I never considered non-attachment until someone I loved left me to start a new life overseas.
I’d heard that attachment leads to pain and suffering. And, in my case, and in this instance, it was spot on. I was devastated. It must have taken me a year for me to recover from the ‘loss’ of this soul mate.
I was in a happy place with her and my desire to stay in this place of happiness caused me to attach. I wanted this happiness to stay forever.
Time has moved on, and I’ve healed. I’ve also had time to explore the concept of non-attachment. I’ve realised that everything is ephemeral. You may argue that a 40-year relationship or a 90-year-old life is a long time, but in the grand scheme of the universe it is but a blink of an eye.
We are all going to lose something or someone on the way to navigating our way to our final loss; our own demise.
Two tricks I’ve been practising which have served me in good stead recently are to not get attached to an outcome, and that I possess nothing.
Detach from Outcomes
Fortunately, I learned not to get attached to an outcome a long time ago. It has served me well. I’ve tried and failed so many times that if I had to take my failures personally, I don’t think I’d be able to function. I’ve asked countless women out, and perhaps a handful have said yes. And, that was good enough for me. I’ve made thousands of sales calls in my lifetime, and a small percentage of those bought what I had to sell. That’s good enough for me. I’ve played thousands of games of chess, and lost most of them. That’s good enough for me. I’ve been lucky because I see life like a game. And, for me, it’s about the joy of the game. I just want to play the game well, win or lose.
I Possess Nothing
This is a more difficult concept and another story altogether. I’m so used to saying ‘my’ and ‘mine’ that it is coded into my DNA. That’s a harder habit to kick. It occurred to me that I possess nothing. Yet, I think I do.
That’s ‘my phone’. ‘My house’. ‘My car’. ‘My cat’. ‘My employee’. ‘My wife’. ‘My child’. It’s a better idea to look at ‘my car’ as a car. ‘My phone’ as a phone. Of course, it’s harder to say a girlfriend than my girlfriend. She probably won’t take kindly to me introducing her as a girlfriend, and I’ll be banished to my couch. It’s harder to say a child than my child.
Since when has any soul in my orbit become a possession of mine? At best, I’m a custodian of a soul for a brief time. Just because I’m practising non-attachment to another human being, it doesn’t mean that I’m uncaring or disassociated. On the contrary, I’m privileged to have custody of this soul’s well-being for a short time. This is a great responsibility, and one that I tackle with love, kindness and compassion.
I Was Given An Opportunity To Practise Non-Attachment
This practice of non-attachment came in handy recently after ‘my’ a car that I’m driving at the moment, was trashed by hail outside a restaurant I was visiting. The damage was devastating. Typically, after such an incident, I would have felt regret, remorse and recrimination. “Why did I go out tonight?” “Why can’t I have one night without something going wrong?” “Can’t I catch a break?” “Why does this always happen to me?” This, of course, would lead me down the path of where I think something is being done to me, which is a hop, skip and a jump away from victimhood.
I have to be honest, when I saw the car, I did have a moment of angst. But because I’ve practised not being attached to ‘my’ a car, I recovered quickly. Also, I was distracted by a car guard who was soaking wet and looked really sorry that he couldn’t protect the car. This beautiful human was way more valuable than my a car. It was more appropriate to give him attention and not the car. I thanked him for looking out for the car and gave him a generous tip.
This was a small victory, but I’m convinced the more I practise non-attachment, the more I’ll keep my equanimity in any situation where I perceive a ‘loss’.
Thinking of possession as custodianship and accepting that everything and everyone eventually comes to an end, including myself, brings me peace and comfort. That can’t be a bad thing, can it? It’s getting late, and I need to shut down ‘my’ computer and go to ‘my’ bed. Night, night.
When I was a soldier in the 80s humping my kit from ambush to ambush, from patrol to patrol, through interminable heat, sand, boredom and futility, Sixto Rodriguez (July 10, 1942, Detroit — August 8, 2023, Detroit) was our guy. Sugarman/Cold Fact/I Wonder were the anthems that carried us through our 17 months (1982 – 1984) in South West Africa (now Namibia).
Rodriguez should have been a massive superstar; his lyrics are sublime, haunting and deep. He wasn’t because ‘papa don’t allow no new ideas here’.
He is beautifully broken, authentic and raw. He works in construction and ekes out a living. He is a simple, humble man. He’s a poet. He’s an artist. He’s beautiful.
Image is AI generated.
There are many Rodriguezes reading this piece of text. Hell, you’re probably one of them. You who are rotten with talent, you should have be a superstar in your field, but like Rodriguez, you may never crack the nod.
I see your self-pity showing as the tears roll down your cheeks.
Rodriquez
Don’t feel pity for yourself. If you’re still in the game and still swinging for the bleachers and leaving it all on the field of failure, you’re amazing. You’re an artist. You’re beautiful.
Keep on going. The world needs you. Don’t play small. Show up every day. Keep humping your kit. Keep swinging for the bleachers. You’re an artist. You’re beautiful.
I’ll slip away …
Rodriquez
And, it doesn’t matter if no one recognises your worth. It doesn’t matter that your plans aren’t working out. What matters is that you play your best and that you take this masterpiece that is you, and create a master-work. Even if no one notices your worth, there is one that does. And, that one is happy with you. That one has always been happy with you because that one made you perfect just as you are.
I’ve been writing email newsletters for 10 years or so and sending them to a small database of loyal fans.
I have a love/hate relationship with my newsletter. Producing a newsletter can be hugely satisfying and famously frustrating.
What’s the point of a newsletter?
To add value to your subscribers and give them useful information on your subject speciality.
To build credibility and trust as an expert in your field.
To sell them your offering.
What does it take to produce a newsletter?
Hard work and time. You have to write the cornerstone essay. Find the right photo to portray the key message. Craft your secondary message with care. In my case, I look for two to four eccentric and interesting videos from YouTube to add in (you have to write a small explanation to ‘sell’ the video). And, then, because you need to pay the bills, you put your offer in, normally at the end of the newsletter. This is the place where sales go to die because based on my stats, my readers lose steam halfway through the newsletter, and never get to my offer. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. I wouldn’t want to believe that my marketing messages are as awkward as a teenager struggling to undo a bra strap: inefficient, painful, and embarrassing, resulting in disappointment and dissatisfaction for both parties.
What’s the reality?
The reality is that producing a newsletter is time-consuming (if you do it properly and with a modicum of pride) and it can be soul-sucking. Why? Because 3/4 of your database doesn’t open your newsletter. Hardly anyone bothers to respond. Sometimes, the only way I know that the newsletter went out is that I get a couple of ‘out of office’ responses. Every now and again, I get a one-liner, saying, “That was a good article, I needed that today.” And, because I have a sanguine temperament, and I need oodles of validation, I jump on that email like a drowning sailor on a life raft and profusely thank the person for sending me the compliment. It’s sad and an illness, I know.
You can imagine how I overdosed on dopamine when professional speaker, Billy Selekane said, “Jacques is the Charles Dickens of our age.” That kept me going for a while. But, when Deborah du Plooy said, “Your scribing is orgasmic kla. Errrr buddy, please work on my obituary,” I lost all my marbles as the dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin combined into the perfect-storm of validation.
Besides validation, the actual point of the newsletter is to build trust and credibility with your audience so that every so often, they’ll buy something. I can only live on compliments for so long before I have to eat.
And, let’s just put it out there. If you’re a business owner the only reason you write newsletters, build those excruciating and infuriating websites and hang out on the vacuous and vapid social media is to make sales, isn’t it? We’re all playing that game, aren’t we? If it were up to me, I’d rather be a trust fund baby, catching bass, drinking whiskey, playing chess and getting up to mischief in Italy. Is that just me, or would you also be doing something else if you had more money than you knew what to do with?
So, regarding ROT (Return on Time, and making money), is writing a newsletter worth it?
I’d have to say no, if that’s your primary motivation.
If I took the four hours a week spent producing a newsletter and posting and sharing it over a year, that’s 200+ hours. I promise you, if I spent 200 hours on the phone prospecting for business, I’d make a ton more money. But, because I like validation and not rejection, I take the chicken way out and write newsletters.
What’s Happening Here?
I contacted my friend Tobias at TouchBasePro, the system I use to send my newsletters. I showed him the statistics for my latest newsletter.
Horrifying I thought.
He said, not really. Most newsletters email stats are worse. Yay, misery loves company.
He sent me this.
If your email newsletter statistics are similar, you’re in good company.
Should You Quit Sending Out Newsletters?
Definitely not. Just change your focus.
Blog a book. Every cornerstone article I write is intentionally written with a book in mind. I’ve been sending out newsletters sporadically since my last book in 2019.
Let’s do the maths.
My average article is 300 words long. 2019 to 2023 is a span of four years.
I generally put out one newsletter a week, which equals 52 weeks.
300 x 52 x 4 = 62 400 words. Well, that’s enough for a book (my last one hit the 62 000 word mark).
Let’s take out 25% for exaggeration (because I need so much praise and validation), it’s still a handy 46 000 or so word book. If I’m lazy, I can live with that and produce a book. And, some people call themselves authors with 5000 words from their pen, so I’m sure I can get away with it.
Your newsletter is your gym where you can test out your work.
Sometimes I get more than one compliment from an article I wrote. Then I know that article landed in the mind and heart of my reader.
I of course also send all my work out to LinkedIn and Facebook, and the articles that work get great response (likes and comments). When I publish my book, I front load it with all the ‘winners’ and the ones that haven’t made the grade go in the latter half of the book. Although, weirdly, the articles I think are winners, and the ones I’ve really loved writing, often don’t get a vote.
Not everything I say is true
I actually do make money out of my newsletter in a roundabout way. Sometimes my writing is passable, and some people hire me because of it. I mostly write about philosophy, spirituality and sometimes mindset and marketing, but I sell writing services. This is a bit of a disconnect (as my good friend, branding authority, Dawn Klatzko says, “Brand confusion”). I remember when I tried to make my cat Gloria part of my brand, I called her. I can just imagine her rolling her eyes and shaking her head, saying “Oy vey.”
Thankfully I scrapped that idea.
Ultimately, I’m not negative about producing newsletters. They keep me out of mischief. As you know, nature abhors a vacuum, and I’d probably be wasting the four hours a week on something else, like hanging about coffee shops with my mates. That’s a sure-fire way not to make money.
Goodbye. Before I go, I leave you with this:
Having a substantial subscriber base of 5000+ can make you money through newsletters. My piddly 600 is not going to cut it. Most of them are friends too, so that’s not a great money-making strategy.
Transform your newsletters into an incredibly effective tool for blogging your book. This is the smartest sentence in this entire article.
I’m going to go all Don Miguel Ruiz (The Four Agreements) on you, “Don’t take anything personally.” When it comes to newsletters and most things in life, you and I are a nanosecond of attention in most people’s lives. They have better things to do than worry about your and my newsletters, that’s for sure.
But if you can add up the nanoseconds over time, maybe your words do make a difference. You may not always (or never) see it in your pay cheque, but know that you have touched someone’s heart, albeit for a short while, and that my friend, makes all the difference.
Have you ever been happily going about your business, when something unexpectedly brings you down? Where life throws you a curveball and ruins your day?
In the Hero’s Journey, it’s called an inciting incident. Movies often have an inciting incident, which is typically a dramatic event such as a child being kidnapped, a bomb exploding, a spy being caught, a murder, or a robbery.
For us, it could be something small like a burst geyser, a staff member not showing up, an argument with our spouse, or many other trivial things. There are a lot worse things out there that can trip us up.
I’ve found a way to keep one’s equanimity when things are conspiring against you: Respond. Reframe. Reset.
On Monday, November 13th, I was having dinner with a friend at a restaurant in Kyalami when a huge hailstorm suddenly occurred.
I knew this one was going to be devastating, and I knew my little car in the parking lot wouldn’t survive it.
I said to my friend that we should continue eating and having a good time. We’d have plenty of time after the meal to assess the damage.
Eina! My car had really taken a beating. The car had a broken wind shield, damaged headlights and tail lights, and numerous dents from hail.
Eina
I think my pulse went up two beats when I saw the car and I started spiralling towards a pity party. It was touch and go for about 30 seconds. I took a deep breath and found my centre.
Respond, Reframe and Reset
Respond
The breath that I took helped me calm down. I have long since realised that getting angry doesn’t solve the problem; it’s better to remain calm. All anger does is get my cortisol levels up and make me feel sick. I’m convinced the cumulative affect of anger can take years off one’s life. Normally, I would shake my fists at the heavens and shout, “Why me?” “F*ck.” “Why did I come out tonight? I wish I had stayed home. Typically, I’d be spiralling down into regret, remorse, blame and shame.
I always ask, “What is being offered here?” What is the gift in this chaos? In this instance, I was afforded the opportunity to test to see if my positive attitude could stand the pressure. Would I crack and lose my temper as is my nature? I managed to stay calm. I even had the decency to tip the car guard who was looking so forlorn. It was hardly his fault now, was it? I went home, and had a great night’s sleep. I would deal with this in the morning.
Reframe
Reframing is about finding the positive in the situation. Have a look at the ultimate reframe below:-)
At the battle of Thermopylae, a Spartan warrior, Dienekes was told that the Persian archers would blank out the sun with their arrows. He said: “Good then we shall have our battle in the shade.”
It took a week and a bit for the windscreen repair company to come replace the windscreen. I won’t lie, it was frustrating not to have a car for a week.
However, over the last month I haven’t been productive with my writing at all. I had to write because I couldn’t go anywhere. And this week I’ve got so much done. There was a positive aspect to this.
Reset
If you fall off a horse, they say you should get back on the saddle quickly in case you lose your confidence. I reset almost immediately. After contacting the insurance company on Tuesday, I continued with my work as usual, trusting them to handle it properly. Life goes on, after all.
And, there’s bound to be another curveball soon. If I became debilitated every time I made a mistake or stumbled, I wouldn’t be able to achieve much.
When curveballs are thrown at me, I don’t always get it right and I lose the plot. But I do it less and less these days. And, I’m better off for it. So, try to respond, reframe and reset and see how it works for you.
The other day something strange happened to me. I manifested money out of what seemed to be thin air. It was a small miracle. It was surreal. Hence, the Salvador Dalí theme.
A client of mine owed me 10k. I saw that he was on holiday in the UK. Mmm. For a brief second I felt like the victim … “He’s having fun with my money”. Then I got over myself.
I then remembered that he had a benefactor that probably paid for his stay. So, I cut him some slack. And, of course, he’s also a great guy.
I thought I’d give it a shot and ask him for the money he owed (10k). So I sent him a WhatsApp note.
>>> Hello you. Just checking in to see if you got the invoice? And, have you got an idea when you’ll be paying?
In my head, I was being a bit of a bitch and thought, “Get your benefactor to pay, why don’t you?”
>>> Client: Do you have a link where I can pay with a card? I have a friend that will pay for me this month, but he can only pay with his card.
Then I thought, let’s push the envelope. In my head I said, “Why don’t you get him to pay 20k?”
Two minutes later I got this. >>> Can you make it R20 000?
I don’t know what’s going on here? All this manifested in five minutes. Perhaps there’s something to this positive thinking, law of attraction and manifestation stuff?
So, now I’m scratching around YouTube and watching Joe Dispenza, Delores Canon, Sadhguru, and a bunch of others to get to the bottom of this manifestation thing.
Maybe there’s something to it all.
I’ve started with affirmations. Every morning, I affirm: “What if life, business, money, wealth, prosperity, and abundance come easily, joyfully, and gloriously to me?”
I’ll let you know how it pans out.
*AI prompt: Miracles depicted in the unmistakable style of Salvador Dalí, surrealism, melting clocks, dreamlike atmosphere, vibrant colours, meticulous attention to detail, oil on canvas, large format, museum-worthy artwork.
There are two types of people that drive the world: ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴏʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇʀꜱ.
These people are the star actors, and the rest are the supporting cast. All other roles are subordinate to them. They’re the trees that supply us with oxygen.
There’s a pecking order between these two stars, however. There’s a notion that being a creator is sexy. Being a promoter, not so much.
Creators are ‘artists’ that don’t want to sell out by resorting to marketing and sales.
They’re kinda like Ray Kinsella in Field of Dreams: “Build it, and he will come.”
For mere mortals like us, if we don’t embrace promotion, “He’s not coming.”
If you’re a creator, and you actively market and sell, be proud because this is noble work.
There are people that need what you have, but don’t know how to get it (you). Who are you to deny them that privilege?
If you feel uncomfortable about promotion, consider this. There’s not one dominant religion, philosophy, product or service that hasn’t thrived because of marketing and sales.
Imagine if Nikola Tesla had great promoters, we’d have more than a car, wouldn’t we? We’d have a dominant ecosystem that would have been good for us and the planet.
Thomas Edison had better promotion and fewer scruples, and now we sit with that mess.
If you work for a company, pop into your marketing and sales departments, and shake their hands. They feed you and me. After all, nothing happens without a sale.
If you work for yourself and haven’t embraced marketing and sales, think again.
You are valuable, and there are people that need what you are selling. Don’t deny them.
The work you and I do is art. This work allows us to navigate this canvas called life, where we make a small mark until the inkwell runs dry.
But sometimes it’s hard, isn’t it? There are days, days when I ask myself, “Why bother” or “What’s the point” or “Who cares”?
Maybe you have those days too?
There are days when I look at photos of me on stage or past scribbles I’ve made and think, “What right do I have to do the work that makes my heart sing?” “And, who wants to listen to your song anyway?”
Then there’s the doubt. Most days I think I’m an empty vessel making a loud noise that just irritates everyone. I feel embarrassed and ashamed that my creators went to such an effort for me, and I’ve fallen way short of the mark. I rail against myself for this.
But I keep doing this work because I’m compelled to. I wonder if it’s selfishness, self-involvement and ego that keeps me at it. Because, seriously, who cares about the clumsy scribble I make on this page called my life? Does it all matter?
But there are days when I feel what I do does matter.
I published an obscure piece of text in 2019 that sold less than 100 copies. But, even now I get notes from people telling me that my brief scribble meant something.
“Thank you for calming my soul.”
“Some pages felt like a homecoming and others made me uncomfortable as they tore and ripped at the fabric of my heart, breaking me open for the light of consciousness to enter.”
“Your extraordinary book invites multiple readings.”
You see, you can’t know the effect of your work, who will read it or who will care. Maybe no one. Maybe one person.
If you and I, at this moment, touch just one person, then that scribble of ours is a bridge of meaning that makes all the difference. It’s a conversation that can lead to courage. And, who knows where courage can take us?
Keep on doing your art, whatever it may be, because it matters. You matter.
The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.
Joseph Campbell
For as long as I can remember, I’ve collected stuff. It first started with Enid Blyton’s Noddy books around 1967. It exhausted my mother because she had to keep reading them to me.
Around 1973 (I was 10) I collected soft toys, particularly bunnies and bears. My stepfather was deeply troubled by this.
At 12, I was collecting photos of Paul Newman, and still had the bunnies and bears. This raised alarm bells with my stepfather. “Let’s toughen you up,” he said as we went to his favourite bar. I’m not sure if I should have been given a whiskey then, especially not at 9am. But, now that I think of it, I suppose that’s where my love of whiskey came from.
I grew out of Paul Newman and the bunnies. Not the bears so much … I still have my teddy bear from my first birthday, (he’s 59 years old).
That’s me at a year old, and the bear, of course.
My Biological Father
In high school I collected The Hardy Boys. I met my biological father around 14 for only the second time in my life. He asked, “So, what are you currently reading my boy?” I answered, “The Hardy Boys. The Missing Chums.” He was deeply troubled by this. I suppose it must have been terrifying for him to have an intellectually-bereft child.
He probably memorised the entire works of Kierkegaard at 14, the smug prat (not Kierkegaard, my father). Look, there’s no doubt he was smart … with his double doctor’s degrees from Zurich University, both sommer cum louder (I mean summa cum laude) and hanging out with Jung, and all. And, he got a music degree, and a bunch of other things from Stellenbosch University. He played the violin. With all that talent, he decided to become a pastor. There was hardly any money in it in those days (1955 – 1960), so he really must have believed in saving souls. If he was around today, he’d have made a fortune as a pastor, and I wouldn’t have to write for a few pennies every day. Damn you, dad.
High school (1977 – 1981)
I was at boarding school for the entirety of my high school journey. Between studies, sport and hiding away from the matriculants and masters, I didn’t have time to collect much. Come to think of it, I did collect some things: Hidings, beatings and insults. In those days, school had a real Lord of the Flies vibe about it. And, at least I was smart enough not to bring any bears and bunnies with me to boarding school. That could have been ugly.
PW & Sons (1982 – 1984)
I got out of high school relatively unscathed and probably only needed five years of therapy. But there was no time for that because I ended up working for PW & Sons for the next two years. And, that was a shit show. All I collected were bugs, bullets and bodies. And, one Dear John letter.
After I turned 21, I started taking an interest in eccentric, intelligent and eclectic things like women. They were fascinating to me then, and are still fascinating to me now. I was woefully unsuccessful as a collector in that regard.
So, I embraced intellectual pursuits. I’ll show that prat, I thought; not Kierkegaard, my father. Perhaps, I should have considered therapy then, daddy issues and all. At least I didn’t have an Oedipus Complex … I don’t think. Thanks for making that a thing, Sigmund.
I have a woeful social life, so I read a lot.
I collected books and read them all. Ironically, I never got into Kierkegaard. But I ate Jung, Plato, Homer, Tolstoy, Hemingway, Homer, Dumas, Greene, Fitzgerald, Hubbard, Breytenbach, Brink, Bosman, Coetzee, Krog, Stein and Smith for breakfast. No, not Wilbur Smith … Topsy Smith, author of Trompie en die Boksombende.
This is by far my most loved, and read book. It’s always nearby.
Commonplace Book
It turns out that I was a collector then, and one now. Over all these years I’ve jotted things that interested me from all the reading and experience into what is known as a commonplace book. It’s a place to jot down anything you find inspiring, thoughtful or interesting.
I’ve got a bunch of them. These days my musings are quite tame. I write a little about chess, a lot about my man-crush, Carlos Castaneda, some about Sufism, and my favourite subject: me! I think a lot about dying, and how to make the most of my time here. I’m still trying to figure out how to navigate this journey elegantly and eloquently, and failing royally. I worry that I’m a deadbeat dad. I’m still difficult, and despite that, I have some awesome friends who see a spark of something in me, and stay with me.
From Commonplace Book To Blog Post
I’m trying to write a book about my father. Turns out he wasn’t only a prat, smart, and musically-inclined, but also a spy. Some of it is in this suitcase. I don’t think I have it in me to write it.
There’s some interesting things in this suitcase. Like letters to John Voster and his run in with Lang Hendrik van den Berg, Voster’s spy master.
But, what I do have in me is a modicum of talent to write blog posts. I’ve written over 12 million words since 1996, and some of them come in the form of books, speeches, articles and others in the form of blog posts.
And, this whole gemors above was leading up to this moment, below.
Sign Up To Get My Blog Posts
To receive my eccentric, eclectic, and sometimes interesting writings from my commonplace books, enter your email address under ‘Never Miss A Post’. It’s somewhere on the top right of this post.
There’s a tool called FeedBlitz that’s like voodoo for me. Evidently, if you put your email address into ‘Never Miss A Post’, then whenever I write a blog post, it magically appears in your inbox.
By the way, I write a lot about sales and marketing, my real passions in life. I’ve spent 20+ years of my life studying, speaking and writing about these subjects. This may be useful to you because it can actually help you make money.
How to navigate this life elegantly and eloquently is a tougher nut to crack. And, you’re smart enough to know that only you can figure it out, not someone who likes bunnies and bears.
So, if you think that’s cool, and you’d like to get more of my commonplace stuff, go and sign up.
The sales profession is one of the toughest on the planet. Not because it’s inherently difficult, but because it triggers every foible in the human psyche.
If you’ve ever felt any of these, you’re in the sales profession:
Rejection. The prospect didn’t buy. He doesn’t like me. Just like my father didn’t like me. Nobody likes me. I’m worthless. Daddy, why don’t you love me? I don’t matter.
Imposter syndrome. I closed a big deal. I was just lucky. If he knew the real me he wouldn’t have bought. I’m not good enough. If anyone knew me, they would know I’m a fraud.
Frustration. Another deal lost despite my best efforts. Why are they taking so long to make a decision? Just sign the fucking order.
Despondency. I didn’t hit my target again. I hate seeing my name last on the leaderboard, again. What a loser. Am I going to get fired?
Depression. I can’t deal with another setback. I wonder how many sick days I have left? Am I going to get fired?
Disillusionment. Nobody keeps their word. Humans suck. I suck. My life sucks.
Disgust. I had to exaggerate the features. I didn’t highlight that particular T&C. I don’t really think our product can do that, but it will probably never be put to the test, so we can get away with it. Good grief, I’m a liar. What else do I lie about? I’m a terrible person.
Shame. I couldn’t take the kids camping like I promised because I didn’t get commission this month. We had to go to Wimpy again for our date night. I’m a deadbeat parent and partner.
Perhaps you’re lucky enough to never have felt any of the above. I can’t say I’ve had that luxury.
If misery loves company, then take heart that almost every human being goes through these experiences at some stage or another.
Here’s What Weakens You and Me
These experiences typically come from our expectations of others. And, in the sales profession, it’s highlighted 1000-fold because we always want something from the other. If we’re a sales leader, we want our team to perform. If we’re a sales person, we want our prospects to buy. And, as a human being, we demand validation from others.
This is problematic because it always leaves us feeling weak, disillusioned and disappointed because it seldom turns out how we want it to.
Whenever we want something from another, we put ourselves in a position of weakness. The other can withhold what we want (an order, a promotion, a raise). That puts the other in a position of power. The who can withhold is the one with the power. In sales, prospects and customers always have the power. In work, your boss always has the power (to withhold or give that promotion or raise).
Petty Tyrants
This brings me to the concept of the petty tyrant which first appeared in Carlos Castaneda’s book, The Fire From Within.
He says, “A petty tyrant is a tormentor. Someone who either holds the power of life and death over warriors or simply annoys them to distraction.”
“We know that nothing can temper the spirit of a warrior as much as the challenge of dealing with impossible people in positions of power. Only under those conditions can warriors acquire the sobriety and serenity to stand the pressure of the unknowable.”
I think that petty tyrants are marvellous creatures because without them, we’d never grow as human beings, would we?
And, the sales profession is the best gymnasium in the world to test our mettle in this regard. Petty tyrants (customers, prospects and colleagues) are our gym instructors and drill sergeants. They challenge our comfort zone and test our adaptability and resilience.
Petty tyrants can be seen as a source of frustration and torment, or as a catalyst for personal growth. If you see the former, you’re a victim, not a warrior. In the sales profession, you always want to be a warrior. Of course, you always have choice: do you react as a victim or respond as a warrior?
Castaneda wrote, “The warrior who stumbles on a petty tyrant is a lucky one. If you don’t come upon one in your path, you have to go out and look for one.”
In my experience, the quicker you can find your tormentor, the sooner you toughen up so that you can deal with what life throws at you. As a sales professional, you know that it throws a lot of shit at you, don’t you?
In sales, it’s easy to find petty tyrants. They are referred to as prospects and customers.
If you’re a sales manager, they’re called your team.
Petty tyrants serve as valuable opportunities for growth.
Adaptability. A petty tyrant in sales might be a difficult customer who questions your product’s value or a market trend that threatens your usual sales approach. Instead of resisting change, successful sales professionals adapt their strategies to meet these challenges head-on, ultimately becoming more versatile and resourceful.
Resilience. In the world of sales, facing rejection is a common occurrence. Every rejection can make us feel defeated, but Castaneda’s idea reminds us that these moments are actually opportunities for us to strengthen our emotional resilience. The ability to bounce back and maintain a positive attitude in the face of adversity is a hallmark of successful salespeople.
Continuous Improvement. Sales professionals can use setbacks as opportunities for improvement. Each challenge provides insights into what can be done better, whether it’s refining sales techniques or enhancing product knowledge.
Empathy. Petty tyrants in the form of demanding prospects and customers can teach salespeople to develop greater empathy. Understanding a customer’s pain points and addressing their concerns effectively can turn a challenging situation into a win-win scenario.
The Endeavour of Selling is a Hero’s Journey
A career in sales is a metaphor for life. You can live an average life. Or you can heed the call of adventure and heroically try to make your mark on this world. You’re going to need guidance on this journey, so find mentors that can help take you over the finish line.
You’re going to have a shit ton of challenges, disappointment, and disillusionment. You’re going to get stuffed up, and stuff it up more times than you care to remember. But you get up every time and keep swinging for the bleachers. It’s not in your nature to give up, but to prevail.
But, there’ll come a time when you’ll want to give it up. A time when you see no hope. This is called the dark night of the soul.
Any sales professional worth his or her salt has to go through this. If you’ve never been through it, you’re just not playing this sales game hard enough.
And, you do know that you get out of the hole, don’t you? If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be reading this piece of text now, would you? You’re still in the game, fighting every inch of the way, aren’t you?
Finally, after all your effort you get the reward you deserve. Of course, it does not always come packaged the way you wanted, hence disillusionment and disappointment.
However, if you believe that there’s a greater ingenuity than your own running the show, as I do, then the reward might come in a form that’s way better than you expected for yourself.
Then, as a benevolent and mature human, you take the reward and the lessons learned from the experience, and you share it with your tribe so that they too can benefit. So that they too can deal with their petty tyrants.
Make Art and Have Fun
Finally, have some fun. As Castaneda said, “The idea of using a petty tyrant is not only for perfecting the warrior’s spirit, but also for enjoyment and happiness.”
Like you, I’m an artist, and the joy is in the creating of the art. Crafting a sales pitch, presenting it and using every ounce of skill to convince someone to buy what I have to sell, is joy for me. This makes me happy. Whether my work lands with the prospect or not, it matters not.
That’s not entirely true, of course; I do need to make a living, after all. As a business owner and sales professional, all I know is that if I fail a lot, I’ll succeed a little. And, that little gives me a life I can be proud of.
Don’t take yourself too seriously; remember sales can be fun as long as you don’t react like a victim but respond as a warrior.
If you’re at a crossroads in your sales career (or life for that matter), reframe it as a positive experience. Because it really is … the right and wrong, the good and bad. It’s called being a human.
So, if you’re a sales professional, give it a real go and embrace those petty tyrants. They’re not doing things to you, but rather for you. They’re the steel that sharpens steel.
Let’s do this thing together, you and I. Let’s give it a go. Well probably fuck it up. But let’s have fun while doing it.
Because, as you probably understand by now, in sales at least, the more we fail at this endeavour, the more we succeed at it.
There was a piece about the definition of kafir that piqued my interest. For my South African reader, you know that we have our own distasteful history with the word “kaffir” which we annexed with great gusto from the British writer, H. Rider Haggard (see footnote at the end of this article).
But today we are talking about kafir >>>
I’ve always been led to believe that kafir meant a non-believer who has malevolent intentions towards Islam and Muslims. The kafirun (الكافرون) of Mecca were the non-believers who rejected the God of Muhammad.
According to Armstrong, kafir derives from the root KFR (“ingratitude”), which implies a discourteous refusal of something that is offered with great kindness and generosity.
I find that definition more preferable.
I understand that by being invited to this experience is no small thing. That I was chosen to play in this theatre called life is a gift beyond comprehension. One that should be viewed with awe and gratitude.
Every time I blame and complain, and feel the destructive desolation of self-pity, I’m no better than a kafir.
I’ve come to learn that self-pity is an operating system. The more I wallow in it, the more I attract that which feeds it.
Gratitude is an operating system too, the more I revel in it, the more I attract that which feeds it.
I’m going to start doing more of the latter because gratitude truly is the grammar of success. Do you want to join me?
Footnote.I love looking for the etymological roots of words. Unless you’ve been hiding under a rock, you’ll know that South Africa has a unique relationship with the k-word. Not that it’s any consolation, but neither the Dutch nor the Afrikaner invented the word. The British writer H. Rider Haggard, who lived in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, often used the word “kaffir” in his novels about Africa. This term was used to refer to black people in the region at that time. We may not have invented the word, but hell, we certainly milked it dry.
