Chapter 1
What Do You Really Want?
(And What Are You Willing to Do about It?)
It was mid-afternoon on a crisp, cool, fall day in the leafy suburb of Chappaqua, New York, just about an hour north of New York City. I grew up there, in a modest 1960s-era four-bedroom split-levelâwhite with blue shuttersâat the end of a quiet street. That day, October 10, 2000, the house was filled to the brim with family and friends.
There was a catered spread in the dining room, a buffet stretching from wall to wall. The aroma of Italian foodâgarlic, freshly baked bread, and sauced pastaâwafted through the house.
People were talking loudly, with their hands. There were aunts, uncles, grandkids, friends new and oldâpeople from all corners of my life. I couldnât walk three feet without running into someone wanting to check in and catch up. The ebb and flow of conversation made it seem like someone was playing with the volume control; sometimes I couldnât hear myself think. Other moments were almost too quiet.
We buried my father that morning.
âCan you tell us about your father?â one of my friends asked as we stood near the front door. âWhat was he like?â
I drew in a breath, thinking about how to respond to what felt like a profound question, especially now that I would be answering in the past tense. But before I could respond, the doorbell rang.
âExcuse me,â I said, turning to answer it.
A man in a UPS uniform was standing outside. He wasnât toting a package, nor did he have a piece of technologyânot even a notepad or a pen.
âHi,â he said, visibly unsure of what to do with his hands. âI just wanted to let you know that Iâm very, very sorry to hear about your father. He was really special.â
I was completely caught off guard. âI . . . thank you,â I stammered.
âHe always asked me how I was doing. Invited me in to warm up with a hot cup of coffee in the winter or to cool off with a glass of water in the summer.â The man had been staring at his empty hands, but now he looked me right in the eye. âNobody does that. Nobody does those things. Your father did those things. It meant a lot.â
I swallowed hard. I shook his hand. I thanked him, then added, âPlease come inside and join us. My father would be so happy to know you stopped by.â
He politely declined and went on his way.
As I turned around to face my friends, I realized they had overheard the entire exchange. Tears were running down my face. âThatâs who my father was,â I managed to choke out. âThatâs what he was like.â
My father gave of himself. He comforted and served others. To his friends, to his family, to the man who delivered his packages, he was known as someone who cared deeply.
That is his legacy.
Each of us has a vision, a sense of what we want to create in this lifeâof what we want our legacy to be.
Take a minute to close your eyes and think about it. What do you want to contribute? How do you want to be remembered?
Fulfilling your vision and achieving the freedom, abundance, and legacy you desire require that you live your life on your own terms. Whether your goal is to make an impact with an industry-disrupting idea, a far-reaching business model, simple kindnessâas my dad didâor all three, the journey is as important as the outcome.
But hereâs the problem: the path and the outcomes that we imagine for ourselves form an idealized picture, one that is often inconsistent with where we feel we are right now.
Your ideal self may be a business superhero, a difference maker for people in need, or a CEO building a revolutionary company brick by brick, and yet there are days when you canât fix a simple problem, or you feel more like an amateur than a fearless leader. Experiences like these throw into question the notion that you have it all together, leaving you with the sense that everything could be falling apart. We all have moments that remind us of the duality of how we envision our future versus where we feel we are in the present:
- You aspire to succeed, yet you feel like a failure.
- You aspire to be cool under pressure, yet you feel a lack of control.
- You aspire to be clear-headed, yet you feel indecisive.
- You aspire to be happy, yet you are full of anxiety and worry.
- You aspire to be an amazing spouse or parent, yet you work too much.
The curated life-illusion of social media fuels the disparity between the aspirational version of ourselves and the person we see in the mirror. No matter what channel youâre looking atâLinkedIn, Twitter, Facebook, Instagramâyouâre getting othersâ filtered, Photoshopped highlights of the week and likely comparing them to the flubs and false starts that are a natural part of every true achieverâs day-to-day existence.
At its core, this disparity is an issue of integrity, or wholeness. We aim to be one way, and yet we feel another. Because we operate in a culture in which weâve been conditioned not to admit our very human insecuritiesâour vulnerability, weakness, and uncertaintyâthis dissonance is inevitable. Worse, it exacts a toll. Psychologists call the price we pay for this emotional labor.
For instance, if you aspire to be a leading CEO who dominates your field, but you actually feel like a used-car salesman as you scramble to raise funds and build partnerships, getting through a meeting is guaranteed to be draining. And more important, your focus on projecting a superior persona diverts your attention from your interaction with the individual in front of you. Itâs exhausting, itâs unsustainable, and itâs certainly not scalable.
The problem is that the person you believe you are today is the one dictating your thoughts, habits, and beliefsâthe unconscious forces that affect all of your decisions. Thatâs the person driving your bus. When you are unsure of yourself and your abilities, youâre likely to head in the wrong direction, often with the wrong people on board.
Consider what it takes to play a competitive sport: hours upon hours of mental and physical training, a good diet, strategy, and discipline. You must make the decisions and plays necessary to win the game.
If...