Practice being a Leader. Little decisions. Consistently. Every Day. Always.

We've all heard the saying: "Leaders make others feel special." So, what makes a positive leader others want to follow and how do leaders emerge?

Being the smartest, loudest or most aggressive person in the room does not make you a leader. Humility, and a combination of unspoken, unwritten skills such as empathy and confidence, with smarts and savvy help make a leader other people look up to.

Leaders make 1000 little decisions every day. Little decisions that add up over time to be a good thing. Being a leader does not mean instant gratification. Most leaders come to it over time. This process may seem boring to those quick fix seekers. Those who think they are going to win the lottery. The 'pie in the sky' crowd. How many leaders do you know who came to success, fortune or fame instantly?

Leaders know their own voice. They nicely say what others may be thinking. They speak the truth, but always diplomatically, trying their best not to insult others. They are brave and steady, which to some may seem, again, boring. Leaders have to be able to take criticisms from others and respond with calm. Leaders discern right from wrong. They make 1000 good decisions for themselves every day. They speak earnestly and have empathy for others.

Speaking the truth, even if it is spoken kindly and with empathy, is a hard decision. People don't like hearing the truth. They don't like it. Speaking the truth like a velvet hammer can be done, with practice. If the truth is too hard or harsh for the other person to hear, appropriateness of timing and subject matter must be taken into consideration. Speaking the truth does not mean you can say anything you want to anyone and it's OK, just because you said it nicely. Practice, practice and practice.

Some leaders can talk as fast as they can listen. Some leaders are simply quiet observers. Most are confident and have a content outlook on life. Happy leaders will attract others like themselves, a bit like a cheerleader. The rare natural leader has an easy "sprezzatura" of manner or charisma. They are comfortable in their own skin. They display a given confidence in a crowd, are kind, humble, giving, and sympathetically aware and appreciative of others.

So, be a leader through good little decisions. Consistently. Every day. Always.

From Sparkle to Spackle

​   The longer I sat by myself on my Dad's dented WWII trunk, the more desperately I wanted to disappear. All the other girls at camp had pretty, new brass rimmed navy or forest green trunks with light pink, script monograms on top. Although I was proud of its history, my trunk had Dad's name, rank and serial number stamped in regimented ink on top. 

   As always, every August 8th, the camp bus dropped us off promptly at Noon in the gravel parking lot of St. Simon's School. Stepping off the bus into the hellaciously hot Virginia air was like climbing into the inside of a dryer. Hazy and 99 degrees already, with 77% humidity. Sticky yuck.

   Anxiously, I sat onto of my rusty old trunk, longingly watching the steady stream of station wagons, parading by as my friends, family by family, were picked up by their hugging and happy parents. After 6 weeks away in the mountains, they were on their way home foe a celebratory Sunday brunch or sweet tea on the screened in porch. 

   Nervous, I tried to relax, and quietly plastered a pleasant smile on my face, as I had seen my Mother do many times when she was unhappy, which was most of the time. Many of the other mothers, as well, had similar smiles. The fathers, however, seemed to have only slight, closed lipped smiles on their faces as they were busy loading heavy trunks into the back of their station wagons.

   Yes, the FFV's (First Families of Virginia) taught their children to always look and speak pleasantly to others. Never talk about oneself. Always ask about another's mother. Lovely social manners in public, but underneath, a different story. If you were what was considered someone from somewhere, as opposed to no-one from nowhere, you had social cart blanche. If you were not a consistent part of this 400 year old society, or a transplant, all it took was one social mishap, and you and your family were whispered about underneath everyone's hot Virginia breath. 

   Slowly, as I sat there by myself, I was surpassing embarrassment, heading into mortification. I knew if something bad had happened to either parent, someone would have told me. Great. Whatever was up, word was going to get around. Again. After suffering through bankruptcy, just what my ridiculously small family did not need. 

   I recognized my best friend's Kingswood Estate Station Wagon, the kind with the wooden paneling on the side, rounding the parking lot. Carter Fairfax's entire family would be loading both their trunks into the back. Cute and tall, Randolph Fairfax, mu childhood crush with his irresistible dimples and dark eyes, would be in the car too. Great. So, there I sat, helpless to do anything, hopeless without any of my own family present, knowing there would be no room for my trunk in the back.

   Mrs. Fairfax kindly asked me in her high pitched old Virginia accented voice: "How are you Carolyn? Did you enjoy camp? How is your Mother? Please tell her 'Hello' for me. Embarrassed, all I could muster up with a nervous stammer was: "Hi Mrs. Fairfax. Yes, Carter and I had such fun. I guess my Mom's a bit late. I'll tell her 'hello' for you. Thank you." After Mr. Fairfax placed Carter and Taylor's trunk into the back of their wagon, he told me he would drive back and buzz through the parking lot just to make sure I was not still waiting. I chocked out: "Thank you so much, Mr. Fairfax." After they all drove off, I was totally alone sitting on my trunk in the parking lot. Even the camp bus was gone. 

   As i sat there silently with a sunken heart, and the taste of gravel dust in my mouth, I thought about how to get home without help. I could try dragging my trunk the 1/4 mile home, but even as buckled and cracked as the old sidewalks were, the neighbors, including my doctor and piano teacher, would probably neither appreciate the sound it would make nor me scratching up their sidewalk. With its broken lock, I could try to carry home some of the 6 weeks of clothing I could carry, but would risk losing what would be left, and I could not rick losing any cloths, I had so little.

   Sitting alone, so very hot and sweaty, I got thinking about how fortunate our family was to still have the Fairfax family as true friends. So many had ostracized our entire family then quietly pencilled us off of the cocktail party list after the bankruptcy. Realizing this reality at 12 years old was quite the momentous moment. Right about then, just in my moment of despair, I heard the crack of gravel under car tires. It was Mr. Fairfax, coming back to collect me and take me back to my house. 

   I stood up, out of respect, and gratitude, trying not to be embarrassed. While walking toward me, he said so nicely: "So, let's get you home, Carolyn." With out words, we loaded the trunk into the back of the station wagon. There was no radio, or chatting, or even small talk. I was too timid to say anything. The 1/2 mile home seemed like many miles. As Mr. Fairfax pulled up to the front walk, we both silently unloaded the trunk and carried it up to the front porch. As cheerfully as I could muster, I thanked Mr. Fairfax as he quickly headed back to his car, waved and drove off. I guess he was not going to knock on the door and speak to either of my parents. What was wrong? There I stood alone, on the "poor house" t'aint blue front porch of the falling down Victorian house we had to rent after the bankruptcy.

 My kid sister called it "the poor house" but i thought it had good bones. It had no air conditioning, oil heat from a grate in the front hall, falling down plaster from the walls & ceilings, burned out fireplaces, and no dishwasher. Fallen from my childhood of privilege with trips to my Dad's office in New York City on weekends, ballet, tap, tennis, piano and horse riding lessons, my left handed Mother did the best she knew how to do. She taught me how to hammer, plaster, wallpaper, paint, and spakle.  

   I had spent the last year, after school, trying to help around the house: cleaning, laundry, ironing, yard work, grocery shopping, cooking dinner, washing & drying the dishes by hand. In cleaning out a closet, I found my grandmother's antique linen tablecloths and dinner napkins. Cleaned them all up. That was cool! 

   With the trunk safely on the porch, I opened the always open front door and called out: "Mom?" No answer. Walked back to the Kitchen. No one there. Went into the Den. No one there either, however, my Dad's desk, chair, the couch and the television set were gone. Only my Mother's red Persian rug remained. rounding the top of the stairs, into my parents' bedroom, I was stunned at only seeing my Mother's dressing table and a turned up rug pad. Something was going on. I ventured into my little Sister's room. She was out. Probably playing at a friend's house. 

   Out of the side of one ear, I heard the radio. Mom carried her 1961 GM peach leather AM travel "Seven" transistor radio everywhere. A Barry Manilow song was playing: "...and I'm ready to take a chance again..." Peaking into the guest room, there was my Mom, laying on one of my grandmother's antique pineapple topped twin beds, singing along to the song. Her radio was by her side. A butter knife was in her left hand and her right wrist was splotched with blood. I could smell the alcohol. It was 2:15 in the afternoon. What was happening? Mom always took three fingers deep in her bourbon drink as compared to my Dad's 2 fingers depth.  

   Gently, I coaxed the butter knife out of my Mother's hand and dressed the surface wound on her wrist. She was still singing along to the radio. "I'm home Mom," I quietly said. She smiled and said: "Your Father and I filed for divorce." I replied: "When?" "Three weeks ago," she answered. Then, she smiled and closed her eyes.

   While Mom slept, I began unpacking my clothes, arm full by arm full from the old trunk on the front porch, and began the gargantuan task of washing my camp clothes, and an entire laundry room packed to the ceiling from weeks and weeks full of clothes. As Mom slept into the evening, I fixed my little Sister and myself a spaghetti dinner, and turned on the evening nightly news. President Nixon was resigning, but I was not. I decided right then and there to grow up.         

Manners Matter

Manners may no longer say where you belong, 

but they still say who you are,

 and where you have been.

*****

Good manners will take you everywhere you would like to go!

New Year's Resolution: Be a Super Leader and Learn to Take the Criticisms!

Want a Resolution for 2015 and every year for the rest of your life?

Here at The Sabot School of Etiquette, we always say: "Leaders make others feel special." Eleanor Roosevelt vary famously said: "You teach others how to treat you." Leaders teach other people how to treat them, which is why some leaders are mediocre leaders, and some are super!

That being said, however, be aware that with leadership comes the stress and pressure of popularity, easy accessibility to others, group, school, community or national notoriety, and a responsibility to behave properly always.

Yes, we said there is pressure and stress to be a leader. It's just a higher level of daily stress to get used to. Leaders are problem solvers. They are kind and quiet. They look other people directly in the eyes and listen. Leaders are empathetic to others' situations, give well thought out statements and opinions calmly and wisely. Leaders are true to their own convictions. They try very hard to never make another person feel badly. Once you acclimate yourself to these higher stresses and pressures, and adjust your attitude accordingly, you can relax a bit until the insults and confrontations start. Then, there is much more work to be done getting used to that side of the coin that comes with leadership.

Written confrontations are always easy. Plenty of time to think about and write a positive reply. But remember, anything written down on paper and especially typed on the Internet, including all "private" E-mails and the "Public Babble Page" Facebook, are forever public domain.

Verbal confrontations require Diplomatic skills. It is said that a Diplomat does nothing and says nothing nicely. Making a little joke, or self deprecation works well when dealing with folks who want to tell you how to lead, or hostile hecklers. Clever puns and positive quick quips work well too. Dealing with a heckler takes practice. Have some general retorts at the ready and keep on smiling in your soul.

Dealing with the aftermath of all the criticisms once you get home to the peace and quiet takes practice also. Letting your anger go, coming to the realization that no one asks a question unless they already know the answer. Questions are people's way of showing what they know. Bullies always have to put others down to make themselves feel better, then they take the cowardly way out. So, don't fret too much about bullies. They are just unhappy people.  

Your strength as a leader will spur other people on to be strong. No one wants to be around a negative person. Everyone wants to be around someone who is positive yet humble, always deferring to others, letting others run the conversation and talk, thus, making other people feel special.

Have You Been a Good Holiday Guest This Weekend? Have You Done Your Guest Duties?

Have you been a good Thanksgiving Holiday weekend guest this weekend? Even if you are visiting your parents or a sibling, have you made your bed every morning? Have you offered to help the Hostess with the dishes, or with other chores? Have you brought a thoughtful house gift? Have you thanked everyone for a delightful time? Did you even realize guests have duties??

The following are a few ideas for all guests:

• Bring a small, thoughtful house gift like a bottle of wine, or a Rum Cake or yummy cookies. 
• Offer to help the Hostess, or just be self directed and start drying the dishes or taking out the trash.
• Look around the house and find something to compliment the Host and Hostess on and mean it. 
• Contribute to and keep your table conversation positive. Do not talk about religion or politics.
• Make your bed each morning and upon leaving. 
• Keep your room and bathroom picked up and neat. Clean up after yourself.
• Y'all know the old saying about house guests and fish...after 3 days.....
• Write a hand written Thank You note within 24 hours to your Host once you arrive back home. 

Be a good house guest by earning your keep and you will be invited back.

Don't be a good house guest and you'll get nothing next year but excuses:

"Sorry, we're going out of town this Holiday Season, maybe we'll see you around."

Civilizations and Civilians are All Chasing Immortality - A Book Review: Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel

In Emily St. John Mandel's creative, fast paced and futuristic novel, "Station Eleven," Arthur Leander, a 51 year old, thrice married, infamous Shakespearean actor, collapses and dies on stage while performing King Lear. Jeevan Chaudnary, a directionless journalist/paparazzo rushes to the stage to help Arthur, while little Kirsten Raymonde, holding two comic books given to her by Arthur, looks on, frightened, from a stage wing.

Weeks later, an airborne invulnerable flu virus, wipes out 99.99% of the earth's population. Twenty years later, living on or off the grid is irrelevant. No electricity. No working cell phones. No available Internet. Gasoline is long gone. Ammunition is scarce. Canned goods are no longer. Small groups of survivors live in big box retail buildings and airports.

Clark Thompson, Arthur's old friend, stranded in an airport, starts an impromptu collection of old world items which eventually becomes the "Museum of Civilization." An adult Kirsten Raymonde, ironically becomes a Shakespearean actress with the "Traveling Symphony." Miranda, Arthur's first wife, a workaholic for Neptune Logistics, travels with Arthur's clouded glass paperweight. All the characters Emily St. John Mandel creates are connected to the iconic actor, Arthur Leander.

Grab your roll away suitcase, bottled water, compass, and pocket knife. Better know how to hunt and build a fire. Take the back roads and stay away from the cities. Rumor has it that a marauding, powerful prophet and his posse, are seeking to re-populate the earth. Tyler, son of Arthur and Elizabeth, (Arthur's second wife), is spewing scripture from The Book of Revelations. He is bullying and kidnapping people he chooses into joining his settlement, and killing those that threaten his idea of immortality.

Mandel's interesting theme of fragility and immortality remind the reader of the frailty of civilization, and illustrates each individual character's search for life's happy purpose and their quest for their own individual idea of immortal life through legacy. She gives us one common denomination in both the pre and post-pandemic societies that make life enjoyable: the ethereal, immortal plays and sonnets of Shakespeare, who himself, ironically, lived in a post-pandemic Renaissance civilization after the Black Death.


As a member of their Reader's Panel, read my review of Emily St. John Mandel's novel  "Station Eleven" (shortened for space) in the 2014 September Issue of Real Simple Magazine, page 39.

Wedding Invitation Is Not a Traditional Paper Invitation, It's an iPad!

   It's official y'all. The paper page has turned, or shall I say, the traditional paper wedding invitation page. It's not 1952 any longer. The little hometown girl is no longer marrying the little hometown boy, and registering their fine china pattern at the local bridal registry shop around the corner. No longer need we call the hometown Mother-of-the-Bride on her land line to ask her where the happy couple is registered.

   This week, Keyshawn Johnson announced the wedding to his long time girlfriend and now fiancee, Jennifer Conrad, with a pre-programmed iPad sent to each wedding guest. Included on the iPad was an index listing all events such as brunches and pool parties, a photo gallery, guestbook, gift registry and a countdown to the big day. On your new iPad, you can conveniently click onto the wedding registry link, order and ship your gift right then and there. No fuss, no bother.

   The guests, of course, adore this new creative (albeit extravagant) wedding invitation. After all, this is Mr. Johnson's second marriage. He plays for the Los Angeles Lakers, they live together and have two children. So, I guess the gig is up. No old fashioned wedding jitters here! At least they are getting married!

   My Mother always said: "Never say never, dear," and I thought I would never say something like this, coming from an extremely conservative, traditional town where I still hand write at least one wedding response every Summer, but, I like this modern, ecological, efficient, convenient way of being invited to a wedding.

   What do y'all think???

http://www.tmz.com/2014/07/31/keyshawn-johnson-announces-wedding-to-fiancee-with-ipads/