By Ron Culberson. With a master’s degree in social work, Ron Culberson spent the first part of his career working in a large hospice organization as a clinical social worker, middle manager, and senior leader. As a speaker, humorist, and author of "Do it Well. Make it Fun.The Key to Success in Life, Death, and Almost Everything in Between", he has delivered more than 1,000 presentations to associations, government agencies, non-profit organizations, and corporations. His mission is to change the workplace culture so that organizations are more productive and staff are more content. He was also the 2012-2013 president of the National Speakers Association and is a recognized expert on the benefits of humor and laughter.
Does this sound familiar? It’s the Saturday of your high school prom. You had a crush on another student for several months and a few weeks before the prom, you got up the nerve to ask them to go with you—and they said yes. You rented a tuxedo or bought a dress, made dinner reservations, and arranged for transportation to the big event. When you go into the bathroom to take a shower that Saturday morning, you look in the mirror and see a pimple the size of Rhode Island on your forehead. Panic sets in. You search online for 24-hour emergency dermatology clinics and discover that apparently, dermatology is not a 24-hour emergency business. You run to the drug store and pick up concealer cream but since it doesn’t exactly match your skin color, once it’s applied, it looks like a patch of Silly Putty with a bubble in the middle of it. It reminds you of a joke involving carpet layers, a lump in the carpet, and a missing hamster. You then try to cover up the pimple by combing your hair across your forehead. Not only does this look ridiculous, the pimple pokes through the locks of hair like someone peeking through the shower curtain looking for a towel. By noon, you’re exhausted from trying to hide, cover, and conceal, so you simply give up, realizing that you have little control over human biology. Later, when you finally get dressed, you look in the mirror and realize that your clothing fits perfectly and the muted colors blend nicely with your drab alabaster skin tone. But there in the center of your forehead, all you can see is a red neon sign that warns, “Bumps A Head.” Later, at the prom, you’re convinced that your date keeps staring at your forehead. At the same time, you notice that they have a wart on the side of their ear that you never noticed before. It’s actually more obvious than your pimple. (Please note that the previous example may or may not have been based on real events. Let’s not focus on that right now but instead, let’s look at the problem.) As much as I would like to think that I can overlook the occasional blemish in my life, I must admit that I’m terrible at it. Early in my career, one of my front teeth looked like it was heading for the exit. It seemed to bend more and more every day until it was approaching a right angle. As a speaker, I’m very aware of anything that might distract the audience from my profound insights and engaging repartee. That’s why I don’t typically call attention to my good looks and chiseled physique but rather try to make my appearance blend into the background. This tooth, however, was projecting my Appalachian-ness a bit too blatantly and I was very self conscious. Ironically, no one ever mentioned the angle of my tooth and when I pointed it out to a friend, he said, “Oh, I didn’t notice.” And that is the problem with my perspective. I am acutely aware of problems that are usually of no concern to others. For instance, a few weeks ago, I was dining at a nice restaurant and excused myself to go to the restroom. Before returning, I started to wash my hands but the water pressure was so high, the water shot out of the faucet, up the side of the sink, and directly onto an area of my pants where no moisture should exist after a trip to the restroom. All the way back to my table I kept brushing my pants and saying, a bit too loudly, “Wow, that water pressure in the bathroom is like Old Faithful. Boy, those sinks can sure spray the water. I’m drenched. Gee, gosh, wow!” When I arrived at my table and continued my nervous declarations, everyone just glanced my way but never paid any attention to my pants. I was sure they would accuse me of having an unfortunate toilet incident or suggest that my bathroom skills were not what they should be. But alas, I was the only one who cared. As we go through life and in particular, as we go into the holiday season, perhaps it would be helpful if we didn’t always focus on the pimples, the crooked teeth, and the wet spots in our lives. Instead, maybe we should try to see the good around us rather than the one thing that’s creating a challenge. When we realize that the problem is only a small part of who we are and that our lives are full of smooth skin, straight teeth, and dry pants, the blemishes might not seem so important. I guess what I’m saying is that maybe, we should get better at seeing what’s right rather than what’s wrong. It seems so obvious, doesn’t it? Well, it is. In fact, it’s as obvious as the pimple on my face. Planning your next event? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to schedule your ideal speaker and make your event a success!
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By Ron Culberson. With a master’s degree in social work, Ron Culberson spent the first part of his career working in a large hospice organization as a clinical social worker, middle manager, and senior leader. As a speaker, humorist, and author of "Do it Well. Make it Fun.The Key to Success in Life, Death, and Almost Everything in Between", he has delivered more than 1,000 presentations to associations, government agencies, non-profit organizations, and corporations. His mission is to change the workplace culture so that organizations are more productive and staff are more content. He was also the 2012-2013 president of the National Speakers Association and is a recognized expert on the benefits of humor and laughter.
I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again. I’m not as handy as I would like to be. One of my friends can completely gut and then rebuild a bathroom without cutting the wrong wires, puncturing any water pipes, or falling through the floor into the basement. I’ve done damage to drywall by simply trying to replace the toilet paper roll. In fact, when it comes to repairs, it typically costs me more to fix what I did than to have hired someone to do the work in the first place. But that doesn’t stop me from trying. I own a utility trailer and I use it to haul items that are too large for my car. Mostly, I’m transporting wood from a fallen tree in the yard to our church’s wood ministry. Last weekend, before transporting a load of wood, I checked to make sure that the brake lights were working properly. My lights quit working a couple of years ago when squirrels had chewed through the wiring. Ever since, I always check them before heading out on the road. However, unless my trailer is parked in front of a mirror, checking the brake lights is not that easy. And if it’s daytime, it’s even harder. On the day in question, the trailer was parked in front of a row of bushes. I pushed on the brake pedal several times but just couldn’t see if the lights were working. Then I remembered an old television movie from 1971 called Duel. It starred Dennis Weaver who played a man who was being pursued by a menacing tractor trailer driver. At the end (spoiler alert—but if you haven’t seen a 1971 movie by now, I’m guessing it’s not high on your watch list), Weaver wedges his briefcase between the seat of his car and the accelerator pedal to send his driverless car into the truck. Thinking this was a brilliant idea, I looked around the garage for a brief case. Since I’m not really a briefcase kind of guy, I grabbed a large rock instead. I lowered the rock onto my brake pedal and quickly ran to the back of the trailer to see if the lights worked. Unfortunately, the lights didn’t come on but I suspected that it was because the rock was not depressing the pedal far enough. I had to try something else. As I removed the rock, it got stuck between the brake and the accelerator pedals. As I struggled to un-wedge it, I broke off two finger nails. I probably don’t need to point this out but I had not even attempted any handy work and I already had a malfunction with one of my tools (the rock) and a personal injury (two bleeding fingers). I should have seen this as an omen sent by the spirits of Bob and Norm from This Old House. But, of course, I ignored the warning and simply asked my wife to help determine if my brake lights were out. She said one was working but the other was not. A repair was in order. I inspected the trailer to make sure the squirrels had not eaten through any of the exposed wires. Everything looked fine except for one section where two wires were hanging loose. I figured this had to be the problem. Now, I’m not an electrician but my gut tells me that wires should not be hanging loose. I mean, we don’t live in Hawaii (see “surfer Shaka Sign”). So, I did what any home repair novice would do—I reconnected the two wires and called my wife down to check the lights again. Please understand that when I call my wife during any home repair, I’m not just asking for her assistance. I’m also hoping that I get the opportunity to say, “Hey look at that. I fixed it.” For the record, it doesn’t happen that often. Oh sure, I’ve written four books and entertained audiences around the country—but I’ve never repaired a utility trailer. I was clearly on the cusp of a major engineering achievement. My wife took her position behind the trailer and I pushed on the brake. There was no reaction on her face. I flipped the turn signal in both directions. She did not respond. Then, as if she had been oblivious to my actions, she said, “Go ahead. Whenever you’re ready.” Clearly, the lights no longer worked at all. So, I unhitched the trailer, went back inside, and ordered a trailer light replacement kit. When the kit arrived, I read the instructions several times and committed them to memory. The whole repair seemed pretty straightforward (see “Naïveté”). Once I removed the old lights and wiring, I just needed to feed the new wires through the protective tubes that were installed on the trailer frame and then connect the wires to the new taillights. I installed the new lights without any issue. But when I tried to install the wiring, I encountered a problem. Apparently dirt and debris had built up over time in the protective tubes and there was a blockage about half way down the first tube. I tried multiple times to push the wires through the tube but they kept getting stuck. After about an hour of lying under the trailer, working with two injured fingers by the way, I tried another approach. I fed a stiffer wire from the other direction. Luckily, it went through. So, I tied the two wires together and pulled the new ones back through the tubes. One thing I didn’t realize though was that the edge of the protective tube was sharp. So, every time I pulled the new wire through the tube, it shaved off a bit of the wire’s protective coating. That required twenty minutes of taping over all of the damage I had done. Don’t worry about the extra work. I’m used to it. Eventually, I got the entire system installed and just needed to connect the lights into the proper wires. In this particular repair kit, I was given T-tap splicers. I had never used these before so I watched a video online to learn how to operate them. That’s when it occurred to me that I had actually seen these devices before. In fact, the previous wiring system on my trailer had used T-tap splicers. I rummaged back through trash and saw that the two wires that were “hanging loose” weren’t supposed to be tied together after all. Instead, they just needed to be reattached to the T-tap splicer. In other words, I didn’t need a new wiring system. After a few choice words, I connected all the wires and my wife confirmed that the lights were working properly. I looked at my watch. Between reading the instructions, watching online videos, and struggling to feed the wires through the protective tubes, I had logged in about six hours of repair time. If I owned a handy man business, I would be earning about ten cents an hour. And yet, I can’t wait for something else to break. In life, if we don’t try new things, we don’t get to experience adventures that might be unknown to us. If we try new things and fail, we can learn valuable life lessons from those experiences. And if we just take our utility trailers to someone who knows what they’re doing, we might get the six lost hours of our Saturday afternoon back. And that, my friends, is a handy lesson to learn. Planning your next event? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to schedule your ideal speaker and make your event a success! By Ron Culberson. With a master’s degree in social work, Ron Culberson spent the first part of his career working in a large hospice organization as a clinical social worker, middle manager, and senior leader. As a speaker, humorist, and author of "Do it Well. Make it Fun.The Key to Success in Life, Death, and Almost Everything in Between", he has delivered more than 1,000 presentations to associations, government agencies, non-profit organizations, and corporations. His mission is to change the workplace culture so that organizations are more productive and staff are more content. He was also the 2012-2013 president of the National Speakers Association and is a recognized expert on the benefits of humor and laughter.
A few years ago, I had a speaking engagement on Long Island, NY and was staying in a small hotel in Great Neck. On my way to lunch, the elevator got stuck between the second and third floors. Now, just so you know, I’m slightly claustrophobic. And by “slightly”, I mean “tremendously.” But the elevator was big enough to hold six people and I was the only one onboard. So, there was plenty of room for me, myself, and my thoughts (for any of you literary enthusiasts, this is called foreshadowing). The first thing I did when the elevator stopped was to pull the emergency knob. It fell off into my hand and no alarm sounded. So, I looked for the emergency phone. There was nothing but an empty hole in the wall where the phone used to be. At that point, my heart picked up its pace and my breathing accelerated. An alert popped up on my Apple Watch asking me if I wanted to record my exercise session. I told Siri to mind her own business and continued weighing my options. Small drops of sweat started to run down my back and it occurred to me that I had not dressed properly for an elevator confinement exercise. And that’s when my mind got involved. I heard this voice in my head suggesting that my final days on the planet might just be in this Long Island elevator. I have nothing against Long Island. In fact, my wife is from there. But as an Appalachian, this was not where I saw things ending. I had always envisioned taking my last breath as I gazed out at the brilliance of the Blue Ridge Mountains. I did not expect to be squinting under a flickering fluorescent bulb as the word “Otis” gradually faded from my sight. That specific mental image caused my entire body to react. My stomach knotted, my chest tightened, and I felt like my core temperature was nearing the boiling point of magnesium (look it up). This only encouraged my mind to misbehave even more. My brain instructed my heart and lungs to engage the flight-or-frickin-flight mode and prepare me for a precarious “Die Hard” escape involving a panel in the ceiling, steel cables, and a death-defying leap to the only open door in the entire elevator shaft. As I’m typing this, I realize the absurdity of my overreaction. I had been in the elevator less than a minute and was already freaking out. I also imagine that you know how my journey ended. Of course, I used my cell phone to call the front desk and inform them that I was stuck in their elevator. At first, the clerk thought I was pranking her. She assumed that a call from an outside line could not possibly be coming from inside their elevator. She even said, “Well, if you’re in our elevator, why didn’t you use the emergency phone.” Ugh. About ten minutes after the elevator stopped, a maintenance technician released me to my own recognizance and sent me on my way. As I headed outside, the sky looked brighter, the air smelled sweeter, and when I got to the restaurant, the food never tasted so good. There have been few times in my life when I felt so relieved—and drank so much beer. Fast forward to a few years later when I signed up for a firefighter academy. I knew the training would require physical effort which might be hard for someone of my age and physique (I’m a lover, not a fighter) but I underestimated the psychological impact it would have on me. Early in the academy, we were participating in a mock search and rescue operation where we were placed in a large room completely blindfolded. To be clear, I’m not talking about the kind of blindfold we’ve all used to play Pin the Tail on the Donkey—the kind that covers most or your eyes but allows you to see under it. I’m talking a solid black, full face, total darkness, I-can’t-see-a-thing blindfold. And under the blindfolds, we were wearing masks attached to air tanks that amplified our breathing so that our inhales and exhales were practically the only sounds we could hear. As I crawled along the floor, following my partner who, by the way, was way too excited about this particular exercise, I could feel that familiar sensation I had experienced in the elevator. Immediately, my mind put this thought in my head: You’re probably going to run out of air and become the first trainee to be rushed to the hospital—not so much for asphyxiation but for claustrophobic “fixiation”. I should point out that all of this was happening while our instructor and a few other staff members were standing right next to me. In reality, the worst thing that could have happened was that I might need a little help getting my mask and blindfold off if my tank actually ran out of air. Well, not being able to ignore my annoying mind, I told the instructor I had to stop. I stood up, doffed the blindfold, removed my mask, and took a few breaths. The relief was instant and when I saw there were no real threats in the room, I felt embarrassed that I had mentally wussed out. However, the instructor looked at me and said, “Would you like to continue?” Reluctantly, I put my gear back on and began crawling in darkness again. And you know what? I finished the exercise without any more “fixiation” problems whatsoever (cue thunderous applause from readers everywhere). As my firefighter training proceeded, I had to participate in many more drills like this. Each time got easier and I never had another anxiety problem. And why was that? Well, first, I recognized that I had successfully survived the previous drills. And second, I knew that the someone (my partner or the instructor) was always there to help me if I got into trouble. As I thought back on these fearful experiences, it occurred to me that while the situations were real, the fear was generated by thoughts. It’s as if my mind generated the worst case scenarios regardless of the reality of the actual event. I realized that many of our day-to-day fears are also generated like this. And if we can find a way to remove the metaphorical blindfold, in order to see the reality of the situation, our challenges might not be so scary. Planning your next event? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to schedule your ideal speaker and make your event a success! By Ron Culberson. With a master’s degree in social work, Ron Culberson spent the first part of his career working in a large hospice organization as a clinical social worker, middle manager, and senior leader. As a speaker, humorist, and author of "Do it Well. Make it Fun.The Key to Success in Life, Death, and Almost Everything in Between", he has delivered more than 1,000 presentations to associations, government agencies, non-profit organizations, and corporations. His mission is to change the workplace culture so that organizations are more productive and staff are more content. He was also the 2012-2013 president of the National Speakers Association and is a recognized expert on the benefits of humor and laughter.
Someone once said that “common sense” is really “uncommon sense” because it seems to be in such short supply. This very well may be true. I remember attending my first Boy Scout camp and a group of older scouts convinced me to go ask the camp director for a “left-handed smoke grinder.” Needless to say, left-handed smoke grinders do not exist. Neither do right-handed ones. Ultimately, my quest led to a thirty-minute lecture from the director during which he explained that I had been duped and that I really should be more careful. He then suggested that I join some of the other young scouts on a snipe hunt later that night. Geez. Anyway, now that COVID has become a bit less threatening, in-person conferences have returned and my travel schedule looks like it did in 2019. And while I find myself dealing with a new world of cancelled flights, understaffed hotels, and closed restaurants, it’s the situations where I encounter uncommon sense that frustrate me the most. Every time something inane happens, I think to myself, Who thought that was a good idea? Let me illustrate. I recently attended a conference at what might be called a “rustic” resort. I say “rustic” because it wasn’t really designed for upscale vacationing. The resort has several water parks, a dozen arcades, and a few fast food kiosks. But it doesn’t have upscale dining options or stylish rooms. From what I could tell, the goal is to get people out of their rooms and into the water parks, arcades, and fast food kiosks. However, one slight flaw in the resort’s design is that it also has a conference center. This means that business people like me stay there as well. And to be clear, we aren’t particularly interested in the water parks, arcades, or fast food. So, as I typically do when I travel for speaking engagements, I work in my hotel room. I check emails, review proposals, write pithy blogs like the one you’re currently reading, and doze off at my desk around 1:00 p.m. just like when I’m back at my home office. At this rustic resort, however, they don’t want people to stay in their rooms, much less doze off at their desk. So, a technique they have employed to encourage their guests to engage in other activities is to furnish the rooms with a tiny rustic table and two rustic chairs that seemed to have been constructed by someone without access to professional carpentry tools. The arms, backs, and legs of these chairs looked like tree limbs manufacture from some sort of imitation wood presumably harvested from an imitation forest. Suffice it to say, the chairs were neither ergo nor nomic (and I’m not even sure what that means). To give you a sense of the way these chairs fit my body, the back of one had a simulated knot that protruded directly into my left kidney. Luckily the back of the other chair did not hit my left kidney but instead, put pressure on a nerve in my spine that eventually led to numbness in three toes on my right foot. There was no other seating option in my room so I folded the duvet from my bed into a cushioned tower that would raise my back above the knots on the chair. After toppling off the duvet several times, I finally gave up and retreated to the lobby where I sat on a couch that was covered in what looked like moose fur. But thankfully, the couch had no knots. That being said, I did discover a few unexplained insect bites on my leg later that night and wondered if the couch had fleas. When I retired for the evening, I wanted to plug my phone into an outlet near the bed so I could use it as my clock. As I was looking for one, I noticed that this resort, like so many hotels, still offers an overly complex clock radio that no one uses. In fact, in one hotel I stayed in last year, the alarm clock went off at 2:00 a.m. I spent an hour the next morning trying to disable it. Finally, I looked up the instructions online and one article suggested that it was easier to throw the clock away than to disable the alarm. So, I simply unplugged it. At 2:00 a.m. the next morning, the alarm went off again. Apparently, there was a backup battery installed which allowed the alarm to work should the power “somehow” be disconnected. Even though the rustic hotel had a clock, I felt more confident using my phone. However, there was only one outlet on the entire wall behind the bed and it was located in the center of the headboard but below the mattress. I’m sure this lack of outlets violates more than one building code but it makes sense for a resort that’s trying to create a rustic Davy Crockett experience. I mean, he had no electricity either. To plug in my phone, I had to pull the mattress back from the wall and feed the cord through a narrow opening in the headboard. Once I did that, I was able to run the cord across the box springs and anchor it over the corner of the bedside table with the hotel phone. After getting all of this situated, I was exhausted and hopped into bed. The weight of my body on the mattress yanked the phone off the table and it landed in between the mattress and the side rails. I had already set my alarm so I just left it there and went to sleep. After a fitful night waiting for the alarm on the clock radio to go off, I got up early and took a shower. As I finished, I looked for a towel and discovered they were located on a shelf under the sink about twenty feet from the shower. I wanted to take picture, just to prove my point, but my phone was still caught in the side of the bed. I couldn’t imagine who thought it was a good idea to put the towels so far from the shower? I did consider walking out into the hallway to let my naked body “air dry,” as a form of protest, but I didn’t want to run into someone I might see at my presentation. I’ve heard it said that speakers should imagine audience members in their underwear as a way to reduce their anxiety. But I suspect that most audiences have no good reason to see their speaker naked. After my program was over, I was relieved to leave the rustic resort and head back home where my chairs, my outlets, and my towels are exactly where they should be. I boarded the plane and soon found out that our departure time was delayed because of a mechanical problem. The pilot told us that he wanted to conserve fuel while we waited so he would not be using the air conditioner. I sat there sweating like Davy Crockett at the Alamo and decided to pass the time by watching a movie that I had downloaded to my phone. I opened the app and got an alert that I my phone only had 2% of its battery left. Apparently, the outlet on the wall behind the headboard and beneath my mattress only worked when the overhead light was on. I couldn’t help thinking, Now, who thought that was a good idea? Planning your next event? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to schedule your ideal speaker and make your event a success! By Ron Culberson. With a master’s degree in social work, Ron Culberson spent the first part of his career working in a large hospice organization as a clinical social worker, middle manager, and senior leader. As a speaker, humorist, and author of "Do it Well. Make it Fun.The Key to Success in Life, Death, and Almost Everything in Between", he has delivered more than 1,000 presentations to associations, government agencies, non-profit organizations, and corporations. His mission is to change the workplace culture so that organizations are more productive and staff are more content. He was also the 2012-2013 president of the National Speakers Association and is a recognized expert on the benefits of humor and laughter.
When I was a kid, I didn’t think my life would be complete until I was famous. I’m not exactly sure why I thought fame was a worthy goal. Perhaps curing cancer, inventing the internet, or even creating a way to have healthy teeth without flossing would have been worthwhile endeavors. Seeking fame for fame’s sake seems a tad bit shallow. Nonetheless, as a teenager with no fear of failure and a total lack of worldly knowledge, I devised a plan to become famous. I did an inventory of my skills and determined several key attributes. I was funny. I was good at performing in front of other people. And I had memorized all of Steve Martin’s albums. So, I decided to be Steve Martin. I don’t mean that I had planned to become Steve Martin. I just figured that I could perform his act for any group that couldn’t afford him. The act was very good and I was very cheap. It was a perfect formula for success. I couldn’t imagine what would stand in my way. At this point, many of you are wondering how I even got into college. It’s a valid conundrum. Amazingly, I attended the University of Virginia, one of the top public schools in the country. But since I grew up in a very rural and impoverished part of the state, I believe my acceptance to The University had something to do with a quota system for students from the very rural impoverished part of the state where I grew up. However, that’s a discussion for another blog. Suffice it to say that my plan to be Steve Martin, while in many ways simplistically brilliant, did not materialize. And in hindsight, I suspect we can all breathe a sigh of relief. In fact, I’d probably still be in litigation. So, without the need to purchase a second white suit and more rabbit ears, I took the non-famous path of attending college and working in a variety of interesting jobs. In the late 80’s, I started speaking at conferences because I had developed a presentation on “Humor in the Workplace.” I was still funny in a not-at-all-like-Steve-Martin way, and my message of work-life balance was something people would actually pay for. Ironically, after getting some traction with this topic, I thought I might actually achieve some level of fame after all. This idea was reinforced during one of my early engagements when I spoke at a conference in rural Maine. The event was held at a local bowling alley and conference center. The marquee out front read, “Welcome Ron Culberson” and “Try Our New 7-10 Split Nachos.” As I drove into the parking lot, I was convinced that this was a sign (literally) that I had finally arrived and perhaps one day, my name would be in lights at a bowling alley and conference center in Las Vegas. Again, I refer you to the fact that I probably had help getting into college. Well, my name didn’t appear on any more marquees. And while I’ve enjoyed a long fulfilling career, my path to success did not lead to fame. That being said, I do occasionally run into people who say, “Oh, I’ve heard of you.” But, let’s be clear. I do not have paparazzi in front of my house and I’ve never been recognized in the produce section of the grocery store. I have, on occasion, run into someone who knows me in the beer section, however. Maybe that counts for something. Anyway, while I no longer have the desire to pursue fame, I do still question my ultimate life goal. One day, while I was pondering this very idea in of all places, the produce section of the grocery store, I remembered the many funerals I had attended when I worked in hospice care. Some were packed to the brim with people wanting to pay their respect to the deceased. It occurred to me that having hundreds of people attend my funeral would be a great goal to pursue. It would not suggest that I was famous but it sure would show that I was popular, right? When you think about it, a funeral is a great reflection of someone’s life. Unless, of course, it’s done poorly. I once attended a funeral where the officiant kept referring to the deceased by the wrong name. Who does that? If there is one simple bit of information that anyone can capture during the post-death, pre-funeral planning phase, it’s the dead person’s name. I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s usually printed right there on the program. Geez. As I contemplated this new goal of a packed funeral, I realized that there could be a problem with my plan. You see, I come from a family with good genes. My parents lived into their 90’s. So conceivably, I might outlive many of the people who would have attended my funeral. To me, the risk of a poorly attended funeral would be a huge letdown after a lifetime of pursuing a standing-room-only sendoff. And that brings me to a weirdly coincidental experience I had a few weeks ago. One of my volunteer roles is to operate the camcorder for my church. I record the weekly church services and occasionally record a special event or funeral. Recently, I operated the camcorder at the funeral of a woman who had attended our church. She did not have any family but a handful of friends attended the funeral. Eight years before her death, this woman had started showing signs of dementia. With no family available, her friends became her support system. They assisted her around the house and kept an eye on her diminishing mental condition. Eventually, she needed more support and these same friends helped her transition to the memory care unit of a local nursing home. However, they never abandoned her. Even after she moved, they remained committed to her care and helped with her legal and financial responsibilities. As I listened to several of these friends speak during the service that day, it occurred to me that this might be a better goal for my life—to have friends who would take care of me when I am no longer able to care for myself. I got excited by the idea and immediately made a mental list of the people who would be the best choices for my support system. I figured I needed to start grooming them for this very important role. Then, it hit me. I had it all wrong. My goal in life should not be focused on luring a group of people to be my caregivers. Instead, maybe I should be the type of person who cares for others. If I am able to support a family member, a friend, or a neighbor, then fame and the number of people who attend my funeral would be moot—because, at that point, I would have already achieved my goal. In the end, perhaps that’s what it’s all about for each one of us—for life to not be all about us! That’s such a profound concept, it might actually make me famous. Wink. Planning your next event? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to schedule your ideal speaker and make your event a success! By Ron Culberson. With a master’s degree in social work, Ron Culberson spent the first part of his career working in a large hospice organization as a clinical social worker, middle manager, and senior leader. As a speaker, humorist, and author of "Do it Well. Make it Fun.The Key to Success in Life, Death, and Almost Everything in Between", he has delivered more than 1,000 presentations to associations, government agencies, non-profit organizations, and corporations. His mission is to change the workplace culture so that organizations are more productive and staff are more content. He was also the 2012-2013 president of the National Speakers Association and is a recognized expert on the benefits of humor and laughter.
If you’re over 50 and you haven’t had a colonoscopy, pick up the phone and schedule one right now. There’s no good excuse to avoid it. Unless, of course, you object to purging your entire digestive system and then letting a doctor (who, by the way, chose to focus on patients’ hind quarters for a living) insert a small, and by small I mean huge, video camera up inside you to check for abnormalities. If that’s your objection, you’re in good company. But, colonoscopies save lives so I suggest you get over your explorarectaphobia and just do it. Knowing the importance of colonoscopies for detecting treatable cancer, I told my physician that I wanted to schedule one right after I turned 50. And no, I don’t have some weird fascination with digestive photography. It’s just that I worked in hospice care and know the value of preventive procedures. So, I contacted the local Colonoscopies R Us Supercenter and picked a time in January when my speaking schedule tends to be slower. I completed a 750-item, pre-procedure questionnaire that asked for my medical history, my eating habits, my bowel routines, and whether the bathroom plumbing in our house worked properly. That last question gave me pause. I returned the forms and several days later I received an instruction sheet with a prescription for MoviPrep which is described as a “dynamic cleansing solution.” I was impressed by the clever name and quickly discovered that it was not referring to the anticipation of a blockbuster cinema experience. If you’re not familiar with the colonoscopy process, let me explain. Basically, the procedure involves inserting a camera-equipped tube into your colon as a way to detect abnormalities, especially cancer. From what I’ve heard, the procedure itself is easy—BECAUSE YOU ARE ASLEEP. It’s the preparation process that deters most reasonable humans because you have to eliminate any visual obstacle from your colon so that the camera has a clear view. This is where MoviPrep comes in…or out as it were. MoviPrep is a NASA-grade laxative that cleans you out from the top of your colon to…well…Uranus. One must drink thirty-two ounces of MoviPrep the night before the procedure and another thirty-two ounces on the morning of the procedure. The day before my colonoscopy, I was not allowed to ingest anything but clear fluids. So, I stocked up on a variety of bouillon, sparkling drinks, fruit juices, and teas as a way to trick my body into thinking that I was eating. I woke up and had a lovely breakfast of bouillon and tea. By 7:30 am, I was famished. As the morning drug on, I considered chewing up an Oreo and then spitting it out just to experience the flavor and texture of food. But I was afraid that a piece of the cookie might slip into my colon leading the doctor to schedule a more extensive exploration. So I just drank lots of bouillon, juices, and teas. At 5:00 p.m., the real fun began. It was time to start drinking the first round of MoviPrep. The solution was premixed and tasted like a combination of aspirin and chrome with a hint of lemon. The consistency reminded me of watered down kindergarten glue and I had to choke down four eight-ounce glasses during this first round. To make the ingestion process a little more fun, I used a fancy mug that I had purchased from the Kiawah Island Golf Resort. You see, I had played a crappy game of golf at Kiawah so it was the perfect glass for drinking this (literally) crappy MoviPrep solution. The first eight-ounce glass wasn’t too bad. But I had held my breath. The second glass didn’t go down as easily. I accidentally breathed on the second swallow and the memory of the taste was permanently ingrained in my brain. The third glass made me frumph. A frumph is a rapid cough-burp-heave sequence that leaves you wondering if something is going to come back up. But I got through that glass without incident. I had to force the last eight ounces down. I experienced multiple frumphs. Then I waited. Fifteen minutes. Thirty minutes. Forty-five minutes. One hour. At about the seventy-eight minute mark, the MoviPrep started to work. It began with a rumble that snaked its way down my digestive tract and then burst through like an NFL lineman. I barely made it to the bathroom in time. I finished, went back to my chair, and the rumbling started again. This would be my MoviPrep experience for the next three hours. After that, the process began to slow down. By 10:30, I was done. The final count was seventeen MoviPrep “moments.” I estimated that I was 20 pounds lighter at that point and no longer wanted anything to eat because I knew it would come right back out. I was exhausted. Then, something unexpected happened. Something that was not on the prep sheet nor in any of the pre-procedure instructions. It was the worst possible outcome after five hours of continuous colon cleansing. It was a phone call from the doctor’s office. “Mr. Culberson. This is Mary at Dr. Jones’ office. Due to the impending snow storm, our office will be closed tomorrow. We’ll need to reschedule your colonoscopy.” In a fit of rage, I threw the next morning’s round of MoviPrep solution out the kitchen window. The strain sent me back to the bathroom. But, my procedure was rescheduled and I made it through another MoviPrep experience. There were no issues found during the colonoscopy and I’m pleased to say that it all worked out in the end. So my advice to you is get your colonoscopy but just check the weather forecast first. Planning your next event? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to schedule your ideal speaker and make your event a success! By Ron Culberson. With a master’s degree in social work, Ron Culberson spent the first part of his career working in a large hospice organization as a clinical social worker, middle manager, and senior leader. As a speaker, humorist, and author of "Do it Well. Make it Fun.The Key to Success in Life, Death, and Almost Everything in Between", he has delivered more than 1,000 presentations to associations, government agencies, non-profit organizations, and corporations. His mission is to change the workplace culture so that organizations are more productive and staff are more content. He was also the 2012-2013 president of the National Speakers Association and is a recognized expert on the benefits of humor and laughter.
As a young person growing up in rural Southwest Virginia, I was a bit more sheltered than those who spent their childhoods in urban environments. I had wonderful experiences, grew up with many good people, and honestly, I wouldn’t trade a minute of it. That being said, once I got into the “real” world, I encountered a number of experiences I initially considered unusual, or even abnormal. For instance, my wife grew up on Long Island. The first time I traveled to New York, I found the people to be very…well…blunt. They seemed to say whatever came to mind. In the genteel south, we preferred to show face-to-face kindness and share our honesty behind people’s backs. It seemed like the thoughtful thing to do…bless their hearts. Another sheltered experience I had related to the safety of tuna salad. In the 1970’s, my family was a bit suspicious of seafood since we lived so far from the ocean. So, whenever we went out to lunch, my mother would never order a tuna salad sandwich because, she said, “We don’t know how old it is.” Oh, it was fine to eat it at home where the tuna could go from tin can to fridge in a matter of seconds. But restaurant tuna salad was…well…fishy. In hindsight, I have come to appreciate both the directness of my brothers and sisters from the north as well as the deliciousness of tuna salad sandwiches. These experiences are now familiar to me and thus, they seem perfectly normal. Over the past few years, our world has become more divided. Many people are intolerant of ideas that are different from their own and are equally intolerant of the people who express them. I suspect we see our own people and our own views as “normal” while anything else is considered abnormal. But perhaps normalcy is the wrong way to look at our differences. Maybe we should think in terms of unfamiliarity instead. When our son turned seven, he was the only white American at his birthday party. His closest friends had a variety of darker skin colors and most had parents who were born in other countries. While this was normal for the diverse communities in the Washington DC suburbs, it was unusual for me. I did not see a lot of differences while growing up in Southwest Virginia. My exposure to diversity was limited to black, white, Baptist, and Methodist. And even though we Methodists saw things quite differently than the Baptists, we were nice to their faces. Just saying. One of my son’s friends was born in the U.S. but his parents were born in Egypt. Every time I went to pick him up from their house, his friend’s mother loaded up a plate of food for me and implored me to take more. I was not accustomed to this kind of mid-afternoon welcome meal. But when I learned that this was part of their culture, it was no longer unfamiliar—and I ate without hesitation. That is, unless she offered tuna salad. Finding myself in unusual circumstances has continued throughout my life. I once visited a Rotary Club in The Netherlands where no one spoke English. Yet their welcoming handshakes and warm smiles spoke to our similarities rather than our differences. Several years ago, I had the privilege of doing a presentation at the White House. I was unfamiliar with the protocols for addressing high ranking officials so I simply asked for guidance from my host. Once I learned a few rules and understood that I would not be thrown out for making a mistake, I became more comfortable. And more recently, I visited a community that was heavily populated by those who follow Orthodox Judaism. After wondering out loud about the history of the town, I was given an overview of how the community evolved. It was not only fascinating but I found the differences in our backgrounds much less unusual. Due to my innate curiosity, I seek to make the unfamiliar more familiar. I believe there is a humanity that emerges when we try to understand another person’s experiences. This can lead to greater tolerance of both ideas and people—even though we might not share the same beliefs or perspectives. Now, I don’t want to mislead you into thinking I am accepting of every person or situation that I encounter. There are a few things that still seem abnormal to me. Like drinking buttermilk, preferring cats over dogs, and liking The Princess Diaries 2. But I’m willing to entertain the idea that I may just be unfamiliar with the reasoning behind the attraction to these things. By the way, if you are a buttermilk-drinking cat owner who loves The Princess Diaries 2, I offer my sincerest apologies for hitting the trifecta with this particular example. I think we live at a time when we need to see our differences not so much as abnormal but rather just unfamiliar. In doing so, perhaps we can become more understanding of the things that baffle us and ultimately see many more similarities than differences. I believe that the less unfamiliar the world looks, the more normal everything might seem. Planning your next event? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to schedule your ideal speaker and make your event a success! By Ron Culberson. With a master’s degree in social work, Ron Culberson spent the first part of his career working in a large hospice organization as a clinical social worker, middle manager, and senior leader. As a speaker, humorist, and author of "Do it Well. Make it Fun.The Key to Success in Life, Death, and Almost Everything in Between", he has delivered more than 1,000 presentations to associations, government agencies, non-profit organizations, and corporations. His mission is to change the workplace culture so that organizations are more productive and staff are more content. He was also the 2012-2013 president of the National Speakers Association and is a recognized expert on the benefits of humor and laughter.
It’s that time of year again. Even if you haven’t put away the decorations, I suspect you have spent the past few weeks putting away enough food and drink for the both of us. And I’m right there with you. Now, it’s time to get back to work, back to school, and back to the gym. Or not. January 1st is a logical day to set goals for the coming year. Whether it’s work goals, financial goals, or Netflix shows to binge, the first of the year just feels like the right time to set a new course. If nothing else, that new wall calendar is screaming to be used for something significant—not just birthdays, book clubs, and dentists’ appointments. The problem with this approach is that every day is an opportunity to schedule something significant. So, what is a driven, goal setting, Type-A, go-getter supposed to do? Well, as an anti-driven, goal avoiding, Type-D, stay-here-er, I have no idea. But I do have a simple suggestion that has unlimited possibilities and is not based on an arbitrary day like January 1st: Take one day at a time. I know what you’re thinking: I was expecting so much more from you. Welcome to my simple world. I’ve built a career on deeply shallow thinking—so you should never expect more from me. But I do understand where you’re coming from. It’s easy to view “one day at a time” as a narrowly applied cliche because it’s more commonly used by those dealing with addiction, grief, or other ongoing challenges. But when it’s applied to our everyday life, it can be one of the most powerful approaches we can embrace. First of all, one day is what we have to work with. And at the risk of being a bit morbid, we don’t even know if we’ll make it through the whole day. You see, we can’t predict what will happen from one minute to the next. And it’s so easy to get lulled into thinking that we always have more time. Yet, whenever we hear about a natural disaster or a tragic accident, we realize that there are no guarantees. But the one thing we will always have is this moment right now or in a broader sense, this day. As author Sam Harris put it, “It is always now.” So, if it is always now, how does this affect our goal process for being the best “we” that we can be in 2022? Well, everything we want to accomplish happens in this moment. The more we focus on that, the easier it is to take advantage of the time we do have. You won’t accomplish anything by just focusing on the future. It doesn’t mean that you can’t set goals. It just means that the key to achieving those goals happens in the moment. Here’s an example. When parents travel with small kids, the most common question they hear is, “Are we there yet?” When a child is confined to the uninteresting prison of the back seat, every trip seems endless. They just want to get to wherever they’re going. Harley Davidson, on the other hand, has created ads that focus on the value of the journey rather than the destination. While every journey has a destination, if we’re only focused on the endpoint, we miss the rich moments along the way. One of my favorite Harley Davidson ads asked that if you look back at your time on earth will you say that you “kept a crabgrass free lawn?” If so, the ad suggests that your focus is on the wrong thing. “One day at a time” is about keeping the focus on the journey. The second reason for a day-to-day approach is that it’s just more manageable. Year-to-year goals can be overwhelming. The reason the one-day-at-a-time principle works is that it gives us a bite-size chunk of time that feels doable. For instance, if I decide that I want to read twenty books this year, that may seem like a reasonable goal. But if I get to the end of January, and I haven’t read a single book yet, then I have to go into catch-up mode and that feels unreasonable. I might even ditch the entire goal for fear that I won’t accomplish it. On the other hand, if I know that I want to read more books, then I can decide to read for an hour today and simply accomplish that specific goal in the moment. If I don’t do it, I can start fresh the next day. Each day and each moment become opportunities to grab a win rather than getting mired in the onslaught of accumulating losses. When people are fighting addiction or grieving the loss of a loved one, coping for days, weeks, or years seem unattainable. But getting through today seems possible. The same is true for our routine lives. We can achieve a greater sense of calm while accomplishing something significant by being focused on the day. In a world that throws enough stress our way, it seems that it might be less stressful to embrace one day rather than three hundred and sixty five of them. We can still have our goals. And we can still set a course for our life. But in the process, we want to focus on the moment. If we don’t, we might just miss it. And if we miss the moments in life, we never get them back. Here’s to a meaningful and fulfilling 2023…one day at a time. Planning your next event? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to schedule your ideal speaker and make your event a success! By Ron Culberson. With a master’s degree in social work, Ron Culberson spent the first part of his career working in a large hospice organization as a clinical social worker, middle manager, and senior leader. As a speaker, humorist, and author of "Do it Well. Make it Fun.The Key to Success in Life, Death, and Almost Everything in Between", he has delivered more than 1,000 presentations to associations, government agencies, non-profit organizations, and corporations. His mission is to change the workplace culture so that organizations are more productive and staff are more content. He was also the 2012-2013 president of the National Speakers Association and is a recognized expert on the benefits of humor and laughter.
A friend of mine recently said that it seems like more people die in January. I don’t know if January leads the calendar in deaths but since it’s often noted that nothing in life is guaranteed but death and taxes, I would expect April to hold that honor. At sixty one years of age, I’ve just made a simple yet profound observation. It seems that I know more people who have died than I used to. Before you jump to the conclusion that I have not been paying attention to the logical trajectory of life (birth, school, work, golf, death), you have to admit that most of us don’t really pay attention to this phenomenon on a regular basis. But we should. A friend of mine died recently and her daughter noted that she had planned out every detail of her funeral right down to where people should sit. My friend said, “It made things so much easier.” You see, when people die, their loved ones are tasked with many details that must be handled. Initially, it’s the funeral plans. Then, there are car titles to change, bank accounts to be transferred, and pesky social media accounts that must be deleted but can’t be without the password that was kept on a slip of paper and stored in a secret drawer somewhere in attic. And when survivors are also dealing with the effects of grief, they aren’t in a state of mind that makes these tasks easy. So, anything that is pre-planned can be a wonderful relief for the loved ones. A few years ago, my wife and I were hanging out with some friends, all of whom were all in their early fifties, and the topic of wills came up. We discovered that we were the only ones who had drawn up wills and advanced directives. In other words, these folks were willfully unwilling to will up. On top of that, they had children still living at home who would inevitably take on the heavy responsibility of making decisions should their parents become ill or depart this world unexpectedly. While this kind of unpreparedness can be avoided, it’s not uncommon in our culture. Many years ago, death was more popular than it is today. Well, let me restate that. It’s never really been that popular, as most of us prefer to stay in the have-not-yet-died category, but it was a less hidden. You see, before funeral homes came into prominence in the 1860’s and people began to leave the communities where they were born, death was a part of everyday life. I’m not talking about the reports of death we constantly see today in the news but the deaths we encountered when we lived for years in and around our neighbors and relatives. Back then, death happened in the home, bodies were viewed in the parlor, and we understood that the end of life was part of life. Today, however, we avoid death like the plague. I guess we also now avoid the plague like death but that’s an issue for the CDC to sort out. It’s as if we seem to think our own death won’t happen anytime soon so we ignore our biological clocks and trudge on through life. So that brings me back to my original pre-planning preparedness stance. All of us over the age of twenty-five (random number that just seems right) should probably have a will and an advanced directive. It doesn’t have to be complicated but it needs to specify our wishes. I worked in hospice care when I was in my mid-twenties and saw a number of difficult situations play out when people did not specify the kind of medical care they wanted or how their loved ones should handle their burial and funeral. So, I’ve been an advocate for clear communication ever since because, as my friend’s daughter said, “It makes things so much easier.” So, keeping that in mind and realizing I had put more thought into my legal documents than my funeral planning, I started a “Ron’s Funeral Wishes” list. I considered potential speakers, a selection of readings, and music. Now, I fully support the idea that funerals are rites of passage and that part of the purpose of a this ritual is to encourage the grieving process. But I don’t want my own funeral to be a sob-fest (although I’m sure my demise will be devastating for most in attendance). There needs to be some balance. To get some ideas of what others have done music-wise, I did an internet search on the “most popular funeral songs.” As I scrolled down the options, I saw the usual tunes: “Amazing Grace,” “Hallelujah,” “Ave Maria.” These are undeniably beautiful songs that would bring a heartfelt tear to any funeral. But I also saw AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” and the Snoop Dog/Willie Nelson duet called, “Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I’m Gone.” I immediately added both to my list. I get giddy just thinking about how people will react—assuming anyone actually attends my funeral. As someone who grew up in a small town and attended numerous funerals in my childhood, and then worked for a decade in the hospice industry, I’ve been aware of end of life issues for years. However, please understand that I don’t live in a state of fear nor do I carry a continual cloud of anticipated grief with me. I see death for what it is—the last part of my life. I think this perspective is how we can cope with its inevitability as well as to plan for it more effectively. This is true for any of the inevitabilities of life. The more we prepare for these “death and taxes” moments, the smoother the experience will be for us and our loved ones. This whole discussion reminds me of a story I heard about a preacher who proclaimed to his flock, “Every member of this congregation will one day die.” A man sitting in the front row started laughing. The pastor stopped his sermon and asked the man why he was laughing. The man said, “I’m not a member of this congregation!” And there you have it. Planning your next event? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to schedule your ideal speaker and make your event a success! By Ron Culberson. With a master’s degree in social work, Ron Culberson spent the first part of his career working in a large hospice organization as a clinical social worker, middle manager, and senior leader. As a speaker, humorist, and author of "Do it Well. Make it Fun.The Key to Success in Life, Death, and Almost Everything in Between", he has delivered more than 1,000 presentations to associations, government agencies, non-profit organizations, and corporations. His mission is to change the workplace culture so that organizations are more productive and staff are more content. He was also the 2012-2013 president of the National Speakers Association and is a recognized expert on the benefits of humor and laughter.
One of the things that really gets under my skin is when someone “shoulds” on me. You know what I mean, right? It’s when you’re talking with someone and they say, “Oh, you should do this,” or “You should do that.” We’re all guilty of “shoulding” on others but there are two obvious problems that can arise from it. First, when a suggestion is made in the form of a “should” statement, it insinuates that the “shoulder” knows what’s best for the “shouldee” and that the “shoulder” has the right to tell the “shouldee” what to do. Second, the process can cause the “shouldee” to make guilt-driven comparisons where the “shouldee” becomes more concerned with what others think than feeling confident in their own motives and behaviors. This comparison process is what’s sometimes called, “Keeping up with the Joneses.” It is a never-ending-hamster-wheel exercise to nowhere and what’s worse, we may ultimately discover that we’ve been trying to keep up with the wrong Joneses. When I first became a professional speaker—meaning when I got money for talking—I received a lot of advice from more experienced speakers. I was told, “You should raise your fee,” and “You should offer at least a dozen topics,” and “You should never negotiate your fee,” and “You should always put your picture on your business card.” Whenever I heard these things, I questioned my motives and started comparing myself to other speakers. I thought, Maybe I’m undervaluing my presentations. Maybe the few topics I offer are limiting my opportunities. Maybe I should never work for less than my full fee. And, maybe I should not only have my photo on my business card, but I should put it on both sides. But you know what? None of these strategies worked for me. When I raised my fee too much, my calendar was empty. When I tried to focus on too many topics, I diluted all of them. And when I wasn’t flexible with my fee, I didn’t get to work with the clients I actually liked. However, when it came to my business card, I never considered putting my photo on either side because I feared that my striking good looks would lead to more work than I could handle. You see, the Joneses I was trying to keep up with were not the Joneses I wanted to be. Those Joneses were more interested in pursuing the CEOs of Fortune 100 companies while I wanted to work with the directors of social services agencies. They stayed at the Ritz while I was perfectly happy at the Courtyard. And they drove sports cars with all the amenities while I drove a Subaru with all-wheel drive. The allure of their success was seductive but after a few years, I realized that this path was not a good fit for me—and that I was trying to keep up with the wrong Joneses. Once I understood this, I adjusted my model so that my business goals and my personal interests were in alignment. Interestingly, this led to greater success in both. I discovered a similar pattern with my professional development process. Early in my career, I attended a lot of educational conferences while also reading all the popular books on business and personal development. Because, that is what entrepreneurs were supposed to do. After a while, I realized that I was hearing the same messages presented over and over—they were just labeled differently. The Seven Steps became the Four Cornerstones which became the Five Easy Pieces. Same principles, different titles. After a while, I stopped attending so many conferences and eliminated most business and self-improvement books from my reading list. Now, I attend a conference once in a while and the books I like to read are often autobiographies or they focus on mindfulness and cooking. So, rather than learning the seven steps to success from a famous CEO, I try to discern life and business lessons from meditation experts, rock stars, comedians, and chefs. I find that these books are more interesting to read and the lessons are just as valuable. So, do I think you ought to do what I did? Absolutely not. But what you “should” do (couldn’t resist) is to consider if the Joneses you’re trying to keep up with are the right ones for you. Do you feel pressure to meet the expectations of others? Are the people who expect things of you the kind of people you aspire to be? Is there a part of you that feels unexplored or unexpressed? Is there a gap between where you are and where you want to be? If so, maybe you’ve gotten caught up in a comparison cycle trying to keep up with the wrong Joneses. One way we can all explore this a bit more is to think about those people who share our values, our interests, and our aspirations. We can pay attention to how they approach life and work, and rather than compare our own life to theirs, consider how their underlying principles might apply to us. I’ve seen so many so-called successful people who are not that happy and have actually damaged important personal relationships on their way to success. When we do this, we may find short-term, materialistic success but ultimately end up with long-term discontent. Maybe, you aspire to be a Bill Gates, a Serena Williams, a Jimmy Carter, or a Mother Theresa. Whoever you aspire to be, make sure you’re following their example—for the right reasons. Not because you should, but because it aligns with who you are. Then, perhaps, you’re be keeping up with the right Joneses. Planning your next event? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to schedule your ideal speaker and make your event a success! |
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