a questionable life

by Luke Lively

  Like many leadership books, he had an acronym to help connect and retain the four objectives. As a banker, I had laughed when I read the acronym they formed: BANK. The four points were connected by a series of simple questions. Almost every page focused on “being in the moment” and “living in the now.” “Now is a mix of the past and future,” he wrote. I continued to reread the section.

  The four points of BANK were Balanced, Awake, Natural, and Knowledgeable. According to Benny, by “questioning your life” a person can live with more vitality—“choosing to be.” The words “to be” were the “two most important words in our language.”

  “To be is what we are doing now—in the present—the meeting point for what we’ve done and for all we can do.”

  I reread the questions posed with each objective.

  Balanced—Who am I? and Who do I want to be?

  Awake—How did I get here? and Where do I want to be?

  Natural—What do I value? and What do I want?

  Knowledgeable—What have I learned? and What do I need to know?

  “To be the person you want to be requires questioning the past and the future to connect you to the present,” Benny wrote. I decided to ask myself the questions.

  Am I balanced? Much of what he wrote about being balanced had to do with “bringing the inside out” as he put it. Who am I? I thought I had the answer for that question for years, but was floundering with it now. Who do I want to be? I was no longer the up-and-coming bank executive, Jack Oliver. My goal was to get ahead, but I had hit a wall. I realized I had not changed my work habits—I was working longer and harder, trying to tear down any impediment that stopped my upward climb. My personal life wasn’t balanced. The family was Tina’s job. Now I was alone.

  Awake? My eyes were open and I was responding to stimuli, but being awake meant much more to Benny than being lucid. Did I understand how I got to this point in my life? To a point, I did, but I didn’t like admitting mistakes I’d made. Was I where I wanted to be? Hell no, I thought. Have I learned from where I’ve been? No—again. I evidently wasn’t as awake as I thought I was.

  Natural? Were my thoughts, words, actions, and intentions in harmony with the world around me? At first these questions seemed easy to answer. What I valued and wanted was easy to describe—power and money. I was at my most natural when I was at work, but being honest with myself, I knew the means I used to achieve my goals were far from natural or harmonious. They were supremely selfish. Part of being natural according to Benny was “being at peace with yourself,” something I had never felt. I wasn’t at peace—I was at war. I thought that was part of life.

  Knowledgeable? I had excelled in academics. I was well-read, but now I feared I had failed to learn from experience and listen to others. According to Benny’s interpretation, I was not the intellectual giant I thought I was—I was immature. What do I need to know? I had no idea. Maybe I was just going through a rough spot in my life? I’m a survivor, I thought.

  Would living a “questionable life” make a difference at this point in my life? I wondered if it was too late to change the way I lived.

  As I closed the book and sat it down on the small end table beside the recliner, I reached over and picked up the glass of bourbon. I had yet to take a drink. I lifted the glass at an angle with the lamp so I could see through the dark liquid. Slowly, I rotated my wrist to create a swirl of movement as the liquid moved rhythmically around the sides of the glass.

  Worry is the ugly by-product of fear—it can make your anxiety a reality.

  —BENJAMIN FRANKLIN PRICE

  22. What Are You Worried About?

  “WHAT ARE YOU WORRIED ABOUT?” John asked. I had called him back after thinking and drinking . . . I was worried.

  “Everything,” I said. I leaned back in my recliner, pouring the third glass of bourbon.

  “Well, nuttin’ has changed—you’re still the designated worrier,” he said, referring to the nickname he had given me in college. “You worry too much, Jack. You’re getting ready to learn about a new opportunity, to enjoy a great weekend, and have the chance to get out of the rut you’re in. Stop worrying.”

  “Worrying has worked pretty well for me so far,” I said, taking a drink.

  “To a point,” John said. “I doubt if you would urge anyone to do things your way, given what’s happened at Merchants. I think it’s time for you to change directions.”

  “I need some advice,” I said. “I really do.”

  “I’m the worst person to give advice,” he said. “But I’ll tell you the same thing my grandma told me, rest her soul. ‘There ain’t nuttin’ good ever come out of worry.’”

  “Yeah,” I said. “But your grandma never worked in a bank!”

  “Okay, Jack,” John said. He was laughing at me. “That may be true. But she lived to be ninety-five—a very healthy, vigorous ninety-five years, something I hope to do. If you keep going like you’re going, you won’t make sixty.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about.”

  “Are you drunk? Listen to yourself! Aren’t you tired of worrying about everything? How can you sleep?”

  “I don’t,” I said. I had never been so vulnerable and open with anyone. Whether it was the alcohol, stress, or the reality of what I was facing, I was finally being honest. “I’m afraid Benny won’t give me a chance,” I said. “I think he’ll see me—the real me—someone I hate. I know it sounds crazy, but I think I do need a change. I think I may actually want to leave Philly. I don’t like who I am, John. How could he be interested in me when I doubt myself?”

  After a pause, I heard John sigh. “I’ve known you for a long time. You’re like a brother to me. I know the real you. Jack Oliver is someone I respect and admire. You aren’t at your best right now, but admitting to it is the best thing you can do. You need a change. Just be as open with Benny as you are with me. Don’t try to hide anything or try to be something you aren’t. You’re right, that won’t work. Be honest. Just be you—he’ll be impressed. I promise.”

  After sitting in silence a moment digesting his words, I said, “John, you’re a great friend. I’m sorry to bother you. I’ll get myself together. I’ll be open and honest with him. I’m going to finally take your advice.”

  “Glory hallelujah, miracles happen!” John said in his best evangelical imitation. “Seriously. Don’t worry—be you. And quit drinking that bourbon I know you’re sippin’ on. Listen to your smarter, older, and much better looking de facto brother and go on to bed and get some rest. You have a big weekend ahead.”

  “I will,” I said.

  The next morning I boarded a Delta flight for Cincinnati. I had to fly to Cincinnati and switch planes to reach my destination of Roanoke, Virginia, giving me a clue to the remote nature of the area. As I settled in on the crowded 707, a plane that was surely older than the combined ages of my children, I began to think about my history as a “designated worrier.” While I had always been the consummate worrier, there was only one other time I could remember when I was as worried as I was now.

  “Why am I worried?” I said to myself leaving Chad’s office.

  I had just received my third promotion and felt like I deserved it. But a clear challenge was evident in the new post. I loved the opportunity but hated the idea of working for William Crabtree, or “Bill” as he was called by his friends and the PT&G executives. From the first time we met we had never gotten along. Now, I would be reporting to him directly. This would be the most difficult challenge of my career to date.

  Crabtree was no stranger. In my time at Fifth Street as the office manager I had seen him on at least a couple of dozen occasions. While he typically didn’t visit local PT&G offices, Crabtree frequented the Fifth Street area often to have lunch and meet with Tom Skeens, the developer of the Fifth Street reclamation project. While he was cordial in these brief encounters when he used my office to meet and close deals with Skeens, I could sense his disdain. I was sure he believed I didn�
��t deserve my position.

  The advancement opportunity had been a surprise. Almost one year to the day after firing Henry Starnes as manager of the Fifth Street office I was summoned to Chad’s office to give him a progress report. After twelve months, only two people remained from Henry’s original staff. I had purposefully shrunk the number of office employees—firing two and scaring off several more—replacing the departed employees with new people who were loyal to me. The process of managing the employee turnover and cost savings looked great on paper. I had rid the office of high salary/low producers and replaced them with lower salary/high producers. I had quadrupled loan production in the office and had increased the deposits by 40 percent. I was number one in almost every PT&G category. Being humble was the toughest part of sharing my report with Chad. I didn’t want to come across as too cocky.

  “Last to first in less than one year in most performance categories,” Chad said, looking at the reports. “That’s impressive. What are you going to do for an encore?”

  “Better,” I said.

  I meant it. I knew I could climb farther and faster than anyone at PT&G. My confidence was soaring. Since moving to Fifth Street as manager I had crystallized my belief that what defined me as a person was my position at the bank. I believed that feeling good about my life required my continual, rapid rise on the PT&G corporate ladder. I had already initiated my plan for my next move. I wanted to be a business loan officer within three years.

  “You’re doing great as a branch manager. But now that you have the office turned around, I need you somewhere else. You’re being promoted to business loan officer here in the main office. You’ll be reporting directly to Bill Crabtree. Bill will help speed up your learning curve.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. I wouldn’t need my three-year plan. “Thank you for the opportunity,” I said, still in shock. “I’ll do my best.”

  “I’m sure of that,” Chad said. “If I didn’t believe in you, where do you think you would be? Never let me down, Jack. Always do what I tell you to do. It’s that easy.”

  “You can count on me,” I said.

  Some turbulence shook the plane, and I brought the seatback forward. The mild shaking had halted my recollection of one of the most important times in my career. I checked my watch and calculated that the plane would land in Cincinnati in less than thirty minutes. Looking out the window, all I could see were clouds far below, the same weather I had left in Philly. At over thirty thousand feet, the clouds below formed an ocean of white for the plane to glide over, with blue sky dominating the vista. If you were on the ground, all you could see would be the blanket of clouds. The scenery reminded me of a passage in Benny’s book. He said much of our fear was caused by “the clutter of our thoughts.”

  What do you see? Is it real or just your perception of what’s real? What we see is rarely reality, but a perception—a representation of what we think it is. We confuse ourselves with the clutter of what-we-think-we-see, creating our own distorted image of reality. Our fears help to create the clutter of our thoughts and the clutter in turn creates more fears causing us to suffer. There’s no one to blame. We create most of our own suffering thinking what we see is real.

  I was afraid of what the future held for me. “What do I see?” I asked myself, turning away from the window and shutting my eyes.

  I recalled my first official day as a business loan officer. I was scheduled to meet with Bill Crabtree early in the morning. I remembered how nervous I was, similar to the way I felt about meeting Benny. But there was a huge difference between Crabtree and Benny Price.

  I had been afraid of Bill Crabtree.

  After keeping me waiting outside his office for almost an hour, Crabtree made things clear with me from the beginning. “Jack Oliver—my new business loan officer,” he said as I sat down, looking over his huge cherry desk. His gargantuan leather chair appeared to be trying to swallow him. “You have a new assignment. At least you’re not firing me on your first day like you did Henry,” he said with a smirk.

  “No sir, I am here to learn from you. You’re the best,” I said.

  “Save your bullcrap for someone else, Oliver. You want to learn just enough to get ahead and move on. You have no intention of staying in this area any longer than necessary. I’m sure you’ll do very well because you wouldn’t have it any other way—to make yourself look good, like you have at Fifth Street. I know how you made your numbers look so good. Fear—you bullied and scared everyone to do everything they could to make you look better. Being a bully won’t work in your new job—now you’re a salesperson. And make no mistake about it, and I want this understood—this is my department. You can go to church on Sunday, but when you’re here—I’m God to you. You may think you’re the apple of Chad’s eye but an apple can rot, typically from the inside,” he said. He nervously bounced a pen on the arm of his chair.

  “That’s not true,” I said, struggling with a response. “I’m honestly here to learn from you.”

  “We’ll see,” he said, repeating his favorite doubt-filled expression. “We’ll see.”

  After working in the department for six months I realized Crabtree was right about my intention. I wanted to do what I had to do as a business lender and then move on. I didn’t enjoy the constant negotiations with clients. My role as a business lender focused on sales and placed me firmly as a middle man in the loan originating process. Even though I had reinvented Jack Oliver from introvert to extrovert during my teen and college years, selling loans went well beyond personality and professionalism. If borrowers were good credit risks, they could price shop and choose the best deal they could find.

  I wasn’t in control—and it didn’t feel good.

  What decided almost every deal boiled down to two issues: how much the customer repaid (the interest rate and any fees associated with the loan); and how long they had to repay the debt (the length of the term of the loan arrangement). I would have enjoyed my role a lot more, but I wasn’t in control of those two key items: Crabtree was. Everything I negotiated with clients had to come back to him for approval, putting him in control of how many loans I made.

  As if he were on a vendetta to ruin Jack Oliver, Crabtree was giving other lenders better rates, making their production look much better than mine. He was making my job as difficult as he could and hurting the bank in the process. I lost several excellent customers because he refused to bend on rates and terms that he willingly surrendered to other deals. I was sure he was blaming the lost business on my inability to sell the deals. I had no control over my situation. I was in very real danger of not only seeing the progress in my career slowed but actually losing my job. I finally got the nerve to ask for a meeting so I could challenge him. If that didn’t work, I planned on going to Chad, my last resort, something I wanted to avoid at all costs. Just like our first meeting, Crabtree took control from the beginning.

  “Mr. Crabtree, I appreciate your time,” I said, but before getting another word out I was interrupted.

  “If you’re so concerned about my time, then why did you ask to meet with me? You’re wasting it right now—get to the point.” The anger and resentment in his voice validated every concern I had. I was dealing with an enemy.

  “The reason I asked for this meeting is to express my concern that you’re not giving me the same conditions you give to other lenders,” I said quickly to avoid interruption. “You’re giving better terms and rates to other lenders, making their production look much better. I have lost several large deals, hurting PT&G in the process. Why are you doing this to me?”

  Crabtree leaned forward in his chair and folded his hands together. A smile began to slowly form on his face. “I could tell you that it’s your imagination, but I’m sure you could pull out examples that may point to what you may view as less-than-fair treatment,” Crabtree said. He kept a serpent-like smile on his face as he spoke. “I could also tell you that you’re a newcomer to business lending and part of the problem is y
our negotiating skills,” he said as he leaned forward slightly. “But again, that would not clear any doubts you may have about my support for you. So, Mr. Oliver, I’m going to cast away any doubt about my support.” He lay his hands face down on the desk. “You don’t have my support. You never will. You are a sham, a fake. You have no business being in the position you’re in at PT&G. You should have never been promoted. You didn’t have enough experience. You would’ve never been considered for the job except you do everything Chad tells you to do. I didn’t want you in the job—Chad did—and I don’t like someone telling me who to hire. I don’t like you being part of my team. Do I make myself clear?”

  I was stunned. I could not think clearly and somehow found the will to hold my tongue. After a few seconds, Crabtree continued.

  “If you ever repeat what I just said, I promise it’ll be the last act you make as an employee of this organization. I may not be Chad, but I’m number two in this company, and I can sink your ship anytime I want to. Now that we have addressed your concerns, do you have anything else to ask before you quit wasting my time?” Crabtree said without emotion.

  “How do you expect me to do my job?” I asked.

  “I don’t,” he said. “My advice to you is to get another job—quickly.”

  I stood up and looked down on Crabtree. “With all due respect, Mr. Crabtree, I’m not going to take your advice. I don’t give up that easily.”

  “You can leave now, but before you do I want to remind you of something,” he said as his mouth broke into a broader, even more evil smile. “I make the rules here—you don’t. I control your fate. Quitting is the only option you have any control over, young man. Good luck, you’ll need it.”

  I could still remember the feeling I had when I was leaving Crabtree’s office. My legs were weak, and I was nauseous. I did my best to smile at his secretary as I left. I walked down the hall to the restroom. After splashing water on my face, I felt the nausea overcome me. I turned and ran into one of the stalls and vomited. After the nausea subsided, I stepped back to the mirror hoping that no one would enter.