![]() That hurts you, the people you love, and the people around you at work. You become more tuned in to what people might think of you than what you actually believe. I’m telling you that when you hold back from saying what you believe because you fear other people’s reactions, your truth-telling muscles atrophy. When you tell the truth about hard subjects, you won’t do it in order to make people angry or to be provocative. Thank them for that! Your muscles are growing. The more you question the talent-crushing Godzilla foundation that rules the action at work, the more enraged your detractors will be. The more loudly and passionately you talk about things that desperately need to be discussed at work, the more enemies you will make and the more indignation you’ll face from people whose self-image rests on their power over other people and their attachment to the status quo. It teaches you “Hey! That guy called me an effing bitch, and I survived.” Steve taught me that it’s okay to make enemies. Steve was a great teacher, because through him I saw how easily the veneer “We are at work, and acting professionally” crumbles when strong emotions come into play (and when they aren’t visible on the surface, strong emotions are always nearby in the workplace). When you speak your truth about sensitive topics like power and control, fear and trust, you will anger and frustrate people who see the world through fear-colored classes. When you tell the truth at work, you will rattle people. Water off a duck’s back! What do you care what he thinks of you, after all?” Steve is angry, he’s getting fired, of course he’s looking for a bogeyman, and you make a great one. “JOHN,” I practically wailed, “did you hear what he called me?” I gave Steve his unemployment-and-insurance-continuation packet, and off he went. “Do you have any questions, Steve?” he asked. “YOU,” he said, venom dripping from each syllable, “are a f*cking bitch.” John smiled a Dalai Lama smile. ![]() We have to let you go.” I had Steve’s severance check. We wish you all the best, but we’re going to have to go in different directions. In a few weeks I was in John Brady’s office with Steve, and John was saying “You know, Steve, we’re growing fast, we hire a lot of people, and sometimes it’s a great match, and sometimes it’s not. You got me, said the evil voice in my brain, I guess since now. “Since when does HR get to tell me how to do my job?” he asked. What would you expect a person in my position to say?” Steve was horrified, shaking with anger. You're in the job two weeks, and you want to put half the team on probation. They are hard-working, honest, smart people. “Steve,” I said, “I don’t understand why you think your employees are slacking off. It didn’t take long for Steve to come back to see me, ready to write someone up for insubordination or put someone on probation. “The employees on my team are going to set the example for the rest of these slackers,” said Steve. I hadn’t found my voice yet, in those days, except onstage. “I’m implementing a new set of policies in my department, effective immediately.” He laid a forty-page-thick document on my desk. “We need more rules and standards in this company,” he said. He scheduled a meeting with me right away. Steve strode in with a plan and a chip on his shoulder. I thought I could please everyone, avoid all conflict, and be the bluebird of HR happiness. I wrote a new employee orientation program and delivered it with theatrical flair. I gave out benefits forms and answered questions. Your job is to make this a great place to work.” Our two goals are to hire great people and keep the energy moving. “The company is going to get a lot bigger. What will I do in HR?” “Bring the same juice to employees who don’t interact with customers and sales reps,” said John. You’re the Human Resources manager,” he said. My boss, John Brady, was VP of Operations at the greeting card company, and a sage. ![]() to run home, shower, change and be in the choir stall suited up and ready to sing the first service, not having slept a wink. I sang in the Chicago cathedral choir on Sundays, so many times I’d leave the club at five a.m. On the weekends I sang at a cavernous all-hours club called Medusa, and when I wasn’t singing there, my friends and I went anyway to dance from midnight to breakfast. I worked at a greeting card company during the day, studied under the Sisters of the Blessed Virgin Mary at Mundelein College part-time and sang opera and punk rock around the margins. ![]() Chicago in the nineteen-eighties was an awesome place for a twenty-something, musical baby businessperson to be.
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