I might be exaggerating, but I bet I’m the only person in my entire
town who woke up yesterday morning happy that it was just three degrees out.

Three degrees is cold, even for New England. But when I jumped out of bed, ran over to the thermometer and saw 3.2 on the screen, I could hardly contain my excitement.

Was it because I left $50 worth of fresh shrimp in the backseat of my car and forgot to bring it inside? Was it because I have extra oil in my basement that needs burning? Or is it just that the number three is my favorite of the digits?

I applaud your creativity, but your guesses are all wrong.

I was happy because I possess a backyard ice skating rink – 2,100 square feet (35×60), thank you very much – and good ice requires really cold temperatures. The colder the better and three degrees is about as good as it gets around here.

This is our eighth or ninth year building a rink and I don’t mind telling you, it’s become somewhat of an obsession for me.

Building the frame, laying out the liner, filling the rink and keeping it shoveled and resurfaced with fresh water (every other night at least) throughout the winter.

For me, it’s more than a hobby, it’s a lifestyle. And while I don’t mean to suggest that standing on a rink in the dark, holding a hose gushing hot water while I watch the steam rise off the surface is the highlight of my existence, it’s definitely in the top five.

But here’s the interesting thing: I don’t really love skating. Or hockey. Or cold weather.

What I love is “perfect ice” and the daily challenge of keeping it that way.

It’s kind of an odd arrangement if you think about it. I do all this work, all winter long, to create and maintain something whose practical value has little interest to me.

That’s not a problem for a leisure activity. But it’s not a smart way to market a business.

Here’s what I mean…

Many of the solo professionals I come in contact with are obsessed (to a fault) with process. They love caring for the ice; they don’t spend much time skating.

They hold off on launching a new web site until it’s “just right.” They organize and reorganize their contact lists. They fine-tune their bio, redesign their logo, fool with their pricing and rewrite their newsletter again and again and again without ever sending it.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing inappropriate about putting your best foot forward and making sure your marketing materials and presence are well done.

That said, perpetual table setting – without inviting any guests – is dangerous. It feels like activity – it is activity. It’s just not the kind that by itself will ever bring you the avalanche of clients and money you want.

At some point, the benefits of incremental tweaking are outweighed by the cost of never taking action. And it’s action – visible, real, scary action that comes with the possibility of failure – that you need.

So go ahead. Build, organize, prepare, polish. Just don’t let your preparation become an excuse for not lacing up your skates and stepping out on the ice.

After all, only a fool would build a rink that he never intended to use.

I have two questions for you, both based on the following, hypothetical situation:

Suppose I told you that in my spare time, I had developed a solution to one of your biggest life problems – the kind of problem that literally keeps you up at night.

I don’t know … maybe I discovered a way to help you lose weight and stay in shape effortlessly.

… maybe I can show you how to save so much money that you can quit that job you hate and do what you really want.

… maybe I have a parenting approach that will get your teenage kids to stop ignoring you and start doing what you ask. (Don’t call me; I said “hypothetical.”)

You get the idea – a seriously big life problem that you desperately want to solve.

OK, now here are my two questions, both very simple:

1. If I had such a solution to your desperate problem, would you want me to tell you about it?

2. If you and I were friends, and you found out years later that I had neglected to tell you about it, would you be mad at me?

Now I can’t see you from way over here, but I’m willing to bet that you answered both questions with a resounding, “YES!” (Or “Booyah!,” for those of you still living in the early ‘90s.)

And why not? Who wouldn’t want a solution to the problems that get in the way of their living a happy, healthy, productive life?

Nobody, that’s who.

Why then, are my fellow solo professionals so hesitant to share their knowledge and promote their products and services?

Let me explain…

At least once a week, whether I’m delivering a webinar, working one-on-one with a client, or just responding to e-mail, I hear some variation of the following statement:

“I don’t want to send my newsletter / publish my blog / promote my product / talk about what I do, too loud or too often. I don’t want to be pushy.”

Maybe you’ve thought or said the same kind of thing.

Here’s the thing. The people who make these statements are invariably nice, considerate people. If they weren’t, the concept of being “too pushy” wouldn’t even occur to them.

But it’s a problem – for both the person saying it and the people who could benefit from their services and perspective.

Remember, when you’re offering real solutions to real problems – the kinds of things that you answered “yes” to 20 seconds ago – you’re not taking advantage of people, you’re making their lives better.

But you need to believe it.

You need to stop thinking that sharing your point of view is imposing on people. It’s not; you’re helping them by giving them your knowledge and perspective.

You need to stop thinking that the people who hire you or buy from you are doing you a favor. They’re not; your stuff is good and valuable and they need you and what you have to offer at least as much as you need them.

And most of all, you need to accept the fact that your business focus and the things you sell are your gift.

If you don’t share it, you’re depriving people of the solutions they need to the problems they have. And when they find out you’ve been keeping it a secret, they’re going to be (understandably) upset.

Here’s the bottom line. Somewhere along the line, many of us have mistakenly come to believe that “marketing” is tricking people and “selling” is taking advantage of them.

With 2013 just beginning, it’s time for a new perspective about the work you do.

If you found a cure for a deadly disease, you wouldn’t hide it in your basement. You’d be out there telling the world, day and night, until everyone who could benefit knew about it.

Not only would people be happy to pay for it, they’d be angry if you didn’t give them the chance.

Your work is just as valuable. Not to everyone, but to certain people in certain situations. Your job as a capable solo professional is to find them and help them.

In a word, Booyah!

I’ve been thinking all day about a conversation I had yesterday with one of the solo professionals in my (fabulous) one year marketing class.

We talked about money. More specifically, we talked about the fear of “not having enough of it.”

He’s relatively new to working solo and confided that this is the one thing that keeps him up at night. Me too (more about that in a minute).

When it comes to money, there’s a funny contrast between having a job and working on your own.

When you have a job, there’s a virtually unlimited number of things that can drive you crazy: Your boss, your coworkers, your clients, the commute, the guy two cubes over who keeps humming to himself; etc.

The one thing you never have to worry about, though, is money. As long as you have a job, it just keeps coming.

Working solo is the mirror image. Everything is in your control.

You want a cat sitting on your head while you work? Be my guest. You get to script your days like a Hollywood screenwriter, deciding for yourself who, what, where, when and how you do whatever it is you choose to do.

In this case, however, the money doesn’t just keep coming. You can’t live out the screenplay of your cat-centric dream life unless you can pay the bills. And you can’t pay the bills unless you can make enough money.

I’ve been working on my own for nearly 13 years. I spent the first 10 afraid of running out of money.

The fear was like a bogeyman standing outside my window, making scary faces and keeping me up at night.

One day I realized something: The bogeyman was always there, no matter how much work I had or how much money I was making.

Whether it was during my first year, in which I earned a total of $17,000, or more recent years where I sometimes had more cash than I knew what to do with, the fear of running out was always there.

Eventually, I realized that it would never go away, no matter how much money I made. Why would it? – it had nothing to do with reality. Like most bogeymen, it was of my own making, and I couldn’t kill it.

That’s the bad news … perpetual bogeyman (another great name for a rock band).

But it’s also the good news, and the thing I most want to share with you.

Because in all those years of seeing the bogeyman outside my window, regardless of how much money I made or had, I finally noticed something:

He never went away, but he never took a step closer either. He just stood outside making scary faces. None of my “What if… ?” money fears have ever come true. Not even close.

And that, my friend, is today’s big insight. The money bogeyman may never go away; but he’ll never come inside either. Because he’s just a reflection in your own, personal window.

So give him my regards if you see him. Then roll over and enjoy a good night’s sleep.

I don’t know for sure, but I’m willing to bet that my 14-year-old son Jonathan will never have a “real job.” Last week was a perfect example of why not.

We were up in beautiful Burlington, Vermont for a couple of days, visiting Champlain College. My wife Linda is an independent college counselor (she doesn’t have a real job either) and while she toured the campus and met with mucky mucks during the day, Jonathan, my 17-year-old daughter Emily and I explored the area.

The morning of our first day there, we strolled over to Church street, a four-block-long shopping area that’s closed to vehicular traffic. You know what I’m talking about – it’s the kind of spot where the jugglers, musicians and artists set up shop, in the hope of attracting tourists like us.

Jonathan took one look and immediately ran back to the car to get his guitar.

15 minutes later he was standing in front of a coffee shop, guitar case open, singing away.

45 minutes after that, he had $24 in his pocket and an invitation from the manager of a local restaurant to come and play on Wednesday nights.

I’m no Milton Friedman, but I’m pretty sure that works out to a minimum wage-crushing $32.00 an hour. Not bad for any kind of work; even better when you consider that he does the same thing for free every day at home (Jonathan I mean; I have no idea what Milton Friedman does).

Now let’s talk about you. And, in particular, how different Jon’s approach to working as a solo professional is from the way you and I tend to see the world. Three things stand out:

1. He didn’t wait for outside approval.

   Prior to last November, Jon had never even picked up a guitar. And while he believes he can sing, it’s not because anyone in authority has ever told him so. Yet there he was, standing on the street, leaving it to “the market” to decide what he was worth.

   How long do you think it would take you and me to do the same thing? How many lessons would we need? How many music degrees and/or certifications would we first acquire? How many experts would need to assure us that we were good enough to perform in public?

2. He was willing to make mistakes and learn along the way.

   Actually, that’s not quite true. It never even occurred to Jon that there was any preplanning required. His guitar case kept flopping closed in the wind; his guitar was initially out of tune; we even learned the following day that playing without a permit is illegal.

   Most solo professionals, by contrast, spend way too much time “setting the table.” We plan the web site, we plan the social media strategy, we plan the plan.

   Nothing wrong with planning. But Jon has already figured out that nobody drops dollar bills in your case until they hear some music.

3. He knew he had nothing to lose.

   About 10 minutes into Jon’s performance, I realized that I had been worrying about all the things that might go wrong.

   Were we too close to the keyboard player up the block? Would any of the dollar bills fly up and out of the case? Was he smiling and saying “thank you” to the people who gave him money?

   But wait, my paranoia got even worse than that. When a woman came up to me, asked if I was his dad, and identified herself as a local restaurant manager, my first thought was that she was about to complain!

   This just seems to be the way adults think – we’re more worried about possible failure than we are energized by possible success.

   In solo-professional-marketing-land, however – and this is really good news – the opposite of success isn’t failure … it’s anonymity.

   A crappy newsletter doesn’t cause outrage, it just means people don’t notice. A convoluted explanation of what you do doesn’t result in laughter, it results in your being forgotten before you even finish talking.

   But so what? If something doesn’t work, try something different – until it does. Mistakes are rarely noticed, let alone fatal.

Here’s the bottom line. I spent the first 40 years of my life learning how to follow the pack, follow the rules and mostly get in my own way. I’ve spend the last 13 learning how not to.

Granted, I’m still not as savvy as your typical 14-year-old.

So there I was, as I often am on a Tuesday night, sitting in our town’s dive bar with my buddy Matt.

We go there pretty much every week, after playing a couple of hours of basketball in our local middle school gym.

It’s a terrific ritual and one which I confess to looking forward to all week long.

Not only is it fun, somehow I get a great deal of satisfaction knowing that the health gains realized due to the evening’s exercise are cashed in just minutes later, as a result of drinking two or three pints of beer on an empty stomach.

You’d think we’d spend a lot of time at the bar afterwards talking about the game. But we really don’t. A comment here or there about something amazing or stupid or funny that happened, sure, but that’s about it.

And even though we typically play five or six games in the span of two hours, I end up with practically zero memory of how many times my team had won or lost during the night.

I suppose that makes sense since the games we play don’t count for anything.

There are no standings or record keeping and the teams are assembled at random each week. They’re even reshuffled, several times in a given night, also at random.

What’s funny though, is that within a given game, everyone is acutely aware of the score.

But why? We’re only there for the fun and the exercise (and the beer); why not just play without a score?

Not that you asked, but I think it’s because keeping score is what makes it interesting: Beating the other team handily is fun. Getting beaten handily makes you try harder next time. Tying up the game and knowing that the next team to make a basket wins, is exciting.

If you take the score away, on the other hand, all you’re left with is several hundred pounds of middle-aged man flesh (a great name for a band) trotting back and forth with no purpose.

I mention this today, because it relates very directly to the role that money plays in our lives as solo professionals.

Permit me to explain…

When you work alone, you have one business-related problem in the world: making enough money. Other than that, you can say, do, dress, think and operate however you like.

In this respect, it’s the mirror opposite of having a job, a situation in which the money is guaranteed but everything else is hopelessly constrained.

I used to look at money, therefore, as the bad part; the challenge I had to face on a daily basis.

I used phrases like “it’s a constant struggle” and “it’s always hanging over my head,” to describe that aspect of life as a solo. I would even daydream about being independently wealthy, believing that if I were, I could take money out of the equation and just enjoy doing the work.

But then one day I realized something very important: Money is like the score in my Tuesday night basketball game.

It’s not a bad thing; it’s what keeps me interested. It’s what helps me focus. It’s what gives me that unmistakable feeling of “scoring the winning basket” when things go particularly well in my work.

You take the need for money away – and along with it, the role it plays in covering my mortgage, paying my health insurance and purchasing penguin-themed items for my office – and I’m suddenly a lot less productive, creative and engaged.

Here’s the bottom line. I know you need money. Me too.

So try this. Instead of seeing that need as a burden that has to be dealt with in order to live the wonderful life of a solo, look at it as just an integral part of the game. A part that, if removed, you’d miss.

Because you know what? When you get to the end of your working life, you won’t remember how many times you won or lost either. All that’s going to matter is that you played the game for a couple of hours.

See you next Tuesday.

I got the message around 2 pm.

My wife, Linda, emailed to say that because of the snowstorm, she had just heard that all after school events were cancelled for the day.

Ouch. My weekly basketball game is in the middle school gym – if they shut down the schools, they shut down the game.

I was very unhappy; my game night preparations were already well underway:

• I had eaten a big lunch, knowing I wouldn’t eat again until at least 9pm.

• I hadn’t exercised that morning, in anticipation of playing that night.

• My gym bag was packed and ready in the trunk of my car.

Now it was all cancelled.

Later that evening, and more or less over my disappointment, I slowly and carefully made the three mile drive home through the snow covered streets of our town.

That’s when I began thinking about snow and how its impact on daily life is actually a good thing.

Sure, stuff gets cancelled, cars need cleaning and you’re bound to spend many hours over the course of a New England winter shoveling, snow blowing and throwing ice melt on your children front steps.

But there’s plenty of good stuff that results as well.

You walk outside in the morning and the entire neighborhood, as far as you can see, looks nothing like it did the night before.

Your kids get to stay home – and you get to sleep in – when the occasional snow day arrives (something that, at any age, never gets old).

Even the driving, as white-knuckled as some of those drives can be, is kind of a fun adventure.

Yes, we complain about it. But the truth is, we sort of like it.

After all, snowstorms, despite all the random havoc they can create, make things interesting. Much more so than just another day, as planned.

You know what they remind me of? Being a solo professional. Here’s what I mean…

When you work solo, things can be crazy. You can go from amazing highs to soul-crushing lows … in the same day. It’s thrilling, terrifying, fun, confusing and many other words that I’m sure I could find at Thesaurus.com.

But you know what it never is? Dull.

Back when I had a job, on the other hand, there were no high highs and there were no low lows – everything was pretty much steady as she goes, day after day after day. It was like living in a place where the weather never changed.

Sure, my paycheck arrived predictably and on time every two weeks. But back then, the difference between a great day and an average day hinged on whether or not I found leftover cake in the lunchroom.

With the year almost over, many solo professionals are wondering if maybe chasing the dream of working on their own is a bad idea. So much uncertainty, so many things to worry about.

I used to wonder too, especially during those first few years. Now I just think of it like snow: unpredictable and occasionally even dangerous. But that’s why it’s so much fun too.

I think my friend and fellow solo professional, Don Maher, may have summed it up best the other day, when I asked him how things were going.

He just kind of laughed and said, “Michael, it’s never as good as you want it to be, but it’s so much better than it used to be.”

Words to live by for 2014. (Don’t forget your gloves and boots.)

“Hi honey, how was school? Did you kill anybody today?”

I’ll be the first to admit, this is not a normal, end of the day greeting for one’s 18-year-old daughter.

Then again, May is not a normal month here in Hopkinton, Massachusetts. At least, that is, if you have a child who is a high school senior, as I do.

Because every spring, in our town and in many others across the country, high school seniors engage in a month-long game called “Senior Assassin.”

Don’t worry, it’s not as sinister as it sounds; it’s more or less an elaborate game of squirt gun tag.

Here’s how it works…

1. You team up with a friend.

2. Each week, you and your friend are randomly – and secretly – assigned a team to “kill” (i.e., squirt with a water pistol).

3. Meanwhile, another pair of waterlogged hit men is out there trying to kill you.

4. To advance to the next round each week, you need to both kill your target and avoid being killed yourself.

I have to confess, the whole thing is kind of exciting, if only for the fun of stumbling upon an unidentified teenager dressed in full camo, hiding in the rhododendron as you wheel the trash down to the curb in the morning.

It gets better. As of this writing, and from an initial field of 108 teams, I’m proud to report that my lethal daughter Emily and her homicidal friend Kayla are among the 15 or so pairs remaining.

But it hasn’t been easy for them. In fact, it’s been interesting to watch as Emily and Kayla plan their strategy, something which has necessarily gotten more complex and refined with each passing week.

It’s even made me realize how much survival in Senior Assassin has in common with survival as a solo professional (you knew I’d get to this).

Two things in particular stand out:

1. The only way to stay in the game is to kill someone.

   You can’t expect to win if you simply hide in your room doing nothing all week long (that’s what the other 11 months of the year are for). Sure, you’ll be safe. But to advance, you also need to squirt someone.

   The same applies to us as solos. Yes, I know it’s fun and oddly mesmerizing to fool with your web site, tweak your tagline or ask one more weary friend what they think of your logo.

   But most of that falls under the heading of “setting the table.” Necessary, yes, but sooner or later, and to score points in the game of solo professionalism, you need to make your mark out in the world – by networking, by publishing, by marketing, by selling … and by doing other things that require interacting with potential clients.

2. The only way to kill someone is to risk your own safety.

   Stalking people at their own house isn’t that productive. Particularly with the kids who have connected garages, you can wait in the bushes for hours for someone to come home, only to watch them drive in and close the automatic door, safely behind them.

   And with school property, moving vehicles and places of employment officially off limits, the craftier kids quickly figure out that the best place to catch a killer is to stalk them while they’re away from home, stalking someone else. As a result, going out to score points is about the riskiest thing you can do.

   Being a solo works the same way – there’s risk in going public. What if your newsletter stinks? What if you announce a webinar and nobody signs up? What if you post a comment on a blog and somebody tears it apart, arguing that you are both clueless and guilty of poorly grammar?

   All possible. But I have an even scarier “What if?” What if you go out of business because you’re too afraid to try anything?

Here’s the bottom line. Working as a solo can be scary, no doubt about it. Everything about your business, good or bad, is on you. And when things go wrong or don’t work out, there’s nobody else to blame.

But you know what? When things go right and do work out, there’s nobody else either. You get to stand back and enjoy whatever it is you’ve created, something that people with jobs often go years without experiencing.

Win or lose, I know one thing for sure. I’d rather get water-pistoled out of the game than simply be disqualified because the clock ran out and I still hadn’t left the house.

P.P.S. You may have noticed that the typeface on this site is now about 50% larger. It took a bit of getting used to, but I find it easier to read now. What do you think (comment below!)?

I have nothing personal against bees; I’ve heard that their lives can get quite busy and that’s fine by me.

But this year, the bees in my yard have been uncharacteristically abundant and aggressive. I’ve been stung twice and my son once, both in the course of mowing the lawn.

These particular bees (technically, they’re wasps, but I don’t think you really care) build their nests in the ground and when you step on them, well, you can guess the rest. And so I decided to do something about it.

But how?

I considered a commercial insecticide, but my wife Linda was uncomfortable with the idea of my spraying toxic, life-shortening chemicals all over our back yard (women, huh?). Luckily, I came across a YouTube video in which a guy eliminates wasp nests in the ground using only dish soap and a standard garden hose.

I’m no MacGyver, but I thought I’d give it a try.

Two things went wrong, almost immediately:

1. I didn’t wait until dark. YouTube man said the bees would be “less active at night.” They didn’t seem all that active at 2pm – just one or two around the hole – so I figured it didn’t really make a difference.
    
   I figured wrong. They were demonstrably unhappy with my intrusion in their busy day.

2. The screen I used wasn’t totally flat, and so when I put it over the hole as instructed, and before I could pin it down completely with rocks, the bees got wind of things and started coming out.
    
   Not just a couple of bees either – dozens of them, angrily buzzing all around. I managed to remain calm, as evidenced by the way I ran screaming like a terrified lunatic into the house.

But it’s not all bad news. Having survived the wrong way to do things, I corrected my mistakes and returned that night, this time successfully.

Believe it or not, this concept of doing things wrong quickly, so that you can make adjustments with each successive attempt, is a key mindset in succeeding as a solo professional.

That wasn’t true when I had a job.

Working in the belly of a big company, there’s wasn’t a lot of upside in taking risks. My paycheck never varied in amount or frequency and, at some point, I realized that I had become more focused on playing defense against mistakes than in swinging for the fences.

Working solo, I’ve since learned, requires a very different point of view.

First, because the upside is unlimited. You benefit directly and immediately when things go well.

Second, because time is of the essence. Nobody pays you for keeping busy (let alone just looking busy). The money only comes in when you make it happen, so it’s important to keep moving and keep trying new things.

And finally, because the cost of making a mistake is very, very low. Out here, in the solo professional land of the free and home of the brave (I may have borrowed that phrase from somewhere else), nobody’s critiquing you, judging you, or competing with you for the next promotion.

If your next idea or project works, it works. And if it doesn’t, it doesn’t. But “failure” (if you want to call it that) doesn’t cost you anything, because nobody is watching.

Here’s the bottom line. The biggest threat to your success as a solo is not that you’ll make mistakes. It’s that you’ll wait too long and move too slowly, out of a fear of making them in the first place.

Might you get stung? I can pretty much guarantee it. But the fastest, most efficient, least risky way to succeed is to just get going.
 

1. How long do you think it will be until we’re all tired of the “All About That Bass” song? I don’t know either, but until that happens, watch it here.
2. Have you ever run screaming into (or out of) the house? Explain.
3. Have you had a business “failure” that ultimately led to a big success?  Tell us about it.

I’m guessing you’ve heard about – if not experienced firsthand – the abysmal stretch of weather we’ve had here in New England over the past couple of weeks.

After a December and good part of January in which it barely snowed at all, my town – a suburb 25 miles west of Boston – has received over 50 inches of snow just since the Academy Award nominations were announced last month (not that I am suggesting a connection).

Indeed, in just a couple of weeks, the “Isn’t it fun and oh so beautiful?” comments that you hear around town have devolved into, “Why do we live here again?”

But you’ll never hear me complaining.

Because while it’s certainly true that it can get really snowy and bitterly cold for a couple of months each year, I take comfort in the knowledge that here in New England, there’s little that can actually kill you.

No tornadoes, no earthquakes, no wildfires, no floods. No alligators, no grizzly bears, no poisonous snakes or spiders. From a Mother Nature perspective, it’s like living with your parents for the rest of your life: Nothing terrible will ever happen; you’re just constantly miserable.

Anyway, when the first big storm (“Winter Storm Juno”) hit a week ago Monday, we got more or less what was predicted. Everything was shut down, road travel was banned and schools were closed for two days while the state dug out. No surprises.

Just a couple of hundred miles south in New Jersey, however, it was a totally different story.

There, and despite dire forecasts from the National Weather Service which described the coming storm using words such as “colossal,” “crippling,” “historic,” “cow-smothering,” “Shaq-afied,” and “AAAArrrggh!!!” (I may have made a few of those up), accumulation stayed mostly in the one to five inch range.

Oops.

From that point, at least one thing about the storm unfolded as predicted … everyone blamed the weather people:

“Why can’t they ever get it right?”

“How hard can it be?”

“Those guys are idiots.”

But the truth is, and as Nate Silver explains in way too much detail in his book, The Signal and the Noise: Why So Many Predictions Fail – But Some Don’t, accurate weather forecasting is incredibly difficult, requiring one to anticipate the path of a multi-factor, rapidly-moving, three-dimensional bit of chaos. And in real time, no less.

And yet difficult or not, being a meteorologist is a no-win occupation. You get it right, and nobody gives you any credit. You get it wrong, and everybody hates you.

Fortunately, our situation as solo professionals is exactly the opposite.

What I mean is that not only does the general public not attack us when we are wrong, they mostly don’t even notice.

I’m not talking here about the work you do for clients; I’m talking about the things you put out into the world in the name of marketing: Your web site, your newsletter, your blog, your social media activity and more.

Some people may notice some of it (if you’re lucky). But I guarantee you that you’d have to do, say or write some horrible, terrible, idiotic stuff for it to explode in your face.

Most of what most of us do remains well below the radar of everyone else.

Why am I mentioning all this? Because in my experience, what keeps most solo professionals from creating and distributing content, in any form, is a fear of what other people will think.

What if there’s a typo? What if somebody disagrees with me? What if someone else has already made the point I’m making?

All possible, absolutely.

But I’ve got a much bigger, much more likely, much more dangerous-to-your-success-as-a-solo-professional “What If” to consider:

What if nobody knows you’re alive because you hardly ever open your mouth?

I’m no linguist, but that would seem to be the opposite of the definition of marketing.

Here’s the bottom line. I’m not suggesting that you be careless or crazy or sloppy in your marketing. Clearly, good quality work reflects well on you.

I am saying, however, that if you insist on perfecting, polishing and fine-tuning every little bit of everything you do before you put it out there for others to see, it will take you a lot longer to be noticed, let alone remembered, by anyone.

What marketing or content tactic is the hardest for you to release to the world? Share your thoughts below.

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You’ll be pleased to know that in just a few short weeks, my son Evan will graduate from Rhodes College in Memphis, Tennessee (school motto: We’ve never heard of you either).

In addition to his academic work, key accomplishments include fronting a (now defunct) band, co-founding a nonprofit newspaper for the homeless and launching a (recently venture-funded) business.

He’s had a great run and, needless to say, we are quite proud.

But I have to tell you, the one thing about his college career that I expect to remember the longest, is that every week, during the winter, he drove south into Mississippi, to play intramural ice hockey.

That’s right, ice hockey in Mississippi. If there’s an oxymoron hall of fame somewhere, “Mississippi Ice Hockey” has got a prominent display in the lobby.

The cost per season? Thirty dollars. And last year, when Evan began playing, he asked if I could pick up the tab.

It’s not a lot of money. But just handing over $30 seemed kind of dull. So I said, as I sometimes do, “Care to make it interesting?”

Then I proposed a simple metric: Instead of $30 up front, I’d pay him $2 for every goal he scored during the season.

He liked the concept, but not the number.

So after much negotiation and assurances from Evan that he wasn’t that good, we agreed on $7 per goal. And while I don’t mean to suggest that my own son bamboozled me, the season’s not even over and I’m already $42 in the hole.

But you know what, that’s what makes it fun. It’s not about the $30 or $42 or whatever. It’s about rolling the dice and seeing what happens.

To me, that’s much of what starting a business is all about: Getting in the game.

You launch a product … big success. You hold a webinar … nobody shows up. You send a proposal … the prospect disappears. You answer the phone … somebody wants to hire you out of the blue.

And on and on it goes, with every day bringing its own mix of ups and downs and in-betweens. You never know which will come when, but it sure is interesting.

A couple of years ago, I was a guest speaker on a panel, in front of a roomful of solo professionals. Someone raised her hand and asked how long it took for me to “become successful.”

The implication in her question was that there was some place you could reach where the ups and downs and risks would all go away.

I told her that I have just as much uncertainty in my professional life today as I had 10 years ago. The only difference is that today, I don’t worry about it anymore.

Because I finally realized that the uncertainty never goes away, and the daily ups and downs are a lot of what keeps it interesting.

Discussion questions:

1. Where would you locate the Oxymoron Hall of Fame?

2. Would you believe me if I told you that the name of Evan’s band was “Mississippi Ice Hockey?”

3. It wasn’t.

Post your answers (and comments) below!

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The truth is, I’m not actually afraid of heights … I’m afraid of falling from heights.

This may seem like a minor distinction, but it’s the reason why I have no problem inside an airplane, glass elevator or shaky gondola (a great name for a band), but break into a cold sweat (literally) when stepping out onto a fifth floor balcony.

And so it was with some confidence that I quickly and eagerly said yes when my brother-in-law Neale invited me along on a glider (AKA, “sailplane”) ride this past weekend.

Neale flies a “tow plane” at the airport in Stow, Vermont on Sundays and we happened to be up there for a visit.

The gliding procedure is very straightforward:

1. You squeeze into the backseat of the glider with your 16-year-old son, Jonathan.

2. A pilot named Bill sits directly in front of you.

3. Neale sits in a tow plane that is attached to the glider with a 200-foot long rope.

4. Neale throttles the whatever and we’re up in the air in seconds.

5. When we get to 3,500 feet, Bill releases the rope and Neale’s gone in a flash, leaving us to float along on our own.

In a word: Thrilling.

I count it among my top ten life experiences, somewhere in-between the afternoon I spent alone with Ben Stiller and the time I sat in for the drummer of a band at a crowded bar in my twenties.

But you know what was the most interesting part of our ride? It was watching Neale’s plane flying in front of us, during the ten minutes or so before he let us go.

It’s a perspective I’d never seen before; not in person or even in a movie. You’re very close to the tow plane; but you’re not inside it and it’s not flying by. Instead, it’s just kind of bobbing around in front of you.

And bobbing is the key word. It kept going up and down and rolling side to side. Generally moving in the right direction, but by no means a straight, steady line as I had always assumed.

People who’ve never worked for themselves often make this same erroneous assumption about running a business: They think it will be a steady climb, when in fact, it’s anything but.

In my experience, it goes something like this:

Up … up … down … sidewayssssss … up … more up … down … down … what the … maybe I should get a job again … oh look, leveling off … AMAZING! … sideways the other way … AAArrrrggggg!!! …. down … UP … UP … what the hell just happened?

And that’s all before lunchtime.

My point is simply this: It’s September, the time when we all get serious again and “go for it.” Nothing wrong with that; I intend to do the same.

Just remember, no matter how long you’ve been at it, it’s never a straight shot and there’s always a lot of bobbing. And even if you have a couple (or several) bad months in a row, it’s to be expected. It doesn’t mean you’re failing.

As they say in flight school (I’m assuming), no matter what appears to be going wrong, don’t forget to keep flying the plane.

P.S. For a bird’s eye view of Bill, Jonathan and me buzzing a fire tower, check out this short video here.

Discussion questions

1. How do you manage the emotional ups and downs of running your business?

2. Do you think Ben Stiller tells people about the time he spent an afternoon alone with me?

3. Me neither.

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My flight’s landing into McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas last week was aborted at the last minute.

Seriously.

Not an oxygen-mask-deploying, Denzel-Washington-piloting, grown-men-sobbing (hey, I never said I was brave) abort, but scary all the same.

We were coming in for what seemed like a normal landing on a beautiful, clear day.

Suddenly, with the runway already visible, the plane abruptly changed its mind and steeply banked upward for several minutes, going back up through the clouds.

We eventually leveled off, circled around and landed normally.

As the pilot later explained, there was another plane on the ground that had not quite cleared the runway in time and so he was required to pull up and try it again.

Rules are important. Not arbitrary rules, but rules that matter.

The trick, of course, and particularly if you own your own company, is distinguishing between the two.

Unlike when you’re an employee, where they literally hand you a manual of guidelines on your first day of work, there are few things regarding work as a solo that are written in stone.

Pay your taxes; don’t cheat people; no running with scissors. After that, it’s pretty much wide open.

Do you need a business plan? Lots of people say yes; I’ve never had one.

Should you charge a fee when you refer business to somebody else? It’s your call.

Do you give away free advice to those who want to “buy you coffee and pick your brain?” And, if so, how much and under what circumstances?

The list goes on and on.

All that said, there is one rule that I strongly suggest you follow: Develop a list of rules that you follow.

Not other people’s rules – your rules.

Policies and principles that govern the way you work, particularly as it relates to interactions with other people and companies.

It need not be fancy. Just take out a piece of paper and start writing (click here for some examples, courtesy of past participants in my One Year Program).

Why bother? I can think of at least two reasons:

1. It will help you think clearly when you’re not thinking clearly.

   Let’s say, for example, that you prefer to get a deposit, up front, before beginning work with a new client. You’ve been burned before by nonpayment and you don’t want it to happen again.

   But it’s been a slow couple of months and you’re feeling kind of desperate. A company shows up and wants to hire you, but … they’d like to start right away and pay you “in about a month.”

   Depending on your frame of mind, you may agree, even though your more rational self knows that it probably won’t end well.

   If, however, you’ve got a rule – a written policy – that says, “I require a 50% deposit up front for any work with a new client,” you’ll find it much (as in, waaaaay) easier to stand by it, regardless of how the wind is blowing in your brain on that particular day.

2. It will make you powerful.

   “Clients pay us, so we should do whatever they say, whenever and however they want it done, right?”

   Wrong. In fact I’m pretty sure what you just described is a thing known as “a job.” (ewww)

   You don’t have a job; you have a business, a profession, an expertise that they need.
   

   Believe me, if your clients could solve their problems without going outside the company, they would. It’s easier and less expensive. When they come to you, it’s because they can’t do it themselves.

   That’s an important insight (which is why I shared it with you). They’re not doing you a favor by hiring you – it’s an even exchange. Their money in exchange for the value you provide. Everybody wins.

   But that’s easy to forget. Especially, again, when things don’t appear to be going so well with your business. That’s where your list of rules comes in.

   You get to make them up; you get to put them in place; you get to decide who you’re going to work with and how. And … who you’re going to walk away from. Like I said, powerful.

Here’s the bottom line. You don’t need a single client or a day’s worth of experience as a business owner to decide how and under what conditions your company is going to work.

But until you take the time to make some rules, somebody else is going to make them for you.

How about you? What are your rules of engagement? Share your favorites with us below.

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I run, but not very fast.

Drop me into a 5K race and you can pretty much set your watch by my 10-minute miles (not that I recommend this).

My children, on the other hand, are rather speedy.

Youngest child Jonathan, for example, runs cross country as a high school junior and is solidly in the top seven or eight among his 40+ teammates.

As a practical matter, that means that during a race with one (or more) other teams, he finishes in the front third or so of the overall pack. And so that’s where we’ve gotten used to finding him.

Yesterday, though, things changed dramatically.

The regular season is over and so the kids are now competing in much bigger, league-wide meets with many schools involved. Here, when the varsity squad runs, each team is only permitted to race its top seven runners.

As runner number eight, Jon got pushed down to junior varsity. When the gun went off, he shot out in front of 140 other kids.

It took me by surprise. As in, “Is that Jon out in front?!”

He was still leading at the one-mile mark, when they circled back around. And then again at the halfway point.

With 300 yards to go, and as the pack came over the far hill and back into view again, Jon was in the lead. And so he remained, right across the finish line.

Wow. Very exciting. I had never actually seen him win a race, especially not one that big.

Which is why it never occurred to me before that the front runner in a cross country race has one added bit of responsibility …

Not only do have to run faster than everybody else, you have to decide where to run next while you’re in the middle of doing it.

There are no lanes or lines in a cross country race. There’s not even a track – it’s just a big outdoor space.

All you have for navigation is an occasional set of orange cones, some vague knowledge of how the course is laid out and – if you’re anybody but the leader – people in front of you whom you can follow.

Your business works in the same way. You’ve also got two options:

1. Hang back and follow the crowd.

2. Get out in front and blaze your own trail.

Option number one is mentally easier. You don’t have to do a lot of thinking since those who’ve gone before have already revealed the path.

Option number two, on the other hand, is risky. You could take a wrong turn. You could run off a cliff. You could be eaten by badgers (unlikely).

And, since you’re out in front, alone and away from the anonymity of the pack, all eyes are on you. One stumble here and there’s no place to hide.

So which path is better?

I don’t know for sure, but here’s how I look at it: You can’t win from the middle of the pack. The only way to come in first is to get out in the scary front and take some chances.

Try some things that nobody has tried. Use some words that nobody has used. Go someplace that nobody has gone.

Here’s the bottom line. I’m all for educating ourselves regarding “best practices;” it makes sense to know what’s worked before.

But if that’s the extent of the creativity and innovation you bring to your business, you had better get used to running with a lot of people around you.

How about you? Do you think risk-taking and business success necessarily go together? Share your thoughts below.

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I live by two simple rules:

Rule #1: Never sit in the front row of a comedy or dolphin show. In both cases, you’re liable to be more involved than you’d like.

Rule #2: Never shop for food when you’re hungry. Here, you’re apt to buy things that you neither want nor need.

And yet there I was, just this past Sunday, strolling into the Hannaford Supermarket around 2pm.

I’d been running around all morning.

I hadn’t eaten lunch.

We were going out to dinner that night and this was my only window of opportunity to pick some things up.

It started out just fine.

Eggs? Check. Milk? No problem. Bread? Right there on the shelf.

But then I turned the corner and saw the Shrimp Tortellini in Alfredo Sauce. “Hmm… that seems right,” I said to nobody in particular. Into the cart it went.

A package of Swiss cheese and a pound of sliced turkey at the deli counter? Totally reasonable; I was back on track.

That is, until somebody (I’m pretty sure it was me) said:

“Oh, and can I get a medium container of General Gau’s Chicken and a quart of Seafood Chowder?”

It only got worse from there (I hadn’t even visited the chip aisle yet).

In the end, I left with about twice as much “food” as usual (General Gau was an unfortunate casualty of the drive home), much of which consisted of things I didn’t really want.

Indeed, Rule #2, when you follow it, is a good rule.

Which is why I hesitated – and ultimately turned down – a request to “jump on a content project superfast” for a company that called on Monday.

The problem is that they were too hungry. And hungry people, as my trip to the supermarket reminded me, make bad decisions (and lousy clients).

“Now hold on there just a minute, Mr. Clever-Food-Analogy-Guy,” you’re probably saying, in-between bites of chowder.

“Aren’t desperate, time-constrained clients good? They don’t have time to shop around and they’re generally willing to pay a premium.”

My answer? No. And here’s why:

1. Hungry people don’t consider other options.
    
   So sure, they’ll hire you. But without giving any real thought into whether or not who you are and what you do is what they really need.

   As a result, you’re very likely to butt heads throughout the entire project.

2. Hungry people don’t care how things taste.
    
   During the early stages of a project with a hungry client, they’ll happily eat anything you give them (because they’re hungry).

   But as time goes on and the urgency dissipates – as it nearly always does – they’ll start thinking more clearly.

   They’ll forget about how you saved the day and begin wondering about things like your higher than normal fee and the specifics of the arrangement they agreed to in the heat of the moment.

3. Hungry people regret what they’ve eaten.
    
   The guy in the store eyeing the chicken is not the same guy sitting at home a couple of hours later. At that point, his motivation and priorities have changed.

   Similarly, the desperate soul who calls you Monday morning begging for help will soon be replaced by an entirely different person. A person who, chances are, would not have bought what he bought, in the same way, had he not been under the gun.

4. Hungry people are already in trouble.
    
   I wasn’t hungry at 2pm on a Sunday for no reason. It’s because I did (or didn’t do) a number of things prior which led me to shop at the wrong time.

   The desperate prospect has also been travelling down a path long before getting in touch. Did somebody quit? Did he overpromise on the timing? Is there a crazy boss or client of his own on the other end of the transaction that you can’t even see?

   Whatever the reason, the minute you say yes to the project, you inherit all the insanity that led up to today’s fire alarm. (Hint: There’s more coming.)

Here’s the bottom line. Urgency on the part of a prospective client is a big (HUGE) red flag. Rather than being an opportunity for you, more often than not, it’s a sign that things are already off track and about to get much worse.

The only question is whether or not you choose to climb aboard.

Discussion Questions:

1. You’re still thinking about the shrimp tortellini, aren’t you?

2. What’s the worst, hunger-based food choice you’ve ever made?

3. What other red flags help warn you away from problem projects/clients?

Share your comments below!

 
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The first concert I ever attended was on June 3, 1978 at Nassau Coliseum on Long Island.

Unfortunately, the performer was Bruce Springsteen.

I say unfortunately, because as any number of rock ‘n’ roll enthusiasts will tell you, Bruce Springsteen just may be the best live performer on Earth.

And so after experiencing his speaker-climbing, story-telling, crowd-surfing, three-plus-hour extravaganza, I simply assumed this was the norm for live concerts.

That was a big mistake.

Seeing Springsteen first and then moving on to other concerts was the musical equivalent of dating Farrah Fawcett in high school and then moving on to other women (don’t judge me, it was the seventies).

And so, having been disappointed over the years, when it comes to concerts I lean towards indifference.

There is one band, though, that has always caught my eye: Train. (Again with the judging?)

Not so much for their musical talents (I don’t know enough to measure those anyway), but rather, for their versatility and word play.

From Hey, Soul Sister, to Drops of Jupiter, to Drive By, to Marry Me, I am constantly amazed by the range of songs I hear (and like) and the inventiveness of their lyrics.

And so when my wife Linda surprised me for Father’s Day with tickets to see the band last week, I was eager to attend.

As an infrequent concert goer, and knowing that security had tightened up quite a bit in recent years, I checked the Xfinity Center web site to see what they allowed people to bring in:

One-gallon clear plastic freezer bag (Ziploc bag or similar).
Small clutch bags, approximately the size of a hand.
Small bottle of water.

That’s a pretty short list (and a long way from the days when security was so lax that people would literally sneak in full-size video cameras in a backpack).

But it’s their venue, and they make the rules. If I wanted to see Train, I had no choice but to follow them.

You get to set the rules too

How about you? You may not own and operate a stadium, but when it comes to working with clients, you, too, get to decide who gets in, who doesn’t, and under what circumstances.

Most solos and small professional service firms, however, don’t think this way.

Other than vague pronouncements like, “we don’t work with people who treat us badly,” many otherwise experienced and capable professionals set the engagement bar just slightly higher than, “they are willing to pay us.”

After all, we need clients. As long as someone is willing to hire us, our job is to do what they want, how they want it, and when. Right?

Actually, no. That’s called “an employee.”

We are not that.

We are professionals, engaging in a mutually satisfying and productive arrangement between two parties, EITHER ONE OF WHOM has the right to set the terms by which they are willing to move forward.

(Do you think I typed those four words in all caps by accident?)

Employees follow rules. Independent professionals make them.

So try this: Create your own rules of engagement for those who would work with you. Things like…

• We require a 50% deposit up front before beginning work.

• I am available between 8 AM and 6 PM weekdays.

• We don’t work without a signed contract.

• We never reduce the fee without taking something of equal value off the table.

• I require a minimum of $X if I need to travel overnight.

These are just examples. I’m not suggesting you use these in particular or that you post these rules on your web site.

I am suggesting, though, that you take some time to develop a set of your own and that you write them down for yourself.

Doing so gives them power – the kind of power you’ll need when times are tight and you’re tempted to let anybody, no matter how they behave or what’s hidden in their backpack, walk past security and into your venue.

Discussion Questions:

1. What was the first concert you ever attended?

2. Was it Train? Discuss.

3. What are some of your “rules of engagement?”

Share your comments below!

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I won’t lie to you – horses kind of scare me. They are just so immense.

Of course, there are other large animals out there too. But you don’t often find yourself standing next to them.

Or, as happened to me recently, climbing onto their backs and riding them (whose idea was this?).

We were out in Western Colorado visiting my wife’s college friend Edie.

Edie and her husband, Gary, live up in the hills at about 7,500 feet. They are very resourceful – the kind of people where if you dropped them into a remote forest with nothing they would have power going in about a week.

And so it should come as no surprise that they own horses. Two, to be exact.

Now lest you think I’m a horse virgin, I want you to know that I have ridden these behemoths in the past.

But it was always as part of a “trail ride.” You know, where you show up at a farm, pay $20, and they lead you around the stable area on a geriatric steed named “Widow-Maker” or “Lightning.”

That’s not what this was.

On our first day there, Edie asked if I wanted to “go for a ride.” I naively assumed she meant in the car, to get ice cream or something.

Next thing I knew, I was putting my left foot in the stirrup and hoisting myself up into the saddle.

The next 90 minutes were the highlight of my trip (maybe my life).

She led us up into the red stone hills, occasionally stopping on the edge of a cliff and just looking around. It was amazing.

You know what’s not at all like riding a horse? Driving a car.

Yes, they both can be used as a way to get from here to there. But one has a lot more uncertainty attached to it.

With a car, and barring any unforeseen incidents, you go exactly where you want to go at precisely the speed you choose.

Not so with a horse, particularly when you’re a novice like I am. My horse stopped to eat, walked beneath low branches, and even occasionally took off in a run. I may have been riding, but she was doing most of the driving.

Your business is a horse, not a car

Running your own business is more like riding a horse than driving a car. This is an unwelcome surprise to a lot of people, particularly those who are new to life as a solo.

From the outside looking in, other people’s businesses may seem “car-like” to you: smooth, steady, predictable. It appears as if they are just putting their foot on the gas and moving ever forward.

It’s an illusion of course, but like most good illusions, you can’t tell.

You, on the other hand, and thanks to your “view from the inside” regarding your own business, feel like you’re riding a wild animal. One day it’s fast. The next day it’s slow. Sometimes it stops without warning, only to suddenly take off again.

A horse is not a machine – you’re never in complete control.

The mighty beast has its own agenda. (Let me just pause here to say that “Agenda of the Mighty Beast” would be a great name for a band). You can exert some influence, but at some level, it’s going to do what it’s going to do.

I tell you all this for one reason: I want you to spend more time riding and less time worrying and wondering. About things like . . .

Why is that guy’s business doing so much better than mine?

Why was I so busy last year this time and now I’m not?

How come things aren’t the way I expected?

Simple. Because you’re driving a horse, not a car. Unpredictable, occasionally frightening, and outside your complete control – that’s just the way it is.

Can I give you a way to remove all the risk from your horseback riding adventure (aka, your business)?

No. Nobody can.

But I can share with you the same advice Edie gave me as we were leaving the barn: Stay loose, don’t fight the horse, and make sure to look around and enjoy the view every once in a while. The ride will be over sooner than you think.

Discussion Questions:

1. What’s the largest animal you’ve ever touched?

2. Would you go to see Agenda of the Mighty Beast if they came to your town?

3. Me too.

Share your comments below!

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You’ll be pleased to learn that as of yesterday, I have a brand new phone: an iPhone 6S. 

It’s by no means top of the line. But it is new and, unlike my old phone, fast, filled with extra capacity, and capable of running every app I want and need.

It’s also, I must say, a work of art.

Weighing just a hair over five ounces, and barely a quarter of an inch thick, holding it in your hand is like holding a warm ray of sunshine (assuming sunshine also has rounded edges and is made of glass and metal).

Of course, my new phone didn’t stay that way for long.

Because immediately after completing my purchase, I walked out the door of the Apple Store and directly over to the phone case kiosk in the mall.

Five minutes later, my beautiful, perfect, ray of sunshine was encased inside an Otterbox, an indestructible protective case within which my phone will live out the rest of its days, never again to be directly touched by man or beast.

But that’s just the way it works. We want our phones to stay safe, so everybody keeps them in a protective case.

Everybody, that is, except teenagers.

Walk up to the average teenager, ask to have a look at their phone and, immediately after they shut down the porn and hand it over, you’ll likely notice two things:

1. They don’t have a case.
2. The screen is cracked.

I used to think this meant they were careless and dumb (not that I am ruling that out in a more general sense).

But maybe, and unlike adults who are so concerned with what we might lose, teenagers are more interested in what they might gain. 

What I mean is that while my phone is certainly safe in its case, it comes at a cost. I never fully experience it in the way I’m sure Steve Jobs intended: sleek, shiny, perfectly balanced in my hand.

The teenagers, on the other hand, do.

Sure, sooner or later, their screens will probably get damaged. But until then, they will enjoy a beautiful run of perfect, as-it-was-meant-to-be, iPhone days.

Working for yourself may not feel entirely safe either. Like a phone without a case, there’s a lot that can go wrong in a hurry.

But – and I think this is an important but – the experience is one hundred percent real, every single day.

There’s no boss, no irrelevant meetings, no mysterious company politics churning in the background that leave you wondering what might happen (or what just did happen).

There’s just you and your expertise, looking for ways to package it, price it, explain it, and sell it to enough people who are willing to buy it.

Scary? Some days.

But scary or not, once you’ve been out here breathing the fresh air for a while, there’s no way you’ll ever let somebody put you back inside that phone case. 

Discussion Questions:

1. Do you have sunshine in your pocket?

2. Please don’t send me pictures.

3. Does your phone have a case? Why or why not?

4. How do you handle those scary, “maybe I should get a job again” days?

Share your comments below!

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“In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.”

– Irish Proverb

My wife, Linda, and I have been in Grecia, Costa Rica now for three weeks.

We came here as kind of an experiment: The kids are off to college and beyond; the house has been sold in favor of a maintenance-free condo; and we both work independently and more or less remotely.

So, in an attempt to sidestep yet another Massachusetts February, we thought maybe a month in the sun would be a good idea.

My tan agrees; it’s been terrific for any number of reasons.

Perhaps most interesting, though, is how much we now know about living here compared to how little we understood just a few short weeks ago.

For example, we know …

… that there’s a bustling farmer’s market on the edge of town every Friday and Saturday (bring your own bags).

… that all humans (and a fair number of livestock) seem to be required by law to greet everyone they meet in the morning with a hearty “Buenos dias!” But, if you really want to be cool, just toss out a well-accented “Buenas.”

… that the kitchen and bathroom sinks aren’t supposed to have hot water. And that the way to control the temperature in the shower is by varying the amount of water pressure.

… that if you don’t want your computer keyboard destroyed by sticky ash from the nearby and recently active Poas Volcano, you had better keep it covered when not in use.

… that you should never ask a Costa Rican for help, directions, or any other type of assistance unless you really mean business, because they will not give up until they solve your problem.

And on and on. Some of the things we’ve learned relate to Costa Rica in general, others are specific to the town of Grecia.

So here’s my question for you: Am I a Costa Rican expert?

No. Not by a long shot.

I know next to nothing about the country’s politics, education system, or history.

I’ve never been to a futbol game; I’ve never driven a car; I don’t even recognize half the fruit they sell at the market.

And Spanish? Well, there’s not a precocious three-year-old native who couldn’t talk circles around me. 

But, if you’ve never been to Costa Rica – let alone, Grecia, Costa Rica – I could drastically smooth your transition, save you a ton of missteps (not to mention cold showers), and guide you towards lots of great places to visit, eat and enjoy. 

In your eyes, Mr. or Ms. Costa Rican Novice, I am well over the expert bar. 

Do some people know more than I do? Sure. 

But when you are looking for help, the question is not, “Who is the best of the best of the best?” It’s, “Who can help me solve my problem for a price that seems reasonable?” 

Stop Waiting 

Lots of professionals don’t see it that way. 

They think they need to get better, learn more, gain additional experience, before they can work with clients, let alone think of themselves as expert. 

I think that’s a mistake. 

First, because the day will never arrive that a major news organization calls you up and says, “Congratulations, we’ve been watching you and have decided that as of today, you are entitled to think of yourself as an expert.” 

It doesn’t work that way “out here.” There is nobody in charge; nobody deciding whose turn is next. 

Second, because you are doing a disservice to yourself – not to mention the people who would benefit from your experience and perspective – by waiting for the day that you are finally “good enough.” 

That day is already here. 

The only thing missing is you … and your willingness to believe it.

I’ll be at the farmers’ market if you need me.

Discussion Questions:

1. Have you ever taken a cold shower in a foreign country? Send photos.
   
   
2. Are you worried that people will accuse you of being a fraud? Don’t bother – they are too busy worrying about the same thing to notice you.
   
   
3. You’re an expert – what do you think the third question should be? Please ask and then answer it, below!

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(Listen to this post, here.)

Almost exactly one year ago, things were shaping up nicely for my youngest son, Jonathan.

He was a second-year mechanical engineering student at the University of Denver and had just landed a summer internship at a cool tech firm near school.

He was thrilled.

The internship would allow him to learn some new things, make some money and remain in Denver for the summer, as opposed to moving back home for three months to live in a sleepy suburb with his parents. (I know, I don’t see why he preferred Colorado, either.)

And then, just days before he was scheduled to start the internship, the whole thing fell through (don’t ask).

He was devastated. Not only was he disappointed about the missed opportunity, it was much too late to find something else. It was looking like there would be no other option than to come home.

But then he had an idea…

Jon frequents a funky, local coffee shop and so he went in and asked if they were hiring. One thing led to another and by the following week, he had a summer job.

I asked him the other day how he felt about losing the internship. He said, “Best thing that ever happened to me.”

As he explained, he makes a lot more money at the coffee shop, he’s been able to continue working throughout the school year, he’s met a ton of great people near where he lives, and he’s become quite adept at creating “latte art,” a skill which, were the apocalypse to occur, is sure to come in handy.

Look for the Opportunity

I know of few people whose businesses have not been negatively impacted by what’s happened over the last couple of weeks. We all wish things would just get back to “normal.”

Hopefully, that will happen soon. But in the meantime, and in between watching your retirement savings fall to the ground like a drunken toddler (or whatever), why not look for the opportunities that have been newly created?

For your business…

Business has always been about helping people solve problems. It still is. So, what do your clients and others need now that they didn’t need two weeks ago?

Are you a writer who can help businesses communicate the impact to their customers?

Are you a leadership coach whose clients need help learning how to support remote workers?

Are you a financial consultant that can help businesses manage their cash flow in a time of uncertainty?

When it comes to your services, what can you develop, fine-tune, or modify that will satisfy a need and earn money for you in the process?

If you work for yourself, you’re already skilled at creativity and invention. How can you apply that here?

For your marketing…

I spend a fair amount of time networking with people over lunch and coffee. That’s off the table now (literally).

So I’ve switched to “virtual coffees” over Zoom. It’s not quite the same, but it’s actually much better than I anticipated.

And, unlike in-person meetings, it dawned on me that I can do these with contacts anywhere in the world, something that I probably wouldn’t have realized had I not been forced to find a new approach.

How about you? How can you tap into everyone’s heightened eagerness to stay connected and grow your business in the process?

For your personal development…

I used to love running. But I have a bad knee and so for the past few years I’ve been using the elliptical machine at the gym. It does the trick, but it’s pretty boring.

Now that the gym is closed, I’ve been hiking in the conservation land behind our house. Wow. I had forgotten how great it feels to be outside, by myself, exercising early in the morning. I may never go back in.

That’s just one example.

Since we can’t watch sports, go out to dinner, get together with friends or do a hundred other things that used to make up our daily routine, what can we substitute – maybe something new and better – instead?

Here’s the bottom line.

Unlike Jon’s experience, few of us will come out the other end of this crisis and say, “Best thing that ever happened to me.”

But there’s a big difference between gritting your teeth and counting the days until it’s over and looking for the upside – and there’s always an upside – that our new reality offers.

The choice is yours.

Discussion Questions:

1. What and where is your favorite coffee shop?
2. What skill do you possess that will come in handy post-apocalypse?
3. What have you done in your business or life to seize the opportunity that the crisis now presents?

If you liked this article you’ll love the next one (I’ve been holding back on the good ones until you subscribe). Click here to sign up for future posts.

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You’ll be pleased to know that in just a few short weeks, my son Evan will graduate from Rhodes College in Memphis, Tennessee (school motto: We’ve never heard of you either).

In addition to his academic work, key accomplishments include fronting a (now defunct) band, co-founding a nonprofit newspaper for the homeless and launching a (recently venture-funded) business.

He’s had a great run and, needless to say, we are quite proud.

But I have to tell you, the one thing about his college career that I expect to remember the longest, is that every week, during the winter, he drove south into Mississippi, to play intramural ice hockey.

That’s right, ice hockey in Mississippi. If there’s an oxymoron hall of fame somewhere, “Mississippi Ice Hockey” has got a prominent display in the lobby.

The cost per season? Thirty dollars. And last year, when Evan began playing, he asked if I could pick up the tab.

It’s not a lot of money. But just handing over $30 seemed kind of dull. So I said, as I sometimes do, “Care to make it interesting?”

Then I proposed a simple metric: Instead of $30 up front, I’d pay him $2 for every goal he scored during the season.

He liked the concept, but not the number.

So after much negotiation and assurances from Evan that he wasn’t that good, we agreed on $7 per goal. And while I don’t mean to suggest that my own son bamboozled me, the season’s not even over and I’m already $42 in the hole.

But you know what, that’s what makes it fun. It’s not about the $30 or $42 or whatever. It’s about rolling the dice and seeing what happens.

To me, that’s much of what starting a business is all about: Getting in the game.

You launch a product … big success. You hold a webinar … nobody shows up. You send a proposal … the prospect disappears. You answer the phone … somebody wants to hire you out of the blue.

And on and on it goes, with every day bringing its own mix of ups and downs and in-betweens. You never know which will come when, but it sure is interesting.

A couple of years ago, I was a guest speaker on a panel, in front of a roomful of solo professionals. Someone raised her hand and asked how long it took for me to “become successful.”

The implication in her question was that there was some place you could reach where the ups and downs and risks would all go away.

I told her that I have just as much uncertainty in my professional life today as I had 10 years ago. The only difference is that today, I don’t worry about it anymore.

Because I finally realized that the uncertainty never goes away, and the daily ups and downs are a lot of what keeps it interesting.

Discussion questions:

1. Where would you locate the Oxymoron Hall of Fame?

2. Would you believe me if I told you that the name of Evan’s band was “Mississippi Ice Hockey?”

3. It wasn’t.

Post your answers (and comments) below!

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