Skip to main content

How You Treat Others

Attendance problems, constant complaining, and derogatory comments about fellow co-workers, “You can’t imagine how miserable it is working with these morons.”

Did you know the mostly deadly disease on Earth is Hardening of the Attitudes.

Admit it, you’ve caught yourself sharing the misery of your “difficult co-workers” with other staff members on break, at lunch, before or after work? Zig Ziglar called it stinkin’ thinkin’ - boy was he right on.

Thankfully there is a way to change this destructive self-talk. It’s a simple daily process. “Catch someone doing something right.” Yes, you heard me correctly, a simple process, however, let me warn you it’s not easy. This takes a concerted effort on your part to  change your attitude.

According to Earl Nightingale; “Our environment, the world in which we live and work, is a mirror of our attitudes and expectations.” What a profound statement. This says to me that the attitude and expectations of my family, friends, and coworkers is simply a reflection of me! Yes, I am responsible.

So, the next time you talk about anyone with a friend or fellow worker find something constructive and positive to say. Then as you walk away from the conversation, stop - take a minute to pat yourself on the back and consider how good it feels to build up others instead of tearing them down.

It’s like mining for diamonds, you move tons and tons of dirt to find a single gem diamond – but you don’t go into the mine looking for dirt — you go in looking for the gems.

I’m convinced, as Zig Ziglar always said, “When you treat people exactly like you see them you get the results you expect.” People respond to the build-up not the tear-down. So why not expect the best.

Create a new habit of treating people exactly like you see them - with respect, and dignity, look for the gem in other people. When you look for those characteristics in others — surprise, you will find them and nurture them in you!

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

The Gopher Problem and the High Powered Solution

Vacationing in Maine this week, just a short drive down the coast from Freeport, it is hard not to think about the outsized impact one frustrated outdoorsman had on the gear we all use today. Bad equipment can ruin a perfectly good day on the water or the trail, but it takes a special kind of vision to turn cold feet into a century-old empire. This is the story of the company we now know as L.L.Bean, but more importantly, it is a masterclass in integrity, learning from failure, and standing behind your work. In 1912, Leon Leonwood Bean faced a persistent problem: returning from expeditions in the Maine woods with cold, wet feet. Instead of complaining, he got creative. He had a local shoemaker stitch waterproof rubber soles onto the flexible leather uppers of a hunting boot. He called it the Maine Hunting Shoe and mailed a flyer promising perfect satisfaction. Then reality arrived. Ninety of his first 100 pairs failed when the rubber separated from the leather. Not an effective product...

On Becoming Real

Some things get better with wear: old shoes, old friendships, and old books. Especially old books. A new volume arrives with crisp corners and a spine that hasn’t yet learned to bend. An old one has been somewhere. It has traveled through time in the hands of people who may no longer be around to tell us what they found inside. The copy of The Velveteen Rabbit (first published in 1922) on my desk is one of those books. My friend Don Hanley gave it to me. This late-1950s Doubleday edition features William Nicholson’s original illustrations and cream paper boards softened by age. Worn corners, a split spine, and colored tabs mark passages worth revisiting. Don didn’t hand me a keepsake. He gave me homework. When we talked about the book recently, he pointed me straight to the nursery conversation between a young rabbit and an old Skin Horse. The rabbit had noticed the mechanical toys around him—the ones with internal gears, bright paint, and stick-out handles that seem terribly impressiv...

Engineering Beef Stew

On July 2nd—Day Two of what I call The Great Un-Working —I sat down with my morning notebook to map out this new chapter of my life. One goal made the list in bold ink: Learn to Cook. At seventy, I was adding a skill most people master before they’re old enough to drive. Before you judge me, understand our household ecosystem. Lori is a phenomenal cook. For decades, she’s made meals so effortless and delicious that restaurants seem unsatisfying . My contribution to the culinary arts during my bachelor years–tuna mixed into Kraft Mac & Cheese. Let’s just say I wasn’t threatening her spot on the Food Network. But retirement changed the equation. I’m officially off the clock while Lori is still working. And I had a lovely thought: Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she came home after a long day to find dinner waiting? She loved the idea. Then came the question that haunted me for weeks: “What do you want to make?” I had no idea. Apparently, the first step in learning to cook is deciding wh...

When the Universe Calls in Sick

Take Thoreau’s Advice . . .  Four weeks ago, we stood on the shore of Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts, trying to channel Henry David Thoreau. Before leaving, I bought a pocket-sized copy of his essay, Walking . It’s slim because nineteenth-century transcendentalists didn’t have notifications interrupting their urge to wander. Thoreau’s counsel is disarmingly simple: step away from modern life's machinery and let the landscape recalibrate your perspective. Back home in Vista, I took that philosophy straight into the backyard. Thursday morning, ink-black, pristine skies arrived. I aimed my refractor at Jupiter, whose light has bathed Earth since mastodons roamed the plains. It felt cosmic. Profound . I left the telescope mounted overnight, convinced the heavens were on retainer for an encore at daybreak. Naturally, the universe called in sick. By sunrise, a wall of coastal fog had rolled in off the Pacific, sealing the valleys beneath a damp, gray Tupperware lid. After about th...