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What Should
I Do With My Life? The True Story of People Who Answered the Ultimate
Question by Po Bronson Rating: ••• (Recommended) |
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Click on title or picture to buy from amazon.com |
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Glimmers When Po Bronson wondered what work he
should do next, he decided to go out and ask other people how they decided,
and that led to his latest book, What
Should I Do with My Life? This is a great question, that can have many different
answers during the course of a lifetime. The true stories that Bronson
presents allow readers to pause and listen to possible answers to that ultimate
question. Sometimes in the pausing, the answers seem clearer. Here’s an excerpt of Bronson’s closing
remarks: THE REWARDS ARE FOR ONLY THOSE WHO LISTEN
ATTENTIVELY I
don't think of the people in this book as the best stories out there. Rather,
they're the ones that came into my life. Once I heard a story, I was willing
to get on a plane, and I was willing to be honest. In order to know people
personally, I might have gone to great lengths, but I didn't go to great
lengths to discover them. If
some of the stories are amazing, it suggests to me that amazing stories must
be everywhere. If the stories are inspiring, then inspiring stories are
everywhere. If the stories are ordinary—which is how I think of them—then
many ordinary people, everywhere, are daring to be true to themselves. I
began this book with nothing more than a glimmer. I was sitting in my office,
staring into space, unable to write, when I asked myself: What was on
people's minds? A lot were wondering what to do with their lives. That big,
obvious, threatening, looming question. Unconsciously, I got up and knocked
on my friend Ethan Watters's door, threw myself down on his minisofa, and
asked him what he thought of the idea. "How would you do it?" he
asked, naturally. I didn't know. I had one instinct: writing about my own friends
would be cheating. I needed to sample real people from around the country.
"How would you find them?" he asked. I didn't know. I secured votes
of confidence from my agent and my ex-editor (who had left publishing, but I
trusted his opinion, and it turned out he came back to books two months
later). I set to work, trying to figure it out. I didn't know where I was
headed, but this seemed like what I needed, to plunge into the unknown,
guided only by my muse. I
didn't know that I would meet so many wonderful people. I never expected how
honest they would be with me. I didn't know that I would learn so much from
them. I didn't know that this book would become a vehicle for me to express a
new voice. I didn't know that my desire for this book would survive my son's
birth, or the catastrophe of September 11, or our parents' falling ill. All
that unfolded for me later, like a reward for trusting my instincts. Here's
my point: usually, all we get is a glimmer.
A story we read or someone we briefly met. A curiosity. A meek voice inside,
whispering. It's up to us to hammer out the rest. The rewards of pursuing it
are only for those who are willing to listen attentively, only for those
people who really care. It's
not for everyone. If we are the victim of an injustice, it is up to us to
find a meaningful way to channel our anger. If we suffer a terrible crisis,
only we can transform this suffering into a launching pad for a new life. These
are the turning points from which we get to construct our own story, if we choose
to do so. It won't be easy, and it won't be quick. Finding what we should do
is one of life's great dramas. It can be an endless process of discovery, one
to be appreciated and respected for its difficulty. There
will always be those who say it's impractical. I respect that we have to be
practical in our approach, and we have to live up to our responsibilities.
But it's not impractical or vain. The reason is, people who love what they do
are much more productive than those who are doing it for the paycheck. If we
can find work we care about, our productivity will explode. Our value will
increase radically. We will be the source of good ideas. And we will be
rewarded. I
studied economics in college, so let me address the question of whether this
is practical from a macroeconomic point of view. While
writing this book, I was invited by Michael Dell, of Dell Computer, to be on
a panel at a gathering of the Business Council, a group of over one hundred
CEOs from some of the biggest companies in the country. Together, they pretty
much are the economy. Or a huge chunk of it. It was an honor to be
invited to address them. My panel would last an hour, and I was one of five
participants, so I would probably only get one shot to deliver a coherent
message. I might never again speak to such an influential crowd. This was my
chance. If you had a few minutes to address the leaders of the economy, what
would you say? We
had a great lead-in. Before our panel, the podium was turned over to Dr.
Lawrence Summers, the president of Harvard and a noted economist. He reviewed
some frightening demographics for any CEOs in the audience who were bullish
on the economy. He asked the question, "Where will the economic growth
come from, if at all?" In the preceding twenty years, we've had the wind
at our backs. The number of prime-age workers (ages twenty-five to
fifty-four) increased by 54 percent. The percentage with a college degree
increased by 50 percent. In other words, the economy has grown since 1980
largely because the number of people participating in the economy has grown. Looking
ahead to the next twenty years, during which many baby boomers are expected
to retire, we can expect no growth in the number of workers.
The percentage that are minorities and immigrants will increase by 50
percent, and there will be no change in the fraction with a college degree.
In other words, unless these trends are changed—or unless there are
unforeseen boosts in productivity per worker—the economy won't grow much, if
at all. In
other words, audience, if you sell John Deere tractors, there will not be
people with lawns to mow. If you sell Boeing airplanes, there won't be people
to fly in their seats. If you sell Tide soap, there won't be people who need
their clothes washed. It
was a pretty intense moment as this sank in. Could
the most powerful CEOs in America change something about that? That's what
this conference was for. The entire next day's schedule was devoted to
education reform. The notion was, it would be up to the educational system to
transform the unproductive and uneducated into productive consumers. The
question our panel was asked to address is, "What do employees
want?" What would it take to get more commitment out of them, more ideas
out of them, more value out of them? The panelists chipped in with their
ideas about benefits, flex time, day care, free M&Ms on Wednesdays, stock
options, small companies versus large ones, cubicles versus private offices,
and various methods of showing standout individuals a little extra appreciation.
At this point, the conversation was passed to me. I
leaned forward in my seat. "What do people really want?" They
want to find work they're passionate about. Offering benefits and incentives
are mere compromises. Educating people is important but not enough—far too
many of our most educated people are operating at quarter-speed, unsure of
their place in the world, contributing too little to the productive engine of
modern civilization, still feeling like observers, like they haven't come
close to living up to their potential. Our guidance needs to be better. We
need to encourage people to find their sweet spot. Productivity
explodes when people love what they do. We're sitting on a huge potential
boom in productivity, which we could tap into if we got all the square pegs
in the square holes and round pegs in round holes. It's not something
we can measure with statistics, but it's a huge economic issue. It's
a great natural resource that we're ignoring. The
tone in the room shifted. To my surprise, people agreed with rne. The
value in their companies came from the employees who were passionate about
being there. The extra effort came from them. The new ideas came from them. I
didn't tell this audience anything they didn't know. I only reminded them of
it. In
other words, with the wind now at our faces, it's impractical to settle for
less than a life we love. How
are we to think of the search for a calling? We have to go looking for
it, and yet what we're looking for is
inside us. Is there a metaphor that properly
characterizes this search? Lately,
I've closed my eyes. I imagine I'm in a dream. It's one of those dreams in
which I toss and turn for a while. It's dark out. It's night. I'm walking in
a neighborhood. There are a lot of stray dogs moving through the shadows.
Some seem to be following me. It's making me nervous. In this neighborhood
are some of the houses from the Seattle neighborhood I grew up in, but others
I don't recognize. This confusion triggers a great urgency. I have to get
home! Where is my house? I like houses a certain way. I think I know what my
house will look like, but my vision is a little blurry. I
approach certain houses, but it feels like Halloween night—a lot of these
houses scare me. Dogs are barking. That light in the window scares me. I
don't recognize that car. That's not my house. I'm getting spooked. I
can't walk all night. It's going to get cold. I keep walking. I'm sure I'm
never going to find it. Maybe I should just go to a friend's house. Maybe I
can find an empty garage where I can get some sleep. Why does it seem like
everyone has a house but me? Now
I'm walking with Carl Kurlander in Squirrel Hill. Now I'm walking with Chi
Tschang through Jamaica Plain. Now I'm walking in the snow with Nicole
Heinrich through Logan Square. Now I'm walking with Ashley Merryman through
Culver City. Now I'm walking in the rain with Ana Miyares through Little
Havana. They're looking for their houses, too. But look at all these
different types of houses people live in! I used to be afraid of houses like
these! It's okay now. I want to find my house, but I'm not going to stay
there forever. It doesn't have to be permanent. I'll stay there as long as
one stays in a house. I think back on all those houses I was so sure weren't
mine—was I just afraid because they were unfamiliar? Was I afraid of the
barking? Maybe that dog was barking to tell me to come home. Maybe my wife
left that light on in the window so I would be able to find it. Damn! Should
I go back? This is not a dream I can go backward in. So I tell myself,
there's another one out there. And I vow that I will not be scared of what it
looks like. I'm sure I have lots of fears, but I won't let them paralyze me.
I'll get rid of my prejudices. So when I come across it—and I know I will,
eventually—this time I'll be ready. And I'll walk in the front door. And I'll
feel at home. "Why
am I here?" asked the first-year MBA at Harvard, who was frightened by
the debt he was saddling himself with by attending grad school only to please
his mother. "What
should I do?" asked the doctor at a prestigious academic hospital, after
she had lost faith in universities when falsely accused of manipulating
research data by a former lab assistant with a grudge. "Where
is my place?" asked the engineer who faced emigration back to Taiwan
after being laid off by a friend. "Should
I go?" asked the woman who heard a voice telling her to go to Mexico. "What
should I do now?" asked the advertising salesman who took four months
off to spend with his brother, who died of a brain tumor. These
were not questions I could hide from. These were not dramas existing only on
the page. I'm clumsy at ministering, but I have been, at times, pulled into
that role. I prefer not to generalize, so I couch my advice in a person's
story. That person is me. I used to have all these notions that I no
longer have—thanks to hearing stories from people like them. I used to think certain jobs were "cool," and
more likely to inspire passion, Now I know passion is rooted in deeply felt
experiences, which can happen anywhere. I used to think life presented a
five-page menu of choices. Now I think the choice is in whether to be honest,
to ourselves and others, and the rest is more of an uncovering, a peeling
away of layers, discovering talents we assumed we didn't have. I used to
treasure the innocence of first love. Now I treasure the hard-fought. I used
to want to change the world. Now I'm open to letting it change me. I spent months proceeding slowly through
the stories in What
Should I Do with My Life. I wanted to pause and think about what the
stories had to say to me. In some ways, the transformation that can come from
peeling away layers brings revelations that can be startling, and may need
time to reconcile with that familiar companion, self-image. Stop and listen
for the glimmers that may change your life. Steve Hopkins, May 27, 2003 |
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ã 2003 Hopkins and Company, LLC The
recommendation rating for this book appeared in the June 2003
issue of Executive
Times URL
for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/What
Should I Do with My Life.htm For
Reprint Permission, Contact: Hopkins
& Company, LLC • 723 North Kenilworth Avenue • Oak Park, IL 60302 E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
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