Fail Up

by Tavis Smiley

  Now I had a place to stay but no money. Until the hiring freeze lifted, I had to aggressively pursue a “meantime” plan. During my job search, I found myself locked in three uncompromising categories: “overqualified,” “under-qualified,” and “undependable.” Managers at McDonald’s and other fast-food restaurants said I was woefully overqualified. Without an actual degree, I was underqualified for high-tech and other well-paying jobs.

  In retrospect, I may have unintentionally sabotaged myself. In interviews with potential employees, I often talked about interning for Mayor Bradley and how I had a job waiting once the freeze was over. Why would anyone hire me? Fast-food places have enough turnover, and any savvy employer would hesitate to invest in someone waiting for the freeze to lift.

  You Can Always Come Home

  I could not find a gig to save my life. I ended up doing anything and everything I could to make a little money, including signing up when movies and TV shows advertised for extras. I made appearances on Matlock, Cheers, and a couple of other TV shows. I even qualified for a Screen Actors Guild (SAG) card, thanks to a quick cameo in the film Someone to Watch Over Me with Tom Berenger and Mimi Rogers. The director wanted a stock boy to ask, “Who’s there?” when the killer broke in through a basement window. Out of the hundreds of extras on the set that day, I was chosen. Turns out, my lines were cut from the movie. But, those two words qualified me as a genuine actor. Funny, huh?

  The hiring freeze—which lasted more than a year, combined with no consistent income—was getting the best of me. During my internship, I met businessman Harold Patrick, who became a dear friend and supporter. Harold, Eula, a couple of other friends, Mama, and Big Mama—everybody pitched in, sending me a little money to keep me afloat—which made me feel like a horrible failure.

  I was barely hanging on, but an eviction notice pushed me over the edge. When my intuitive mother called to ask how things were going, I said, “Mom, I’ve done everything I can; now I’m being evicted. I can hear Gladys Knight and the Pips warming up. ‘LA proved too much for the man, he couldn’t make it …’ It’s not going to work.”

  I was trying to be cute and funny, but holding back the tears was a battle.

  “I know you don’t want to do this,” Mama reassured me, “and I don’t want you to feel like a loser or that you failed, but I want you to know that you can always come home.”

  For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to me that I had that option. Accepting my mother’s offer, which seemed like the only viable choice, was comforting, but it also meant I had failed. Tears of relief and humiliation flowed equally.

  “Mom,” I sniffled, “I can’t imagine how things can get any worse. I’m going to take you up on your offer. I’ll pack my stuff and come home.”

  That night, my friend Harold pleaded with me to change my mind: “This whole thing could turn around in a week. I really do believe you’ll do great things in Los Angeles. I think this is your city, Tavis. Give yourself another week,” he urged.

  Harold was trying to convince me to be more patient, more tenacious. He had a gut feeling that California was really the best place for my talent. He had no idea that his argument was bouncing up against an eviction notice. The signs were plain as day: Give it up! Go home!

  “Time’s run out, Harold,” I said in quiet resignation. It was a Tuesday night; Thursday morning, I planned to head back to Kokomo. Wednesday night, filled with dread, I stepped into the shower. Lathered up, with water pouring from the spigot and my eyes, I experienced my first earthquake. It was a nice little shaker. In that butt-booty-naked moment, slipping and sliding all over the place, I heard a voice:

  As long as you’re alive, Tavis, there’s hope. It can always get worse. Hold on.

  This may be hard for you to believe, but for me, it was a bona fide revelation. It was a message I not only heard, it was also one I felt, just as real as breathing.

  I got out of the shower, surveyed the surroundings—a few dishes broken, furniture in disarray, fallen plaster from the wall—but no major damage. Still, in that moment, when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, things miraculously changed. Like flicking a light switch, my tears subsided, and my spirit completed a 180-degree turn.

  Before the earthquake, I thought I had endured enough and suffered enough; that eviction notice was a sign to move on. In reality, the earthquake was a stronger sign to stay put. It took an act of nature to shake up my world and toss me around, but afterward, I was still standing, still breathing, and feeling blessed to be worthy of bona-fide heavenly assurance to hang in there.

  “I’m not going home, not just yet,” I whispered to myself with new resolve. “I’m going to hold on a little bit longer.”

  In what seemed like a lifetime later, looking at the single can of Spaghetti-O’s in my cupboard and my last bit of cornflakes in a bowl in front of me, the phone rang.

  It was Bill Elkins from City Hall:

  “Congratulations, Tavis,” he said. “The city-government freeze has been lifted. Consider yourself a paid, full-time employee of Mayor Tom Bradley’s staff.”

  Hold On!

  “I’ve been waitin’ for this moment, all my life, oh Lord"

  —“IN THE AIR TONIGHT”

  BY PHIL COLLINS

  I am still humbled that—if not for divine intervention—I might have missed my moment. I was just a day away from leaving LA, a day away from learning that my career in politics was about to start, and a day away from missing a life-changing opportunity.

  The true meaning of patience and tenacity was, of course, my lesson. I had been given an internship and job opportunity with Mayor Bradley for a reason, and it wasn’t to have me stranded and homeless in a strange town. I needed a reminder. Since my friend Harold couldn’t penetrate my stubborn resolve, a voice during an earthquake seemed to be the next best thing.

  Hold on! However bad things are, it can always get worse. Sometimes we lose sight of that significant message. We have to remind ourselves that things can also get better. I was so sure that the eviction notice signaled the end of my time in LA. In reality, it was a preview of the day persistence and tenacity were going to pay off for me.

  In our pursuit of success, perhaps we have to redefine the meaning of a real problem versus a divine delay. If there’s a solution—even if it’s an out-of-reach solution—remember: Problems can be solved. Learning that you have cancer and six months to live—that’s a real problem. But in comparison to life’s irreversible crises, my problem stacked up more like an inconvenience.

  Mark Zupan—the captain of the 2004 U.S. quadriplegic wheelchair rugby team and captain of the 2008 U.S. gold medalwinning quadriplegic team—can tell you about a “real” problem.

  Zupan played varsity football and soccer in high school. On October 14, 1993, after a winning soccer game, he and a few teammates decided to visit a local bar. Inebriated, Zupan climbed into the bed of his friend’s pickup truck and fell fast asleep. His buddy—who had also been drinking—later drove off in the truck without realizing Zupan was in the back. The driver collided with another vehicle, which sent Zupan flying from the back of the pickup and into a nearby canal. He was able to grab onto a branch and hang on for 14 hours, until a passerby noticed the struggling, half-conscious youth.

  As a result of the accident, Zupan became quadriplegic. But because he held on, not only did he survive, he heroically managed to rise above a seemingly insurmountable challenge. He redefined his life and went on to win Olympic medals and inspire millions.

  My interview with Zupan in 2008 reminded me of something Mr. Lee Young, the grandfather of my dear friend Wren Brown, used to say whenever we saw each other:

  “How ya doing, son?”

  “I’m hanging on, Grandpa Lee,” I’d answer.

  “Naw, naw, naw, son,” the elderly man always responded: “Pictures hang; you hold on!”

  Hold on! In the bigger landscape, what happened to me in the late 1980s was a small detour. The delay could qua
lify me as a “failure” only if I used it as an excuse to give up. Short-term failures used as stepping-stones to long-term success allow us to “fail up.” Failing at something doesn’t make us failures. Even if things hadn’t worked out in California, due to the state’s economic situation, that would only say something about me if I let it. I was the same energetic, young man itching to be molded and utilized. Nothing in my DNA had changed. Likewise, whatever happens to you has nothing to do with what’s happening inside you. Graduates who can’t find employment or people who have been downsized or terminated can consider themselves “failures” only if they fail to hold on to their goals. Recast delays and rejections as practice sessions for the job that suits you.

  Ask yourself: Can I identify the solution to my problem?

  Am I comfortable with the idea that I may have to chart a course that’s unlike the one I imagined?

  If you answered “yes,” you’re not ready for that Midnight Train to what you consider comfortable.

  Base your confidence on the fact that you’ve held a job or graduated from a college that has prepared you for something better, something that will challenge and grow your gifts. Don’t insist on dictating the journey. Be patient and prepared and on the lookout for your earthquake moment.

  Many times since that ground-rattling incident, I’ve been reminded that benefits will come if I just hold on to my vision and my commitment to use my gifts to serve. There are no magic wands, but there is the indisputable magic of hanging in there. As noted publisher and author William Feather put it: “Success seems to be largely a matter of hanging on after others have let go.”

  The people in life who end up “making it” are usually not the most gifted or talented, the most fortunate, or the smartest—they are those who manage to hold on the longest.

  Hold on and hang in! As long as we’re living and breathing, as long as we have family and friends and people who believe in us and love us—things can always get better. Whenever we’re feeling picked on by the universe, striving to accept our discomfort as a stage in our development may save our sanity. There’s power in accepting unexpected circumstances and challenges as the perfect pause before completion. Don’t give delays or unexpected setbacks more energy than they deserve. Be at peace, knowing that it’s inevitable that you are going to get exactly where you’re supposed to be.

  Sometimes that pause before completion is really an invitation to be creative, to fine-tune your engines. Being overqualified or underqualified may be a signal that you’re in need of a tune-up. You may have to go back to school or take some kind of technical course. You may have to volunteer to gain access and skills. Or it may mean becoming an entrepreneur and starting your own business. Whatever it means, commit to creatively charting your own course.

  How long do you have to hold on? I can’t say; it’s situational. I can say you must resist the urge to give up. I can say that you have to find ways to navigate your way through it.

  Hold on! Things can—and will—get better.

  CHAPTER 12

  GIVE THE PEOPLE

  WHAT THEY WANT

  When was the last time you had clear beer, rabbit jerky, McLean burgers, or used yogurt shampoo? Chances are, you haven’t used any of these lately. Most have been sentenced to the museum of discontinued products or the history of really great ideas that turned out to be really bad ones.

  These so-called innovations are all examples of corporations’ stretching their brands or operating outside their expertise. No matter how excited the R&D departments were, most consumers rejected Coca-Cola® when it tried to change its formula and they didn’t want Choglit, Coca-Cola’s chocolate beverage. Consumers equally and emphatically rejected Crystal Clear Pepsi and Coors’ clear-colored malt liquor, Zima, as well as its bottled water. McDonalds’ and Burger King’s low-fat or veggie burgers and Clairol’s yogurt shampoo all met similar fates.

  Americans expect beer companies to give them brown beer, not clear brew or sparkling water. They want dark Pepsi and classic, regular-tasting Coke. Most fast-food patrons will brave a salad, but they aren’t looking for healthy hamburgers. Women by and large don’t like the idea of food such as yogurt in their hair. Rabbit jerky may be okay for dogs, but Americans love their bunnies. They had difficulty separating Bugs and the Easter Bunny from jerky.

  Stay in your lane. Drive with a purpose. Control your destiny.

  To push my driving metaphor to the limit, I Googled “Stay in your lane.” Interestingly, the helpful hints offered on the subject by “Nissan Master Tech” have literal as well as figurative value:

  “Look ahead to where you want your car to go.”

  “Don’t look at the lines on either side of your car.”

  I loved this part about clutching the wheel: “Hold it like you are holding your boyfriend’s hand …”

  Taking my eyes off my destination, looking at lines of opportunity outside my expertise, and putting my career in a stranger’s hands: These were all part of my embarrassing lane-changing experience.

  The Tavis T-Shirt

  What was I thinking? In my career, in my life, I’ve been very fortunate in knowing who I am and what people expect from me. I’m not an opportunist; I avoid opportunists. But a few years ago, when an enthusiastic associate made a marketing pitch, my inner entrepreneur was banking the profits.

  “Man, people love you, especially women,” the marketer told me. “Let’s do a photo shoot, put your face on the front and a couple of your quotes on the back. It’ll be huge.”

  He was pushing the idea of mass-producing Tavis Tshirts. I can still hear my asinine response when I saw the prototype, “Yeah, that can work.”

  Again, what was I thinking? To my knowledge, there aren’t any Paul Harvey, Charlie Rose, or George Will Tshirts. Not only did I fall for the ridiculous idea of putting my face on a T-shirt, I also invested money into producing hundreds of those things.

  Long story short: There are a heck of a lot of T-shirts in my garage today.

  The moral? Never lose sight of what your audience wants. I’m blessed with fans who expect hard-hitting analysis and insightful or challenging information that is presented with thought-provoking candor and honesty. When I interview people on my shows, they expect me to ask penetrating and poignant questions; during guest appearances on news shows like Meet the Press, they want me to raise hidden, underrepresented, or forgotten aspects of key issues. People attend my lectures and purchase my books, and parents send their kids through my foundation for training, because they are confident about the consistency of my message.

  If I’m off message or trying to force people to buy or accept something they don’t want from me, the results can be … well, let’s put it this way: Anybody need a Tavis T-shirt?

  The Difference Between “Want” and “Need”

  I don’t mean to suggest that you shouldn’t innovate or experiment. You don’t have to be so constrained that you confine yourself to the prison of other people’s expectations. Sometimes people don’t know what they want until it’s presented in a palatable way. In the mid-1980s, people didn’t know how essential computers would be to their nonwork lives until Steve Jobs and Bill Gates came along and introduced America to the world of personal computers.

  What I’m suggesting is that once you’ve found your sweet spot, once you’ve defined who you are and know what you stand for, you will know how, what, and when to give to the people.

  Let’s look at the life of Nobel Prize–winning economist Muhammad Yunus. In 1974, as a university teacher in Bangladesh, Professor Yunus felt conflicted teaching the “elegant theories of economics” while the country was drenched in crushing hunger and mass poverty. He was consumed with a deep desire to do something to help Bangladesh’s poor.

  At first, Dr. Yunus used his own money to make small loans to 42 female villagers. The women not only used the money to start or enhance their small enterprises, they also paid the money back in full. Realizing the empowering aspect of
this simple endeavor, the economist turned to established banks to expand the practice. Undeterred by bankers who insisted the poor were not creditworthy, he and his supporters created Grameen Bank (village bank) for the poor. In his 2006 Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech, Dr. Yunus reported that Grameen Bank had written nearly seven million loans to poor people in 73,000 villages. The bank offered reasonable savings, pension funds, and insurance products; it underwrote student loans and housing loans used to construct more than 640,000 houses where women—for the first time—held legal ownership.

  Professor Yunus could innovate in his chosen field because he was clear about his role. Because he adopted a mission “to help the poor” rather than tell the people what was good for them, he was able to give the people what they wanted. Keep in mind: He recognized the potential of these people even though they never imagined they could be served in such a magnanimous and life-altering way. In his book, Creating a World Without Poverty, he wrote:

  “If poverty is to be reduced or eliminated, the next generation must be our focus. We must prepare them to peel off the signs and stigmas of poverty and instill in them a sense of human dignity and hope for the future.”

  In his latest book, Building Social Business: The New Kind of Capitalism That Serves Humanity’s Most Pressing Needs, Dr. Yunus offers a recipe for tackling poverty and hopelessness all over the world, including America. “Social businesses,” he insists, are businesses that are not designed for profit but are driven by social needs. As an example, he details a joint venture between Grameen and Danone (also known as Dannon), the French dairy conglomerate. The collaboration led to the creation of a small factory in Bangladesh where mostly villagers, given the resources to help themselves, produce and sell fortified yogurt that helps tackle the scourge of malnutrition among Bangladeshi children.