David Letterman's crisis communication plan earned an "A."
So far, Tiger Woods' plan is earning an "F."
And that is shocking -- at least to me.
Could the world's most-recognized, and probably wealthiest, athlete be mishandling his incident any worsely?
Here's what we know: Letterman was not only guilty of having an affair, but having an affair with a staff member. Woods' car hit a tree. That's all we know.
Yet Letterman was relatively unscathed by his incident, and Tiger is taking a beating.
Why?
For one, Letterman fell on the sword immediately -- at least immediately after being caught, and publicly. Then he moved on. And America let him.
Tiger, who might well have done nothing wrong, seems intent on not being forthcoming.
Maybe he's protecting his wife. Maybe he's trying to protect his pristine image. Either would be understandable. But picking a fight with an information-craving public, and press, is one that even Tiger is not likely to win. The story of what really happened will be told, just like the Letterman story was going to be told.
Is it fair to Tiger Woods that the truth eventually will come out? Should his privacy be respected at the expense of an investigation? Should Letterman have had to fess up to his sins?
Here's one thing to consider: It could be argued that no one has made himself more of a public figure than Tiger Woods. Some of it comes with the territory of being a professional athlete. But Tiger makes only about 10 percent of his money as a golfer. The other 90 percent of his billion-dollar worth is a byproduct of his well-earned and well-marketed image. It's hard for a person like that to hit a tree, cut up his face, lose consciousness, have his car beaten with a golf club (either in an attempt to rescue him, or something else), tell the police three times that he's not going to tell them what happened, and expect to be left alone.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Small Business Success Story, and what you can learn from it
It's not easy to find a local small business owner who is thriving in today's economy. So when I stumble into one who is excelling, I want to do more than just hear from that person. Then if I find out they are authentic, honest and good, I want to do more than listen. I want to soak in what they have to offer.
Mike Russell, founder and owner of Elite Telecom Services in Kennesaw, Ga., is such a person. Nine years ago, Mike, a University of North Carolina graduate, decided to go into business for himself. After having worked for 18 years behind a desk for a couple of corporations, Mike started Elite Telecom. The best way to describe his business is like this: He's a broker who matches his clients (mid-to-large-size businesses) to one of 35 or so telecom companies. He then serves as that business' contact with whichever carrier they choose, ensuring prompt and thorough customer service. The business saves money on their annual phone bills and gets good customer service. Mike can offer his audits and services free to businesses because he gets paid by the telephone companies. Pretty simple and pretty smart.
But I don't have a T-1 line or hundreds of phone lines. And I don't need Elite Telecom Services. So my interest in Mike is how he made it a success. What he told me impressed me even more. It's all about getting to know people and getting a chance to serve them.
Mike was not a natural at networking nine years ago. Now, he's as good a networker as there is in Atlanta. And here's what I like about building a successful business around networking: You can't pretend to be someone or something that you are not -- at least not for long. How many phonies or frauds would you refer to a friend? Perhaps it could happen by accident once in a while, but when you are relying on referrals, the truth will find you out.
Mike got involved with local businesses and civic groups, and now chairs boards, donates to causes and is a champion for charities, particularly those in the fight against cancer.
"In today's times, you might not be able to write a check as a way to give back to the community," Mike said. "So serve meals at MUST Ministries, run a race, build a playground. Just give of yourself."
Mike was a 2009 finalist for the Metro Atlanta Chamber of Commerce Small Business Person of the Year. And it was well deserved. Check him out at elitesvc.com
Mike Russell, founder and owner of Elite Telecom Services in Kennesaw, Ga., is such a person. Nine years ago, Mike, a University of North Carolina graduate, decided to go into business for himself. After having worked for 18 years behind a desk for a couple of corporations, Mike started Elite Telecom. The best way to describe his business is like this: He's a broker who matches his clients (mid-to-large-size businesses) to one of 35 or so telecom companies. He then serves as that business' contact with whichever carrier they choose, ensuring prompt and thorough customer service. The business saves money on their annual phone bills and gets good customer service. Mike can offer his audits and services free to businesses because he gets paid by the telephone companies. Pretty simple and pretty smart.
But I don't have a T-1 line or hundreds of phone lines. And I don't need Elite Telecom Services. So my interest in Mike is how he made it a success. What he told me impressed me even more. It's all about getting to know people and getting a chance to serve them.
Mike was not a natural at networking nine years ago. Now, he's as good a networker as there is in Atlanta. And here's what I like about building a successful business around networking: You can't pretend to be someone or something that you are not -- at least not for long. How many phonies or frauds would you refer to a friend? Perhaps it could happen by accident once in a while, but when you are relying on referrals, the truth will find you out.
Mike got involved with local businesses and civic groups, and now chairs boards, donates to causes and is a champion for charities, particularly those in the fight against cancer.
"In today's times, you might not be able to write a check as a way to give back to the community," Mike said. "So serve meals at MUST Ministries, run a race, build a playground. Just give of yourself."
Mike was a 2009 finalist for the Metro Atlanta Chamber of Commerce Small Business Person of the Year. And it was well deserved. Check him out at elitesvc.com
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Man, do I love the Copleys...
A little more than a year ago, I spent a great deal of time with the amazing Copley family. I had previously written about Tyler, 17, at a time when he was fighting cancer like a Samurai warrior. When he learned his leg was eaten up with cancer, he insisted on having it amputated, so he could go on living his life.
But by the time I made myself a frequent part of the Copley's daily routine, Tyler was dying of cancer. I knew it. He knew it. His family knew it. And we all kind of settled into our roles, none of us having done this before.
Now, my role of writing about a dying young man I''d come to care about, and even love, barely deserves a mention. I was going to say here that it doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence as the roles Connie and her husband Todd played, the role siblings Kirk and Sarah played, and, of course, Tyler's. But no duh, it doesn't. But it's the tiny part I had in their story. When I wrote the stories -- I believe I wrote at least five stories chronicling Tyler's fight, his acceptance and his final days -- I tried to do what good editors had taught: Stay out of the way of the story.
So I couldn't say then how much I had grown to love the Copleys -- at least not to anyone other than them, and I did that on more than one occasion.
I have never seen a mother love a son the way Connie loved Tyler. He first had been diagnosed with cancer back in 2002, so for all of his teen-age years, he needed a little more mothering than most. And Connie was up for it. She loved that boy with a selfless, tireless, active love. She was his servant. And I mean that in the best way. Acts of love from the heart of a servant are about as close to the love of Christ as you're gonna see here on Earth. There can be only one mama, as Todd had proclaimed, and Todd wasn't mama. I got to know Todd well -- maybe not quite as well as Connie, but well enough to say this: Connie was Tyler's rock; Todd was Connie's. And Todd was the perfect man for the job of being Connie's soft place to land.
I talked with Connie tonight because I wanted to include an update on how they are doing. I also miss them. And I need to hear someone who's been in a really dark place tell me that things can be OK again. Different, not easy, but OK.
A couple of days ago, Connie took Tyler's prosthetic leg up to Childrens Healthcare of Atlanta to donate it. She also recently mustered up the courage to go back to the AFLAC Cancer Center and see the staff there. "I made them two sheet cakes and a plate of fruit and took it to them to say thanks," she said.
Last Christmas wasn't great. Connie decorated the house, but she didn't feel like it. In fact, it was a chore. Tyler's birthday came, as did dozens of friends, hamburgers, hot dogs and a bonfire. That was better than Christmas.
Sadly, even though Tyler died almost 15 months ago, the Copleys have been around plenty of death since. Because Tyler grew up going to Camp Sunshine cancer retreats and had made so many friends at the AFLAC Cancer Center, there was no way around it.
Connie's faith saw her -- no, sees her -- through this. But there were times Connie really believed that she demonstrated a more active love for Tyler than what she was getting from Jesus.
"I put one foot in front of other and took it day by day," she said. "In my head, I knew I was not alone and am not alone now, even though I have felt that way some of the time. That's just not who God is."
The Copley's story didn't end when Tyler died. And It doesn't end now. Stay tuned.
But by the time I made myself a frequent part of the Copley's daily routine, Tyler was dying of cancer. I knew it. He knew it. His family knew it. And we all kind of settled into our roles, none of us having done this before.
Now, my role of writing about a dying young man I''d come to care about, and even love, barely deserves a mention. I was going to say here that it doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence as the roles Connie and her husband Todd played, the role siblings Kirk and Sarah played, and, of course, Tyler's. But no duh, it doesn't. But it's the tiny part I had in their story. When I wrote the stories -- I believe I wrote at least five stories chronicling Tyler's fight, his acceptance and his final days -- I tried to do what good editors had taught: Stay out of the way of the story.
So I couldn't say then how much I had grown to love the Copleys -- at least not to anyone other than them, and I did that on more than one occasion.
I have never seen a mother love a son the way Connie loved Tyler. He first had been diagnosed with cancer back in 2002, so for all of his teen-age years, he needed a little more mothering than most. And Connie was up for it. She loved that boy with a selfless, tireless, active love. She was his servant. And I mean that in the best way. Acts of love from the heart of a servant are about as close to the love of Christ as you're gonna see here on Earth. There can be only one mama, as Todd had proclaimed, and Todd wasn't mama. I got to know Todd well -- maybe not quite as well as Connie, but well enough to say this: Connie was Tyler's rock; Todd was Connie's. And Todd was the perfect man for the job of being Connie's soft place to land.
I talked with Connie tonight because I wanted to include an update on how they are doing. I also miss them. And I need to hear someone who's been in a really dark place tell me that things can be OK again. Different, not easy, but OK.
A couple of days ago, Connie took Tyler's prosthetic leg up to Childrens Healthcare of Atlanta to donate it. She also recently mustered up the courage to go back to the AFLAC Cancer Center and see the staff there. "I made them two sheet cakes and a plate of fruit and took it to them to say thanks," she said.
Last Christmas wasn't great. Connie decorated the house, but she didn't feel like it. In fact, it was a chore. Tyler's birthday came, as did dozens of friends, hamburgers, hot dogs and a bonfire. That was better than Christmas.
Sadly, even though Tyler died almost 15 months ago, the Copleys have been around plenty of death since. Because Tyler grew up going to Camp Sunshine cancer retreats and had made so many friends at the AFLAC Cancer Center, there was no way around it.
Connie's faith saw her -- no, sees her -- through this. But there were times Connie really believed that she demonstrated a more active love for Tyler than what she was getting from Jesus.
"I put one foot in front of other and took it day by day," she said. "In my head, I knew I was not alone and am not alone now, even though I have felt that way some of the time. That's just not who God is."
The Copley's story didn't end when Tyler died. And It doesn't end now. Stay tuned.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Friends...Heroes
(One of the things I most want to do in this space is tell the stories of inspiring, interesting people.
Today, I'm going to re-produce one I reported and wrote a couple of years ago at the Atlanta Journal Constitution. Since I'm making no money on this site (yet, right??) I figure I can cut and paste and let you read it here, in case you missed it. But the AJC owns the copy write. I'll try to track these young men down and update the story if there is interest.)
Every school has a student who looks like Pope High School's Steve Kelley, easy to pick out, harder to really see.
Throughout the halls, "different" is the word most used to describe these kids. Or special. Or challenged. Or needy. The medical term, whatever it is, doesn't matter.
Likewise, every school has kids who look like Trey Clark, who roams the same Cobb County halls as Kelley. In a sea of moving bodies, they are harder to pick out, but easier to look at.
The worlds of a Steve and a Trey intersect every day at almost every school, usually with a casual nod of the head, sometimes with 15 seconds of charity-minded conversation, occasionally with a mean-spirited prank or insult.
Rarely do a Steve and a Trey become best friends.
Theirs is a story of one kid helping the other to find his place, one looking up to the other as a hero, both learning something from the other.
"Trey is my best friend. He's the best friend anyone could ever have because he is always there for me, " said Steve, who has a rare form of autism. "I always feel safe when I am with him. He's big. He won't let people say mean things to me. He takes me places that I can't go by myself. I have known Trey for a long time. I hope I will keep knowing him even when we are old."
Then hear Trey.
"I am proud to say that I am his friend, not the other way around, " he said. "Steve could make friends with anybody he wanted to, but he chose me."
So who's the hero of the story?
> > >
Steve's parents had a prayer for each of their three children, upon their birth. For Steve, the plea was from Luke 2:52, that he would "increase in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man."
A couple of weeks ago, the Pope High School student body elected Steve, 19, as Mr. Pope, the senior who best represents what the school stands for.
Steve's favor with man was affirmed.
But the almost-universal support that Steve enjoys now didn't come easily.
Knowing what is and isn't appropriate never came naturally to him. Neither did grasping academic assignments, getting them in on time or doing what it takes to be in position to graduate.
Socially, Trey, 18, taught Steve just by including him on outings. Academically, he tutored him weekly.
"I don't at all see Steve as a responsibility, " Trey said. "It's a friendship. It's normal. We talk about girls and sports. I try to help him with girls a little bit because he does get really nervous."
Steve sums up his relationship with his friend sweetly and succinctly.
"Since fifth grade, Trey and I have been best friends, " he said. "He takes me to football games, basketball games, baseball games, Taco Bell. He and others here have made me feel like they genuinely care for and love me and are willing to protect me."
The two were at a Pope basketball game last year --- one of Steve's favorite things to do.
It never mattered how good or bad Pope was, or whether he was watching the boys or girls play. He was the biggest, most vocal and most visible fan.
"We were playing Lassiter and they were chanting: 'What about Football. What about Football, ' because they had beaten us that year, " Trey said.
We started chanting: "S.A.T., S.A.T., " bragging on Pope's academic reputation.
"We were out in the parking lot, around some Lassiter kids, and Steve started chanting: "S.A.T., S.A.T. Not good."
Trey fits the mold of a protector. At 6-foot-1, 215 pounds, he lettered in football as a sophomore, playing tight end and defensive end. Two knee injuries have limited his play the last couple of years.
But even more than his size, his mom, Linda Clark, said it's his heart that really makes him a protector.
"Ever since he was little, he reached out to others in a very warm and loving way, " she said. "It doesn't surprise me that he developed this kind of relationship with Steve."
Nowadays, the two are constant companions. Trey is constantly telling Steve what to do --- not in a bossy way, but gently and quietly.
"Socially, he has no boundaries, " Steve's mom, Tootie Kelly, said of her son. "He doesn't get innuendo and has never heard a rhetorical question."
Like the day football coach Bob Swank asked his team, "What the heck are y'all doing?"
Steve, the team trainer, offered up an answer, to Trey's chagrin.
"I was like, 'Steve, man, not now.' "
> > >
It'd be a lie to say Trey has never done anything for Steve out of sympathy.
But it happened only once.
The two were casual buddies from fifth grade through ninth. At least that's what Trey thought.
Then Steve built up the nerve to invite Trey to join his family for an Easter tradition: attending a play, "The Passion of the Christ." For Steve, including an outsider was akin to a boy asking a girl out for a first date.
"As adults, we're thinking, please don't get your feelings hurt if another ninth-grade boy doesn't want to go with him and his grandmother to the 'Passion.' We were afraid he'd get laughed at or feelings hurt, " Tootie Kelley said.
Sure, Trey said. He'd go to "The Passion of the Christ" with Steve and his family.
"It's the only time I did something with Steve just to be nice, " Trey said. "It's never been about being nice to him since then."
The play inspired Trey, for sure. But it also caused him to see a deeper side of Steve. For whatever reason, it was a jumping-off point for the two.
Trey delivered a speech he had written for a school leadership project this year. It was titled "A Hero and a Friend."
"Our relationship took a giant step when I received a call in April of my freshman year from one of the best mothers I know, Tootie Kelley, " Trey wrote. "She began by telling me of a tradition Steve and his grandmother, also known as Nana, shared. Every year they will go to see the play 'The Passion of the Christ' and then head over to the Varsity.
"Going to that play on Palm Sunday is one of the best decisions I have ever made."
> > >
Trey plans on attending Auburn next fall. Steve hopes to go Chattahoochee Tech.
"No matter what, " Trey said, "I want him to always be able to call me, when I'm married, when he's married, wherever I live, I see us being close friends forever."
Steve doesn't even want to think about next fall.
"I'll be sad when he goes to college, " he said. "But I'm going to college, too. I'll be a fan of Auburn."
Who knows what Trey will be doing in 10 years, or where Steve will be.
Tootie Kelley knows that Steve likely will never drive a car and might not ever be totally independent. Trey will likely graduate from college and one day settle down with a family.
In other words, life happens. And best friends in high school don't always stay close friends.
But what has already happened, in Steve's life and in Trey's, can never be erased. Neither is the same person for having known the other.
Today, I'm going to re-produce one I reported and wrote a couple of years ago at the Atlanta Journal Constitution. Since I'm making no money on this site (yet, right??) I figure I can cut and paste and let you read it here, in case you missed it. But the AJC owns the copy write. I'll try to track these young men down and update the story if there is interest.)
Every school has a student who looks like Pope High School's Steve Kelley, easy to pick out, harder to really see.
Throughout the halls, "different" is the word most used to describe these kids. Or special. Or challenged. Or needy. The medical term, whatever it is, doesn't matter.
Likewise, every school has kids who look like Trey Clark, who roams the same Cobb County halls as Kelley. In a sea of moving bodies, they are harder to pick out, but easier to look at.
The worlds of a Steve and a Trey intersect every day at almost every school, usually with a casual nod of the head, sometimes with 15 seconds of charity-minded conversation, occasionally with a mean-spirited prank or insult.
Rarely do a Steve and a Trey become best friends.
Theirs is a story of one kid helping the other to find his place, one looking up to the other as a hero, both learning something from the other.
"Trey is my best friend. He's the best friend anyone could ever have because he is always there for me, " said Steve, who has a rare form of autism. "I always feel safe when I am with him. He's big. He won't let people say mean things to me. He takes me places that I can't go by myself. I have known Trey for a long time. I hope I will keep knowing him even when we are old."
Then hear Trey.
"I am proud to say that I am his friend, not the other way around, " he said. "Steve could make friends with anybody he wanted to, but he chose me."
So who's the hero of the story?
> > >
Steve's parents had a prayer for each of their three children, upon their birth. For Steve, the plea was from Luke 2:52, that he would "increase in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man."
A couple of weeks ago, the Pope High School student body elected Steve, 19, as Mr. Pope, the senior who best represents what the school stands for.
Steve's favor with man was affirmed.
But the almost-universal support that Steve enjoys now didn't come easily.
Knowing what is and isn't appropriate never came naturally to him. Neither did grasping academic assignments, getting them in on time or doing what it takes to be in position to graduate.
Socially, Trey, 18, taught Steve just by including him on outings. Academically, he tutored him weekly.
"I don't at all see Steve as a responsibility, " Trey said. "It's a friendship. It's normal. We talk about girls and sports. I try to help him with girls a little bit because he does get really nervous."
Steve sums up his relationship with his friend sweetly and succinctly.
"Since fifth grade, Trey and I have been best friends, " he said. "He takes me to football games, basketball games, baseball games, Taco Bell. He and others here have made me feel like they genuinely care for and love me and are willing to protect me."
The two were at a Pope basketball game last year --- one of Steve's favorite things to do.
It never mattered how good or bad Pope was, or whether he was watching the boys or girls play. He was the biggest, most vocal and most visible fan.
"We were playing Lassiter and they were chanting: 'What about Football. What about Football, ' because they had beaten us that year, " Trey said.
We started chanting: "S.A.T., S.A.T., " bragging on Pope's academic reputation.
"We were out in the parking lot, around some Lassiter kids, and Steve started chanting: "S.A.T., S.A.T. Not good."
Trey fits the mold of a protector. At 6-foot-1, 215 pounds, he lettered in football as a sophomore, playing tight end and defensive end. Two knee injuries have limited his play the last couple of years.
But even more than his size, his mom, Linda Clark, said it's his heart that really makes him a protector.
"Ever since he was little, he reached out to others in a very warm and loving way, " she said. "It doesn't surprise me that he developed this kind of relationship with Steve."
Nowadays, the two are constant companions. Trey is constantly telling Steve what to do --- not in a bossy way, but gently and quietly.
"Socially, he has no boundaries, " Steve's mom, Tootie Kelly, said of her son. "He doesn't get innuendo and has never heard a rhetorical question."
Like the day football coach Bob Swank asked his team, "What the heck are y'all doing?"
Steve, the team trainer, offered up an answer, to Trey's chagrin.
"I was like, 'Steve, man, not now.' "
> > >
It'd be a lie to say Trey has never done anything for Steve out of sympathy.
But it happened only once.
The two were casual buddies from fifth grade through ninth. At least that's what Trey thought.
Then Steve built up the nerve to invite Trey to join his family for an Easter tradition: attending a play, "The Passion of the Christ." For Steve, including an outsider was akin to a boy asking a girl out for a first date.
"As adults, we're thinking, please don't get your feelings hurt if another ninth-grade boy doesn't want to go with him and his grandmother to the 'Passion.' We were afraid he'd get laughed at or feelings hurt, " Tootie Kelley said.
Sure, Trey said. He'd go to "The Passion of the Christ" with Steve and his family.
"It's the only time I did something with Steve just to be nice, " Trey said. "It's never been about being nice to him since then."
The play inspired Trey, for sure. But it also caused him to see a deeper side of Steve. For whatever reason, it was a jumping-off point for the two.
Trey delivered a speech he had written for a school leadership project this year. It was titled "A Hero and a Friend."
"Our relationship took a giant step when I received a call in April of my freshman year from one of the best mothers I know, Tootie Kelley, " Trey wrote. "She began by telling me of a tradition Steve and his grandmother, also known as Nana, shared. Every year they will go to see the play 'The Passion of the Christ' and then head over to the Varsity.
"Going to that play on Palm Sunday is one of the best decisions I have ever made."
> > >
Trey plans on attending Auburn next fall. Steve hopes to go Chattahoochee Tech.
"No matter what, " Trey said, "I want him to always be able to call me, when I'm married, when he's married, wherever I live, I see us being close friends forever."
Steve doesn't even want to think about next fall.
"I'll be sad when he goes to college, " he said. "But I'm going to college, too. I'll be a fan of Auburn."
Who knows what Trey will be doing in 10 years, or where Steve will be.
Tootie Kelley knows that Steve likely will never drive a car and might not ever be totally independent. Trey will likely graduate from college and one day settle down with a family.
In other words, life happens. And best friends in high school don't always stay close friends.
But what has already happened, in Steve's life and in Trey's, can never be erased. Neither is the same person for having known the other.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Precious Declarations says...
"Precious declaration says, I believe all hope is dead no longer.
New meanings to the words I feed upon; wake within my veins elements of freedom.
Cant break now I've been living for this; wont break now I'm cleansed with hopefulness.
Once I jumped through hoops of fire; As high and far as you required
I was blind but now I see; Salvation has discovered me." -- Ed Roland, Collective Soul.
Amen, brother.
Does this not communicate an authenticity and freedom that we all long for?
To be cleansed with hopefulness, to no longer jump through hoops that others place in front of us, for clarity to see things as they really are, not simply as they seem. Cleansed. Freedom. Salvation.
I love Collective Soul's music. I look forward to the day when Ed and Dean come sit on my back patio, with their acoustic guitars, and we commune and fellowship, and together, we study the art of communication.
Check out bsanderscommunications.com
New meanings to the words I feed upon; wake within my veins elements of freedom.
Cant break now I've been living for this; wont break now I'm cleansed with hopefulness.
Once I jumped through hoops of fire; As high and far as you required
I was blind but now I see; Salvation has discovered me." -- Ed Roland, Collective Soul.
Amen, brother.
Does this not communicate an authenticity and freedom that we all long for?
To be cleansed with hopefulness, to no longer jump through hoops that others place in front of us, for clarity to see things as they really are, not simply as they seem. Cleansed. Freedom. Salvation.
I love Collective Soul's music. I look forward to the day when Ed and Dean come sit on my back patio, with their acoustic guitars, and we commune and fellowship, and together, we study the art of communication.
Check out bsanderscommunications.com
Thursday, October 22, 2009
I didn't mean it that way...
What message did you communicate today?
I know, you probably expressed hundreds of thoughts and acted and reacted in at least that many ways. You communicated to your kids, your spouse, your boss, yourself, the dude in the car that cut you off this morning.
But isn't it true that more days than not, you have an over-riding message that you communicate to the world? If you are pissed off at the world, don't most people figure that out pretty quickly? The vibe you give off says: Stay away. Don't mess with me today. If that's the message you want to communicate -- and sometimes it is -- then that's fine. But it's probably worth a little consideration at the end of the day. Was I a good communicator today? If not, what message did I send my kids, or my employees that misrepresented the real me?
I know, you probably expressed hundreds of thoughts and acted and reacted in at least that many ways. You communicated to your kids, your spouse, your boss, yourself, the dude in the car that cut you off this morning.
But isn't it true that more days than not, you have an over-riding message that you communicate to the world? If you are pissed off at the world, don't most people figure that out pretty quickly? The vibe you give off says: Stay away. Don't mess with me today. If that's the message you want to communicate -- and sometimes it is -- then that's fine. But it's probably worth a little consideration at the end of the day. Was I a good communicator today? If not, what message did I send my kids, or my employees that misrepresented the real me?
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
U2 at the Dome...and how it relates to business
When I say I didn't much care for the U2 concert in Atlanta a couple of weeks ago, I need to add a couple of caveats.
I was given a ticket by a good friend, and when you are given something of value, it's best not to complain about the perceived worth of the gift. Mike and I have seen Springsteen together several times, have gone to a couple of UGA games together and have known each other long enough that I think he'll understand the point I'm making.
Bono, the Edge, Adam Clayton, Larry Mullen Jr., God bless them all, but from the other side of the Georgia Dome, they simply were not engaging. The acoustics were not good, and the set list, in my opinion, was so-so. But that's not what really mattered to me. It's certainly not what makes me want to blog about it two weeks later.
Why was the one concert that I really wanted to see a bust to me? I wrestled with the question for a while, and here's what I came up with.
U2 didn't care about me. There was no relationship -- not even for two hours. Nothing seemed authentic, least of all the communication. It was a one-way street.
I don't know about you, but even at a concert with the biggest rock stars in the world, I want to feel as if I'm a part of things. I want to matter. For what it's worth, I want to be a tiny part of the show's success.
Where would you rather see U2 perform? The Georgia Dome or your cul-de-sac? My guess is you'd trade a bit of the glitz and flashiness and enormity that a stadium show offers for a little genuine intimacy and the assurance that you will matter.
Big isn't better than authentic. Performance isn't better than relationship.
Check me out at: bsanderscommunications.com
I was given a ticket by a good friend, and when you are given something of value, it's best not to complain about the perceived worth of the gift. Mike and I have seen Springsteen together several times, have gone to a couple of UGA games together and have known each other long enough that I think he'll understand the point I'm making.
Bono, the Edge, Adam Clayton, Larry Mullen Jr., God bless them all, but from the other side of the Georgia Dome, they simply were not engaging. The acoustics were not good, and the set list, in my opinion, was so-so. But that's not what really mattered to me. It's certainly not what makes me want to blog about it two weeks later.
Why was the one concert that I really wanted to see a bust to me? I wrestled with the question for a while, and here's what I came up with.
U2 didn't care about me. There was no relationship -- not even for two hours. Nothing seemed authentic, least of all the communication. It was a one-way street.
I don't know about you, but even at a concert with the biggest rock stars in the world, I want to feel as if I'm a part of things. I want to matter. For what it's worth, I want to be a tiny part of the show's success.
Where would you rather see U2 perform? The Georgia Dome or your cul-de-sac? My guess is you'd trade a bit of the glitz and flashiness and enormity that a stadium show offers for a little genuine intimacy and the assurance that you will matter.
Big isn't better than authentic. Performance isn't better than relationship.
Check me out at: bsanderscommunications.com
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