Walt Hampton, J.D.

Creating the Work & Life You LOVE

Gnaw On One Tree

by Walt | Apr 11, 2013 | Success | 1 Comment

I was a pyromaniac once. I burned everything in sight. I think it was a teenage boy thing. Thankfully, I seem to have outgrown it.

My incendiary device of choice was a heavy, long-handled magnifying glass. Out in the bright sun with some newspaper or a pile of dry leaves, I could get quite a blaze going in no time.

The power of the sun – focused through the glass.

There is little that cannot be accomplished with the power of focus.

I thought about this as I was running by our river last week. There’s a beaver down there. And he’s gnawed on about two-dozen trees or so.

Now, I’m no beaver expert. But I’m pretty sure that the whole object of the effort is to get a tree down and into the water to be used for a dam or a beaver house or some other beaver-type enterprise. But so far, there are just a bunch of trees with big bites out of them. Seems like it would be a much better use of beaver time to choose one tree and gnaw it straight through.

All of us, from time to time, are guilty of this generalized gnawing.

We all have a tendency to scurry about in frenzied activity; juggling a bunch of balls; trying desperately to keep them all in the air. And, oftentimes, a bunch of things end up being half-gnawed.

Entrepreneurs are particularly prone to this; wanting to be generalists; trying to be all things to all people; thinking that to cast the net wide is the secret to success. When really, just the opposite is true: to niche down; to get focused. That’s how we build a firm foundation; that’s how we build our experience and claim our expertise.

Leadership expert Brendon Burchard, when talking about launching a new business or platform, uses the metaphor of digging a fence post. He says, dig one post. Focus on one thing, one service, one product, one offering, one area of expertise. Dig the post dig. Make it solid. And then, and only then, think about the next one. Over time, you’ll have a solid line of fence; instead of digging a bunch of shallow holes only to have the entire line fall over.

Digging the foundation deep. Seems like a pretty good principle for lots of things: writing, running, relationships, health and fitness, and creative endeavors.

Stephen Covey said that, “The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing.”

The power of focus. Sets stuff on fire.

Find one tree and gnaw on it.

Stuck. In a Ditch.

by Walt | Apr 4, 2013 | Journeys, Success | 1 Comment

“I’d slow it down if I were you.”

(My friend Dave always prescient.)

I glanced in the rearview mirror, smiled or perhaps smirked… and pressed the gas just a little bit harder. Around the corner on the icy road I swerved to avoid a log. And unceremoniously impaled the Subaru in a ditch.

Deep in the New Hampshire backcountry; miles from the main road; not the faintest hint of cellphone coverage.

Stuck. Stuck in a hole with no clear way out.

I hate feeling stuck.

Feeling stuck sucks.

I was reminded of this last week as I was fielding questions from an audience after a keynote I had given.

He was well-dressed; professional; mid-forties. A parent.

He looked – and sounded – beleaguered.

“Aren’t we just stuck with the commitments that we make?” he asked. “It’s not like we can just walk away from our kids, our families, our jobs, even if we feel like it.”

Almost a sense of desperation in his voice.

The core of my message: To listen to the call of our hearts; to fulfill our dreams; to make our lives extraordinary.

I remember well that sense of desperation. Single parenting, three young boys, trying to run a business, managing a staff, keeping clients happy, struggling to pay bills, and, yes, desperately endeavoring to keep all the balls in the air. One day melting into the next wondering whether I could ever possibly reclaim a life of my own.

Here’s what I learned: Commitments matter. Relationships matter. Family matters. Careers matter. Giving matters.

But none of it matters if we lose ourselves.

There’s a reason we’re told by the flight attendants in that tired old safety schpeel that, in the event the cabin loses pressure and oxygen mask drops down, put your own mask on first. Before helping others. Because you can’t do a damn thing for anyone else if you are dead on the cabin floor.

We simply can’t take care of our children, our partners, our clients, our colleagues, our staffs if we’re empty and depleted.

And for some reason, culturally, we’re told that that is what we “should” do.

What message do we send, what example do we set, what lesson do we teach if that the way we live?

And, really, what impact do we really have if we’re constantly running on empty?

The core of my message is not to tell your boss or your wife or your kids to go screw themselves.

But it is mission critical to carve out those moments, those hours, those opportunities, even in the midst of chaos, even in the midst of all of our obligations, to feed ourselves, to nurture ourselves, to claim what is oxygen for us. An hour at the bookstore. A commitment to the gym or to a yoga practice. A couple of hours on the bike. A walk along the river. A boundary, an oasis, some small sanctuaries for yourself.

I found that I needed to “steal” those moments at first: getting up an hour earlier; setting limits; saying ‘no’ when it would be easier to say ‘yes.’

Gradually I discovered the road: ways to reclaim my dreams without abandoning the ship, ways of sharing my passions with my kids, and ultimately ways of crafting a life that was finally balanced and complete. And filled with joy.

An icy way at first. Lessons hard fought. And hurt along the way.

Imperfect to be sure. God knows it would take a few more lifetimes to get this stuff right. And I’m fairly certain that I, like many struggling parents, will have endowed more than a few therapist chairs.

A way that was not all or nothing. But a way that was – and is – whole.

So to the man in the back row: Put on your mask. And breath. Breath in the air. Claim what is yours. Rediscover again what brings you joy. And as you do, notice the space around you.

And the possibilities. Not only for yourself, but for those you love.

Slow down. Even just a bit.

So that you don’t end up. Stuck. In that ditch. With nothing left to give.

The Beavers Are Busy. Are You?

by Walt | Mar 28, 2013 | Success | 0 Comments

Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall you not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert. — Isaiah 43:19

I’ve noticed the beavers at work along the river these past few mornings.

It seems that spring came in the northern hemisphere last week. A good thing. It’s been a long and malingering winter.

Some winters are like that.

Winter, for many, means hardship. Storms and brutal cold; grey skies, short days and long, dark nights; shoveling snow, icy roads and heating bills that seem to never end.

Things tend to lay dormant in the winter. Many in the animal kingdom hide out and hibernate.

In the people kingdom too.

Then the spring comes. New life, new energy, new hope. A reprieve; a new beginning.

And so it is in all our lives.

What we do in the springtime of our lives matters. How we till the soil; what we plant; where we plant it; how much we care.

What we build; how we build it.

The summer will surely come. And then the harvest time. It always does.

That harvest, what we reap, will depend on these very moments in our lives: What we sow in the here and now will dictate the seasons yet to come.

In our businesses and careers;
In our networks and relationships;
In our marriages and partnerships and families;
In our health and fitness;
In our financial lives;
In the service of others.

It’s easy to be complacent in the spring, what with the weight of winter finally lifted off. But spring is a time for focus; the time to re-charge, to re-double our efforts. The seeds that we plant, the investments that we make, the care and the attention that we bring to the spring in our lives will yield a thousand fold in the soft glow of our autumn time.

Of course, the seasons of our lives don’t always correspond with Mother Nature. I surely have experienced some desperate winters in the midst of spring; and brutal heat that killed the seeds long after harvest time had come.

But the spring of the year is a good time to remind ourselves of the never-ending rhythm of things; that even in the darkest of nights, the light will return. And that when it does, we have an opportunity to begin again; to create anew; to make our lives the masterpieces they’ve always been meant to be.

Jim Rohn said, “You cannot change the seasons; but you can change yourself.”

In every moment – in every spring – we get to choose.

Wherever you are, whatever the season for you, let’s begin again.

Size Matters

by Walt | Mar 21, 2013 | Success | 0 Comments

For awhile, I lived next door to a guy who sold corporate jets. You know, like Lear jets. The kind that Arab sheiks and Donald Trump fly around in.

I was always intrigued to hear the stories of the sales this guy made.

What was especially fascinating was how very ordinary the process was.

Selling a jet is just like selling a vacuum cleaner.

Seriously.

A sale, regardless of the thing you’re selling, is about identifying a problem and offering a solution; it’s about communication and relationship building; it’s about about over-delivering on a promise; and it’s about following-up, caring and long-term service.

Doesn’t matter whether it’s a jet… or a vacuum cleaner.

Until, of course, you come to the commission.

Which brings me to my point this week: It takes about the same amount of effort and skill to sell a jet as it does to sell a vacuum cleaner; the same amount of effort and skill to find and nurture the client; the same amount of effort and skill to make and close the sale.

So why not sell the jet and reap the huge rewards?

The same thing can be said about dreams.

It takes the same amount of effort to dream a small dream as to dream a big dream.

So why not go for the big one?

Fear, usually. And a sense of unworthiness.

We think our fears are meant to keep us safe. But in reality they keep us small.

I love what Marianne Williamson has to say about this:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our Light, not our Darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you NOT to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world.”

For some reason, so many of us undervalue who we are and what we’re capable of. We don’t know or appreciate our worth beyond measure. We cannot comprehend our capacity to impact the world.

And impact – and serve – we must.

The truth is: We are singularities. Each of us is imbued with gifts and talents that are ours alone to share.

We have been sent. We are called to live large; to live out loud; to play full out; to make our presence known. We are called to lead and love and lift each other up along the way. We are called to share; to make our mark; and leave the world a better place.

Chris Guillebeau was gracious in allowing me to use this quote at the start of Journeys:

“The world has enough sleepwalkers and cynics; the rest of us need your help. I’ve made a lot of mistakes along the path of my own conventional journey. What I refused to do was settle, and I hope you won’t settle either.”

Mediocrity is poison; don’t settle.

Look around. The Universe is vast and overflowing. Abundance is our birthright.

There is no prize for playing small.

Walt Disney said, “If you can dream it, you can do it.”

So dream big.

The world is waiting. For you.

Selfish Dreams

by Walt | Mar 14, 2013 | Journeys, Success | 0 Comments

“I have a bone to pick with you.”

I had been stuffing my laptop back into its bag after the talk. I turned around and stared at the well-dressed gentleman in his mid-fifties. He had been in the audience on the right. His eyes drilled into me.

“Following your dreams is selfish,” said the man.

I had been speaking to a group of entrepreneurs and business folks about my book, Journeys on the Edge: Living a Life That Matters. Its overarching message: live your dreams before the clock runs out. In my talk, I say that our dreams are the engines of our hearts.; that they reflect the essence of who we are; that we must live our dreams if we are to live at all.

“Well, I must respectfully disagree with you,” I said.

I was about to say that, if we are to live fully, deeply and well, we must pursue what brings us joy; that when we live in joy, we bring our best selves to the world. I was about to say that, in order to serve others well, we must first be whole and complete in ourselves.

But before I could get another word out, the man asked, “What about Beck Weathers? Weathers nearly died! Think of the hardship he caused his family, all because he dreamed of climbing Everest! How selfish can you be?”

Weathers, a pathologist, was involved in the ill-fated 1996 Everest debacle. Left for dead after a brutal storm high on the mountain, Weathers staggered back to high camp and was later airlifted in a daring high-altitude helicopter rescue. He lost his nose and parts of both feet.

I told my listener that the Weathers accident was unfortunate.

I wanted to tell him about my friend Chris whose life slipped away in my arms after a head-on motor vehicle accident on an ordinary Sunday afternoon on a clear stretch of road not far from where I live. I wanted to share with him the story that Joan Dideon tells about how her husband died as they sat down to dinner. “Life changes in an instant, in an ordinary instant,” she says. (And it does.)

I wanted to tell him that we cannot give what we do not have; that in order to share the fullness of life, we must first know the abundance of life; that in order to share joy, we must find joy; that in order to give love, we must first love ourselves; that in order to reflect peace, we must first know it in our hearts.

I wanted to tell him that life is short; that life is risky. But that even in the face of risk, we are challenged – indeed we are called – to make our lives extraordinary.

And to be extraordinary means expressing – and, yes, sharing – the very core of who we are in the world. Without compromise.

He was in a hurry though. He said his piece. And off he went.