Sometimes I dream at night but I don’t remember much. If I dream at all they are classic stereotypes; searching for something, being pursued, caught naked in public, etc. but they never tell a story, just keep cycling ‘round and ‘round in the same loop. Last night I dreamt a story with a plot and I remember. I was suitably dressed at a meeting of professional businessmen. There was a long table with fancy food and drink. It was clear they were all there for a conference, a quarterly report or something in between. I looked the part alright but ill equipped, ignorant in the business of business. My mother always said, “Giving us the business is about them and bad enough. Getting the business is about us and it’s even worse.”
I was well received in casual conversation, still I tried to be inconspicuous. My primary purpose was grazing at the food and drink bar. When the businessmen moved to the next room, I was left by myself, unencumbered, consuming little shrimp on tooth picks and pecan tarts. A coat-and-tied man with an official name tag appeared at my side. In a trusting, confidential tone he asked my opinion on a situation he was struggling with. It was so business specific I didn’t understand the language or its consequence; something to do with how to choose a confidant and how to convey bad news without making enemies. “What would you do?” he asked.
I didn’t want to jeopardize my place at the table and I didn’t have a clue but obviously, he thought I did. Eating and trying to talk simultaneously, I shared with him the fundamental principle of treating people the way you want to be treated, the golden rule. He had never heard of it, a novel idea to say the least. I turned and there was another VIP with yet another unsolved problem. “How would you handle this?” Again, what it was that made his problem so unique, I didn’t have a clue. So I pondered a bit, ate another pecan tart, trolling for something to say. Profiling a dilemma that wrestling coaches have with young wrestlers, I told him, “The first year is nothing but hard-hard work and getting your ass kicked every time. After that, there is still no guarantee that someday you will become an ass kicker too. There has to be a reward in the process and there is no shortcut, you have to find that in yourself.” He rolled is eyes as if I had shared something profound.
I turned back to the food only to discover that all the executives had come back to the hospitality room, eyes on me, listening attentively. I had been exposed, an uninvited imposter. But questions kept coming. What about stock options and capital investments, what about nondisclosure agreements and insider trading? I felt like Yoda, sitting on a rock, telling young Skywalker to trust the Force. I blurted out, “Don’t tell stories where you have to think about the words. If you don’t own it, it isn’t yours to tell. Become the story, trust your mouth to frame the language.”
The moguls all applauded. With a flimsy excuse to leave the room I made my escape. They thought they had been counseled by a shrewd, savvy businessman but in dreamland, only deceived by an old storyteller. I came uninvited to the banquet, reluctantly to the dream. I would much prefer dreamless sleep, nothing to retrieve, no questions, no fantasy, just a gentle wakeup and a need to pee.
I was well received in casual conversation, still I tried to be inconspicuous. My primary purpose was grazing at the food and drink bar. When the businessmen moved to the next room, I was left by myself, unencumbered, consuming little shrimp on tooth picks and pecan tarts. A coat-and-tied man with an official name tag appeared at my side. In a trusting, confidential tone he asked my opinion on a situation he was struggling with. It was so business specific I didn’t understand the language or its consequence; something to do with how to choose a confidant and how to convey bad news without making enemies. “What would you do?” he asked.
I didn’t want to jeopardize my place at the table and I didn’t have a clue but obviously, he thought I did. Eating and trying to talk simultaneously, I shared with him the fundamental principle of treating people the way you want to be treated, the golden rule. He had never heard of it, a novel idea to say the least. I turned and there was another VIP with yet another unsolved problem. “How would you handle this?” Again, what it was that made his problem so unique, I didn’t have a clue. So I pondered a bit, ate another pecan tart, trolling for something to say. Profiling a dilemma that wrestling coaches have with young wrestlers, I told him, “The first year is nothing but hard-hard work and getting your ass kicked every time. After that, there is still no guarantee that someday you will become an ass kicker too. There has to be a reward in the process and there is no shortcut, you have to find that in yourself.” He rolled is eyes as if I had shared something profound.
I turned back to the food only to discover that all the executives had come back to the hospitality room, eyes on me, listening attentively. I had been exposed, an uninvited imposter. But questions kept coming. What about stock options and capital investments, what about nondisclosure agreements and insider trading? I felt like Yoda, sitting on a rock, telling young Skywalker to trust the Force. I blurted out, “Don’t tell stories where you have to think about the words. If you don’t own it, it isn’t yours to tell. Become the story, trust your mouth to frame the language.”
The moguls all applauded. With a flimsy excuse to leave the room I made my escape. They thought they had been counseled by a shrewd, savvy businessman but in dreamland, only deceived by an old storyteller. I came uninvited to the banquet, reluctantly to the dream. I would much prefer dreamless sleep, nothing to retrieve, no questions, no fantasy, just a gentle wakeup and a need to pee.
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