The Career Clinic Blog

Every stroke counts.

It’s a philosophy Keith Gockenbach lives by. Keith’s a chemical engineer who became a professional golfer in midlife. He credits much of his success in the office and on the course to knowing every stroke--every connection--matters. “Everyone I meet can help me in some way,” he says. “Everyone I meet is important.” So he’s nice to (you guessed it) everyone.

Being nice is its own reward, but there are other benefits.

You don’t waste time dividing people into categories like “worth being nice to.” You don’t suffer the consequences of guessing wrong when that person flies past you in the game of life. And it’s more fun to play that game when you realize you can’t know how much someone will figure in the outcome.

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Some people don’t know when to quit.

I’m one of them.

I hope you are, too. Because while there’s no shame in changing your mind, there’s no reward for giving up on something that matters.

A favorite professor, who knew that many of us wanted to bail on our engineering majors, had this suggestion: “Make sure you’re running to something and not away from it.”

Me? I couldn’t decide. So I stayed put. I got my degree. I didn’t know what the heck I’d do with it, but I learned something. When you don’t know where you’re going you may as well hang out where you are.

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Some employers are reluctant to pay people differently based on performance. At least according to human resources consultant John Putzier, who thinks that’s a mistake. He says rewarding people for a job well done isn’t discrimination. It’s management!

How do you keep compensation levels fair? By keeping them smart, John says. Set “smart” goals. Specific, measurable, achievable, relevant, and time-bound.

It shouldn’t be a surprise, this business of paying people or giving them raises or bonuses. Keep it simple, keep it smart, and keep everyone--including yourself--accountable.

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We were hours away from the Minnesota Book Awards, and Darrell wanted to know if I’d prepared any remarks in case the book I wrote won.

Well, no.

“I think you should,” he said.

Now what? Prepare something, and feel silly if I didn’t need it? Then again, we wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t a chance of needing it…and stumbling around for that minute or two on stage would haunt me for the rest of my life.

So I scribbled something out, practiced it in front of my sweethearts, and memorized it. Then I kept practicing--to the mirror in the hotel bathroom, under my breath as we rode to the ceremony, in my head again as we took our seats.

And guess what? I needed it!

I was excited but relaxed as I walked to the stage, soaking up everything about the magic setting because I was prepared. “Congratulations!” someone said. “Don’t lean into the mike,” someone else whispered. “Stand about six inches back.”

I walked to the podium. The lights were so bright I could barely see any faces, but I knew they were there. So I said, “Hi.”

Hi!

That wasn’t in my script, but it’s what you’d say first. And I nailed it!

Which gave me the confidence to get the rest of it out. Which went something like this…

“My hero is a weatherman I read about in People magazine about thirty years ago, who supposedly loved his job so much he was embarrassed to get paid for it. I have been lucky enough to find not one but two careers I feel that way about, radio and writing. The thing about both is that you’re not generally paid so much you can’t live with yourself.”

And they laughed! They laughed! I let them laugh before I continued.

“The reward is in the work. And once in a while, the chance to attend a great party--with my friend Todd Orjala from the University of Minnesota Press…and my sweethearts, Darrell and Katie Anderson. Thank you so much for including me.”

And that was it. I didn’t stumble on one syllable.

You don’t want to know how many times I’ve replayed this moment and everything else about the evening. The memories we made as a family that weekend are among our most cherished.

Now imagine I’d stumbled around for my fifteen seconds (well, forty-five seconds) of fame.

I’d always remember that.

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Are you're worried you're too young to be in serious consideration for that dream job? How about telling the employer that what you lack in experience you'll make up in attitude?

Come to the interview armed with examples of how you caught on quickly and pulled your weight.

If you’re energized by the challenge of fixing a copy machine or soothing an irate customer, don’t keep it a secret from the hiring manager. Let that person know how eager you are to do this job.

The manager’s job is to find people who feel that way, whose reward is in the work.

If that describes you, playing hard to get--even accidentally, by trying not to appear as desperate as you might feel--will make getting the job even more difficult.

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Career consultant Michael Bryant once asked a teacher what she liked about her work. “Long vacations,” she said. “And summers off.”

He looked at her. “No,” he said. “I mean while you’re there.”

The thing you want to like about a job is the work itself, Michael says, not some fringe benefit. That’s too much pressure on a fringe benefit.

If your reward is in the work, you’re much less likely to need certificates of appreciation or a higher salary than your neighbor to be happy. You're also much less likely to be derailed by the inevitable personality conflicts that seem to come with almost every position.

Are you having trouble deciding whether to accept an offer? Imagine yourself--at say, ten o'clock on a random Tuesday morning--doing the work. Does your heart leap at the thought? If not, maybe you should keep looking.

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My hero is a weatherman I read about in a magazine many years ago who loved his job so much he was embarrassed to get paid for it. There was such glee on his face in that photograph! He was standing under an umbrella in a downpour. Printed on the umbrella were the words, "See. I told you it would rain."

To love your job so much you're embarrassed to get paid for it? What if that was possible? I eventually found not one but two jobs I love so much I'm embarrassed to get paid for them. "But the thing about a career in radio, or writing," I tease people, "is that you're not generally paid so much you can't live with yourself."

The reward is in the work. The proof is in my reaction to a friend's acceptance of still another sales job, which wasn't exactly her calling if I'm remembering this right. "I want a nice life," she told me. That part I remember for sure. Because my next thought was, "I'm glad I got that out of my system. I want an interesting life."

Not that you can't have both...

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Do you remember your first job? I do. I lied to get it.

I wanted to work as a beverage girl at a buffet restaurant, but I was only fifteen. The law required you to be sixteen. So I lied. So, apparently, had several other teenagers. One night the dessert girl got an attack of honesty and confessed to the floor manager--during a huddle in the walk-in freezer where they kept tubs of cherry filling and whipped cream and chocolate shavings--that she was underage. She got fired instantly, and the manager said, "I know there are others." He started with the salad girl and worked his way back down the line toward the beverages--and me. One by one his employees fell like dominoes.

I was sick. I waited for the axe. Instead I got, "Please tell me you're not..." I'm not saying I worked any harder than the others, but the manager apparently thought so. I kept water glasses filled and coffee pots going and checkout girls backed up as if entire civilizations depended on it. I didn't know there was such a thing as a "nothing" job--turns out there isn't--and I gave this one everything I had. When I got a ten-cent raise--from a dollar sixty-five an hour!--well, I still get a little puffy thinking about it.

"How long before you're sixteen?" the manager asked. A couple of months. He patted me on the back. "Let's just see how it goes..."

Oh!

At the ripe old age of fifteen years and ten months I was already a big fan of working hard. But to have that hard work rewarded in such a unique way, I was hooked. I marched on for the next fifteen years or so with the belief that hard work defines you--and is the only excuse you have for being on the planet, really. To contribute, to save money, and to be a good kid--which I have since amended to include...not lying.

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