Here’s our annual family Thanksgiving video, I hope each of you are having a fantastic day.

Happy Thanksgiving, from the Raz Family!

I used to hear someone constantly repeat this expression of “slowing down to the speed of wisdom.” I’m not sure why I disliked that saying so much, but I did. Maybe it was the way it was said (with a tad–a heaping and overfloweth tad–of self-righteousness), perhaps it just sounds so consultant-speake, and, quite likely, I don’t like slowing down TOO much (though there is, of course, great wisdom and insight that’s generated when you just stop and think; it’s all about balance).

Actually, as I write, I realize it isn’t the latter–it’s the first thing that irritated me. So there’s wisdom in slowing down. But this entry is about speeding up. Not just keeping up, but moving ahead.

There’s a great video on YouTube that speaks so visibly to the speed of technology, and it’s transformative effect on how we interact and connect. It’s not that the takeaway is that you should be on MySpace (though apps similar, like Facebook, are  really powerful connection tools). I think there’s something inherent in this that relates to market leadership that requires a Web 2.0 level of communication, connectivity, and speed.

And it’s not about slapping an iPhone application up for your business, or creating a Facebook page–though those both might be good idea. It’s more systemic than that, a more transformative change and cadence that’s rippled throughout our environment, in a way that some people don’t even realize. This has nothing to do with hard work, but the connectivity and speed at which people can work–together, and apart, and how that can create in you a new level of leadership position. There’s a great quote whose author I can’t remember, but it probably dates back five years ago (pre Facebook evolution)–so it’s more applicable today than ever before.

“It’s no longer the big who eat the small, but the fast who eat the slow.”

Here’s an interesting article related to performance and success, and while not earth shattering at its core the originating subject is about the next baseball wunderkind bazillionaire (pending all things go as planned) who could be another “Dwight Gooden” style game changer.

What I found fascinating is that the bulk of the article is really comprised of interviews from nine “past baseball wunderkids”, of their era, who had the right stuff but it didn’t quite transact. Some of the stories and vignette’s are merely interesting, but others are insightful about the life’s lessons learned from some of the highest potential of their time–and despite the subject being baseball, there are a few things in here that all of us can apply.

Click here to read the full Sports Illustrated story.

When you do a Google search for images related to the word “purpose” I don’t understand why the results pull up esoteric whispy trees in the middle of green fields, or that of a person paddling a canoe in the reflective moonlight in the middle of a widespread ocean with nary a sign of life in sight (and, really, should someone be in a canoe that far offshore?).

Yet, it seems these are the images that conjure up purpose–so the one above represents the prototypical “Successory-style” purposeful image; what that image actually means I have no idea, but it’s a placeholder for an article in this blog posting that actually is pretty insightful. 

The below article from HealthDay News was a great reminder about the importance of a holisitic view on life–and that your longevity isn’t just dependent upon the foods you eat and the way you treat your body–but, also, the way in which you focus your energy and life’s work:

Your purpose. 

Victor Frankl wrote about this at length in “Man’s Search for Meaning” based on his observations of life during prison camp–and the life altering, and defeating, result that occurred when you took away a part of a humans destination and, ultimately, meaning. 

So here’s an interesting study that highlights for those who rank higher on identifying a purpose also enjoyed a longer life. Most would agree that regardless of the years it can add to your life, having purpose will make the years on earth all the richer–but it’s all the more interesting if there’s a benefit in longevity as well. 

Click here to read the full story.

Though late in the day, I’m still going to get my Father’s Day post in before “COB”, even beating midnight Eastern time.

My Dad is a phenomenal individual and I really appreciate him (as well my Mom, but today is the Dad’s day) more than words can adequately express. Which might be a good thing, because this week is Convention where a lot of Univera associates from all over North America will descend upon Seattle for a three day event and I am burning time fast, with still much to do this evening. A quick stop at the house for dinner and then back to crank until well into the night, along with a lot of my colleagues who are doing the same thing, to finalize preparations for our annual Convention.

So as I was thinking about a Father’s Day post, and whether to even do one. As I was driving home from working offsite I thought I could share on a lesson I learned from my Dad that I reapplied yesterday during my Saturday run.

The lesson is a simple one: your body lies to you.

He used to tell me this when we’d go running, I remember heading out with him on the weekends at a young age (possibly late elementary school, or was I a bit older?) we’d go out for anywhere from 3-7 miles around the neighborhood. Every run seemed to start the same. The first half mile I’d feel lousy, and I’d tell my Dad and whimper something like “this is hard” or “I don’t feel good” or “my legs are tired, let’s turn around!”

And he’d just look at me and say “your body lies to you”, and would continue with “give it some time and you’ll see what I mean.” So we’d go a bit further. Another half mile and I wasn’t feeling good, but by then I wasn’t feeling so bad either. By the second and third mile I generally felt pretty good. Sometimes great. But, almost always, at least pretty good.

Now, I’m sure someone is reading this right now and thinking “Well, this is blasphemy! You should listen to your body!”

Indeed, sometimes you should.

But I’m not talking about putting my hand in front of a blowtorch and sloughing it off as mind over matter whilst forging forward; instead I’m speaking about the lesson I learned as it relates to being steadfast and doing some of the things you don’t naturally feel like, or want, to do.

Which, for me, quite often, includes working out.

In fact, I think that’s true for most people in that our bodies, and minds to some degree of course, don’t “want” to work out. If you doubt it then consider for a moment why we don’t, instead, have an epidemic of lean, skinny, mile-eating, resting-pulse-rate-of-50, hyper-fit men and women across North America?

After I work out I am always glad I did it. Without exception. I might not always feel physically good afterwards (though, again, usually I do by the time I’m finished). But I’m always glad I invested in doing something good for my health. Over the past ten years I’ve gone up and down with my wellness initiatives, and getting back on the horse is always hard. Staying on is hard, too. 

My body resists, instead it THINKS it wants to sit on the couch, or get a bit more sleep, or eat the Cherry Garcia ice cream in the fridge…along with a few thin mints (thank you, Girl Scouts). So sometimes I have to force myself to get going, and simply realize that, at times, my body lies to me.

So now that I’m in a rhythm of working out and preparing for the Portland Marathon in the fall it’s a bit easier because I’ve got to follow a regimented schedule, and now at this point I look forward to more workouts than those I don’t. During the weekends I usually do my long run for the week, and the longest I’ve done so far is 16 miles. In contract, yesterday’s run should’ve been a breeze, it was only five miles and the pace was moderate.

But there are still occasional days, like yesterday, when I felt as if someone were beating me with a billy club with every stride. And in the last two months that I’ve been diligent about running on my regimen I’ve never once considered ending one of my runs prematurely–until yesterday.

Mile number two, I felt terrible, and I was going to bag it.

Then, as I was running (struggling) I remembered, out of nowhere, the lesson from so many years ago where my dad would turn to me and remind me “your body lies to you, give it some time.”

So I did.

And by the end of the fifth mile I realized that, once again, he was right.

Thanks, Dad, for all the great memories and lessons you’ve taught me over the years. Including one that I used, completely unexpectedly, yesterday during my run.

Going into the Univera Cruise a few weeks ago I was still working towards my physical goal for the year (and, technically, my target date is still end of June) but I’d moved into the mode of “well, I’ll try my best.” It was accompanied with a bit of a plan, like working out a few days a week and hitting some cardio. And trying to eat better, low glycemic foods. I was actually doing okay. But I wasn’t on track to hit my goal. 

I’m convinced a critical part of all our leadership, in any capacity, is both setting and accomplishing goals.

So midway through the Cruise the subject really unloaded on me as I was talking about setting in place your “next steps” for success on your goals to the rest of the attendees. Which, for me, specifically, had become somewhat lax related to my physical goal. So during the Cruise I became more convicted, and realized I needed to re-establish my plan. It was on the trip that I faced the hard facts–that if I didn’t do something significantly different then I was going to fail in achieving my objective.

My mistake was a simple and common one. I’d relegated a really important personal objective to simply “trying”, without the necessary support plan to ensure I both would and could get it done. 

So I came back and sat down the day after I got home, and I created a very specific plan between early May and June 26th–in fact, I went beyond that date, but I put together what I thought was the most aggressive plan that I could possibly achieve (while maintaining other responsibilities). It was very specific.

From eliminating all caffeine or wine during the week (even Green Tea, which I love but have relegated to the weekends in exchange for Roobios tea which has zero caffeine and is loaded w/ antioxidants) to eating the exact same breakfast daily (Bill Pearl protein/oatmeal combo–easy, filling, and healthy) to a virtual elimination of red meat from my diet (only once/week) among other specific plans. 

I applied the same rigor for my exercise goals, where I committed to a very specific cross-training regimen that includes Spin class on Monday’s, moderate-length runs on Tuesday through Thursday (along with lifting free weights two of these days) a rest day Friday, followed by a long run on Saturday’s and then Bikram yoga on Sunday’s. 

Even my supplementation (particularly Univera products) were isolated with how much in the AM/PM, what dosage, a titration schedule, etc. Incidentally, I’m not suggesting any of this should be your plan. In fact, I’m quite certain it shouldn’t. Instead, adopt or create something specific to you. 

By the time I was done with the plan, I KNEW that if I had a chance of achieving my goal going into Convention this was my best shot. The issue wasn’t whether it was a good plan in order to get me to my goal, as I drafted it up I KNEW it would work (at least eventually by end of summer if not by end of June) for my body type and personality. And that once I accomplished the plan I would then transition to a bit more balance, but still maintain the fundamentals. 

The question, then, became whether I was committed to following and adhering to the plan? 

Would I do what it takes? Did I really want it? And could I transform from “try” to a new mindset which was simply “no excuses, go and do it.”

The day after I wrote up the plan a funny thing happened.

I got quite sick.

It’s the most sick I’ve felt in a few years (for those of you that saw me during this time, I think I actually hid it quite well but I used a fair amount of help from Mr. Nyquil, in addition to Solanyx, Immunoburst, and Super Immune). Normally, I get over a cold or illness relatively quickly. But this was unique. This sickness, I think, was a test. It was a test to help me determine whether I’m really committed to this, and also served as a really important lesson about doing things even when you don’t feel like it. 

It made me ask myself whether I really wanted this goal, and was I willing to sacrifice or fight through feeling lousy to adhere to the plan. When I didn’t FEEL like walking two blocks, was I really willing to do my ten mile run?  

And, I came to the conclusion, that I didn’t want to fail. That’s the bottom line. I could deal with delaying my achievement date for a few weeks or months (though I’m not conceding that just yet either), and I could deal with “doing my absolute BEST” and not achieving the objective. But that I couldn’t get comfortable with a “I’ll try pretty hard” effort. I realized, I really wanted to get this done. It’s not to say that each day wasn’t a pain to get through the workout, but after each one I felt a bit better. Not physically, but emotionally. I’d built up a bank account of performed accountability, even if just to myself and with small things, that built upon each other. 

Today was the first day in two weeks that I felt “back to normal.” But that’s not what got my psyched today. What got my psyched today is that I realized I accomplished one battle over the past two weeks, which was the battle of “I feel so badly I can’t motivate to do anything physically”, yet I did it anyways. 

And it was a great reminder about the importance of having a plan and committing to the plan from a very different context than I was used to. 

Because it’s this simple. 

If we all operate under the plan for our most important goals and dreams that “I’m going to give it a try” without a clear and actionable plan then we’re–at best–setting ourselves up to fall into success. And, at worst, we’re setting ourselves up for a frustrating failure. If I’d relegated workouts over the past two weeks to when I felt like it I wouldn’t have exercised once. But, because I set out and committed to the plan, it became an easier (not easy, just easier-ER) decision. It wasn’t about whether I felt like it–it was about whether I was committed and willing to make the decision and do what it took. The plan was laid out, all I had to do was follow it.

This is the charming welcome sign to the left of the entrance to the Mother House

Thanks for tuning in this past week for excerpts based on my recent Servant Leadership article “Lessons Learned from Mother Teresa.”

Funny as the way life goes, I had many great blogging ideas this week (seems to always be the case in the rare event that I’ve got a weeks worth of entries already considered). Thanks to all of you who have emailed me during the week about this series. I’ve added an audio clip at the end that summarizes a bit of my experience and a special memory from spending time with the “Missionaries of Charity.”

Here’s the PDF version of the full article (Lessons Learned from Mother Teresa), or here’s a link to the web-based article on the DSN website. 

Click here to read the full article.

And as a final sign off to this series, I’m including an audio clip from my last day at the Mother House. It just gives a glimpse into what it’s like there; after an early AM breakfast each day one of the Sisters leads the group in a Catholic Prayer (incidentally, I’m not Catholic–nor were many of the other volunteers).

Then, before sending us all off for the day, they sing two songs. Every single day, the exact same songs. 

The first is more like another prayer but with some voice behind it. The second is sung to all of the volunteers who are on their last day of service. 

Along side me each morning were newfound friends who were atheists, agnostics, protestants, buddhists, hindu’s, spiritualists, and many others beliefs. Yet, without exception, they all enjoyed this time together (though not all sang along). I’m not even sure I totally understand why so many people liked this–perhaps it was being and feeling part of community, even if some didn’t believe in the same God as did the Sisters. But it’s still a favorite memory for me as well. 

So before you continue–my word of caution: the song contains the word “Jesus.” A few times.  So if you don’t dig the word, or if it might offend you, just don’t press play.

There are really two reasons that draw me to post the clip: 

1. It was for many the volunteers a favorite moment of the day and it’s a condensed sound bite that gives a glimpse into the “Mother House” every morning at 7:30am.

2. It’s an example of how many people from different backgrounds can come together for a united purpose of service, and even sing and share together yet by still holding onto starkly different beliefs. 

The guy on the right was driving a motorcycle and slammed the breaks to insist on posing for a picture. One of the best parts of India is meeting the people and experiencing their joy and perspective.

The following post is part of my weeklong series “Lessons Learned from Mother Teresa” (read that post first). This excerpt is part three, the final component, of the Direct Selling News article from March. I’ll post the full article and link this weekend. 

“Do not wait for leaders; do it alone, person to person.”

                                                                                                -Mother Teresa

During my first and second visits, I had a near identical experience and awakening. I remember walking to the Home of the Sick and Dying, through a part of town called Kalighat (which is also home to a very popular Hindu temple).

This is the road to the Home of Sick/Dying, also to the Kali temple. Here there was much security (due to the bombings weeks before in Mumbai) coupled with vendors lining the streets as well as thousands of homeless.

As I was walked I saw thousands of people on the street. Thousands. Babies, literally newborn infants, sleeping on dirt streets with nothing.

Begging children who were blind, as a result of unspeakable horrors inflicted upon them intentionally by adults in an attempt to amplify their appeals for help.

Innumerable bodies that were frail and physically afflicted with — at best — malnourishment, and — at worst — deadly diseases without any source of healthcare assistance.

As I continued to walk, the sights and sounds became more stirring, and my soul became emotionally discouraged. I felt a sense of helplessness and hopelessness I’ve rarely experienced. In the past, I always felt in most situations that I had a sense of control or an impact-based solution. In this case, the further I walked, the more I saw, and the deeper the extent of the extreme poverty, I began to feel that there was absolutely nothing that I could meaningfully contribute.

This is one of my favorite pictures even though it's so simple. It's the entrance to the Home of Sick and Dying, which is an overwhelming sensory experience that I can't fully express--sights, sounds, smells, touch. It is overpowering. Yet calming. I can't explain it. And this is one of the first things you see as you walk in, and this image has so many metaphorical and literal connections to the Home and India that I love it (some of which would require a longer explanation)

Yet, when I walked through the doors of the Home of the Sick and Dying, I saw 65 men lying there — whose lives, at that moment, I could impact. I remember Mother Teresa saying “Just one, even if you can help just one…” It was with this memory of her voice, coupled with the experience, which led me to understand during my time with the Missionaries of Charity that you’ll make a difference by helping just one person.

This was a profound idea for me as I came home. Many problems around the world, in my country, and even in my local community are not easily fixable. But what I clearly realized is that there’s no reason why I can’t have an impact on that one person who is out there, that needs a voice, a friend, an ear, some time, or a meal.

And most likely, what they really need is love.

This is the hospice inside of the Home, it's both dreary and bright; dreadful and beautiful; dark and light. It's a world of complete contrasts, and I found my time there to actually be calming, rewarding, and deep--something I remember from my last trip a decade ago

There exists no rational reason why I, as a human being who has been given so much, can’t simply take another few steps to help that one person who needs it most – regardless of whether that circumstance exists in my company, field organization, church, family, or community. Or, simply, a random person in the path right in front of me.

What I learned about real, undying, and unyielding acts of service from Mother Teresa were shared with me by herself in the 90’s, and re-stated this most recent trip by Father Abello, a priest involved in her cause who to this day—after many decades—spends time with the volunteers on a regular basis.

She shared with me and a few of the volunteers the following observations.

“You’re welcome here for two reasons”, she began.

“One, is the witness you can share. You come from a place that those staying at the Home of the Sick and Dying view as heaven. And, they feel they’re living in hell. So when you come from your heaven, to invest time and love with them in their hell, they must ask themselves the question ‘why would someone do this for me?’, when the world views them as worthless. The person that asks that question dies a very different death than the person who never gets to ask themselves that question.”

She continued, thoughtfully. 

“Two, you are welcome here because of the change that you can become. You are going back home to a place that we all know is not heaven; in fact, your people suffer as much of the loneliness and hopelessness as anybody. If this will make you a better person, help you find purpose, then you will have benefited tremendously, and you will have received a gift as a result of your service.”

As I flew the long journey home from too short a stay in Kolkata, I realized the impact of Mother Teresa’s words.

Ultimately, there are two gifts—what we give and what we receive—which comprise some of the characteristics of Servant Leadership. Often, we describe it in seemingly sterile adjectives or simple nuances like “be nice to your spouse” or “tell the truth”, important yet basic fundamentals that hardly address “Servant Leadership.” During this last trip I learned from the Sisters at the Missionaries of Charity and other volunteers there’s a much deeper meaning to a spirit of Service.

The opportunity we have to take small steps can change the world. We make an impact by sharing compassion and love — particularly with those who need it the most, and often these are the very ones who can’t or won’t reciprocate. It is therefore beyond just virtuosity, some would say its vital, that we support and nurture a culture where the dignity and respect of every individual — regardless of rank, title, money, or stature — is viewed as sacred.

Servant Leadership, I learned, might be a lot of things. And at times we might be tempted to think of Servant Leadership as even a few great things. However, Mother Teresa best summarized what I learned about Servant Leadership:

“There are no great things, only small things done with great love.”

Daya Dan Entrance, one of Mother Teresa's Orphanages for kids with mental or physical disabilities (most have both)

“One of the greatest diseases is to be nobody to anybody.”

-Mother Teresa

The street outside the Daya Dan orphanage

There’s a lifestyle component to our industry that sometimes we feel that we need in order to sell “the opportunity.” There’s nothing wrong with lifestyle; nice homes, comfortable cars, and exotic trips are all part of our industry at various times. There’s a balance, of course, but even Mother Teresa said, “There must be a reason why some people can afford to live well. They must have worked for it. I only feel angry when I see waste.”

But sometimes in our industry and in life, we sometimes border on the worship of lifestyle—corporately, in the field, or personally. This actually serves as a distraction from some of life’s greatest sources of meaning — and ultimately can lead to one of the greatest afflictions that exist: loneliness.

In Kolkata, there were children who were content, happy, and fulfilled. The others, in contrast, were destitute, forgotten, and lonely.

This is my little buddy Mongol's younger sister, she's 12 years old and is undoubtedly one of the best kids I have ever met; so happy, so precious, and sweet.

I’d like to suggest it was food or some cool toys or something more tangible and “fixable” that brightened a child’s disposition, but that just wasn’t so. Those children who were most happy experienced a level of love and attention that made them feel they had value. Worth. Significance. Using Mother Teresa’s expression, they were enjoying “being something to someone.”

Rank advancements, new enrollments, compliance and retention are all vital things. Without them, none of us have a viable and successful business, and independent associates don’t have a meaningful source of income.

Yet, I think we are tempted to look at advancement as the next source of meaning or the step that will spark true contentment. For others the draw might be something material, it might be a title, it might be experiential; but regardless of what “it” is, one thing I was sharply reminded of is that “it” is not the ticket to happiness.

The following post is part of my weeklong series “Lessons Learned from Mother Teresa” (read that post first). This excerpt is part two of the Direct Selling News article from March.  

This is the truck ride on the way to Dispensary duty, with Sister Nathaniel among others. There are a lot of things that aren't well communicated in pictures, but the smell and soot of Kolkata is one of them.

“If you judge people, you have no time to love them.”         -Mother Teresa

When you arrive in Kolkata, despair, more than anything else, greets you. There are an inordinate number of people that live on the streets, and there is an exceptionally difficult amount of poverty to absorb.  From the vantage point of an outsider, poverty—whether in India, North America, or elsewhere makes it relatively easy to pontificate solutions, point fingers at problematic fulcrums, and even become embattled in a bitter debate about political partisanship while sitting safely on the sidelines. I was reminded that it’s much more difficult – emotionally and physically – to actually do something about it.

Each bag represents a months worth of provisions--oil, biscuits, and wheat

Similarly, in other matters of life it’s sometimes hard to listen without making a judgment. Whether it’s financial troubles people are having (“and you bought what!?!?!?”) or leadership problems (“why would you say THAT?”) or emotional baggage (“okay, tell me again what exactly was it that happened at ten years ago that you’re still so rankled about?”), to simply listen, and love someone, is an exceptionally difficult thing for most of us to do. For some, it’s a God-given gift. Yet, I think for most of us, it’s a developing skill that takes effort as we experience both the need and the blessing that can arise from compassion and grace. It also needs to be coupled with honest accountability. Often we’re better with the judgment side of the ledger rather than the grace side — until, that is, it comes to ourselves.

This is the male side of the "Home of the Sick and Dying", essentially a hospice for the sickest of the sick.

Perhaps the greatest impact I experienced from my time at the Home of the Sick and Dying was to see, firsthand, the many patients in the home — some of whom were there as a result of their own circumstances — to be able to live their final days experiencing love and compassion.

Regardless of their past, their poverty, or their personalities, there was no judgment, no critique, no “rehab” program to get them restarted and on a life of significance and meaning. Behind the scenes, never a word was said among the Sisters or volunteers about what it was that led them to this final destination. They were there. It was home, and that’s all that mattered.

In my professional and personal life, there’s an easy carryover of this particular theme. Many people in my life are “home,” and how they got to this place doesn’t really matter.