Imagine living that life. No one wants to live like that even if it’s financially rewarding.
This is from the excerpt of my forthcoming book “The Modern CEO”.
I knew a US-based CEO who traveled to Europe once a month.
He would get up at 4 a.m., drive two hours to the airport, fly coach (though he was often upgraded), arrive in Europe, order an Uber, go straight to the office, work a full day, and meet the team at 8 p.m. for dinner. (The team preferred to eat late, well it’s Europe, after all.)
He’d go back to his simple hotel, iron a shirt for the next morning, wake up early because the senior team had a standing 9 a.m. overview meeting, then travel two hours by train to meet their best customer.
He’d take them out to a boozy, extravagant, expensive lunch even though he was trying to quit drinking and eat healthier.
After lunch: train back, five 1-2-1s with senior leaders, then an overnight flight home.
He’d pick up his car from the standard parking lot and drive two hours home.
His family would be excited to see him, but he’d be grumpy and irritable with his partner and kids.
The next morning, in our usual coaching session, he was tired, full of resentment, and needed to unburden.
“The trip was exhausting,” he said.
“The team are so inflexible. Those Europeans are so set in their ways and demanding… well, except you, of course. I think it would just be easier to shut it down.” I nod.
“My wife just wants to talk when I get back, doesn’t she know I’m exhausted? My kids are so needy. I keep thinking a divorce would make it so much easier.” I nod again.
“Where do I start?”
Even reading the above might feel exhausting.
Imagine living that life.
No one wants to live like that even if it’s financially rewarding.
“It sounds like your boss is a complete asshole,” I said.
“But I’m the CEO. I’m the boss!” he replied.
“Exactly,” I said.
The temptation for any coach is to jump to the big stuff, firing the team, the divorce.
But those thoughts are just symptoms.
Imagining a dramatically easier life later is a way to release tension now.
“Why did you iron your own shirt?” I asked.
“That hotel charges $50 to iron a shirt. Crazy money.”
“Who pays, you personally?”
“Well, no. The business does. But I have a financial duty to..”
“Let me stop you. What’s more valuable to the business: $50 or getting a good night’s sleep?”
“Well… when you put it like that … if I’m at my best…”
We began Project ‘At My Best.’
It started with simple travel rules to help him show up better:
- Housekeeping irons the shirts.
- A driver instead of a 4 a.m. commute.
- Dinner at a time that suits him, not the local custom.
- The customer visits them.
- Healthier restaurants, turns out, both the customer and the team actually preferred that too. They just thought he liked the boozy, oversized lunches.
We also talked about decompression time before arriving home, because of course your kids are excited to see you, but you need to transition too.
So I ask you:
Are you ironing your own metaphorical shirts?
What does Project “At My Best” look like for you?