Business Growth Ideas #287 This week: Optimistic, Burro-like, Fireworks

Sales and marketing Newsletter

Quick notes to help you grow your business in less time with less effort. . . sometime next week.

In this issue:

– Techniques for FIT
– Being Human
– Random Stuff

Techniques for FIT

  • Optimism grounded in a pessimistic assessment of the situation gives you a good shot at the outcomes you’re after. Be realistic of your weaknesses and failure, then flick the switch and execute as if the outcome is not in doubt.
  • We live in a dynamic world. Knowing this, building a toolbox filled with rules of thumb applicable a variety of situations is better than depending on a rigid algorithm fine-tuned to a specific world view. Be open to other points of view.  
  • No management technique is as powerful people feeling like they are using their strengths in their job. It reduces turnover, increases satisfaction, and bumps sales. Start by simply asking how they use their strengths on the job right now.
  • Sometimes the way to convince people your worth more is as simple as charging a lot more money. You’ll need things like branding, but first you’ll need to convince yourself. A $40 Timex and a $10,000 Rolex both tell time.

Being Human – Flexibility

“We are stubborn on vision. We are flexible on details. . .”
– Jeff Bezos

Burro-Races-stubborn(image via Leadville Pack Burro Race)

You should be too.

Random stuff



Where do you stand on fireworks? My neighbor and I are comparing gardens and talk turns to the dogs and fireworks. We’re lucky Wilson the ABC isn’t bothered by them but his blue-eyed dog Luna isn’t quite as serene when the booms start-a-boomin’.

I told the neighbor my lovely bride agrees with Luna, leaning toward no flying-fire shenanigans. At my previous employer one of my co-workers was the opposite. Months before the holiday they began describing trips to bordering states to acquire “the good ones” our fair city doesn’t allow. They described their day-long festivities and year-after-year invited my crew out to celebrate Independence Day. One year I talked my bride into taking them up on it.

They live in a beautiful house with a big pool and cabana-tiki-bar setup. The adults at the party are handsome, the children all beautiful, and everyone is having a great time. As dusk settles the party moves from the back to the front of the house where the “boys” are setting up a fireworks show. A big fireworks show. Big barrels filled with sand and full sized aerial bombs make their way into the cul-de-sac. The fireworks look like canon balls and I ask about them, learning these are the ones the pros use, but pros have an electric ignition system. Our fearless crew does it the old school way. Long wick and open flame.

I keep most of what I see to myself because I don’t want to alarm my mate, but the crew are a little wobbly and possibly sun poisoned by this point. My secret is revealed when the first bomb erupts. Everyone goes berserk. This was like sitting in the front row of a professional wrestling fireworks show with no ear protection. It’s loud, with beautiful explosions of color, and the crowd bellowing for more.

We keep taking steps back from the street as the beautiful people get ugly. We are surrounded by open flames, sparkling sticks, massive overhead fireworks, and the screams of elated children.

Before a big firework is launched skyward, one of the boys heads to the barrel. He fishes out the exploded husk of the previous aerial bomb and holds it aloft for the crowd to see, like the head of a slain foe. A whoop rises from the crowd, and he installs the next explosive. He runs the wick and lights it, the crowd’s anitcipation growing, and then BOOM! Off it goes to meet its fiery death.

Except this time it doesn’t. The anticipation builds, but the wick seems to die before ignition. One of the boys (who I should mention is an upstanding civic figure and heir to a local fortune) runs out to the barrel to see what is the matter. As he approaches, BOOM! Right in front of his face. Two strides further and he would have taken a bomb in the kisser.

At this moment I feel an icy cold grip tearing into my forearm. I turn and look into the eyes of one angry, upset woman. Although the crowd is raucous I can hear her clearly.

“We’re leaving.”

And we did.

Enjoy the Fourth!


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