Friday, March 6, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
The Words of Martin Luther King, Jr.
Martin Luther King, Jr. never reached the age of 40, but his speeches and writings document his legacy of wisdom and eloquence. He was an effective leader and a modern-day prophet.
He was only 29 when he said, “Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable. No social advance rolls in on the wheels of inevitability. Every step requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle – the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals.”
Later he said, “Nonviolence is a powerful and just weapon. It cuts without wounding and ennobles the man who wields it. It is a sword that heals.”
And then this: “We will never have peace in the world until men everywhere recognize that ends are not cut off from the means because the means represent the end in process, and ultimately you cannot reach good ends through evil means because the means represent the seed and the end represents the tree.”
The night before he was killed, he uttered these prophetic words: “We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn’t matter with me now because I’ve been to the mountaintop. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life, but I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain, and…I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you, but I want you to know tonight that we, as people, will get to the Promised Land. And I’m happy tonight. I’m not fearing any man.”
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts.
He was only 29 when he said, “Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable. No social advance rolls in on the wheels of inevitability. Every step requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle – the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals.”
Later he said, “Nonviolence is a powerful and just weapon. It cuts without wounding and ennobles the man who wields it. It is a sword that heals.”
And then this: “We will never have peace in the world until men everywhere recognize that ends are not cut off from the means because the means represent the end in process, and ultimately you cannot reach good ends through evil means because the means represent the seed and the end represents the tree.”
The night before he was killed, he uttered these prophetic words: “We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn’t matter with me now because I’ve been to the mountaintop. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life, but I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain, and…I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you, but I want you to know tonight that we, as people, will get to the Promised Land. And I’m happy tonight. I’m not fearing any man.”
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts.
Trust Must Be Earned and Protected.
In every organization I work with, people talk freely and frequently about the importance of trust as a crucial business asset. No one seems to doubt how important it is to business or personal relationships, and everyone seems aware of the tremendous costs of distrust.
Yet despite enlightened rhetoric about trust, many people in business regularly engage in conduct that undermines it and damages credibility.
It’s really simple: To be trusted, one has to be perceived as being trustworthy. That means being scrupulously honest even on little things, and especially when one may have to pay a high price. Trustworthiness is more than telling the truth. It requires conveying the truth. Deception through clever wording or half-truths is essentially dishonest.
Individuals and companies that care about building and retaining trust don’t rely on legalistic loopholes or take refuge in the fact that "you never asked." People worthy of our trust are forthright and candid as well as truthful. They tell us what they know we want to know, even if it’s not in their self-interest. Thus, being trustworthy involves a complex trio of concepts: truthfulness, nondeception, and candor, all aspects of honesty.
It also requires integrity, promise-keeping, and loyalty. We trust people who put principles above profit and have the courage of their convictions. We don’t trust those who look for and find exceptions and special circumstances that justify dishonesty.
Trust isn’t attained by wishing and wanting. It must be earned by actions. And after it has been earned, it must be continually protected. Remember, even a little lie can raise the question: "What else have you lied to me about?"
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts.
Yet despite enlightened rhetoric about trust, many people in business regularly engage in conduct that undermines it and damages credibility.
It’s really simple: To be trusted, one has to be perceived as being trustworthy. That means being scrupulously honest even on little things, and especially when one may have to pay a high price. Trustworthiness is more than telling the truth. It requires conveying the truth. Deception through clever wording or half-truths is essentially dishonest.
Individuals and companies that care about building and retaining trust don’t rely on legalistic loopholes or take refuge in the fact that "you never asked." People worthy of our trust are forthright and candid as well as truthful. They tell us what they know we want to know, even if it’s not in their self-interest. Thus, being trustworthy involves a complex trio of concepts: truthfulness, nondeception, and candor, all aspects of honesty.
It also requires integrity, promise-keeping, and loyalty. We trust people who put principles above profit and have the courage of their convictions. We don’t trust those who look for and find exceptions and special circumstances that justify dishonesty.
Trust isn’t attained by wishing and wanting. It must be earned by actions. And after it has been earned, it must be continually protected. Remember, even a little lie can raise the question: "What else have you lied to me about?"
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts.
Not Everyone in Need Has a Brick.
A successful man known for his philanthropy was driving his new car through a poor part of town. He’d driven the route hundreds of times before on his way home.
A young boy tried to flag him down. The man was in a hurry and didn’t want to get involved, so he pretended he didn’t see the child. A traffic signal ahead turned red, though, and as he slowed for it, he heard a loud crash. The boy had thrown a brick at his car, denting the trunk.
The man burst out of the car and grabbed him. “You juvenile delinquent!" he screamed. "You’ll pay for this or go to jail!”
“I’m sorry, mister,” the boy cried. “My mom’s lying on the floor in our apartment. I think she’s dying. Our phone’s been cut off and I’ve been trying for ten minutes to get someone to stop. I didn’t know what else to do! Take me to jail, but please, call a doctor for my mom first.”
The man was filled with shame. “I’m a doctor. Where is she?” The grateful boy took him to his apartment, and the doctor administered CPR and called an ambulance.
“Will she live?” the boy sobbed.
“Yes, son, she will,” the doctor said.
“Then it’s worth going to jail. I’m so sorry I ruined your new car. You can take me in now.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” the doctor said. “It was my fault you had to throw a brick to get my attention.”
The doctor made sure the boy was taken care of, and as he drove home he resolved not to fix the dent. He would keep it as a reminder that not everyone in need has a brick to throw.
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts.
A young boy tried to flag him down. The man was in a hurry and didn’t want to get involved, so he pretended he didn’t see the child. A traffic signal ahead turned red, though, and as he slowed for it, he heard a loud crash. The boy had thrown a brick at his car, denting the trunk.
The man burst out of the car and grabbed him. “You juvenile delinquent!" he screamed. "You’ll pay for this or go to jail!”
“I’m sorry, mister,” the boy cried. “My mom’s lying on the floor in our apartment. I think she’s dying. Our phone’s been cut off and I’ve been trying for ten minutes to get someone to stop. I didn’t know what else to do! Take me to jail, but please, call a doctor for my mom first.”
The man was filled with shame. “I’m a doctor. Where is she?” The grateful boy took him to his apartment, and the doctor administered CPR and called an ambulance.
“Will she live?” the boy sobbed.
“Yes, son, she will,” the doctor said.
“Then it’s worth going to jail. I’m so sorry I ruined your new car. You can take me in now.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” the doctor said. “It was my fault you had to throw a brick to get my attention.”
The doctor made sure the boy was taken care of, and as he drove home he resolved not to fix the dent. He would keep it as a reminder that not everyone in need has a brick to throw.
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Being Right or Being Kind.
Watching parents struggle to keep their young children quiet on a recent plane trip reminded me of how stressful traveling was a few years ago when my kids were really young.
My wife Anne and I would do everything we could to keep our kids from annoying other passengers, but no matter how hard we tried, one would always scream or kick the seat in front of her.
Inevitably, a few passengers would add to our anxiety and embarrassment by displaying disdain and discomfort through withering comments, loud sighs, or accusatory looks. Their message was clear: We were inept or inconsiderate parents.
I couldn’t blame them because our children did make their trip unpleasant. Still, I wished they had been more understanding.
In contrast, I so admired and appreciated the occasional man or woman who would go out of his or her way to ease the tension or lighten the burden with a supportive smile, a kind comment, or an offer to help.
Sometimes we don’t seem aware of the choices we have and our power to make things better or worse.
I once read of a man on a subway with two young children who were being loud and unruly. The man seemed to ignore their behavior, so a fed-up passenger confronted him: "Sir, don’t you see how your children are disturbing everyone? How can you be so thoughtless?"
The man sobbed, "I’m so sorry. Their mom just died and I’ve been thinking of how we will live without her." In an instant, the critic’s self-righteousness turned to self-condemnation.
Why is it that so many of us have to be hit over the head before we turn on our caring and empathy buttons?
The next time you have the choice between being right and being kind, choose kindness.
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts.
My wife Anne and I would do everything we could to keep our kids from annoying other passengers, but no matter how hard we tried, one would always scream or kick the seat in front of her.
Inevitably, a few passengers would add to our anxiety and embarrassment by displaying disdain and discomfort through withering comments, loud sighs, or accusatory looks. Their message was clear: We were inept or inconsiderate parents.
I couldn’t blame them because our children did make their trip unpleasant. Still, I wished they had been more understanding.
In contrast, I so admired and appreciated the occasional man or woman who would go out of his or her way to ease the tension or lighten the burden with a supportive smile, a kind comment, or an offer to help.
Sometimes we don’t seem aware of the choices we have and our power to make things better or worse.
I once read of a man on a subway with two young children who were being loud and unruly. The man seemed to ignore their behavior, so a fed-up passenger confronted him: "Sir, don’t you see how your children are disturbing everyone? How can you be so thoughtless?"
The man sobbed, "I’m so sorry. Their mom just died and I’ve been thinking of how we will live without her." In an instant, the critic’s self-righteousness turned to self-condemnation.
Why is it that so many of us have to be hit over the head before we turn on our caring and empathy buttons?
The next time you have the choice between being right and being kind, choose kindness.
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts.
Is It Really Just About Winning?
Long ago, I entered law school wanting to do good. I left more concerned with doing well.
In an atmosphere dominated by raging competitive instincts, persuasive rationalizations, and real economic pressures, cynicism drowned out idealism. My notion of the legal system as a grand forum for the pursuit of truth and justice was reduced to the idea that, in the end, it was just an adversarial game with a less noble purpose: win!
But it’s not just lawyers who are vulnerable to mission drift.
The idealistic drive of people who enter politics to pursue their personal version of the public good can be crushed or converted by real politics. It’s not easy to solve complicated problems in a world dominated by clashing convictions, limited resources, outsized egos, and consuming personal ambitions. And so the acquisition and retention of power, initially the means to an end, becomes the end itself — the measure of success is winning.
If you’re involved in youth sports, you too may be the victim of mission drift.
Is youth sports really a recreational and educational activity designed to allow children to have fun and develop valuable life skills, or is it just an early field of combat teaching the lesson that, in the end, it’s just about winning?
These questions are probed in a challenging online assessment designed by Josephson Institute to identify the core beliefs and values of the parents who support their children’s involvement in sports and the coaches and other adults who administer the programs.
I suspect some of you will find a gap between your ideals and the reality you create or condone.
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts
In an atmosphere dominated by raging competitive instincts, persuasive rationalizations, and real economic pressures, cynicism drowned out idealism. My notion of the legal system as a grand forum for the pursuit of truth and justice was reduced to the idea that, in the end, it was just an adversarial game with a less noble purpose: win!
But it’s not just lawyers who are vulnerable to mission drift.
The idealistic drive of people who enter politics to pursue their personal version of the public good can be crushed or converted by real politics. It’s not easy to solve complicated problems in a world dominated by clashing convictions, limited resources, outsized egos, and consuming personal ambitions. And so the acquisition and retention of power, initially the means to an end, becomes the end itself — the measure of success is winning.
If you’re involved in youth sports, you too may be the victim of mission drift.
Is youth sports really a recreational and educational activity designed to allow children to have fun and develop valuable life skills, or is it just an early field of combat teaching the lesson that, in the end, it’s just about winning?
These questions are probed in a challenging online assessment designed by Josephson Institute to identify the core beliefs and values of the parents who support their children’s involvement in sports and the coaches and other adults who administer the programs.
I suspect some of you will find a gap between your ideals and the reality you create or condone.
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts
Final Words.
If you knew you were dying, what would your final words be?
I was at a luncheon where more than a dozen highly accomplished people were given two minutes each to answer that question. They were prominent scientists (including a Nobel Prize winner), successful business executives, and noted academics, doctors, lawyers, journalists, and one astronaut. Despite their imposing resumes, not one person made a single reference to their work or vast accomplishments.
It proved the truth of the insight underlying Harold Kushner's statement: "I never met anyone on their deathbed who said I wish I'd spent more time at the office." Our work may be a vital part of our lives, but in the end what matters is people and relationships.
All of the speakers addressed their last words to loved ones — a life partner, child, sibling, or special friend. The words were from the heart, and it was a touching experience, but what struck me most was realizing how unlikely it is that any of us will actually have the opportunity to deliver final words. Death is not likely to be that predictable or efficient.
Actually, the way we live our lives — the choices we make, our everyday words and actions — will likely be the final messages we send to our loved ones. So, if there's something you should say — expressing your love or gratitude, or maybe expressing regrets for things you did or failed to do about rifts in a relationship — whatever it is: say it now and say it from your heart.
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts.
I was at a luncheon where more than a dozen highly accomplished people were given two minutes each to answer that question. They were prominent scientists (including a Nobel Prize winner), successful business executives, and noted academics, doctors, lawyers, journalists, and one astronaut. Despite their imposing resumes, not one person made a single reference to their work or vast accomplishments.
It proved the truth of the insight underlying Harold Kushner's statement: "I never met anyone on their deathbed who said I wish I'd spent more time at the office." Our work may be a vital part of our lives, but in the end what matters is people and relationships.
All of the speakers addressed their last words to loved ones — a life partner, child, sibling, or special friend. The words were from the heart, and it was a touching experience, but what struck me most was realizing how unlikely it is that any of us will actually have the opportunity to deliver final words. Death is not likely to be that predictable or efficient.
Actually, the way we live our lives — the choices we make, our everyday words and actions — will likely be the final messages we send to our loved ones. So, if there's something you should say — expressing your love or gratitude, or maybe expressing regrets for things you did or failed to do about rifts in a relationship — whatever it is: say it now and say it from your heart.
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts.
Becoming a Dad.
Abraham Lincoln is a very special hero of mine, so his birthday, February 12, has always been noteworthy. But 33 years ago, that day took on a life-changing meaning. It was the day I became a father for the first time. My son Justin was born, changing forever my perspective and priorities.
Coming from a large family (nine brothers and sisters), I thought I knew what parenting involved, but until I watched my own child’s birth and held his tiny head in my hand, I had no idea how exhilarating and intimidating fatherhood could be.
It was a different and deeper kind of love than I had ever experienced. I found joy simply by touching him, watching him, even changing his diapers.
Worry and responsibility took on new meanings. I worried all the time — and still do — about his health and happiness. And I internalized a sense of responsibility to keep him safe and help him develop the skills and attributes he would need to become a happy and productive person.
Because I wanted him to be proud of me, I started thinking more about how I was living my life and what it would take to be worthy of this precious gift. In fact, it was becoming a father that started me on the journey that led to the establishment of the Joseph & Edna Josephson Institute of Ethics, named after my own parents.
I have been blessed with four more magnificent children — all daughters — and I can honestly say that no accomplishment I’ve achieved or honor I’ve received has been as important as the title “Dad.”
Justin, thanks for that profound gift. I hope to be worthy of it. Happy birthday, Son.
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts.
Coming from a large family (nine brothers and sisters), I thought I knew what parenting involved, but until I watched my own child’s birth and held his tiny head in my hand, I had no idea how exhilarating and intimidating fatherhood could be.
It was a different and deeper kind of love than I had ever experienced. I found joy simply by touching him, watching him, even changing his diapers.
Worry and responsibility took on new meanings. I worried all the time — and still do — about his health and happiness. And I internalized a sense of responsibility to keep him safe and help him develop the skills and attributes he would need to become a happy and productive person.
Because I wanted him to be proud of me, I started thinking more about how I was living my life and what it would take to be worthy of this precious gift. In fact, it was becoming a father that started me on the journey that led to the establishment of the Joseph & Edna Josephson Institute of Ethics, named after my own parents.
I have been blessed with four more magnificent children — all daughters — and I can honestly say that no accomplishment I’ve achieved or honor I’ve received has been as important as the title “Dad.”
Justin, thanks for that profound gift. I hope to be worthy of it. Happy birthday, Son.
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts.
What I've Learned: The Perspective From 13-Year-Olds.
A few years ago I got some inspiration note from Sam Rangel, an eighth-grade teacher in Corona, California. He distributed some of my commentaries on "What I’ve Learned" to his students and asked them to write down what they'd learned over the past year or in their lives. Here's the world of growing wisdom from the 13-year-old perspective:
I've learned that work comes first; fool around later.
I've learned that being popular isn’t everything.
I've learned that being pretty on the inside is better than being pretty on the outside.
I've learned that not everything in life is fair.
I've learned that all people want is someone to listen to them.
I've learned that girls seem to fight with their friends a lot, but almost never with their enemies.
I've learned that it takes a long time to make a friendship and a fraction of a second to destroy it.
I've learned that your imagination is as important as your knowledge.
I've learned that to say no to someone is not wrong.
I've learned that by following others, you aren’t following yourself.
I've learned that the harder it is to do something, the stronger it makes us.
I've learned that I am responsible for me.
I've learned to give everybody a second chance.
I've learned that teenagers will do dumb things.
I've learned that if you respect your elders, they will respect you too.
I've learned that words do hurt people more than sticks and stones.
I've learned that when I come to a fork in the road, ask for help.
I've learned that the easy way is not the best way.
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts.
I've learned that work comes first; fool around later.
I've learned that being popular isn’t everything.
I've learned that being pretty on the inside is better than being pretty on the outside.
I've learned that not everything in life is fair.
I've learned that all people want is someone to listen to them.
I've learned that girls seem to fight with their friends a lot, but almost never with their enemies.
I've learned that it takes a long time to make a friendship and a fraction of a second to destroy it.
I've learned that your imagination is as important as your knowledge.
I've learned that to say no to someone is not wrong.
I've learned that by following others, you aren’t following yourself.
I've learned that the harder it is to do something, the stronger it makes us.
I've learned that I am responsible for me.
I've learned to give everybody a second chance.
I've learned that teenagers will do dumb things.
I've learned that if you respect your elders, they will respect you too.
I've learned that words do hurt people more than sticks and stones.
I've learned that when I come to a fork in the road, ask for help.
I've learned that the easy way is not the best way.
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts.
Authentic Apologies.
I’m sorry.”
These are powerful words. Authentic apologies can work like a healing ointment on old wounds, dissolve bitter grudges, and repair damaged relationships. They encourage both parties to let go of toxic emotions like anger and guilt and provide a fresh foundation of mutual respect.
But authentic apologies involve much more than words expressing sorrow; they require accountability, remorse, and repentance.
An accountable apology involves a sincere acknowledgment that the apologizer did something wrong. “I’m sorry your feelings were hurt” is a fake apology because it accepts no personal responsibility. A better apology is “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.” An even better one reveals an understanding of the wrongdoing from the point of view of the person injured and asks for forgiveness. “I’m sorry I called you a bad mother. I was speaking out of anger, and I ask you to forgive me.” Given the natural human tendency to interpret our own words and actions in a manner most favorable to us, it takes great self-awareness to be accountable.
An authentic apology also conveys remorse. It’s easier to forgive persons who have hurt us if we believe they have suffered some pain themselves in the form of regret, sorrow, or shame. Self-inflicted guilt is a form of penance or reparation that clears the road to forgiveness.
Accountability and remorse must also be joined by repentance – recognizing something we did was wrong coupled with a credible commitment to not do it again. Without such a commitment, an apology is hollow. Thus, repetitive apologies for the same conduct are meaningless and often offensive. “I’m sorry” is not a Get Out of Jail Free card that lets people off the hook who repeatedly break promises, get drunk, or say cruel things.
It takes character to both give and accept an authentic apology.
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts.
These are powerful words. Authentic apologies can work like a healing ointment on old wounds, dissolve bitter grudges, and repair damaged relationships. They encourage both parties to let go of toxic emotions like anger and guilt and provide a fresh foundation of mutual respect.
But authentic apologies involve much more than words expressing sorrow; they require accountability, remorse, and repentance.
An accountable apology involves a sincere acknowledgment that the apologizer did something wrong. “I’m sorry your feelings were hurt” is a fake apology because it accepts no personal responsibility. A better apology is “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.” An even better one reveals an understanding of the wrongdoing from the point of view of the person injured and asks for forgiveness. “I’m sorry I called you a bad mother. I was speaking out of anger, and I ask you to forgive me.” Given the natural human tendency to interpret our own words and actions in a manner most favorable to us, it takes great self-awareness to be accountable.
An authentic apology also conveys remorse. It’s easier to forgive persons who have hurt us if we believe they have suffered some pain themselves in the form of regret, sorrow, or shame. Self-inflicted guilt is a form of penance or reparation that clears the road to forgiveness.
Accountability and remorse must also be joined by repentance – recognizing something we did was wrong coupled with a credible commitment to not do it again. Without such a commitment, an apology is hollow. Thus, repetitive apologies for the same conduct are meaningless and often offensive. “I’m sorry” is not a Get Out of Jail Free card that lets people off the hook who repeatedly break promises, get drunk, or say cruel things.
It takes character to both give and accept an authentic apology.
This is Dimeji reminding you that character counts.
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