There’s a business coach I follow whose income catapulted from $300K per year to $25M per year in seven years. She talks about how she knew she’d reach her goals, simply because she was willing to “keep trying until I get there.”
Her theory is that most people give up on their goals and dreams far too soon. If your end point is “never,” then you have a really good chance you’ll meet your goals–or, literally, die trying.
The thing is, for most of us, “never give up” isn’t the way we operate. You may be familiar with the oft-quoted fact that most small businesses fail within the first 18 months, for instance. Most people throw in the towel rather than face the daily sucker punch to their ego of repeated failure.
It’s the same when we attempt a new skill during our “dessert days” (i.e., the opposite of “salad days”). I decided to take up piano at age 39. It had been a lifelong dream, and I was determined to become proficient.
I practiced for about a month, then got bored trying to learn where the notes went on the scales, over and over and over. I realized I still didn’t know anything about how to play piano . . . and gave up.
Well, not so our pooch Zoey. For this girl, the number of failures is irrelevant. She’ll just keep trying, keep adjusting, keep pursuing that goal. . . until (I assume) she dies.
Zoey is very persistent where food is involved. . .
One of the games I bought for our little Labraheeler is an “interactive treat puzzle.” In other words, what looks like a three-dimensional checker board on which each square slides to one side, revealing a compartment beneath, into which you place a treat. Then slide all the doors back over the treats and allow the dog to discover them.
Zoey is a very paw-oriented canine. In fact, when she’s outside a room with the door closed, she scratches like a cat to push the door open–it would never occur to her to press with her nose the way our other dogs did. So when she was faced with a box that required sliding trap doors to uncover treats, she was all for it.
Only problem? Zoey is a uni-directional slider (from top to bottom) only. The toy is designed to require multi-directional moves to keep it interesting.
At first, Zoey was flush with success: by brushing her paw from the top of the puzzle (farthest from her) down to the bottom (closest), she did manage to open up a few of the compartments and eat the treats of her labor. But then, some of the doors required horizontal movements.
But Zoey’s inclination is to slide vertically. Which meant no more treats, and a whole lot of frustration.
Did our Zoey girl give up? Nosirree! She kept scratching. And swiping. And scraping. . . . for fifteen minutes.
Still no treats.
But she could smell them in there. And that was enough. More scratching.
Eventually, in her frustration, she moved round to another side of the board. From that angle, when she implemented her usual vertical movement, IT WORKED! After this discovery, she simply made her way round the square, one side at a time, moving her paws the same way each time, until all the treats were recovered.
Now, that’s persistence!
The same refusal to give up was evident every morning in her interaction with Chaser, our previous (much older, sometimes ornery) dog.
Although Chaser was almost ten years older than Zoey (an eternity in dog years), she was still very fit and active when they first met. In fact, Chaser was more than willing to romp around the backyard with her new sister, play-bowing, scampering and hopping on the grass, being especially careful and gentle with the pup.
An early (and almost final) playtime between Chaser and Zoey. (See how Zoey uses her paws? Uh-oh. . . . ).
Not so Zoey, however. Within 48 hours, Zoey had leapt up, paws forward (as is her wont) and unwittingly scratched Chaser’s nose on the way down. Chaser yelped and withdrew immediately, both hurt and disoriented at the movement. Given her entire lifetime playing with Elsie (our first dog), Chaser had no experience with puppy energy, or being hurt while playing.
Kind soul that she was, Chaser forgave Zoey and, a day later, attempted a second play date. And Zoey, creature of habit that she is. .. offended again. This time, the yelp was louder, followed by a high-pitched whine and a flurry of shaking, paw-to-nose and, finally, hunching in a corner of the yard.
Despite my rushing to her rescue, showering her with soothing pats while I simultaneously reprimanded Zoey, Chaser never again played with her sister (she was, after all, the dog who required just one incident to learn for life–so a second chance here was already an exception. A third chance would have been a 5-sigma event–or higher, to be honest).
So it always seemed rather futile to me, at least, when Zoey attempted–every single morning thereafter–to engage her sister in play. Torso stretched out, bum in air, howling and barking, tail wagging furiously–none of it was enough to convince Chaser to take the chance that her nose might, once again, fall victim to Zoey’s nail as it swiped down and through her delicate nasal membrane.
And yet, Zoey persisted. Every time Chaser walked by, eyes deliberately trained on something–anything–other than her, Zoey’s expression was hopeful, gaze flickering across Chaser’s body while her tail fluttered like a flag in the wind.
And every time, my heart sank a little for her.
Chaser finally comes through—for half a second.
But maybe it’s I who had it all wrong? It certainly wasn’t expected, but one day, perhaps only a week or two before Chaser died, she relented. She must have thought, “What have I got to lose at this point?” Or maybe, “I’ll be damned if I don’t get back at that little bugger before I go.”
Whatever the reason, Chaser, after conducting her daily “snuffle” across the foot of our bed, jerked her face toward her sister and nipped her ear. It lasted only a second, but it was most definitely a response-in-kind to Zoey’s daily entreaties.
(As a side note, I’m happy to report that Zoey has experienced far less frustration engaging her new brother to play. While he’s still a little shy, Jasper is definitely game for a daily session of “I’ll-bite-your-ear-if-you-bite-my-neck.” Zoey could not be happier).
In the end, you’ve gotta admire Zoey’s perseverance. After all, it’s what got her those treats in the puzzle. It’s what gets her outside on a walk a few minutes early. And it’s how she managed to snag my heart, finally and eternally, with her daily solicitations.
So how about we adopt the motto from Galaxy Quest and “Never give up, never surrender”?
Whether for a small challenge like learning how to operate the new coffee maker or for something grander, like finding the love of your life, let’s vow to keep going. Keep trying. Assume there is no end point.
Then see what happens.
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Follow-up to last week’s challenge: Learn from your mistakes. How did it go?
I’ve often heard that running your own business is like the greatest self-development course you’ll ever take. Whatever your flaws and weaknesses, you will be thrown face-to-face against them, like it or not. You can rise to the challenge. . . or sink.
And a critical lesson learned? You will fail. A lot. (Plus: everyone fails. Learn from your failures or continue to fail).
As someone whose past was firmly entrenched in academia (after completing a PhD, I went on to teach at a college for more than two decades), I was used to a specific pattern: work hard; see results. If I studied for a test, I got an “A.” If I put hours of research and thought into my lectures, they were well received. I had a lifetime of working in the field of books, essays, lectures and classrooms to rely on.
When it came to business, I was a greenhorn fresh off the boat. What did I know of business? My dad ran a butcher shop for 35 years. Great–but the walk-in freezer, the glass cases of cheese and eggs, the hanging pepperoni and rows of chocolate behind the cash–well, those weren’t going to serve me very well in the digital world.
For that, it took many years, multiple courses and coaches, and dozens of attempts to get it right. The first time I sold a program, I sold six seats. When I repeated the process, I sold two seats. My first impulse was to blame myself: They don’t like me as much. The first program was crap and the word got around. I don’t know what the heck I am doing (while this last was true, it wasn’t the reason the program didn’t sell).
Eventually, I learned that I needed to expand my audience (and having some sales techniques under my belt might help, too). If you sell a program and everyone in the audience who wants it, buys it–well, then, you’re out of potential customers. Seems simple, right?
If nothing else, the greatest lesson my business has taught me over the years is not to take anything personally. Failures aren’t a reflection of your individual worth as a human. They are simply messages from the universe, telling you to avoid falling leashes or moving windows in the future.
You can embrace the lesson, change, and try again, or you can forever more repeat the error and have your nose smashed. Like Chaser, I like my nose. So I decided to pivot, learn, try something else. After all, we all know Einstein’s famous definition of insanity.**
All this to say, I’m still in the throes of learning from my mistakes. I’ll take heart knowing that there are many more to come.
**Or, Tony Robbins’ definition. Or, Mark Twain’s. Or, Benjamin Franklin’s. In other words, we don’t know who the hell really said it. But it’s a good one.
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Somehow this song came to me while reading this.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=45u0kdUgFgo