I was stunned beyond belief.
I had just sat down after a decently
rigorous flurry of activity following the largest ‘Open Coaching Call’ we’d
ever held. (451 Contractors registered; a phenomenal number of eager learners.
More in this issue.)
I was going through the typical
avalanche of emails following such, over-hearing a buzz of phone conversations,
a regular flow of faxes hummed in the background. (Yes, still a significantly
efficient form of communication.)
I’d had my ‘normal’ pre-call meal: a
light turkey on wheat from Subway, loaded with vegetables.
Then it happened. Out of nowhere.
I
got an email from my friend Tom Grandy, of Grandy and Associates, in response
to my offer of a ‘breaking bread’ meal together while he was in my state. We’ve
done it before, and I always enjoy time with Tom.
The subject line of his reply was,
“My triple bypass”, and my heart sank. He went on to say that after
returning from Africa (where his daughter is a missionary), Tom was on his
treadmill. I mean the real kind, not the figurative one that chains some
to a desk of monotony. Then something happened.
The next thing he knew, panicked
faces hovered over him as he was rushed to a hospital for emergency surgery. He
had 100% blockage in one artery and 90% in another, but he was snatched from
death’s door. Now think of this –
Having a Bad Day, Anyone?
The above situation would be
considered a ‘bad day’ in most anyone’s estimation, right? I mean, having your
heart fondled by a team of strangers with scalpels and jumper cables seems low
on the “My Most Awesome Day” contest submissions. Yet, Tom said in his email:
“God is so good to me. This could’ve
happened while I was in Africa away from medical help. It could’ve happened on
the 28 hour flight home. I am so fortunate that it happened in my own town with
people who love me right there to help. That’s the good news about my heart
attack.”
Brings tears to my eyes to even write
that.
Some sermons are in words, and
occasionally vanish on their way to the ceiling. Some sermons are in example,
and they stick forever. His faith allowed a low point to be celebrated,
recalled fondly and elicit gratitude. Wow.
Apparently, somewhere in the midst
of arterial constriction lies the difference between a deeply appreciative
spirit and a thinly complaining shell. (Is this the real distinction between
good and bad cholesterol? I can’t ever keep ‘em straight anyway.)
And somewhere out there, somebody is
complaining that their Latte is too frothy. That their customers are too picky.
That their teenagers are too teenager-y. That their wife has a wrinkle, or
their husband has a twinkle, and neither have an inkling of how to get back
over the bridge of their relationship.
In my dual meaning best: “Get over
it.”
Lo, here am I – in my
selfishly-consumed best – who just moments before had been wrangling
well-intentioned staff to keep up with the numbers of contractors on the call.
To make sure ‘x’ was done so ‘y’ would happen and yield ‘z’ for the effort. I
complained about mythically-missed opportunities. Oh, woe is me.
Boo-bleeping-Hoo.
And Tom – who had enough tubes
coming out of him to qualify as an aquarium – was writing thank you notes to
God for his heart attack.
Attitude, Meet Adjustment
My first inclination was to write
him back and say how much the story of his heart attack lifted my spirits. But
that came out more ghoulish than intended. Seems you’d follow up with, “The
next time I need a boost, I hope you’ll get a liver transplant!”
Yet, his attitude minimized and
re-framed my microscopic problems. As a lasting lesson, I tried this:
Take a moment and imagine your work life and all its so-called “Problems”. Really. Take inventory of your particular pain points: The non-existent marketing program, complain-y customers, your co-worker with the IQ of toenail fungus. All of it.
Take a moment and imagine your work life and all its so-called “Problems”. Really. Take inventory of your particular pain points: The non-existent marketing program, complain-y customers, your co-worker with the IQ of toenail fungus. All of it.
Now imagine your veins turn into
wine corks, and tell your heart to “Take a break for a few minutes and watch
this”. Soon it’s you getting the $800 ambulance ride to a really sterile room
that beeps a lot. What of those “pain points” will even measure up once you
come to?
If they’re still problems after
that, get ‘em gone. Adios. And – to be quite honest – keeping those things
in your life will likely accelerate your schedule with the ambulance driver
anyway.
It’s About Selection
We can choose what to celebrate. Or
bemoan. We can choose our reaction. Or let it choose us. If we can alleviate
one pain of yours, let us know.