I realized today that I'm kind of a great loser.
Now as kids we don't really aspire to one day become losers. "I want to be a doctor!" "I want to be a firefighter!" "I want to be a loser when I grow up!"
NO. We try everything in our power to be the opposite of a loser. Well, usually we just try to be average. To fit in. And then we grow up, or at least taller, and we realize the way to success is by standing out. When you work in sales, you definitely have to stand out. You have to be remembered for something and hopefully it's for something good, like awesome service.
Recently I've been working on quite a few client proposals. And admittedly I have way more respect for sales reps now that I've switched sides from the agency world. I had no idea how hard they worked, how quickly they were working, how many projects were moving simultaneously, and most of all, I had no idea how often they lost.
Of course losing is not the goal now. No more than losing has ever been anyone's goal. But losing in life is inevitable. The real question is how will you react to loss? Loss of an account, a job, a loved one, a relationship, a friend, an ab.
You will lose.
No matter how wonderful you are. Or think you are. What really makes people wonderful is when they bounce back with faith and anticipation for the next time around. Believing that the win is coming. No matter what actually happens.
Believe it or not, I have a couple of friends who don't like me too much anymore. I say believe it or not because that's not something that I'd like to advertise on Facebook. That's what passive aggressive blogging is for, right? Now, I'm not saying someone hates me, especially not the me I used to be. But they certainly don't love the new me as much. The me I'm becoming, the me I'm learning. The me that's comfortable just openly being me. Some people have a hard time accepting change. And others don't like to see their own friends grow and expand.
Some people just won't like it when you become President. Or when you get the pretty husband. Or when you come out. Or when you stop drinking. Or whatever it may be. Some people just can't handle it.
And to be honest, my first reaction is to not like these kind of people very much at all. I want to hate them.
But just when I've got my little voodoo doll all stretched out on the kitchen table with a Taco Bell spork in my hand, I'm reminded. Not that this spork isn't going to do much but tickle them. No, I'm reminded that this is just another one of those moments. One where I get to decide how I'll react. Either with disgust that they don't love me as much as I love me. Or with appreciation. Appreciation because they can teach me something.
You are not defined by what that other person thinks of you. Thank God. But you are defined by how you react to it. What you make of the situation. That's the measure of your true self.
I want to write more. Writing is my therapy. And who doesn't want a free therapist? Only you jerks with a thousand million instagram followers. A helpful book I once read (ahem, three-fourths read) said to take a walk. Take a walk and pay attention to the shade of one color. Come back and write everything you saw that was that color. So I took a hike 4 blocks to Trader Joe's to do my grocery shopping tonight. My color was yellow.
Ten minutes into my journey, I came to the strong belief that my arch enemy had sent someone to the store minutes before I arrived to buy everything he could find in the slightest shade of yellow. Yellow had been depleted. Literally who killed yellow?
I was defeated. Until I was in line to check out. A very nice woman was just ahead of me in this line that had to be twice as long as any Disney theme park has ever seen. As I waited, and waited, I played on Instagram. Eventually dropping my phone on the ground. As I leaned over to pick it up, I noticed the woman's YELLOW shorts in front of me. Hallelujuah praise him keep the faith! I had found my yellow.
Thread counts and intense texture descriptions later, I had one beautiful story contained within a Van Gogh painting of my mind. Smiling as I thought about having something to write about once back home. Content with my efforts, I looked up and saw none other than that woman's side eye staring back at me. With her glare over her back left shoulder, I realized she was looking directly at me. Looking at her. She was looking at me thinking I was staring at her... umm... not shorts.
"Yeah... no... I wasn't...."
There was no escaping me turning the color of volcanic lava, and I was about that same temperature, too. The only thing crazier would have been if I started to describe what I was actually doing staring at her shorts. So quietly, and calmly, I sat down my grocery basket and immediately fled that scene like Usain Bolt racing through a gym jam packed with middle schoolers who were all trying to stand in his way.
So fast for a second that I thought I had forced a cerebral hemorrhage upon myself. Completely forgetting about those shorts.
I lost, I failed.
Every bit of my wondrous description of those yellow shorts was gone. But with it, a replacement far better of a story.
Are you mad about not being about to describe the yellow shorts of your life? Or are you thankful for the better story that has risen to the surface in its place? It's all happening as it should. Be thankful and just enjoy this one heck of a ride. Losing can be winning.
Here goes, y'all!