Go, Baby, Go!

Make a Difference on the Planet

In the early Summer of 1980, I started practicing for the Center Harbor N.H. 4^th of July Road Race.  It was a simple 2.5-mile loop that started at the fire station (where my Dad was a volunteer), went down Lakeshore Drive (where we lived), circled back up Route 25, ending uphill back at the fire station.  Almost every afternoon after he got off work, my Dad would come out front of our house, with a highball in one hand and a stopwatch in the other, and he would sit on lawn chair by the stone wall and time my practices.  Sometimes I would do sprints, other times I would do distance, running the loop twice, and sometimes I would run the precise course, just changing the start and finish to our house.  My Dad never put any pressure on me.  It was more of a bonding time. 

On the day of the race, I was nervous.  Many of the runners were from out of state and wore expensive sneakers.  When the starting gun went off, I took off.  Maybe too fast.  I was afraid that I might be the rabbit that gets passed by the tortoise.  It helped to see my cousins walking along Lakeshore Drive in the opposite direction, cheering me on.  My older brother John was walking with them, hungover but still cheering (he will chuckle with fond memories as he reads this).  At the mid-point, turning sharply onto route 25, I could see my competitors closing in.  They continued to gain on me.  As I reached the final quarter mile, all uphill, I could hear my Dad, above all other noises, scream, “Go, baby, go!”

That was all I need to propel me to the finish line.  I ran by the fountain in the town center and won the race.

After, I went to E.M. Heaths Supermarket and the Dari—Maid ice cream shop (two places that I worked) to show everyone the trophy and share my pride and excitement.  Later in the day we saw my grandparents and I was able to tell them all about it.  I told all my friends.  Even many years later, I was able to tell my children about that day. 

Isn’t that how work should be?  And why not?  I have been on probably 50 or more interview panels.  My favorite question that I ask is, “what is the coolest thing you have ever done professionally that you reached out to your parents, partner, or friends, because you couldn’t wait to tell them about it?”  Phrasing is important here.  Because, if you ask, “What is your single biggest professional accomplishment,” you will often get meaningless responses like writing a plan, passing an evaluation, or supporting a team achievement.  I have heard so many boring responses to that question.  But when you talk about “cool” and sharing with people outside of work whom they care about, you are able to pull out some great stories.

Nobody ever comes home from work and brags, “Honey, it was amazing, I responded to 67 emails, attended four meetings, and did everything I was told to do.” 

I have always strived for moments like that road race at work.  I used to call them wins, or changing the planet, or making a difference on the planet, but they all seemed so esoteric.  Then I read a book called Purple Cows by Seth Godin.  He came up with a simple and profound metaphor.  If you drive by farms and see cows, it is unlikely you will ever think to mention the experience.  But, if one day you drive by and see a purple cow, well that is remarkable, and all your friends and family will hear about it.  It resonates.  So, I began chasing, and encouraging others to chase, purple cows. 

Some are foisted upon us.  I was in the Pentagon on 9/11 and had no choice to respond.  Still, my experience then was a purple cow.  But the really amazing ones are those that we create from scratch.  From a unique idea or vision.  Years ago, I led a small team and created FEMA’s National Business Emergency Operation Center in the face of critics and adversaries that ended up being a shining star in public private partnerships.  Purple cow.  More recently, I wrote a 55,000-word book on crisis communications.  It was such a purple cow for me that I have started sharing my excitement with others before it is even published. 

Those are just a few of my examples.  I get it.  It sounds boastful.  It is.  And why not?  And shouldn’t we all want that and pursue that every day?  The joy and satisfaction from a self-initiated purple cow are immeasurable.   It’s not quite the same thing to say, “My boss told me to do this, and I did, isn’t that cool?” 

I encourage you to think about your purple cows in the past.  Then take a look at the purple cows you are working on right now.  If there aren’t any, take some time to brainstorm.  If you are a supervisor, inspire the same in them. 

I think I found even more joy and pride in watching them achieve their purple cows.  Charlie getting recognized by the Secretary of Homeland Security for his work in COVID.  Corey for rising through the ranks so fast and earning more awards than anyone.  Nick for being recognized by the Employer Support of the Guard and Reserve (ESGR).  Melissa for leading both the best Private Sector and Internal Communications in all of FEMA.  Amanda for being recognized at both the regional and national level for both social media and videography (which she taught herself).  Rebecca for taking our intergovernmental outreach from a paltry 100 to well over a thousand, paving the way for measurable and meaningful outreach.  John’s editorials, writing, COVID tracking, and Philadelphia Playbook.  Jaqui’s webinar and Wednesday health tips.   Amparo and David making a difference with federally recognized tribes.  I could go on, and sorry for those I missed.  But that I remember all of that as I type this stream of conscious in seconds remembering events from a year or so ago, shows that they are indeed purple cows. 

Almost every purple cow I can think of benefits others, changes humanity in positive ways, and makes a difference on the planet.  Your next purple cow may be remembered for a lifetime or beyond. 

I would love to hear about your purple cows as I cheer you on.  And don’t let humility get in the way of telling everyone.  We all really want to hear about.

Like my Dad said, “Go, baby, go!”

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Editorial note: I make a conscious choice in my writing to capitalize the words Mom and Dad. We capitalize days of the week. I assure you, my Mom and Dad have done much more for me than Wednesday ever has. Moreover, we have a commandment to honor our Mother and Father. No such commandment for Wednesday. We are not indebted to grammar; grammar is in service to us.