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

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...

Stamps and Snow

In this episode, Stamps and Snow . . . You don’t usually walk into the local Post Office expecting a time warp . . . but here we are. All we wanted were stamps for this year's Christmas cards— yes, the old-fashioned paper ones that require licking, sticking, and hoping the Postal Service is feeling ambitious this week. But holiday errands have a talent for slowing you down, almost like the universe whispering, “Relax. You’re not getting out of this line any faster anyway.” So we waited. And while we waited, we talked (Are you surprised?). Because the Post Office is one of the few places where people still look up from their phones long enough to talk . . . Maybe it's because they're holding packages. It’s the modern town square: part civic duty, part free entertainment, part sociology experiment. The discussion began with holiday specials streaming on Netflix, Paramount+, and other services during this time of year. One gentleman who has lived in Vista since 1958 told us,...

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...

A Dog, a Beer . . . and the Ghost of 1912

Whenever you step into an American cathedral of our National Pastime built before modern ergonomics, municipal zoning, or crowd-flow dynamics, an unspoken understanding forms, creating a welcoming, timeless atmosphere. You trade legroom, sensible corridors, and personal space for the privilege of communing with ghosts. Last week, Lori and I made our pilgrimage to Fenway Park to watch our Chicago Cubs take on the Boston Red Sox (a taut 0–2 contest that felt spiritually tied to their 1918 World Series meeting). Staying just across the Charles River at the Courtyard Marriott in Cambridge gave us one immeasurable tactical advantage: we walked. While the automotive gridlock around Kenmore Square took on the character of the Siege of Yorktown—horns echoing across the asphalt like musket fire—we simply strolled across the Boston University Bridge, enjoying the river breeze and feeling smugly superior to everyone trapped behind a steering wheel. Fenway, built in the spring of 1912, holds rough...

On The Fly

Search This Blog