VISIT YOUR STRUCTURAL CAPITAL

In any business, the very fact that clients are being charged makes them naturally wonder if the company is simply feathering its own nest. This is especially true in areas where customers are unfamiliar with the terrain. A good example might be auto mechanics. I’m pretty confident I’m not the only one who has taken his car into the shop for an oil change only to be told dragons have destroyed his carburetor and the cost to realign the flux capacitor is $10,000. I’m sure there is an honest mechanic out there—maybe even most—but nobody can deny there are more than a fair share of mechanics in the world who aren’t on the up and up.

Assuming you are an honest mechanic—in whatever your actual chosen field—how do you assure your clients they are being treated fairly and see to it that they provide repeat business?

For starters, you rely on your intellectual capital. Intellectual capital is comprised of three very important elements, the first being human capital—a company’s employees and what they know. This is a commonly discussed topic. But there are two more pieces that are just as important and rarely examined: structural capital and social capital. Each of these deserves its own article: the focus of this article is on structural capital (hopefully you knew that from the title).

If a company is selling its strengths—what its employees know and are best at—the strengths cannot be delivered upon without the processes that have been put into place to help that knowledge be displayed and utilized. The processes are a company’s structural capital. Structural capital includes the office, the equipment, the systems used to make a company run like a well-oiled machine. They are all the physical components that go into gettin’ ‘er dun, as Larry the Cable Guy would say. If a company is going to rise above its competitors, it needs its own structural capital. Your structural capital is a direct reflection of your company and the first means by which customers will be able to form an opinion of you.

Let’s go back to the auto shop for a moment. My Lamborghini Reventon needed an oil change (it’s my article and I can dream if I want to). The first shop I took it to was a mess, even on a most basic level. When customers walked into the front office, papers were strewn everywhere. The mechanics looked sloppy (even more than what it is to be expected), the auto shop seemed more like a junkyard, and I was told they only accepted a certain kind of credit card. The first employee who started to help me was called to some other more important duty; I was handed off to another serviceman and had to explain my situation all over again. Maybe these guys were all a bunch of auto repair geniuses, but their business’s weak structural capital also weakened something in me: my confidence in them. When customer confidence is weakened, and you don’t work tirelessly to get it back, you might as well call it a day.

Not feeling comfortable leaving my precious car at this place, I took it to another shop on the recommendation of a friend. The office was clean and organized. A number of signs pointed out that the place had been accredited by AAA, letting me know that AAA would step in and investigate any concerns I might have. One point person handled my account: I didn’t have to retell my situation over and over. The work was completed on time and on budget. This auto shop’s presentation, professional workmanship, and system of communication guaranteed that next time my Lamborghini needed work, I would bring it back. (I actually drive a Ford Focus, but you get the point.)

A good way to tell if your structural capital is at the level it should be is by taking a close look at the structural capital in your personal life. In my bachelor days, I learned this the hard way. Whether you are going to be successful on a date relies heavily on your structural capital. Before I became the married stud muffin that I am today, I went on more than a few clumsy romantic outings. I didn’t clean my car (the discarded McDonald’s bags in the back were pretty revealing). I took a girl to an Italian restaurant and she was allergic to pasta (a little preliminary investigation would have uncovered this). I learned that dressing in flip-flops and a hoody is not the way to a girl’s heart. And that it is important to open doors for the ladies.

The onus isn’t always on the guy. (Hopefully this is the last time I use the word onus.) I have a friend who tells me of a young lady who invited him up for coffee. When he went into her apartment, there was nowhere to sit—not because there weren’t any chairs, but because the place was so cluttered, he literally had to push objects aside to find a place he could sort of sit. The place sounded like the trash compactor in Star Wars. Weak structural capital caused him to flee before he got buried under the debris field.

Maybe you are married now, and you do not have to worry about the dating world, thank heavens. You still have to worry about structural capital. In fact, you need to pay even more attention to structural capital. If you don’t have a successful system of communication in your relationship—if you are lacking basic necessities in the house and aren’t putting your underwear in the hamper—you will face growing problems. If anything, personal structural capital is even more essential in a marriage because you see your wife or husband more often than someone you are simply dating (hopefully).

TODAY’S EXERCISE
Take a sheet of paper and think about your business or personal life. What physical elements and processes do you have and use to assist you in creating the impact your business has on its customers or you have in your personal life.

List them. What could be better?

The Presentation

I thought the In Memoriam with James Taylor during the recent Oscar telecast was really nice (though some of my friends will tell you James Taylor’s songs should only be considered as grocery store music.) At my age, you read the obituaries first, before you get dressed.

I have to admit, I also liked watching the arrivals on the red carpet. I don’t care so much about answers to specific questions like, “Who are you wearing?” but I get a kick out of the general pomp and circumstance of it all. (If I ever went to the Oscars and somebody asked, “Who are you wearing?” I’d probably say I was wearing something I picked up at Gary’s Tux Shop at the Sherman Oaks Galleria, site of the movie Fast Times at Ridgemont High, and I needed to get it back by noon the next day.)

But the people arriving, looking glamorous, the cameras flashing, fans waving in the stands, the exclusivity of the evening—all of that is emblematic of feeling special. Anybody walking down that red carpet at the Kodak Theater would feel special doing it. Even if they cannot breathe in their-tight fitting dresses or dashing suits and they have been dieting for a month for this one night. Even if an army of make-up people went to work on them the whole day, and their tan is sprayed on, the moment they are on the carpet being interviewed by Ryan Seacrest, they become Hollywood royalty. And we look at them as Hollywood royalty. We accept them that way. Because of the presentation.

The Oscars are all about the presentation. I lost track, but I think this year’s ceremony went on for about five or sixty-six hours. Was this necessary? Absolutely not. They give out twenty-something awards. The folks at Toastmasters could do that in half an hour.

“Sandra Bullock, here’s your Oscar. Kathryn Bigelow, come and get yours.” So on and so forth. They could do that.

But they won’t. It’s the Oscars. What are the Oscars without interpretive dance depicting the blue people of Pandora? Or a completely unnecessary montage of horror movies that include such frightening films as Edward Scissorhands and Beetlejuice? Imagine if the Oscars were presented differently. What if the Oscars were simply mailed out to the winners and announced the next day in the Penny Saver? Or if people showed up to the ceremony in their gym clothes? Would it still be the Oscars?

The quality of your work goes a long, long way in establishing your reputation—both professionally and personally—but there is something to be said for what the presentation of your work reveals about you as well. Likewise, your customers, friends, family, also get a strong sense about how much you value them by the way you treat them, by the manner in which they must interact with you and your company. When you go to a high-end upscale retail store like Neiman-Marcus, you expect certain things—certain elements that go along with the sky-high prices.

Three hundred dollars for a shirt, are you kidding me? Well no, they aren’t kidding. You can tell by the piano player tickling the ivories in the middle of the store, by the restaurant with a wait staff inside the store, and the higher-end brands available on the racks.

Go to Sears or better yet, Goodwill, and I guarantee you won’t find a man in a tuxedo playing a grand piano and there won’t be any restaurant on the premises where you can buy French onion soup. And if there were, you’d be surprised and slightly disturbed. French onion soup—at Goodwill? I think not.

You’d probably think you were on some kind "Candid Camera" type show. You have come to expect certain elements in a Neiman-Marcus that you otherwise would not expect at Goodwill and vice versa. A lot of this is what you bring to the table, through your own previous experiences.

The truth of the matter is that we bring these kinds of expectations and judgments in all aspects of our lives, whether they are subconscious or not. And because of these, you impact the way your customers and friends see you. How you present your services, your company, how you treat your customers and your friends, all speak into your presentation and the way you are viewed.

I had a flaky friend who would rarely return my calls. We would make plans and she would cancel or change them at the last minute. I came to expect this. I came to expect that I would need to call her three or four times before she would eventually call me. When I happened to run into her, she told me things had been “so busy” lately and that if she only had an ear piece so she could chat on the phone while driving it would be so much easier to keep in touch. Basically, our relationship hinged upon an earpiece. And I accepted that because I knew that’s the way she was. But then it occurred to me: if our friendship was on such shaky ground, it wasn’t much of a friendship. So I stopped making an effort to be in touch, and sure enough, we aren’t anymore. And guess what? I don’t miss her. Because it turns out I valued her friendship as equally as she valued mine, which is to say not very much.

It boils down to this old adage: You are what you eat. If you eat doughnuts and pizza all day, you’re not going to end up with a svelte body. (I can personally attest to this.) Like putting food in your body, what you put into your process will determine how that process looks.The people around you will value your company and your presence as much as you value theirs. The way you present your reports, maintain your office, answer your phone calls and respond to your e-mails say a bunch about your presence. You want your customers and friends to be comfortable and feel good when they are visiting your office or home or dealing with you in the ether.

Pay attention to the presentation. Make them feel like they are walking that red carpet. Provide the kind of glamour you see on television. Make your interactions with them special and unique. And they will do the same.

TODAY’S EXERCISE:
Choose a customer or a friend and get them something special for being such a valued part of your life, even if it’s just words of appreciation. Make them aware of how much you appreciate them by going the extra mile and getting something or doing something for them that you don’t have to, but want to.

Be the Dumbest Person in the Room

Would you rather be the smartest one in the room, or be in a room where everyone is smarter? This question was recently posed to me by Dan Sullivan of Strategic Coach. Sullivan went on to say that most people sitting around trying to prove how smart they are, but what do they get from this? Admiration? A confidence boost? Maybe, but how does this help them grow?

It doesn’t. I grow a lot more when I’m the dumbest guy in the room. I’m still the same guy as I was hours earlier, but now I’m afforded the opportunity to learn from people who know so much more than I do. And this got me thinking: I’m always the dumbest guy in the room. Sometimes I’m the best wealth legacy coach, or I know the most about the tax code. Sometimes I’m better educated, but I’m always the dumbest guy in the room.

Every single person I encounter knows more about something than I do. My challenge is to shut up and listen to them, to stop worrying about a bruised ego, and to learn how to grow from other people’s wisdom.

Today’s Challenge: With each person you encounter, remind yourself that you are the dumbest one in the room. Ask yourself: What can I learn from this person?

--Tony Rose is the author of Say Hello to the Elephants: A Four-Part Process for Finding Clarity, Confronting Problems, and Moving On.

Ultradian Rhythms

A few months back, I read a Harvard Business Review article by Tony Schwartz of the Energy Project. Upon reflecting on the good sense his parents had to name him something as fantastic as “Tony,” I went on to actually read the article. Tony talked about Ultradian Rhythms, which are 90- to 120-minute energy-related cycles that human bodies go through. These are cycles of peaks and valleys. Tony concludes that if we take breaks every 90- to 120-minutes and temporarily get our minds off the work at hand, then our efficiency increases significantly.

This theory was tested successfully at Wachovia, where employee work groups took breaks every 90 to 120 minutes. And guess what? They were more efficient.

For go-getters, taking frequent breaks might seem lazy or ineffective. I know a guy who has his day planned to the minute. He races around all day long from one meeting to the next, timing his phone calls with his wife. And sure, he’s effective sometimes, but more often than not, he ends up crashing. I’ve actually been in meetings with him where he’s fallen asleep. His wife tells me that he comes home and just sits. He can’t help around the house. He can’t interact with his kids.

He would be much more productive if he took five-minute breaks every 90 minutes or so. I know this is true because guys named “Tony” don’t lie.

Today’s Challenge: Honor you body’s Ultradian Rhythm by taking five-minute breaks every 90 minutes or so. Note whether your level of productivity increases, decreases, or stays the same.

--Tony Rose is the author of Say Hello to the Elephants: A Four-Part Process for Finding Clarity, Confronting Problems, and Moving On.

Wielding Your Strengths

My wife refuses to shop anywhere but Gelson’s, the upscale supermarket in our neighborhood.

What does Gelson’s have that its cheaper counterparts don’t have? I can think of a few things. The parking lot isn’t a zoo. It is always clean. Its produce and meat are of higher quality, and the lines are shorter.

Shopping anywhere else is simply unacceptable for my wife. With respect to my wife, Gelson’s has a monopoly on her shopping needs.

This got me thinking: What can we all do individually to become monopolies of one?

Everyone does something especially well. I am a passionate advocate for my clients that brings them new information in ways they can understand. It is my unique talent. And if anyone wants to get better clarity around a problem and how they can solve it, they come to me. I hold a monopoly on problem solving.

Recently, I blogged about the importance of wielding strengths. What would happen if we all identified that one thing that we, as individuals, hold a monopoly on? Maybe you are the fastest typist this side of the Mississippi. Maybe you can communicate calmly and effectively with everyone. Maybe you are the best damn night manager at a fast food chain. Perhaps you make amazing gut decisions.

Whatever it is, make that your focus. If you spend each day trying to secure a monopoly centered around your unique talent, all of your shortcomings would fall to the wayside. Who cares that you cannot operate a computer when you speak 16 languages? And who cares that you cannot speak 16 languages when you can dissect a computer and reassemble it in 12 seconds flat?

If you are the damn best (or the best that you can be) at one thing, you can offer the world so much more than your talent. You can offer inspiration.

Today’s Challenge: Spend time identifying your “Unique Abilities”.

--Tony Rose is the author of Say Hello to the Elephants: A Four-Part Process for Finding Clarity, Confronting Problems, and Moving On

Conflict is Good

The title of my book — Say Hello to the Elephants — was inspired by the reaction most people have to conflict. That is, they sit on their hands and refuse to acknowledge it. I was thinking about this during a team meeting with my managers, some of whom refuse to criticize the named partners at Rose, Snyder, & Jacobs.

Conflict in any organization is important, I told them. What I failed to add is that conflict in any relationship is important. To be clear, conflict doesn’t mean that you hate a person or hold grudges. It means that you simply have an inquisitive mind and ask questions when we see them dangling before us. It means that you have the courage to look at each other and say what is honest. It means that you do what you should be doing and, when something doesn’t seem right, you speak up.

In other words: If you leave an elephant in a room, it will not go away. In fact, according to Ellen James of the Carnegie Museum of Natural History, an adult elephant produces up to three hundred pounds of dung a day. If you ignore an elephant too long, you will quickly find out what it is like to walk through a pile of elephant dung.

Finding Clarity Is Painful

Sometimes my clients sound just like my kids: “But Tony, this is hard wooooork. Finding clarity is painful.”

You bet it is. In my book, Say Hello to the Elephants, I tell the story of Doyle. Imagine that Doyle is your fitness trainer, and that you tell Doyle that you have always watned to run a marathon.

“No problem,” he says (of the 26.2-mile race). “It will be easy.”

You smile at him and say, “Swell.”

So you are off and running, expecting it to be a piece of cake based on what your fitness trainer has told you. It will be calming, he says. You will probably have one epiphany after another, similar to those deep, transformational moments during yoga. Doyle leads you to believe that running the marathon will be kind of like relaxing in a Jacuzzi, but different.

You set off running on your first training session. You start hopeful and full of confidence.

Then reality sets in. Your heart is about to burst out of your chest, and you are panting like a thirsty dog. You are convinced that your toenails will rub off, your arches will fall, and you will have shin splints, sweat rashes, strained Achilles tendons, blisters, chafing, and various knee and back ailments along the way. You have only run a half-mile before you decide that running is quite awful.

Swell? More like swelling!

I am simply not cut out for this, you decide, reflecting on Doyle’s claim that it should be easy.

On Day One of training, you quit.

Although it might seem that clarity should be intuitive, the process of reaching clarity is not always easy. Clarity can be difficult to achieve. It does not have to be painful, but it often is. Our choices muddy the waters. Our responsibilities add pressure, and our setbacks seem impossible to overcome.

Pain, at least when it has passed, can be palliative. Imagine for a moment a world in which we could set ambitious, challenging goals and then turn around and attain them without sacrificing a single ounce of blood, sweat, or tears. Not only would that take the “accomplish” out of the accomplishment, but it would also turn your ambitious goals into monotony. You probably would not want to achieve those goals any more. At best, the accomplishments would lack significant meaning.

Maybe your trainer, Doyle, disagrees. “Goals that are easy to reach would not be boring or monotonous,” he says. “That would be fantastic. We could have our cake and eat it too! Sign me up—I love German chocolate cake!”

You should fire Doyle.

Pain gives meaning to our desire and ability to reach goals. It strengthens us, builds our self-confidence and self-worth, and gives us the experience we need to get through the next round of pain. When you have fought for years and years to reach the top—and in the course of those years you have been beaten down, failed on numerous occasions, and rejected by more people than you can count—you will know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you have earned it once you get to the top. The pain you endured will make the reward sweeter. The scrapes and scars are all badges of courage proving you were challenged. The mettle was tested, and the mettle won.

The pain is priceless.

You hire a new trainer, Lance. Lance’s favorite movie is Predator about a U.S. Special under attack by a hideous creature from outer space known as “the Predator.” Lance’s favorite moment is when a fellow soldier informs the tobacco-chewing Blain that Blain is bleeding. Blain keeps chewing his tobacco, scoping out the terrain, matter-of-factly stating, “I ain’t got time to bleed.”

And neither do you. When you have clarity, much of the pain is incidental.

The reward makes the pain irrelevant.

Take Theodore Geisel. In college, Theodore was voted the least likely to succeed. Though his art and writing professors disagreed, Theodore felt he had a knack for drawing and writing, so he sent his work to a number of publishing companies, all of whom rejected his books like clockwork. Twenty-seven publishers said no. (Those grinches!)

And then, publisher twenty-eight said yes.

With that, Theodore Seuss Geisel became Dr. Seuss.

Certainly, being rejected or meeting obstacles can be painful. Disappointment, frustration, and anxiety are normal. But whether that pain blocks you from moving forward is up to you. You can take rejection and let it cut deep, let the pain seer into your being. Or you can say, “I am only looking for one publisher to say yes. This is not the one, but I ain’t got time to bleed, so I will just keep looking,” and move on.

There’s no getting around it: some things are going to hurt. Confronting partnership problems is not easy, nor is it easy to plan for succession, take a new risk, or end a relationship. Our economic slow-down hurts. There is no shortcut. You must have clarity to minister your strength within.

So you tell Lance about your goal of running a marathon. He nods his head. With understanding and support, he says, “Your goal is worthy, and you can do it. It is going to take some time. Many people will not believe that you will succeed. You will have a lot of close calls—a lot of times when you think you cannot do it. Your body will shake. You will feel discouraged, but if you are sure you want to do it, if you want to call yourself a marathoner—a title only 0.13 percent of the population can claim—you can move past the pain. No matter how many disappointments or setbacks you encounter, you can do it. I will be there to help. You are unstoppable.”

You look at Lance and say, “Swell.”

[Today’s blog is modified from “Clarity Planning Takes Effort, and Pain Is Swell,” a chapter from Say Hello to the Elephants.]

Today’s Challenge: Find at least one occasion where you can say, “I ain’t got time to bleed.” Say it, and then go about doing what you should be doing.