Remembering the Pain

Many sales professionals can recall a time they vowed never to relive the indignity of the moment. I certainly can. Years ago, on the last day of the quarter, I was the only one at the office still waiting for a deal to come through. I kept getting texts from my colleagues, asking when I’d be joining them at the local bar. “BRT” I replied yet again, increasingly anxious about the radio silence from the VP of Finance whose signature I still needed. Losing patience, I decided I would call him directly. I cussed aloud when I couldn’t find his cell number in the latest email exchange, presumably because he wanted to protect himself from precisely this scenario. Craftily, however, I scoured the depths of my inbox until I found his direct line in an email from months ago. I cleared my throat and dialed.

It was easy to visualize what happened next. He clearly hadn’t recognized the number on his call display, but because it was late in the day he must have entertained the possibility this was a personal matter. It was Friday, after all, and his thoughts were likely turning toward?the weekend. Rolling the dice, he picked up the phone, only to hear the familiar but decidedly unwelcome sound of my voice.

There was a pregnant pause as he suppressed his rage. I pictured him with eyes closed, head tilted back, and the phone held against his chest as he composed himself for a reply. At first, words failed him. He simply uncorked a long and labored expression of grief, as if he were in a dentist chair and a six-inch needle were sinking into the back of his mouth. It felt as if I was the last person on earth he wanted to hear from. News of a family tragedy would probably have been preferred. With searing resentment, he assured me the contract was forthcoming, and he immediately hung up the phone.

I vowed never to repeat that moment. Especially because I realized how preventable it had been. I knew it was the culmination of a series of decisions that had led to this wholly unnecessary emergency. I knew that on multiple occasions I had justified my inaction with patently dishonest pledges to recover lost ground. I was experiencing what Hemingway once described as the two ways in which people tend to go bankrupt: gradually, and then suddenly.

As the sun sets on this year, many of us may regret where we are in relation to a big aspiration. There might be a dispiriting sense of having squandered our time. This can be a useful emotion. It can be the straw we spin into gold. It can be the pain that powers a rebirth.

What is causing the pain right now? What small step, starting today, will initiate a sequence of actions that will begin to compound in the right direction? How will we stay on track so that a year from now, when the sun has set again, we can look back with a feeling of accomplishment? By remembering the pain.?