Tiny Habits: The Small Changes That Change Everything(87)
Step 1: Ask your work team or family to join you for thirty minutes to learn something new that some Stanford scientist invented.
Step 2: Have them come up with an aspiration that the whole group shares. Your work team might want better quality meetings. Your family might want more quality time together in the evenings.
Step 3: Pick one of the aspirations from Step 2 and make sure everyone is clear about what it means.
Step 4: Have everyone follow the process for finding Golden Behaviors for the group’s aspiration. (See Steps 2 through 6 in the previous exercise.)
Step 5: Ask people to share one or two Golden Behaviors with the group. (Write those down for everyone to see.)
Step 6: Go through the list you’ve written. Ask your team or family how the group can make each Golden Behavior a reality. Discuss and make a plan.
Exercise #3: Create Team Alignment on What Behavior to Change
Step 1: Decide what your team’s aspiration is before they gather. For a work team, the aspiration might be more positive communication or making progress on projects that really matter.
Step 2: Magic Wand a set of behaviors on your own (or get someone to help you come up with ideas).
Step 3: Double-check that these behaviors are specific, then write each one on a 4 x 6 index card or a half-sheet of paper.
Step 4: Gather your team and explain the aspiration to the group.
Step 5: Hand out the cards so each person has about the same number.
Step 6: Lead the group in a Focus Mapping session as described in this chapter. For more details on moderating a group Focus Map, go to FocusMap.info.
Step 7: Once your team has identified a small set of behaviors in the upper right-hand corner (the Golden Behaviors), ask how the group can make each behavior a reality.
Step 8: Discuss and make a plan.
Conclusion
The Small Changes That Change Everything
I was in Amsterdam speaking at a conference in 2008. I’d given the opening keynote in the morning, then enjoyed the rest of the day at the event. Denny and I had just walked into our hotel room after the evening reception when my phone dinged. It was a text message from my brother. Garrett died of an overdose. I blinked and read it again. The text was so short, so painfully to the point, that I knew it had to be real. But my first reaction was to say no. I said no over and over again, louder and louder. My throat felt like it was closing up, but I managed to croak out the words of the text to Denny. To this day, it is difficult for me to say those words out loud.
Garrett was my sister Linda’s son. At twenty, Garrett still called me Uncle Beej and gave me a big bear hug whenever I saw him. He was the sweetest kid in the family, and everyone knew this. His own siblings called him the Golden Child both in jest and in all seriousness. He loved sunflowers, and he could beat most anyone in an eating contest, especially if it was chocolate chip cookies.
A hundred images of him flooded my mind followed by what felt like a million questions.
An overdose? He had completed rehab and had been sober for months. I thought he was free and clear. What happened? Denny and I sat silently on the edge of the bed. Stunned. Several awful minutes passed. I knew my sister was in the worst pain of her life, but I was halfway across the world. I pushed the shock and questions aside, and said: “Let’s pack and fly home. Right now.”
Denny got up and set out our suitcases. I called the front desk to see how fast we could get to Schiphol Airport. It was just after midnight. We threw everything into our bags, and a few minutes later, we took a taxi to the airport and caught the next plane to Las Vegas.
Linda is my older sister, and one of my earliest memories is of her standing in front of a tiny blackboard in our living room when I was maybe three. I was sitting in a little chair, and she was teaching me a very important lesson: When tape is wet, it doesn’t stick. She stuck a piece of dry tape on the blackboard, then she dipped another piece in water and tried to stick it on the blackboard. When it slipped down the board, Linda said, “See, BJ!”
My sister and I have always had a special relationship—maybe because she’s the oldest or because our personalities are in sync. We both love to learn and teach, and we always find a way to make our work about helping people. As you probably gleaned from the stories I’ve already told, Linda is a caretaker at heart—she’s a mother of eight, and she’s also someone who has suffered more tragedy than anyone I know.
When Denny and I arrived in Las Vegas after hearing the news about Garrett, we went directly to Linda’s home. We were there while my sister and her family were enduring unimaginable loss. I gave the eulogy and was a pallbearer.
After the funeral, close friends and extended family gathered at Linda’s home, bringing chicken casseroles and expressing their deepest condolences. At one point I saw Linda leave the kitchen and head toward the side porch. After a minute or so, I followed her. When I stepped outside, it was starting to get dark. I saw my big sister sitting on the stone patio. She was leaning against the wall in a fetal position with her arms wrapped around her legs. Her hand was over her face, and she was sobbing and shaking. I slumped down next to her and put my arm around her shoulder. I didn’t know what to say, so the two of us sat there alone.