I wish you were here to help select it, but I think you’ll dig it. Unanimously we picked “I Can Only Imagine” by Mercy Me. Your mom thought of it first, I can’t tell you how much she misses you. It’s beyond words.

Some people have told us that every year this would get easier. And while time helps heal some things, it doesn’t seem true as it relates to missing you. Every year represents another year without you, and we’re both comforted and saddened as the years go by.

This evening the girls made little cupcakes for you, RoZo decorated yours–it’s the one in the middle, with all the balloon candles. And we went to play laser tag–we’ve never done it before, but the kids thought it would be something you would enjoy doing so they picked it instead of going to some princess movie, which I don’t think you would have liked as well.

There’s one project that I was supposed to do for you several years ago. It’s been on my mind, and I know I’ve been negligent in finishing it and I’m really sorry about it. This is the year. I have to do it, and I want to make a commitment to you that I’ll get it done.

Tonight, as I wrote a year ago, I hope that this message gets to you somehow and in some way. I think it will. Know that we love you so deeply, and we’re so glad that we even had you for a few hours. I wish it had been many years, but the hours and memories that have ensued are better than never having the gift of you in our lives.

Levi, here’s your “baby song.” I hope you enjoy it. Whenever we hear it we’ll think of you.

I love you buddy, no matter what.

Find your passion.

Watch this guy, Jake Shimabukuro, play the Uke and ask yourself if this guy isn’t just amazingly passionate about what he does? With 50-years of training, I couldn’t do what he just did on this YouTube video.

But, the point is that he couldn’t do what YOU’RE supposed to be doing when you’re connected with your passion and purpose.

So he found his, and as a result can do some pretty amazing stuff.

Have you found yours?

Okay, that opening title is a bit dramatic.

First, as my wife reminds the kids–and me–we don’t HATE anything.

Second, even if I DID hate something, I don’t REALLY hate museums.

At least not all of them, just certain kinds.

But what was valuable is that I learned something this week about myself. And, Pascal would be so proud of me right now, because you know, the whole “to know oneself” line of thinking was so important to him.

And, really it is to us if we’re to find our purpose in life, to pursue it with a relentless passion, to be living in your destiny (or working towards it), you gotta know yourself. What you like. What you don’t. Where you’re good. Where you’re not. Why you’re doing what you are, and what you should quit doing as well.

This week I made a decision.

I’m not going to any more museums having to do with crafts, ceramics, or archeology. Period. At least not on my own accord.

I am sick of trying to find these things interesting, just because other people do or this is something culturally that is “smart” of me to do (and I am convinced that 50% of them are also faking it, like me, but just doing a better job). I really don’t care whether, Mr. Curator, there exist 2,000 little clay cups in your museum, that perhaps there was a ceremonial cleansing cup that forged together two Continents. In fact, it’s highly irrelevant to me whether they came from Costco twenty minutes ago or a big dig that resulted in a revelation dating back tens of thousands of years. And finally, Mr. Curator, if you give me one of those defibrillator-looking digital “walkman” player to hang from my neck, that is probably riddled with head lice from the 10,000 other people who have worn it proceeding me, it still doesn’t make me more interested. In fact, I think it hurts the cause. Because now I feel obligated to hear the five minute history lesson about the clay pot that I already had seen too much of when I walked briskly by.

I’m just…not…interested.

And, this week, officially I decided, that I will quit trying to be interested. Here’s the point of the story:

We’ve got to find the undercurrent of what gets your hot buttons. Too many of us go through life trying to do what we’re supposed to do because someone else thinks we should do it because someone told them it’s important. And, really, maybe it doesn’t mean snap to you or me.

Now, before someone thinks this is a good excuse to exercise out of discipline, learning, developing a well rounded personality, and on don’t misunderstand. I love space and science museums, I’m fascinated by some art museums. I love reading. I love language and culture and discussing deep subjects with people. I have even been known to love Readers Digest (big print version only, it just seems more appropos). No, my kids won’t get out that easy either. We will still continue family field trips, they will still learn about things they might not care much about, I will also force them someday soon to have Wall Street Journal article reviews on Friday nights as I had growing up. But I have decided, at least for me, at the magical age of 36, it is okay to decide to quit pretending or to try to force yourself to like something you really don’t and never did.

So this week, that’s what I learned about myself.

Which, upon reflection, is both silly and profound to me. Silly, because it’s simple and somewhat the humorous example (part of it has to do w/ the fact that I didn’t last 15-minutes in a museum that was to take me 3-hours one evening to fully explore). Profound for me, though, because it made me really consider that we can spend our lives trying to do things that we don’t love, or weren’t meant to do, and we’re living in our own personal prisons that have been created by perception of what’s important or intellectually trying to chase the proverbial Joneses (whose ubiquitous family, I would challenge, to a Raz Family Wall Street Journal Review contest any day of the week).

Today my message is as simple as an “I hate museums” shout-out to all those across the World (please, once again, no flaming emails; I’m not using the expression in a pejorative way, rather I’m stating it in this kind of wittingly clever sarcastic manner–and in no way do I intend to discriminate or discourage those who love museums of crafts and artifacts, let’s just not sit together at the next dinner party) to discard the pursuits that aren’t of interest to you, that suck energy out of your life without providing a tangible and disciplined return to you in some way, and to bypass the things that’s keeping you from unlocking the excitement and energy that rests within you to pursue something with rigor and passion that either serves you, serves someone else, or serves your purpose.

It doesn’t mean that we should love everything that we do, a good part of finding your purpose and passion involves the discipline of education, investment, time, energy, exercise, whatever. Just make sure there’s a reason for doing it, other than because someone else thinks you should.

Here’s a short entry that, I believe, is a key success factor in life…Maybe one of the success factors for YOUR life. And this will also help me break my complete absence of blog posts in the last ten days.

I also read the leadership books, magazines, listen to the stories and the speakers, and blah blah blah.

But there’s one critical ingredient that’s a huge success factor for your life and mine, that’s rarely (relatively speaking) acknowledged or addressed:

Coachability.

There are tons and tons of “best practices” that list everything imaginable: right seats on the bus, empower people, principle-centered leadership, sharpen your saw, words that work, servant leadership, and more blah blah (blah blah blah only in the most respectful of ways, I’m just trying to prove my point). And yet, the absolute irony is that none of this makes any (I so want to use a strong word here, but I resist) snaps worth of difference if you’re (me included) unwilling to be coachable (this has got to be a worlds record for parenthetical statements for two sentences).

Coachability is listening, understanding, accepting, hearing the feedback, acknowledging reality, not glazing over stuff, confronting the truth and receiving it–both “it” being the fun stuff and the not so fun stuff–so that you can make genuine and authentic improvements in your life.

The best people in leadership and management, that I’ve read and followed or seen and experienced, are the ones that have this underlying characteristic: they’re coachable.

Being uncoachable is like needing to buy a car that will be the catalyst for you to get to all sorts of places really important.

And amidst this, you’re going to be driving other passengers so you want to be in something comfortable, plus you also have a need to get there fast. And safely. Reliably too. So you’ve found your wheels, the car is decked out, it’s fast and comfortable. You’ve spent all this time and money and effort picking out the perfect car. And your first day you’re in the drivers seat, ready to roll. You pull out of the driveway and passively cruising, something is wrong but you can’t tell what it is, noises are coming out of the vehicle, it feels sluggish, there’s an acrid smell like something is burning. And it’s because you left the emergency brake on.

Being UNcoachable is like having the perfect set of wheels, but your e-brake is always on. It slows you down. It burns things up. And in the process you look silly.

This is how, unfortunately, a lot of us go through life. With our e-brake on, being uncoachable. Slowing things down, other people and ourselves.

So here it is, my number one success tip for leadership development: be coachable.

Because downstream none of the other stuff matters much, even if you read and can recite at rote all the common best practices, if you and I aren’t coachable.