What Drives Ambition?

My son asked me ‘the question’ about ten years ago and I had no definitive answer for him. Turns out, I’m no further ahead with the answer now than I was back then. As involved, invested and caring parents, both Brian and Melanie want their children to succeed. Hence, the question from Brian: “Dad, how do you teach someone ambition?” caught me off guard and churned up a lot of pondering on my part.

The good news is that I ‘ve had ten years to wrestle with that ‘question for the ages.’ Over that time, there have been a number of clues that do bring a little more clarity to the issue. Of course, I have my own theories. They’re pretty deeply entrenched ideas of how and why some folks become motivated and others spend most of their lives just floating along. So, where does motivation come from? Anyplace and everyplace is one simple answer that holds a lot of truth to it.

This whole concept of ambition and motivation is a bit of an obsession with me. I wasn’t cognizant of that fact until I got into writing on a full time basis. The theme of ‘being hungry’ has permeated a lot of my writing. The desire for more, for something else, something better has crept into several of my books; especially “Love in the A Shau” and “The Debris Trilogy.” Both novels feature hungry young men determined to make a success of themselves. It’s a theme I can personally relate to and a vision quest I don’t ever see ever ending.

Let’s face it. We’re only here on earth for a brief period of time. Why wouldn’t we want to make the very most out of every minute of our existence? Why wouldn’t we want to do something with our lives that was worthwhile, satisfying and hopefully of benefit to others? And more importantly, why wouldn’t we want the same for our own children and grandchildren?

Sports is one area where a lot of kids, my grandkids included, learn about the basics of life; what’s fair and not fair. How hard work can ‘sometimes’ pay off and other times not help the final cause. But it does reaffirm the benefit of hard work and the desire to succeed.

Over the last ten years, each of my grandchildren have also found areas of interest outside of the sporting arena. Each of these ancillary ventures was initiated by the kids themselves. Whether it be band, NHS, Deca, Speech, Languages, Theater, Music, etc. Fortunately, these extracurricular activities were self-directed and discovered sans parents or grandparents prodding. The universal lesson learned here was simple enough: Anything worth doing is going to require some kind of sacrifice.

Nothing comes easy…at least for most of us. When you’re born at the bottom then anything above that looks pretty good. When you have nothing growing up then you don’t long for those vapid pleasures that don’t amount to a hill of beans in the overall scheme of living. Growing up with the basics gives one a real appreciation for the simpler things of life.

That doesn’t mean you don’t want more. It simply means you appreciate the basic values of your own existence and can realistically grasp the intrinsic appeal of other things beyond your reach. There is value in being raised with a focus on the fundamentals of living and a scarcity of those extraneous distractions of wealth.

It’s not always easy being born rich. The three generation theory has been around for a long time. Among other monikers, it’s been called shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves in three generations.

Based on fact and some fiction, the theory simply asserts that most businesses don’t survive beyond the third generation of owners. Grandpa starts the business. His son takes over and continues for a time. But by the time a third generation is ready to step up to the plate, the discipline and hunger for success have been muted and gutted for all intents and purposes.

And it’s hardly unique to this country. In China, it’s called rice paddy to rice paddy. In Italy, it’s called cobbler to cobbler. In Ireland, it’s called clogs to clogs.

Being born poor and hungry can be a strong motivator for the taste of success. But what if your kids aren’t growing up poor like you were? What if they’ve had a lot of advantages simply because that’s what their parents (your own kids) want them to have? Do we deny them opportunities to travel, read a lot, go to a good school or have other life experiences we could never dream of when we were growing up? I think not.

Inherent in my personality is a deep-seated prejudice about giving kids ‘everything’ simply because their parents can afford it. I think there are distinct disadvantages of being raised a rich environment. And we all know who ‘they’ are. Back in high school, they were all gathered around the ‘most popular’ table in the cafeteria. Their descendants are still there today.

So, where’s the balance between giving your kids or grandkids every opportunity you can to enrich their lives and still raise them as responsible, respectable and appreciative citizens of the world?

I certainly don’t have all the answers as to how to motivate young people nowadays especially my own grandchildren. The best advice I could probably give my own kids is to lead by example. To reward their own children’s efforts and not necessarily their success. And to remind their kids that practice makes for opportunities.

I didn’t become a writer in my later years because I wanted to…or had nothing else to do. Writing is my favored/flavored addiction just as running was for forty-seven of my more energetic years. What I try to explain to well-meaning folks who ask ‘why do it?’ is that I have no choice. It isn’t something that I can play with occasionally when the mood strikes. It is, at its deepest level, something that I have to do.

The writer in me has to get involved in my character’s lives. I have to travel back out west occasionally and I have to muddle around the under-belly of Palm Springs when the time comes. I have to do what I do because I was born hungry and still am today. I hope to stay hungry for the rest of my life.

In past blogs I’ve commented that I want my grandchildren to ‘be hungry.’ Thus far, I think they’re developing a pretty healthy appetite for more. Hopefully, at some point in their young lives, they’ll come to understand that old adage as I did a long time ago. The harder they work, the luckier they might become.

Three Strikes and I'm Getting Better

Failure can wrap itself in a cloak of many colors. Unexpected job loss and life-changing events can become pivotal points in one’s life. It’s that water-shed moment where what was once present is now past and the future is nothing more than a dim hope or vapid expectation on the horizon.

In her new book entitled: ‘The Up Side of Down,’ author Megan McArdle says that: “Getting to the upside of down often means letting go of your instincts, ignoring conventional wisdom and leaping for something no one has done before.” It’s changing course in mid-stream and forging ahead despite the uncertainty of what might lie ahead.

Ed Catmull was one of the founders of Pixar along with Steve Jobs and John Lasseter. In his book ‘Creativity, Inc: Overcoming the Unseen Forces That Stand in the Way of True Inspiration’ Catmull says that the ultimate goal here is to uncouple fear and failure. It’s changing that stigma that failure is bad and a sign of weakness. We must recognize that mistakes aren’t necessary evil. Instead, they are an inevitable consequence of doing something new. Echoing the mantra of many forward-thinking ventures: “If you aren’t making mistakes, you aren’t taking enough risks.”

I’ve been there several times in my life; three in particular stand out. Yet in each instance I never knew just how fortuitous my failure would turn out to be. I never anticipated to fail so there was never some grand plan to deal with my stumble. Instead, some innate survival instinct kicked in and pushed me forward. At the time, I didn’t see it as a failure as much as a minor distraction like a foot-stumble off the starting line.

My first failure was running out of money at a private college and transferring to the University of Minnesota. While a large University may work for a lot of students, it was an unmitigated disaster for me. Beginning with 2500 students in the Introduction to Psychology class to the smallest class of 300 in Economics, I was lost before I stepped one foot on campus. I lasted two quarters and was politely asked to ‘take a break’ by the Admissions Office.

Two weeks after dropping out, I got my draft notice and spent the next two years in this man’s army. In retrospect, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. It was two years of learning to live on my own, continuing my focus on education, writing, travel and the beginning of collecting a lifetime of writing material (only I didn’t know it at the time).

My second failure came in my boss’s office at precisely 8:34 a.m. on July 23^rd, 1993…but who’s counting. It began with the usual pleasantries and then quickly evolved into “…(bla-bla-bla)…so we’re going to have to let you go.” And with that non-descriptive lame-ass explanation I was out of a job after thirteen years in public television.

It was the best thing that could have happened to me. In reality, it became a clean break from a mundane and political jungle to a forced self-reliance on my own skills to survive in the marketplace. It made me focus on my business, Sharden Productions, and my real estate ventures. And again, I never looked back.

My third and final failure came in the form of an obnoxious e-mail from an ego-inflated anal-retentive individual who didn’t like the video programs I was producing for local community television broadcast. His criticisms were ripe with subjective opinions and self-induced visions of grander. It was at that point that I declared to my computer that “I don’t need this _____ anymore” and with that eloquent announcement, I folded up my video production and distribution business and focused my fulltime energies on writing.

In retrospect, each stumble, loss, rejection, distraction, and life-changing event in my past has nudged me toward this stage of my life where story-telling in multiple disciplines has become my new passion. Catmull reminds us that: ‘we must think of the cost of failure as an investment in the future.’

Some folks are much quicker at failing their way to success. It took me sixty plus years and a life-time of learning just to get where I am now. I’d love to say it’s all part of some grand plan but it’s not. Just one more attempt at doing what I love best and stumbling every couple of steps on the way.

Each failure was a step in the right direction for me. I just didn’t know it at the time. Life stumbles can be that way sometimes.

Whatever It Takes

She was born on a dirt farm in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska. Rental farm land that barely covered expenses and put food on the table. Her father worked the field’s every day and her mom tended to their home. It was bare bones living but it was a good life.

The family moved to another farm when she was eight years old. By then she was getting up early in the morning to help her father milk the cows, sling hay and keep the bulk tank spotless. She was the eldest daughter doing what was needed to be done to sustain the family.

Even then there were strong influences that shaped her life. People and events that steeled her determination to make something of herself beyond the 250 acres of wheat, soybeans and corn.

She had a loving grandmother who was more worldly than most farm wives. For two years the young girl walked from school to Grandma’s house for lunch. Instead of washing dishes, they played with dolls, colored, made sugar pies and drew pictures. A myriad of other mind-expanding experiences at every visit.

Long before women figured out, they didn’t have to wear girdles every time they stepped outside, there was an aunt who pioneered early feminist Zen for the young girl. The aunt traveled the world and ran a bar in the winter months. She could command a bar stool discussion with the best of her patrons. In the summers, her aunt had a gift shop up north where the young girl worked. It was there she learned how to charm the customers and make the sale, honing her business skills.

During her junior year in high school, a nun took a liking to her and told her she had to go to college. She would be the first in her family to do so. And even though there was no money for such a venture, it really wasn’t negotiable. The nun taught her how to break the rules and glass ceilings in that small town.

In small town America, she was the student class president her freshman, sophomore and junior year. Even though she was elected class president her senior year, the nuns decided a boy should have that position. So, the young girl learned to roll with the clerical punches and still come out on top. She went to Girls State, was awarded the Betty Crocker Homemaker of the Year Award and elected Sodality President. The nuns couldn’t take that away from her.

Back in high school, a neighboring farm boy came to ask her out on a date. She politely declined and suffered the wrath of her father who thought she should have gone out simply because she had been asked. “What will our neighbors think?” her father asked her. “It doesn’t matter,” she answered. Still doesn’t.

One day the girl’s mother was cornered in town by ‘the attorney’s wife.’ The townies wanted to know why her daughter, a simple farm girl, thought she could go to such an elite all girl college in the cities. “Who does she think she is?” the woman asked the girl’s mother. “Her own self!” her mother answered. And that was that.

The young girl gleamed from all her life experiences the proposition that she ‘could’ and therefore she ‘would.’ If she wanted it, she would work for it. There was no free lunch but she was skilled in the kitchen. Those were giant assumptions in the early sixties, which in turn, she would pass on to her own children and grandchildren. No excuses, she would say, just focused determination to do what was needed to be done. ‘Whatever it takes,’ she would often say.

And she realized very early that she was smarter than most of the boys she dated. She still feels that way about men in general although she hasn’t dated in quite some time.

In college, she had to work almost full time while attending school as a day student. She lived with her aunt and learned to manage a tight schedule, be judicious about her sleep and still find time for student activities. She ended up student MEA president her senior year and traveled to Washington to represent the state. It was four years of sacrifice, hard work and little sleep and she excelled at everything she did.

Day students were not the girls who lived on campus. Boarders often didn’t have to work; they enjoyed time for studies, boys down the road and pondering their future career or lifestyle. Some enjoyed a preponderance of wealth. Like the girl with seven suede jackets.

This girl had a different suede jacket for each day of the week. Different colors, different styles and all unique. It spoke to the wardrobe packed in her dorm room. For many girls on campus, it was a gilded world of their liking. A few were pampered, privileged and very entitled. Others were not as privileged but still lived in a world far apart from morning milking chores and afternoon fieldwork the young girl was used to.

The young girl’s humble background and tough work ethic provided a sterling example for her children and grandchildren for what hard work, focus and determination can accomplish for a person. Success followed her academic and business career every step of the way.

She’s been president, chair, board member or committee member of every organization she’s ever belonged to. With her it’s almost a given. She was the first woman president of her Rotary club and first female Rotary district governor. Her list of posts, appointments, awards and recognition could fill a very large book. She still commands and gets the respect of every man in the group.

Businessmen universally respect her because she’s got the chops, the business acumen to deal with adverse situations, tough calls to make and focused goals to achieve. And unlike some of her professional colleagues, she has a common-sense approach to conflict resolution. She’s like a mama bear in an Ann Taylor suit.

Negotiations are her forte. Her ready smile and easy demeanor belie a sharp focus on the issues at hand, a calculating mind and deep insight into the human condition. Hardly seems fair to those sitting across from her in any business or political negotiations. I like to say she will eat you for lunch and you just came for dessert.

If I ever get my own writing thing going for me, I’m going to ask her to negotiate on my behalf. Her daughter is an attorney. No surprise there. Between the two of them, they would make a formidable team on my side.

In another life, she might have led a breakout at the cloisters, been Ophelia’s sister, a confidant to Clare Boothe Luce and most certainly a blue stocking suffragette. Perhaps even an Amazon Queen.

She still thinks she is smarter than most men. But I’m not going to give her that one.

I married her instead.

Self-Made, Not Quite

I used to think of myself as a self-made man. I had pulled myself up by my own accord. From starting a paper route in seventh grade to being one of the first in my extended family to get a college degree. I had traveled abroad when no one else had ventured very far. Lived as an ex-Pat in Denmark. Ended up with my own business, real estate investments and then entered the last chapter of my life as a published author.

That was me or so I thought. Raised by a single mother, no male role model in my life, no guidance, no direction, no lucky breaks, just some poor schlep trying to make it on his own. I saw that analysis, not as some congratulatory tour of self, but rather an honest appraisal of my upbringing. Problem was, I had left out the people, places and things that molded me into the person I am today.

Yes, I had done all of those things and I still hunger for success. But it wasn’t just my work ethic, ambition or chance encounters that got me to where I am today. Nor was it some serendipitous turn of events that helped me along the way. Who knew what really happened to me growing up? Turns out that Malcolm Gladwell did and it was truly eye-opening.

In his best seller, ‘Outliers,’ Malcolm Gladwell makes a very convincing argument that “In understanding successful people, we have come to focus far too much on their intelligence and ambition and personality traits. Instead, Malcolm argues in ‘Outliers’, we should look at the world that surrounds the successful – their culture, their family, their generation, and the idiosyncratic experiences of their upbringing.”

It's a fascinating concept and he uses some very convincing examples of successful people like Bill Gates and groups like the Beatles to prove his point. So, it got me to thinking. Were there events, encounters or timelines that helped me along the way? If so, it probably began with a small two-bedroom bungalow my mother built by herself in St. Paul, Minnesota.

The house itself was of less importance than the fact that it gave me stability and a base from which to explore my world. It was a nest I could always retreat back to where I felt safe. More remarkable is that it was built by a woman with a sixth-grade education and a job as a short-order cook. Her brother worked on the house during the day and my mother at night.

Starting a paper route in 7^th grade because my mother needed financial help seemed like a no-brainer to me. It was my first introduction to compound savings, resisting the temptation to waste money on frivolous things and the real possibility of building a nest egg for college.

Of my three Aunts, Coletta was the most successful of the four sisters. Her three sons were always held up within family circles as icons of success. Milton, the insurance executive, Jerry, the Hamm’s Beer supervisor and Ronald (Buzz), the doctor.

In my mother’s rural German Catholic culture, nuns, priests and doctors were considered ‘blessed people’ and above the rest of us. Without a word spoken, the message was very clear. Buzz, the doctor, was the pinacol of success. He went to Cretin High School and St. Thomas College. He was one of the cool kids. I knew I wanted to follow in his footsteps.

Only 265 young boys out of 650 were chosen to enter Cretin High School. Someone dropping out and cousin Milton’s influence with the Christian Brothers got me in as a freshman. Un-denounced to me, I was placed in the non-college track of studies. I was expected to, hopefully, graduate and get a job or enter the service. College was definitely not in my future by their standard of the times.

Yet it was, more than anything else, the environment of an all-boys military school that reinforced my own self-image and desire for more. I certainly knew I wasn’t one of the chosen elites, the best of the best in our class. I wasn’t even in the same classroom with them. But I did become an ROTC officer, joined a couple of after school activities and started to believe in myself.

My savings ran out after two years at St. Thomas College so I transferred to the University of Minnesota and promptly flunked out after two quarters. Uncle Sam gave me a job for two years and St. Thomas welcomed me back, curtesy of the GI Bill. Living in Denmark introduced me to an entirely different world outside of Saint Paul, Minnesota. It also heightened my interest in a myriad of subjects from urban housing to the universality of music. Once back on home soil, I began my real life.

An ad in the Minnesota Daily, student newspaper of the University of Minnesota, caught my eye. It was for a writer at the Minnesota Department of Public Health. Having no other options and apartment and car payment due soon, I took the job. Then a desire for more writing opportunities carried me to public television and my future career in video production and distribution.

When Sharon decided to marry me, I became locked into a lifestyle that has done us both very well. Starting my own business, Sharden Productions, while still working in public Television, gave me the capitol to invest in real estate. Sharon’s mastery of the maternal skills as well her own work ethic reinforced our success as a family entity.

Malcolm’s book ‘Outliers’ helped me see a much bigger picture called my life. Reflecting back on a lifetime of hard work and sacrifice, I now understand it was also a lucky confluence of many different factors that added to that equation. My dysfunctional yet lean upbringing fueled a desire for more. Education played a pivotal role in quenching a lifetime thirst for knowledge. Controlling my own financial future brought a comfortable lifestyle.

Most importantly, Sharon, as my life partner, conscience, advisor, critic and guiding light gave me the normal family life I never had growing up.  In the end, that’s about as good as it gets.

Teaching Ambition

It’s invisible, elastic, demanding, and can play head games with your brain. It’s the power to do good and evil, to create and destroy. It’s an elixir, a real high and can be a pain in the ass. Ambition is all of those things and more. It comes in all sizes and shapes. Iteration be damned, it can be all around us and we don’t even know it.

So, who is that fat old man slogging along the blacktop pathway at 6:00 in the morning? He’s over-weight, in poor form, carrying his head down and is probably in a world of hurt. He’s so slow that turtles are passing him on their way to breakfast. Why isn’t he at the coffee shop with the other retirees; those oldsters who spend a good part of their days bitching about the government and life in general?

Who is that lithe young girl running like a gazelle so easily and eloquently in the morning dew? She passes the old man and they smile at one another, if only for one brief moment, then they’re back to their own space; encapsulated in their own thoughts and reflections.

Who is the middle-aged woman at a Community Ed painting class sitting beside that macho guy, both focused on their hard scribbles few other people would call a painting? Yet they don’t seem to care or even notice. They keep dabbling, experimenting, making smears across the canvas that only they can understand and appreciate.

Most of us are familiar with the successes of Steve Jobs (Apple), Bill Gates (Microsoft), and Jeff Bezos (Amazon). What were these folks trying to prove? Why engage in these mundane endeavors? Obviously, it wasn’t for anyone else because nobody else gave a hoot what they’re up to.

I would suggest they’re following their passion, their ambition. That internal engine that drives them to push their bodies, push their desire, push their need to do… I tried to explore that concept in one of my first novels. The best way I found to describe my protagonist was to say that he was ‘hungry.’

But what is ambition? What drives ambition? And more to my point of interest, how do you instill ambition in your kids or grandkids? I have no pat answers. It’s always easier to ask questions than to pull answers out of that cauldron called life.

For example, what happens when you’ve worked hard all your life for those things you feel you deserve and you want your kids to have? There’s nothing wrong with that but how do you keep your kids hungry when you’ve fed them so well?

How do you balance giving your kids material things and still hope they have a desire to go beyond those sundry distractions for more real substance in their lives? How do you feed ambition in your kids when they’re living a privileged life (relatively speaking)? Privileged because you wanted it that way.

How do you help them understand the power of money and the responsibility that goes with it? Yet you don’t want to deprive them of any of the experiences you had or didn’t have growing up yourself.

I don’t think there’s a set answer out there or a guidebook that details how to build desire and want in a young person’s mind. Some have it and others don’t. I was lucky. I was born poor and didn’t have far to go to move in another direction. Absence does fuel a strong desire in some people to…

With our own kids, we simply had expectations. Most were unspoken, unwritten, seldom talked about but always understood. And we gave them opportunities. Lots and lots of opportunities. That seemed to work for us.

Now with the grandchildren, we’ve taken on a supporting role in raising and educating them; always in deference to our own kids and their spouses. Their parenting decisions always pull the most weight. But that doesn’t mean we can’t suggest, offer, volunteer, or otherwise support ideas of our own. Seems to be working for us.

My theory is to let kids explore whatever they want to. And encourage them to do so.

Sharon and I tend to give our grandkids lots and lots of experiences and opportunities. And have plenty of expectations for all of them at the same time. I want them to be like that old man and young girl jogging in the morning. And the middle-aged woman and guy exploring their respective talents for painting. I want my grandkids to do, to try, to experiment, to fail more than once and to try again. And again. And again.

And that old man who is out jogging each morning. He’ll probably never run a real race, even a 5k. But he keeps chugging along. Day after day. And yet when he’s done and he’s hurting and rank and exhausted, he is still in his own world of Valhalla. Because he’s done what so many of us only wish we could do. The irony, of course, is that we all could too.

If only…

If only…

If only…