Team Thank You Quotes

Darcangelo winced, gritted his teeth "Want to tell me why ... you're sitting here cuddling me, Hunter?" "Rossiter says I have to keep you warm. He thinks you're in shock or some shit." Despite his words and the tone of his voice, there was really worry on Hunter's face. "Great. Thanks." Darcangelo's head fell back to rest against Hunter's vest, the big guy's strength clearly spent. A muscle clenched in Hunter's jaw. "Hey, don't mention it--ever.

RON: Malfoy, you may be all chummy chummy with Harry, and you may have produced a relatively nice child, but you've said some very unfair things to and about my wife... HERMIONE: And your wife doesn't need you fighting her battles for her. RON: Fine. But if you say one thing about her or me... DRACO: You'll do what, Weasley? HERMIONE: He'll hug you. Because we're all on the same team, aren't we, Ron? RON: Fine. I, um, I think you've got really nice hair. Draco. HERMIONE: Thank you, husband.

Thank you, honey,” she kept whispering. “For what?” “A good life and a beautiful family.” “You had a hand in that,” he reminded her. “I know. We’re a team. Thank you for giving me that too.

As you enter this place of work please choose to make today a great day. Your colleagues, customers, team members, and you yourself will be thankful. Find ways to play. We can be serious about our work without being serious about ourselves. Stay focused in order to be present when your customers and team mebers most need you. And should you feel your enegery lapsing, try this surefire remedy: Find someone who needs a helping hand, a word of support, or a good ear - and make their day.

Wow, thank you so much for the compliment!" Patty answered brightly, to end things. At the time, she believed that it was because she was so selflessly team-spirited that direct personal compliments made her so uncomfortable. The autobiographer now thinks that compliments were like a beverage she was unconsciously smart enough to deny herself even one drop of, because her thirst for them was infinite.

If you're anything like me, You bite your nails, And laugh when you're nervous. You promise people the world, because that's what they want from you. You like giving them what they want... But darling, you need to stop, If you're anything like me, You knock on wood every time you make plans. You cross your fingers, hold your breath, Wish on lucky numbers and eyelashes Your superstitions were the lone survivors of the shipwreck. Rest In Peace, to your naive bravado... If life gets too good now, Darling, it scares you. If you're anything like me, You never wanted to lock your door, Your secret garden gate or your diary drawer Didn't want to face the you you don't know anymore For fear she was much better before... But Darling, now you have to. If you're anything like me, There's a justice system in your head For names you'll never speak again, And you make your ruthless rulings. Each new enemy turns to steel They become the bars that confine you, In your own little golden prison cell... But Darling, there is where you meet yourself. If you're anything like me You've grown to hate your pride To love your thighs And no amount of friends at 25 Will fill the empty seats At the lunch tables of your past The teams that picked you last... But Darling, you keep trying. If you're anything like me, You couldn't recognize the face of your love Until they stripped you of your shiny paint Threw your victory flag away And you saw the ones who wanted you anyway... Darling, later on you will thank your stars for that frightful day. If you're anything like me, I'm sorry. But Darling, it's going to be okay.

We don't have a word for the opposite of loneliness, but if we did, I could say that's what I want in life. What I'm grateful and thankful to have found at Yale, and what I'm scared of losing when we wake up tomorrow after Commencement and leave this place. “It's not quite love and it's not quite community; it's just this feeling that there are people, an abundance of people, who are in this together. Who are on your team. When the check is paid and you stay at the table. When it's four A.M. and no one goes to bed. That night with the guitar. That night we can't remember. That time we did, we went , we saw, we laughed, we felt. The hats.

But as I stood across from Archer, I couldn't forget that I was completely, stupidly in love with the one person I could never have. The laughter died on my lips, and I dashed at my eyes with the back of my hand. "I need to get back," I said. "Right," he replied. He was still holding his sword in his right hand, and he twirled the hilt, the point sratching the wooden floor. "So this is it. We're done." "Yeah," I said, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat. "And I have to say, the world's first and last Eye-demon reconnaissance mission went pretty well." It was a struggle to meet his eyes, but I managed it. "Thank you." He shrugged, his dark gaze full of something I couldn't quite read. "We were a good team." "We were." In more ways than one, I thought. Which is why this sucked so bad. I stepped back. "Anyway, I should go. See ya,Cross." Then I laughed, only it sounded suspiciously like another sob. "Except I won't, will I So I guess I should say goodbye." I felt like I was about to shatter into a million tiny shards, like the mirrors I'd broken with Dad. "okay, well, best of luck with the whole Eye thing, then. Try not to kill anyone I know." I turned away, but he reached out and caught my wrist. I could feel my pulse hammering under his fingers. "Mercer, that day in the cellar..." He searched my face, and I could sense him struggling for what he wanted to say. Then finally, "I didn't kiss you back because I had to. I kissed you because I wanted to." His eyes dropped to my lips,and it was like the whole world had shrunk to just me and him and the shaft of light between us. "I still want to," he said hoarsely. He tugged my wrist and pulled me into his arms. My brain registered the sound of his sword clattering to he ground as his other hand came up to grab the back of my neck, but once his lips were on mine, everything else faded away. I clutched at his shoulders, raising up on my tiptoes, and kissed him with everything I had in me. As the kiss deepened, we held each other tighter, so I didn't know if the pounding heartbeat I felt was mine or his. How stupid,I thought dreamily, to have ever thought I could give this up. Not just the kissing, although, as Archer's hands cupped my face, I had to admit that part was pretty awesome. But all of it: joking with him and working beside him. Being with a guy who was my friend and could still make me feel like this.

You big dumb idiot,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re always worried about what you can give to me, or how you can help me… but it doesn’t work like that: We’re a team, and sometimes you need help just as much as I do. So keep your Patrian-indoctrinated testosterone out of our relationship, please and thank you.

Now you’re thinking. I’ll drive.” “No. I’d appreciate the other set of eyes, and the scary brain, but if I’m hung up I need you here to start briefing the team.” Those fabulous eyes stared right through her. “You want me to brief a room of cops? That’s appalling, Eve, on so many levels.” “Nobody knows how to run a meeting as well as you. I’ll try to be back, but I have to follow this out.” “I’m definitely going to want the costumes. I may have them designed for you.” “One of us is worth a dozen of them,” she said, repeating his words. “You’re one of us.” “I realize you see that as a compliment, but ...” He trailed off, sighed. “Thank you.

Neil stared back at him, suddenly lost. He was fluent in two languages, nearly there in a third, and could string together some useful survival phrases in a half-dozen more. But with the whole truth bared between them Neil didn't have the right words to say. "You should have thrown my file away," Neil said at last. "You should have walked away when I threw your contract back in your face. But you took a chance on me and you brought me here. You saved my life. Three times," Neil said, "you've saved my life. I can't just say 'thank you' for that." "You don't have to," Wymack said. "I brought you here, but you saved yourself. You're the one who decided to stay. You're the one who stopped being afraid long enough to realize you could get a grip here and a foothold there. You found your own way." "If anything," Wymack continued when Neil tried to protest, "I should be thanking you. You told us last night you intended to end the year dead or in federal custody. You could have shut everyone and everything out and worried about yourself this year. Instead you agreed to help Dan fix this team. You're saving the two I thought we couldn't reach, and you're a living example for Kevin to follow. He never used to watch you," Wymack said, "but he's had eyes on you since December trying to figure out how you stand your ground.

What assignment?” Lucky asked. “If it’s training an all-woman SEAL team, then, yes, thank you very much, I’m your man.

Thank you, Dad. For… standing up for me. Loving me.” “Never thank me for that. You’re my son. I will always love you.

Thank you. You saved me out there.” “We're a team. I'm here to help you out.” “I like the way that sounds.

What’s the best way to manage rock stars, the people whom you can count on to deliver great results year after year? You need to recognize them to keep them happy. For too many bosses, “recognition” means “promotion.” But in most cases, this is a big mistake. Promotion often puts these people in roles they are not as well-suited for or don’t want. The key is to recognize their contribution in other ways. It may be a bonus or a raise. Or, if they like public speaking, get them to present at your all-hands meetings or other big events. If they like teaching, get them to help new people learn their roles faster. Or if they are shy, make sure that you and others on the team thank them privately for the work they do.

Aaron opened his mouth, closed it again, and fixed Nicky with an annoyed look. "You're explaining this to Andrew when he gets back." "Oh, hell no," Nicky said, and jerked a thumb at Neil. "I'mma leave that one to him. Thanks for taking one for the team, Neil. You're a real friend." Nicky grinned over at Neil, but his amusement didn't last. He seemed confused by whatever he saw on Neil's face and backpedaled with, "Don't worry, we'll send Renee along with you for backup. Last I checked Andrew only wins half their fights, so you might actually survive. Uh. Neil?" He should just let it go, or at least leave it to think about later, but Neil couldn't resist. "Are we?" he asked, because hadn't Betsy said it just a few days ago? He hadn't understood it then and hadn't even tried, too angry and upset over everything else that was happening. Tonight it almost meant something, though what, Neil didn't know. Realizing Nicky couldn't follow his twisting train of thought, Neil forced himself to say, "Friends?" It was like that one word punched all the joy out of Nicky, but the look that crossed Nicky's face next was too fast for Neil to decipher. Nicky's smile was back a second later, but it didn't reach his eyes. Neil might have apologized, except Nicky reached out and scrubbed a gloved hand through Neil's hair. "You are going to be the absolute death of me," Nicky said. "Yeah, kid. We're friends. You're stuck with us, like it or not.

you'd never never never again work for that manipulative, Machiavellian psychopath. And he'd get you back on the team, often with a gesture as simple and inexpensive as a baseball cap or a T-shirt. The timing was what did it, that he knew. He knew just when to apply that well-timed pat on the back, the strangled and difficult-for-him 'Thank you for your good work' appreciation of your labors.

Beckendorf walked up with his helmet under his arm. “She likes you, man.” “Sure,” I muttered. “She likes me for target practice.” “Nah, they always do that. A girl starts trying to kill you, you know she’s into you.” “Makes a lot of sense.” Beckendorf shrugged. “I know about these things. You ought to ask her to the fireworks.” I couldn’t tell if he was serious. Beckendorf was lead counselor for Hephaestus. He was this huge dude with a permanent scowl, muscles like a pro ballplayer, and hands calloused from working in the forges. He’d just turned eighteen and was on his way to NYU in the fall. Since he was older, I usually listened to him about stuff, but the idea of asking Annabeth to the Fourth of July fireworks down at the beach—like, the biggest dating event of the summer—made my stomach do somersaults. Then Silena Beauregard, the head counselor for Aphrodite, passed by. Beckendorf had had a not-so-secret crush on her for three years. She had long black hair and big brown eyes, and when she walked, the guys tended to watch. She said, “Good luck, Charlie.” (Nobody ever calls Beckendorf by his first name.) She flashed him a brilliant smile and went to join Annabeth on the red team. “Uh . . .” Beckendorf swallowed like he’d forgotten how to breathe. I patted him on the shoulder. “Thanks for the advice, dude. Glad you’re so wise about girls and all. Come on. Let’s get to the woods.

Thank me once you are safe. Now that you’ve been revived and Xenocrates knows where you are, you can bet he’s notified the local scythes. I’m certain a team has been dispatched to retrieve you, which means we need to get you out of here now.

He could tell when the bullying, the relentless sarcasm, the constant, all-encompassing vigilance had become too exhausting. When one of his people was fed up with staying awake at night anticipating his likes and dislikes, was sick of charting his mood swings, was tired of feeling demeaned and beaten down after being asked, for instance, to clean out the grease trap, was ready to burst into tears and quit, then suddenly Bigfoot would appear with court side seats for a play-off game, a restaurant warm-up jacket (given out only to Most Honored Veterans), or a present for the wife or girlfriend — something thoughtful like a Movado watch. He always waited until the last possible second, when you were ready to shave your head, climb a tower and start gunning down strangers, when you were ready to strip off your clothes and run barking into the street, to scream to the world that you'd never never never again work for that manipulative, Machiavellian psychopath. And he'd get you back on the team, often with a gesture as simple and inexpensive as a baseball cap or a T-shirt. The timing was what did it, that he knew. He knew just when to apply that well-timed pat on the back, the strangled and difficult-for-him 'Thank you for your good work' appreciation of your labors.

The Healing spells on his chest were certainly earning their keep tonight. Sullivan got to his feet. The lack of noise from the courtyard indicated that his team had gotten all the mechanical men. “Thanks.” Toru just grunted a noncommittal response as he lifted the feed tray to check the condition of his borrowed machine gun. They didn’t see the final robot inside until it turned on its eye and illuminated the Iron Guard in blue light. Sullivan’s Spike reversed gravity, and the gigantic machine fell upward to hit the steel beams in the ceiling. Sullivan cut his Power and the robot dropped. It crashed hard into the floor where it lay twitching and kicking. The two of them riddled the mechanical man with bullets until the light died and it lay still in a spreading puddle of oil. “Normally, this would be the part where you thank me for returning the favor and saving your life.” “Yes. Normally… If we were court ladies instead of warriors,” Toru answered. “Shall we continue onward or do you wish to stop and discuss your feelings over tea?” Sullivan looked forward to the day that the two of them would be able to finish their fight. “Let’s go.

Rule #1: Do the right thing. Have a plan, work the plan. Measure your results. Be accountable—see it; own it; solve it; do it. Rule #2. Do the best you can. Turn problems into opportunities. Add value by becoming part of the solution. Act with a sense of urgency . . . Do it now! Ask the question: “What else can I do?” Ask for coaching: “What can I do better?” Reject average and “good enough.” Learn, correct, improve, and grow. Rule #3: Show others that you care. Show respect. Say: “Please. Thank you. You’re welcome. I’m sorry.” Show and express appreciation. Have each other’s back (“I got you!”). Engage as a team.

Eena!” Recognizing Ian’s voice, Eena turned to find him approaching her from behind. He was entirely clad in body armor and gauntlets, cradling an open-faced helmet in one arm. Painted on his chest plate was a flaming, gold sword. From his side hung a leather sheath, a golden hilt peeking from the top. “I’m glad you’re back. You are going to stay and watch us play, aren’t you?” He looked hopeful she’d say yes. Eena smiled brightly. “I didn’t know you were talented enough to be on a dueling team. Nice sword,” she teased. Ian blushed a degree. “Thanks. They call us the Savage Warriors!” He rasped their team name in a semi-ferocious voice. “Jerin’s team captain.” She laughed at the showy designation. “And who’s your challenger today?” “The Dragon Slayers - Derian’s team.” Eena’s face fell. “Derian is playing?” She groaned internally, knowing she should’ve guessed as much. This was starting to look like another setup.

GE’s lab is like a mini United Nations. Every engineering team looks like one of those multiethnic Benetton ads. But this was not affirmative action at work; it was a brutal meritocracy. When you are competing in the global technology Olympics every day, you have to recruit the best talent from anywhere you can find it.

Over the top? You bet. Not only did we want our people to come in for dinner; we wanted them to have a better experience than anyone else in the room. It was a way to say thank you for all that the team gave us—their creativity, good humor, and hard work. But it was also to show them the same graciousness they delivered every day.

Thank you,” she repeated, wishing he didn’t feel so tense in her arms. “I mean it, Keefe. I don’t know if I’d be able to get through this without you.” “Yes you could,” he argued, finally relaxing as he leaned into the hug to whisper, “You’re Lady Foster. The Dire Wolf of Team Fancypants. And I gotta say, you look awfully cute in a crown.

Teller tells his teams: “I don’t care how much progress you make this month; my job is to cause your rate of improvement to increase—how do we make the same mistake in half the time for half the money?” In sum, said Teller, what we are experiencing today, with shorter and shorter innovation cycles, and less and less time to learn to adapt, “is the difference between a constant state of destabilization versus occasional destabilization.

The seniors look my way before they leave. One girl, not the cheerleader, nods her head, and says, "Way to go. I hope you're OK." With hours left in the school year, I have suddenly become popular. Thanks to the big mouths on the lacrosse team, everybody knew what happened before sundown. Mom took me to the hospital to stitch up the cut on my hand. When we got home, there was a message on the machine from Rachel. She wants me to call her.

She’d just poured herself another cup of coffee, when Jack walked in. He smiled when he saw her, and her heart did a little flip. “Good morning, beautiful. How did you sleep?” She felt heat in her cheeks. “I slept well, thank you. Thanks for staying with me. Did you get any sleep in that chair?” “Oh, yeah.” He reached for a coffee cup. “I can sleep pretty much anywhere—a benefit of having served with the Rangers. If I get five hours a night, I’m good.

As you enter this place of work please choose to make today a great day. Your colleagues, customers, team members, and you yourself will be thankful. Find ways to play. We can be serious about our work without being serious about ourselves. Stay focused in order to be there when your customers and team members most need you. And should you feel your energy lapsing, try this surefire remedy: Find someone who needs a helping hand, a word of support, or a good ear—and make their day.

OUR WORKPLACE As you enter this place of work please choose to make today a great day. Your colleagues, customers, team members, and you yourself will be thankful. Find ways to play. We can be serious about our work without being serious about ourselves. Stay focused in order to be there when your customers and team members most need you. And should you feel your energy lapsing, try this surefire remedy: Find someone who needs a helping hand, a word of support, or a good ear—and make their day.

Golf is the great conductor of life's symphony. Not in my lifetime have I seen anything with more ability to change the course of futures. It has the ability to build lasting relationships in a few short hours, promote executives, fund projects, build teams, break down barriers, and create an environment of deal-making, stress relief, and wellness. It's the one place where we willingly shut off our phones, turn away from distraction and become one with nature and ourselves. -Thank you for being a part of our symphony, Network & Golf

Life of a software engineer sucks big time during project release. Every single team member contribution is very important. At times, we have to skip breakfast, lunch and even dinner, just to make sure the given ‘TASK’ is completed. Worst thing, that’s the time we get to hear wonderful F* words. It can be on conference calls or on emails, still we have to focus and deliver the end product to a client, without any compromise on quality. Actually, every techie should be saluted. We are the reason for the evolution of Information Technology. We innovate. We love artificial intelligence. We create bots and much more. We take you closer to books. Touch and feel it without the need of carrying a paperback. We created eBook and eBook reader app: it’s basically a code of a software engineer that process the file, keeps up-to-date of your reading history, and gives you a smoother reading experience. We are amazing people. We are more than a saint of those days. Next time, when you meet a software engineer, thank him/her for whatever code he/she developed, tested, designed or whatever he/she did!

Logan put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her away. “Better?” There was some emotion in his eyes, but it disappeared before she could decipher it. “I’m okay, but I’ll be better when all this is over. Thank you.” “For what?” “For coming here when I asked. It was probably an inconvenience to drop everything at a moment’s notice.” Again, something flittered in his eyes, and he glanced away. When his gaze returned to her, whatever she’d seen was gone. “Know this, Dani. Wherever you are and whenever you need me, I will always come to you.

Callie scrambled from under the covers, dashed around the bed, and flung herself into Luce's arms. "They kept telling me you were going to be okay, but in that lying, we're-also-completely-terrified-we're-just-not-going-to-explain-a-word-to-you kind of way. Do you even realize how thoroughly spooky that was? It was like you physically dropped off the face of the Earth-" Luce hugged her back tightly. As far as Callie knew, Luce had been gone only since the night before. "Okay, you two," Molly growled, pulling Luce away from Callie, "you can OMG your faces off later. I didn't lie in your bed in that cheap polyester wig all night enacting Luce-with-stomach-flue so you guys could blow our cover now." She rolled her eyes. "Amateurs." "Hold on. You did what?" Luce asked. "After you...disappeared," Callie said breathlessly, "we knew we could never explain it to your parents. I mean, I could barely fathom it after seeing it with my own eyes. When Gabbe fixed up the backyard, I told your parents you felt sick and had gone to bed, and Molly pretended to be you and-" "Lucky I found this in your closet." Molly twirled a short wavy black wig around one finger. "Halloween remnant?" "Wonder Woman." Luce winced, regretting her middle school Halloween costume, and not for the first time. "Well, it worked." It was strange to see Molly-who'd once sided with Lucifer-helping her. But even Molly, like Cam and Roland, didn't want to fall again. So here they were, a team, strange bedfellows. "You covered for me? I don't know what to say. Thank you." "Whatever." Molly jerked her head at Callie, anything to deflect Luce's gratitude. "She was the real silver-tongued devil. Thank her." She stuck one leg out the open window and turned to call back, "Think you guys can handle it from here? I have a Waffle House summit meeting to attend.

If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. So, live your life that the fear of death can never enter your heart. Trouble no one about their religion; respect others in their view, and demand that they respect yours. Love your life, perfect your life, beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and its purpose in the service of your people. Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide. Always give a word or a sign of salute when meeting or passing a friend, even a stranger, when in a lonely place. Show respect to all people and grovel to none. When you arise in the morning give thanks for the food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies only in yourself. Abuse no one and no thing, for abuse turns the wise ones to fools and robs the spirit of its vision. When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with the fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home. ~ Chief Tecumseh Blurb A woman who betrayed her county.

She rented the place from some whacko, fanatic, leftist, commie, pinko so-called Columbia professor named Sidney Bowman.” “You’re so tolerant, Rolly.” “Yeah, well, I lose touch when I keep missing those ACLU meetings. Anyway, this pinko won’t talk. He says she just rented from him and paid in cash. We all know he’s lying. The feds grilled him, but he got a team of faggot, liberal lawyers down here to spring him. Called us a bunch of Nazi pigs and stuff.” “That’s not a compliment, Rolly. In case you don’t know.” “Thanks for clueing me in. I got Krinsky tailing him right now, but he’s got nothing. I mean, this Bowman’s not a retard. He’s got to know we’re watching.

I could not resist the temptation to ask: Tell me something, Damiana: what do you recall? I wasn't recalling anything, she said, but your question makes me remember. I felt a weight in my chest. I've never fallen in love, I told her. She replied without hesitation: I have. And she concluded, not interrupting her work: I cried over you for twenty-two years. My heart skipped a beat. Looking for a dignified way out, I said: We would have made a good team. Well, it's wrong of you to say so now, she said, because you're no good to me anymore even as a consolation. As she was leaving the house, she said in the most natural way: You won't believe me but thanks be to God, I'm still a virgin.

I got up to get another glass of water when Zac asked from his spot still at the stove, breaking up the two pounds of ground beef he’d added to the vegetables. “Vanny, were you gonna want me to help you with your draft list again this year?” I groaned. “I forgot. My brother just messaged me about it. I can’t let him win again this year, Zac. I can’t put up with his crap.” He raised his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I got you. Don’t worry about it.” “Thank—what?” Aiden had his glass halfway to his mouth and was frowning. “You play fantasy football?” he asked, referring to the online role-playing game that millions of people participated in. Participants got to build imaginary teams during a mock draft, made up of players throughout the league. I’d been wrangled into playing against my brother and some of our mutual friends about three years ago and had joined in ever since. Back then, I had no idea what the hell a cornerback was, much less a bye week, but I’d learned a lot since then. I nodded slowly at him, feeling like I’d done something wrong. The big guy’s brow furrowed. “Who was on your team last year?” I named the players I could remember, wondering where this was going and not having a good feeling about it. “What was your defensive team?” There it went. I slipped my hands under the counter and averted my eyes to the man at the stove, cursing him silently. “So you see…” The noise Zac tried to muffle was the most obvious snicker in the world. Asshole. “Was I not on your team?” I gulped. “So you see—” “Dallas wasn’t your team?” he accused me, sounding… well, I didn’t know if it was hurt or outraged, but it was definitely something. “Ahh…” I slid a look at the traitor who was by that point trying to muffle his laugh. “Zac helped me with it.” It was the thump that said Zac’s knees hit the floor. “Look, it isn’t that I didn’t choose you specifically. I would choose you if I could, but Zac said Minnesota—” “Minne-sota.” Jesus, he’d broken the state in two. The big guy, honest to God, shook his head. His eyes went from me to Zac in… yep, that was outrage. Aiden held out his hand, wiggling those incredibly long fingers. “Let me see it.” “See what?” “Your roster from last year.” I sighed and pulled my phone out of the fanny pack I still had around my waist, unlocking the screen and opening the app. Handing it over, I watched his face as he looked through my roster and felt guilty as hell. I’d been planning on choosing Dallas just because Aiden was on the team, but I really had let Zac steer me elsewhere. Apparently, just because you had the best defensive end in the country on your team, didn’t mean everyone else held up their end of the bargain. Plus, he’d missed almost the entire season. He didn’t have to take it so personally.

Sean started the engine and putted through the marina waters, and Adam had the nerve to plop onto the seat across the aisle from me. Sean reached the edge of the idle zone and cranked the boat into top speed. Adam called to me so softly I could barely catch his words over the motor, “Close your legs.” “What for? I waxed!” I looked down to make sure. This was okay now, because Sean was facing the other way and couldn’t hear me in the din. Indeed, I was clean. I spread my legs even wider, put my arms on the back of the seat, and generally took up as much room as possible, like a boy. I glanced back over at Adam. “Does it make you uncomfortable for me to sit this way?” He watched me warily. “Yes.” “May I suggest that this is your problem and not mine?” He licked his lips and bent toward me. “If it keeps Sean from asking you out, it’s going to be your problem, and you’re going to make it my problem.” “Speaking of which,” I said, crossing my legs like a girl. “Thanks for staying out of my way. How the hell am I supposed to get Sean to ask me out when he’s all pissy?” “You wanted me to lose to him at team calisthenics? That was too sweet to miss.” “You didn’t have to win by quite so much, Adam. You knew I needed him in a good mood. You didn’t have to rub it in.” Adam grinned. “And you wanted me to stop growing?” “Do not make a joke about your size. If you can’t think of anything to talk about except your large size, please say nothing at all.

On the first day I walked into Simon’s bustling headquarters, just across from City Hall, I encountered an intense young fund-raiser sitting in an open cubicle, working his quarry over the phone. Curious, I stopped to watch the spectacle. “Five hundred bucks? Five hundred bucks! You know what you’re telling me? You don’t give a shit about Israel,” the intense, wiry young man shouted at God knows which mover and shaker on the other end of the line. “I’d be embarrassed for you to take your five hundred bucks.” The kid hung up and stared at the phone, which rang an instant later. “Yeah, that’s better,” he said, in a markedly calmer tone. “Thanks.” Even at twenty-four, Rahm Emanuel had a gift for getting his point across, a quality I would see on display many times as we teamed up in the decades to come.

Remember, the conversation between you and your horse must never be dull or inert. It should be, “Ask, receive, give. Ask, receive, give." Ask with your body and legs; receive through your body into your hands; give primarily with the hands, but also with your body and legs, so that you can ask all over again, receive again, and give again. The give is your thanks. If you don’t give, you must ask harder the next time, and even harder after that, until you end up with a dead or resistant horse. I have heard Major Hans Wikne, coach of the Swedish dressage team and head of the Swedish National School for Instructors, say so many times, “For everything you ask from your horse, your must give back a little more. The give is more important than the take." Riding is much more than a push-me-pull-you between leg and hand.

Until now. You and I are a mis-Match, Ellie, because I hacked into your servers to manipulate our results.” “Rubbish,” Ellie said, secretly balking at the notion. She folded her arms indignantly. “Our servers are more secure than almost every major international company across the world. We receive so many hacking attempts, yet no one gets in. We have the best software and team money can buy to protect us against people like you.” “You’re right about some of that. But what your system didn’t take into account was your own vanity. Do you remember receiving an email some time ago with the subject ‘Businesswoman of the Year Award’? You couldn’t help but open it.” Ellie vaguely remembered reading the email as it had been sent to her private account, which only a few people had knowledge of. “Attached to it was a link you clicked on and that opened to nothing, didn’t it?” Matthew continued. “Well, it wasn’t nothing to me, because your click released a tiny, undetectable piece of tailor-made malware that allowed me to remotely access your network and work my way around your files. Everything you had access to, I had access to. Then I simply replicated my strand of DNA to mirror image yours, sat back and waited for you to get in touch. That’s why I came for a job interview, to learn a little more about the programming and systems you use. Please thank your head of personnel for leaving me alone in the room for a few moments with her laptop while she searched for a working camera to take my head shot. That was a huge help in accessing your network. Oh, and tell her to frisk interviewees for lens deflectors next time—they’re pocket-sized gadgets that render digital cameras useless.

to thank my beta readers, Jessica, Dee, Andrea, Carrie, Jill, Kolleen and Rebecca. You made this story so much better!! I want to thank every blogger and reader who took a chance with me as a new author and helped me spread the word. You have my most heartfelt gratitude. To my street team. . .you rock !!! Last but not least, I would like to thank my family. I would never be here if not for their love and support. Mom, you taught me that books are important, and for that I will always be grateful. Dad, thank you for always being convinced that I should reach for the stars. To my sister, whose numerous ahem. . .legendary replies will serve as an inspiration for many books to come, I say thank you for your support and I love you, kid. To my husband, who always, no matter what, believed in me and supported me through all this whether by happily taking on every chore I overlooked

As I stepped off the mat, Aimee ran over and gave me a hug. Lexie rushed up to me, face beaming, and said, “Hey, you caught your Thatchev!” “I did!” I said, high-fiving her. “Thank you!” Everyone else was looking at us, completely puzzled. They were probably wondering, Why on earth is she so excited? She just fell off the bars twice! But I didn’t care right then. I’d caught my Thatchev, and I was on my way to Nationals. One month later, it wouldn’t be the Thatchev that would put me out of contention for the USA women’s junior team by just one spot—it would be that dang Amanar. Maybe if I’d spent more time practicing the vault, I might’ve gotten picked. But the same thing that’s true in gymnastics is also true in life: You can’t go back. The best you can do is forgive yourself, take a deep breath, and get to work on the next challenge. But that doesn’t mean you can’t bawl first—and let me tell you, I did.

You didn’t tell me you were a horse whisperer.” “I’m not—at least I don’t think I am.” “Well, you nearly gave me a heart attack. If you were one of my men, I’d fire you on the spot for being reckless.” “I’m not one of your men.” “Thank God for that.” Still, he needed to make his point. “You could have been killed. I’ve seen stallions go crazy and injure experienced horsemen, men who raised them. You took a real chance stepping in here.” “I’m sorry I frightened you. I saw how afraid Chinook was, and I just had to do something.” He handed her the curry comb. “Most people who saw a stallion in that state would see only aggression and feel afraid. But you saw that the stallion was afraid, and so you had no fear. You amaze me.” She looked up at him and smiled. “That goes both ways.” He was glad to hear that. In the course of the evening, he’d come to realize that he loved her. For the second time in his life, he’d fallen head over heels in love with a woman.

Once he stared the car, I said, “I just want you to know I’m paying for my meal, because I know it’ll be full price, and I didn’t want you to think I was expecting you to pay for it, because this isn’t a date. It’s just the team and the host sisters, brothers, whatever, getting together to have some fun tonight since it’s raining…or was raining…it’s obviously not raining now. And you’re just giving me a ride, not a meal.” Shut me up! Shut me up! Shut me up! He shifted into reverse, then backed out of the driveway. “I’m buying your dinner.” “No, really--” “Dani.” It was the first time I could recall him actually saying my name. I loved the way it just rumbled, his voice so deep, so perfect. I wanted him to say it again, over and over. But he’d stopped in the middle of the street. I figured any minute Dad was going to come barreling out of the house to find out what was wrong. I looked over at Jason. “I’m buying your dinner, as my thanks to you for convincing your family to host me. Just accept it, okay?” I nodded. “Okay.” He drove, and I settled into my seat, wondering what other surprises the night might hold.

Thanks.” “For what?” “For everything.” I shrug and my smile wobbles a little. “Thanks for talking me into taking this trip instead of staying home and wallowing in self-pity. For sticking by my side, but also giving me space. For…being my best friend.” She gives the impression of being cool, clipped, controlled, but deep down Fanny is a smushy-mushy sentimental marshmallow. She grabs me and gives me a fierce hug. “It’s just my time,” she finally says, pulling away. “You know?” I shake my head. I don’t know. “Being best friends is like playing baseball. Right now, it’s my turn to step up to the plate and carry the team.” She lifts her chin and looks up at me with her trademark confidence. “Don’t worry. Your time at bat will come.” “I hope I will carry the team as well as you have.” “You will.” “Wait!” I laugh. “Did you just make a baseball analogy?” “Yeah. So?” “The Americanization of Fanny is complete.” I stroke my chin and chuckle maniacally. “Funny!” Fanny snaps. “I don’t think so!” “It starts with reality television binges and baseball analogies. Soon, you’ll be forgoing French chocolate for Hershey’s bars and baguettes for Wonder Bread.

A Note from Zibby: Hi! Thanks so much for coming by! I truly, truly hope that the thoughtful content my team and I produce daily helps you make the most of your (very limited!) time. I mean, if we don’t make time for what’s important, life will just pass us by in a blur of emails and to-do lists. And life is way too short for that. So let this programming enhance your life, not take it over. * Learn about a new book and then go read it. * Hear from an amazing author you’ve always loved and then attend their event. * Get some sex tips and actually try them out. * Receive writing advice from a bestselling pro and then write the essay or book you know you have in you. * Rethink weight loss and change what you eat or how you work out that day. * Message with someone you meet in our grief community over your shared loss. * Offer travel tips to someone who can use them. * Find a product you love or a gift that will delight someone. * Read a personal essay and feel deeply understood. * Connect, connect, connect. But we must find time to enjoy life, before our time runs out. So let’s outrun it while we can. Lace up, friends. Here we go. Warmly, Zibby

The team is showing its appreciation to the host families by taking them to a water park on Sunday. I know Mac is going out of town, but I thought you might still want to go. I mean, not as a date or anything. I’m going to invite the whole family.” “You don’t have to work Sunday?” “I got scheduled off.” “Sounds like fun. We could pack a picnic lunch--” “I’ll take care of that. As my thank you. All you have to do is bring yourself.” “And a bathing suit.” He grinned. “Yeah, and a bathing suit.” “And a towel. And suntan lotion…” “Maybe it’d be simpler if I just said I’ll take care of the tickets and eats.” “Okay, but I’ll go ahead and warn you not to take it personally that Mom and Dad aren’t really into water parks. It’s that whole not-using-the-exercise-equipment-as-intended thing Dad has going.” His grin grew. “I won’t take it personally.” “Okay, then, Sunday.” As though suddenly realized how intimate it seemed to be in my bedroom, he cleared his throat and took a step back. He gave my room one more look and took another step back. “It’s amazing what a room can reveal.” Then he walked down the hallway and knocked on Tiffany’s door. I wondered what he’d discover looking into her room.

They were all joking about the party at my place when they walked away. As I uncapped my drink, I noticed Michael was hanging back a bit. “Got something on your mind?” I called out, gesturing at him with my chin. He was a good player, he worked hard on the field, and I respected him. I got the feeling, though, that I wasn’t going to like what he wanted to say. I could tell by the hesitation in his face and body language. He probably disagreed with some of the plays I wanted to try tonight and didn’t want to piss me off in fear I would freeze him out on the field. But I wasn’t like that. I left personal shit in the locker room. There was no room for drama in the game. He walked back over in front of me as he adjusted the strap on his shoulder. “I’m not sure I should say anything.” “Just say it, man. It’s cool.” “I saw your girl this morning.” He started, and everything in me went cold. This wasn’t about football. This was personal. “You looking at Rimmel?” I asked, my voice calm and low. His eyes widened a little, but he shook his head. “No, man. I probably wouldn’t have known it was her, but she was wearing your hoodie.” I nodded for him to continue. “She was in the hall, outside her class,” he said, glancing at me. He needed to get to the fucking point already. I was losing patience. “That guy Zach was with her. It looked pretty intense.” I jerked upright. “What?” I growled. What the fuck was Rimmel doing with Zach? Why was he talking to her? “He was grabbing her arm. Jerking her around pretty good.” Red tinged my vision and adrenaline started pumping in my veins. “What did you just say?” Michael nodded grimly. “It’s why I noticed them. He grabbed her and she cried out. She told him to let go, but he just jerked her more. She almost fell.” A noise rumbled out of my chest and anger so swift and hot that it hurt filled me. “Tell me you pulled him off her,” I intoned. “I was going to. I called out to them and started forward, but that’s when he let her go and walked away.” I was going to kill him. Dead. “I asked her if she was okay. I don’t think she knew I’m on the team with you.” “Probably not,” I muttered, still trying to control the anger spiraling out of control inside me. “She said she was.” He continued, but I heard the doubt in his voice. “But?” The word came out harsher than I intended, but he didn’t seem to notice. “But her wrist was pretty red. Looked like it was going to bruise.” Thought ceased in my head. Rationality evaporated. “Thanks for telling me,” I said and rushed away in the opposite direction of my next class.

Legacy items. That’s the term we used to describe these golden moments. Sometimes we even knew what it meant. Taking out bin Laden was a legacy item. So was rescuing the auto industry, bringing troops home from Iraq and Afghanistan, or repealing “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” But just as often, we imagined our legacy with the starry eyes of a hobo describing the Big Rock Candy Mountain. We dreamed of a distant utopia, a sunny political paradise, where the credit flows like a waterfall and approvals stay sky-high. We weren’t there yet. With twenty months to go until POTUS left office, our place in history was far from certain. But inside the building, something had undoubtedly changed. President Obama’s jaunty, let’s-go-for-it attitude was infectious. We no longer felt like turtles in our shells. Our growing confidence was matched by growing competence as well. That’s not to disparage the early days: as White Houses go, Obama’s functioned fairly smoothly from the start. Still, the longer POTUS ran the institution, the more we learned from our mistakes. After the Healthcare.gov disaster, we began “red-teaming” a growing number of big decisions, assigning designated cynics to guard against undiluted hope. Confronted with its lack of diversity, Obamaworld gradually became a place where rooms full of white guys were the exception and not the rule. Baby steps, I know. But these baby steps made us a unicorn among bureaucracies—we improved over time. Somewhat to my astonishment, so did I. At the risk of sounding boastful, I had now gone two full years without angering a sovereign nation. Even better, the White House finally felt like home. There was no one moment when the transformation happened. I didn’t burst forth from a cocoon. It was more like learning a language. You study, you practice, you embarrass yourself. And then one day someone cuts you off in traffic and you call them a motherfucker in perfect Portuguese. Whoa, you think. I guess I’m learning.

The phone rang. It was a familiar voice. It was Alan Greenspan. Paul O'Neill had tried to stay in touch with people who had served under Gerald Ford, and he'd been reasonably conscientious about it. Alan Greenspan was the exception. In his case, the effort was constant and purposeful. When Greenspan was the chairman of Ford's Council of Economic Advisers, and O'Neill was number two at OMB, they had become a kind of team. Never social so much. They never talked about families or outside interests. It was all about ideas: Medicare financing or block grants - a concept that O'Neill basically invented to balance federal power and local autonomy - or what was really happening in the economy. It became clear that they thought well together. President Ford used to have them talk about various issues while he listened. After a while, each knew how the other's mind worked, the way married couples do. In the past fifteen years, they'd made a point of meeting every few months. It could be in New York, or Washington, or Pittsburgh. They talked about everything, just as always. Greenspan, O'Neill told a friend, "doesn't have many people who don't want something from him, who will talk straight to him. So that's what we do together - straight talk." O'Neill felt some straight talk coming in. "Paul, I'll be blunt. We really need you down here," Greenspan said. "There is a real chance to make lasting changes. We could be a team at the key moment, to do the things we've always talked about." The jocular tone was gone. This was a serious discussion. They digressed into some things they'd "always talked about," especially reforming Medicare and Social Security. For Paul and Alan, the possibility of such bold reinventions bordered on fantasy, but fantasy made real. "We have an extraordinary opportunity," Alan said. Paul noticed that he seemed oddly anxious. "Paul, your presence will be an enormous asset in the creation of sensible policy." Sensible policy. This was akin to prayer from Greenspan. O'Neill, not expecting such conviction from his old friend, said little. After a while, he just thanked Alan. He said he always respected his counsel. He said he was thinking hard about it, and he'd call as soon as he decided what to do. The receiver returned to its cradle. He thought about Greenspan. They were young men together in the capital. Alan stayed, became the most noteworthy Federal Reserve Bank chairman in modern history and, arguably the most powerful public official of the past two decades. O'Neill left, led a corporate army, made a fortune, and learned lessons - about how to think and act, about the importance of outcomes - that you can't ever learn in a government. But, he supposed, he'd missed some things. There were always trade-offs. Talking to Alan reminded him of that. Alan and his wife, Andrea Mitchell, White House correspondent for NBC news, lived a fine life. They weren't wealthy like Paul and Nancy. But Alan led a life of highest purpose, a life guided by inquiry. Paul O'Neill picked up the telephone receiver, punched the keypad. "It's me," he said, always his opening. He started going into the details of his trip to New York from Washington, but he's not much of a phone talker - Nancy knew that - and the small talk trailed off. "I think I'm going to have to do this." She was quiet. "You know what I think," she said. She knew him too well, maybe. How bullheaded he can be, once he decides what's right. How he had loved these last few years as a sovereign, his own man. How badly he was suited to politics, as it was being played. And then there was that other problem: she'd almost always been right about what was best for him. "Whatever, Paul. I'm behind you. If you don't do this, I guess you'll always regret it." But it was clearly about what he wanted, what he needed. Paul thanked her. Though somehow a thank-you didn't seem appropriate. And then he realized she was crying.

I find that while each partner might have needed some specific coaching, the real tests we faced were basically the same, season after season. We had to learn to move as a team. We had to master complex, carefully timed choreography. We had to face the hot lights and live action and the idea that millions of eyes were upon us. But beyond that, I needed to inspire and instill confidence in each person I coached and danced with. I needed to communicate with an open heart and empathetic, encouraging words. I had to critique usefully and praise strategically. I also needed to be my authentic self--exposing my personal vulnerabilities to win their trust. Ultimately, I had to make each of my partners embrace not just me, but also her own sill and power. Every partner I’ve danced with has it within them to kick ass and climb mountains. When you put yourself in a situation when you’re vulnerable, that’s when your power is revealed. And it’s always there; it’s part of your DNA. It’s like a woman walking into a room looking for the diamond necklace and realizing it’s around her neck. I’m not changing any of these ladies; I’m helping them rediscover themselves. And truth be told, that was never my goal. I never walked into a studio thinking, I’m going to transform this person’s life. I’m no therapist! I was just trying to put some damn routines together! But I realized after all these seasons that the dance is a metaphor for the journey. Every one of my partners has had a very different one. What they brought to the table was different; what they needed to overcome was different. But despite that, the same thing happens time and time again: the walls come tumbling down and they find their true selves. That I have anything at all to do with that is both thrilling and humbling. In the beginning, I thought I was just along for the ride--army candy. To touch a person’s life, to help them find their footing, is a gift, and I’m thankful I get to do it season after season.

In fact, the same basic ingredients can easily be found in numerous start-up clusters in the United States and around the world: Austin, Boston, New York, Seattle, Shanghai, Bangalore, Istanbul, Stockholm, Tel Aviv, and Dubai. To discover the secret to Silicon Valley’s success, you need to look beyond the standard origin story. When people think of Silicon Valley, the first things that spring to mind—after the HBO television show, of course—are the names of famous start-ups and their equally glamorized founders: Apple, Google, Facebook; Jobs/ Wozniak, Page/ Brin, Zuckerberg. The success narrative of these hallowed names has become so universally familiar that people from countries around the world can tell it just as well as Sand Hill Road venture capitalists. It goes something like this: A brilliant entrepreneur discovers an incredible opportunity. After dropping out of college, he or she gathers a small team who are happy to work for equity, sets up shop in a humble garage, plays foosball, raises money from sage venture capitalists, and proceeds to change the world—after which, of course, the founders and early employees live happily ever after, using the wealth they’ve amassed to fund both a new generation of entrepreneurs and a set of eponymous buildings for Stanford University’s Computer Science Department. It’s an exciting and inspiring story. We get the appeal. There’s only one problem. It’s incomplete and deceptive in several important ways. First, while “Silicon Valley” and “start-ups” are used almost synonymously these days, only a tiny fraction of the world’s start-ups actually originate in Silicon Valley, and this fraction has been getting smaller as start-up knowledge spreads around the globe. Thanks to the Internet, entrepreneurs everywhere have access to the same information. Moreover, as other markets have matured, smart founders from around the globe are electing to build companies in start-up hubs in their home countries rather than immigrating to Silicon Valley.

Me: You fucking whore. Hannah: What? Me: You know what. This pizza! Hannah: I don’t know what you’re talking about. Me: Your name is on the receipt. Hannah: CRAP! I thought it’d take you at least ten minutes to figure out it was me. Me: Yeah, crap! I am fucking mortified, you idiot. I’m trying to keep a low profile, but that delivery guy probably had to go talk to the guys at the counter to figure out where I was. I am humiliated, and you are the worst! Don’t you have your own book to write? How do you have time for this? Hannah: I’m shaking so hard with laughter, it’s difficult to type. Me: I had my earbuds in, so I didn’t hear him calling my name. He listed off the food you bought for a football team and then handed it all to me—the chubby ginger creeping in the corner. Goddamn you! Hannah: Is it good, though? I got you extra dipping sauces for those parm breadsticks. That cost extra, you know. I ain’t cheap. Me: I can’t eat it because my mortification has killed my appetite! But…this does give me an excuse to try out the fountain pop machine, so…silver lining. Hannah: My eyes are wet from laughing so hard. Me: Yuck it up, yucky yuckerson. God, I was in the middle of writing an anal scene, so I was super in the zone too…it’s no wonder I didn’t hear him. Hannah: STOP. MY STOMACH IS KILLING ME…ON ACCOUNT OF ALL THE LAUGHING. Me: Well played, whore. Well played. And it’s the burn that keeps on burning b/c my inner cheap girl will NOT let me throw these leftovers away. So I’m going to have to carry them out of here. Hannah: Oh, I was counting on that. Want to hear something horrible? Me: What? Hannah: I was going to do a sub delivery, but then I decided the pizza boxes were more embarrassing. Me: You’re dead to me.   Fifteen minutes later.   Hannah: So I’ve been picturing you sulking and refusing to eat for the past fifteen minutes and then finally giving up and eating it anyway. Am I close? Me: OMG, it’s like you’re here with me. That’s exactly what I did. This food is delicious btw. But I’m still not thankful. Hannah: But you’re always welcome. ;) Best $53 I ever spent.

When players study all those patterns, they are mastering tactics. Bigger-picture planning in chess—how to manage the little battles to win the war—is called strategy. As Susan Polgar has written, “you can get a lot further by being very good in tactics”—that is, knowing a lot of patterns—“and have only a basic understanding of strategy.” Thanks to their calculation power, computers are tactically flawless compared to humans. Grandmasters predict the near future, but computers do it better. What if, Kasparov wondered, computer tactical prowess were combined with human big-picture, strategic thinking? In 1998, he helped organize the first “advanced chess” tournament, in which each human player, including Kasparov himself, paired with a computer. Years of pattern study were obviated. The machine partner could handle tactics so the human could focus on strategy. It was like Tiger Woods facing off in a golf video game against the best gamers. His years of repetition would be neutralized, and the contest would shift to one of strategy rather than tactical execution. In chess, it changed the pecking order instantly. “Human creativity was even more paramount under these conditions, not less,” according to Kasparov. Kasparov settled for a 3–3 draw with a player he had trounced four games to zero just a month earlier in a traditional match. “My advantage in calculating tactics had been nullified by the machine.” The primary benefit of years of experience with specialized training was outsourced, and in a contest where humans focused on strategy, he suddenly had peers. A few years later, the first “freestyle chess” tournament was held. Teams could be made up of multiple humans and computers. The lifetime-of-specialized-practice advantage that had been diluted in advanced chess was obliterated in freestyle. A duo of amateur players with three normal computers not only destroyed Hydra, the best chess supercomputer, they also crushed teams of grandmasters using computers. Kasparov concluded that the humans on the winning team were the best at “coaching” multiple computers on what to examine, and then synthesizing that information for an overall strategy. Human/Computer combo teams—known as “centaurs”—were playing the highest level of chess ever seen. If Deep Blue’s victory over Kasparov signaled the transfer of chess power from humans to computers, the victory of centaurs over Hydra symbolized something more interesting still: humans empowered to do what they do best without the prerequisite of years of specialized pattern recognition.

Never treat your launch team like a core group. It’s not. Your launch team is a time-limited, purpose-driven team. It ends with the debriefing session following your launch. At that meeting, release the launch team members to join a ministry team of their choice. Your launch team will not stay with you over the long haul. Many church planters make the mistake of thinking that the people from their launch team (whom they have grown to love) will be the same people who will grow the church with them in the long term. That is seldom, if ever, the case. While it’s sad to see people go, it’s part of God’s process in growing your church. So, expect it, be prepared for it, and be thankful that you have the opportunity to serve with so many different people at different points along the journey. Preparing a launch team to maximize your first service is first and foremost a spiritual enterprise. Pray and fast—a lot. Don’t be fooled into thinking that being a solid leader undermines the spirit of teamwork. You can lead a team, hold people accountable and ensure that things get done in a way that fosters teamwork and gives glory to God. So get ready. show people your heart before you ask for their hand. People want to know that you care, and they want to be part of something bigger than themselves. If you can articulate your vision in a way that excites people, they’ll want to be on your team. The launch team is not a democracy. Don’t vote. You are the leader. Lead. While it’s true that you want to share the gospel with as many people as possible, you will need to develop a clear picture of the specific demographic your new church is targeting in order to effectively reach the greatest number of people. Diffused light has little impact, but focused light has the ability to cut through steel. Take time to focus so that you are able to reach the specific people God has called you to. 1. Who Are the Key Population Groups Living in My Area? 2. What Population Group Is Not Being Reached Effectively? 3. What Population Group Do I Best Relate To? Healthy organisms grow, and that includes your church. If you feel stagnation setting in, your job is not to push growth any way you can but to identify the barriers that are hindering you and remove them. The only people who like full rooms are preachers and worship leaders. If you ignore this barrier, your church will stop growing. Early on, it’s best to remain flexible. The last thing you want to do is get in a position in which God can’t grow you because you aren’t logistically prepared. What if twice as many people showed up this Sunday? Would you be ready? When a lead pastor isn’t growing: The church stops growing, the sermons are stale, The staff and volunteers stop growing, The passion for ministry wanes. Keeping your church outwardly focused is just as important now as it was during your prelaunch stage. Make sure that you are continually working to expand God’s kingdom, not building your own. A healthy launch is the single greatest indicator of future church health.

I got your flowers. They’re beautiful, thank you.” A gorgeous riot of Gerber daisies and lilies in a rainbow of reds, pinks, yellows and oranges. “Welcome. Bet Duncan loved sending one of his guys out to pick them up for me.” She could hear the smile in his voice, imagined the devilish twinkle in his eyes. “Oh, he did. Said it’s probably the first time in the history of WITSEC that a U.S. Marshal delivered flowers to one of their witnesses.” A low chuckle. “Well, this was a special circumstance, so they helped me out.” “I loved the card you sent with them the best though.” Proud of you. Give ‘em hell tomorrow. He’d signed it Nathan rather than Nate, which had made her smile. “I had no idea you were romantic,” she continued. “All these interesting things I’m learning about you.” She hadn’t been able to wipe the silly smile off her face after one of the security team members had knocked on her door and handed them to her with a goofy smile and a, “special delivery”. “Baby, you haven’t seen anything yet. When the trial’s done you’re gonna get all the romance you can handle, and then some.” “Really?” Now that was something for a girl to look forward to, and it sure as hell did the trick in taking her mind off her worries. “Well I’m all intrigued, because it’s been forever since I was romanced. What do you have in mind? Candlelit dinners? Going to the movies? Long walks? Lazy afternoon picnics?” “Not gonna give away my hand this early on, but I’ll take those into consideration.” “And what’s the key to your heart, by the way? I mean, other than the thing I did to you this morning.” “What thing is that? Refresh my memory,” he said, a teasing note in his voice. She smiled, enjoying the light banter. It felt good to let her worry about tomorrow go and focus on what she had to look forward to when this was all done. Being with him again, seeing her family, getting back to her life. A life that would hopefully include Nathan in a romantic capacity. “Waking you up with my mouth.” He gave a low groan. “I loved every second of it. But think simpler.” Simpler than sex? For a guy like him? “Food, then. I bet you’re a sucker for a home-cooked meal. Am I right?” He chuckled. “That works too, but it’s still not the key.” “Then what?” “You.” She blinked, her heart squeezing at the conviction behind his answer. “Me?” “Yeah, just you. And maybe bacon,” he added, a smile in his voice. He was so freaking adorable. “So you’re saying if I made and served you a BLT, you’d be putty in my hands?” Seemed hard to imagine, but okay. A masculine rumble filled her ears. “God, yeah.” She couldn’t help the sappy smile that spread across her face. “Wow, you are easy. And I can definitely arrange that.” “I can hardly wait. Will you serve it to me naked? Or maybe wearing just a frilly little apron and heels?” She smothered a laugh, but a clear image of her doing just that popped into her head, serving him the sandwich in that sexy outfit while watching his eyes go all heated. “Depends on how good you are.” “Oh, baby, I’ll be so good to you, you have no idea.

Excuse me, sir.” One the young officers put his hand up to stop them. “Are you Furious Barkley?” “Maybe. Maybe not. Is there a problem, officers?” Doug stepped in front of Furi. “Damn straight there’s a problem.” Syn stepped inside the door, yanking his dark aviator glasses off his face. The scowl he wore told Furi this was not a pleasant coincidence. “Thanks guys, you can go.” Furi stood with his mouth hanging open while Syn dismissed the officers. “Seriously, Starsky. You gonna track my boy down every time he leaves the house?” Doug said angrily, still blocking Furi. “He’s not your boy. And what I do regarding Furi is none of your goddamn business.” Syn’s clenched jaw made his words sound like an evil hiss. He shouldered past Doug and got directly in Furi’s face. “When I’ve been calling him for over six hours and he hasn’t picked up or returned any of my calls, I’ll send a fuckin’ SWAT team to find him if I want to.” Syn spun and pointed his finger in Doug’s face, “That’s my say, not yours.” Syn’s voice was rising with his growing temper, and all eyes were on them. “Okay, let’s get out of here.” Furi pushed at both men, urging them out the door. As soon as they were out in the brisk fall air, Syn rounded on Furi, pushing their chest together. “Where have you been, Furious? I’ve been going crazy trying to check on you, and you’re sitting here casually eating pancakes,” Syn growled. “Hey, back up, man.” Doug tried to wedge in between Furi and Syn. Syn looked up in annoyance. “Doug, I swear, if you touch me, I’m gonna ensure that you never regain the use of that hand.” “Okay, okay.” Furi put both hands flat on Syn’s chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat underneath all that muscle. Fuck. He really was scared. What was I thinking turning off my phone with everything that’s going on? “Syn. I’m so sorry. I turned my phone off because–” “You don’t owe him an explanation. You’re a grown man, Furious. You were having a business meeting; he has no right to demand you be available to him at all times, just like Patrick.” Furi and Syn both snapped at Doug. But Furi took control. “Hey! Don’t you ever say that again. This man is nothing like that asshole.” Furi shook his head at the absurdity of Doug’s accusation. “Don’t even say his name in the same sentence as Patrick’s.” Doug looked at Furi as if he were a stranger. “Doug, you don’t know everything that’s been going on. But I promise I’ll catch you up, okay? Then you’re going to feel pretty shitty about what you just said about Syn.” Furi nodded his head. “Go home. I’ll call you when I’m back at Syn’s place.” “You’re staying with him?” Doug yelled. “Doug. You know it’s not safe at my place,” Furi said softly, his eyes pleading with his friend for him to understand. “Then you should come to stay with me. I don’t trust this guy!” “This is fuckin’ crazy,” Syn snarled. “I know you’re his friend, but you’re sounding more pissed than a friend should be.” “Don’t try to read me, Detective. Furi is my best friend, and I’ve had his back since the first day he got here.” Doug wasn’t backing down from Syn’s intimidating posture. Syn’s dark glasses were back on, creating a perfectly badass look with his black leather coat and boots. All the hardware Syn had tucked under his arms and the shiny badge hanging around his neck was a sight right out of a sexy cop porno.

Her enormous eyes were staring straight into his silver ones. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t let go of her hand. He couldn’t have moved if his life depended on it. He was lost in those blue-violet eyes, somewhere in their mysterious, haunting, sexy depths. What was it he had decided? Decreed? He was not going to allow her anywhere near Peter’s funeral. Why was his resolve fading away to nothing? He had reasons, good reasons. He was certain of it. Yet now, drowning in her huge eyes, his thoughts on the length of her lashes, the curve of her cheek, the feel of her skin, he couldn’t think of denying her. After all, she hadn’t tried to defy him; she didn’t know he had made the decision to keep her away from Peter’s funeral. She was including him in the plans, as if they were a unit, a team. She was asking his advice. Would it be so terrible to please her over this? It was important to her. He blinked to keep from falling into her gaze and found himself staring at the perfection of her mouth. The way her lips parted so expectantly. The way the tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her full lower lip. Almost a caress. He groaned. An invitation. He braced himself to keep from leaning over and tracing the exact path with his own tongue. He was being tortured. Tormented. Her perfect lips formed a slight frown. He wanted to kiss it right off her mouth. “What is it, Gregori?” She reached up to touch his lips with her fingertip. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest. He caught her wrist and clamped it against his pumping heart. “Savannah,” he whispered. An ache. It came out that way. An ache. He knew it. She knew it. God, he wanted her with every cell in his body. Untamed. Wild. Crazy. He wanted to bury himself so deep inside her that she would never get him out. Her hand trembled in answer, a slight movement rather like the flutter of butterfly wings. He felt it all the way through his body. “It is all right, mon amour,” he said softly. “I am not asking for anything.” “I know you’re not. I’m not denying you anything. I know we need to have time to become friends, but I’m not going to deny what I feel already. When you’re close to me, my body temperature jumps about a thousand degrees.” Her blue eyes were dark and beckoning, steady on his. He touched her mind very gently, almost tenderly, slipped past her guard and knew what courage it took for her to make the admission. She was nervous, even afraid, but willing to meet him halfway. The realization nearly brought him to his knees. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and the silver eyes heated to molten mercury, but his face was as impassive as ever. “I think you are a witch, Savannah, casting a spell over me.” His hand cupped her face, his thumb sliding over her delicate cheekbone. She moved closer, and he felt her need for comfort, for reassurance. Her arms slid tentatively around his waist. Her head rested on his sternum. Gregori held her tightly, simply held her, waiting for her trembling to cease. Waiting for the warmth of his body to seep into hers. Gregori’s hand came up to stroke the thick length of silken, ebony hair, taking pleasure in the simple act. It brought a measure of peace to both of them. He would never have believed what a small thing like holding a woman could do to a man. She was turning his heart inside out; unfamiliar emotions surged wildly through him and wreaked havoc with his well-ordered life. In his arms, next to his hard strength, she felt fragile, delicate, like an exotic flower that could be easily broken. “Do not worry about Peter, ma petite,” he whispered into the silken strands of her hair. “We will see to his resting place tomorrow.” “Thank you, Gregori,” Savannah said. “It matters a lot to me.” He lifted her easily into his arms. “I know. It would be simpler if I did not. Come to my bed, chérie, where you belong.

Somewhere very nearby, a horse snorted, and he felt something nibbling at his coat. Reluctantly, he ended the kiss and found Buckwheat nipping his pocket to check for carrots. “Hey, knock that off.” Janet laughed, patted the horse’s neck. “I suppose he wants attention, too.” “Yeah, well, I’m sure as hell not kissing him.” She laughed again, her gaze meeting his. “Thank you, Jack.” “You do realize you kissed me, right? You know what that means.” She smiled, the seductive glint in her eyes making his heart skip a beat. “I guess you have no choice now but to kiss me back.” He had no choice. No choice at all.

Behold, this is the joy of his way, and out of the earth shall others grow. —Job 8:19 (KJV) I often tell people that sometimes life is like Roller Derby: We may be skating along at the back of the pack, until God grabs our hands and whips us to the front to score. But sitting on a plane departing Atlanta for Kansas City, I was discouraged. I had been hard at work on a project that I thought would take six months to complete. Six months stretched to two years and then five. The more I worked, the further behind I was. The flight attendant interrupted my thoughts: “We will be taking off as soon as our last few passengers arrive.” When a young woman slid into the seat beside me, I glanced at her and the other interesting-looking last-minute boarders. Two words popped into my brain: Roller Derby! “Hi,” I said to my seatmate. “Are you all some sort of team?” She nodded. “We play for the Kansas City Roller Warriors.” I giggled as I recalled Roller Derby matches I’d watched on TV as a child. I rejoiced thinking that I sat in the presence of roller-skating angels, living reenactors of the metaphor I used to encourage others. I chuckled. Life is like Roller Derby. I am never so behind that God cannot reach down His mighty hand and whip me forward. God, thank You for making me smile. When I feel frustrated or too far behind, help me to remember Your Roller Derby angels. —Sharon Foster Digging Deeper: Prv 17:22; Phil 4:4

Have you adopted any new ideas or practices generated by your staff and lawyers? Yes. In the pricing area, our policy is that if you come up with a new way to price with the customer, then do it. The young people have come up with ways to use Twitter, for example, to keep up with customers. That comes from the younger people, not from my generation. Over the past fifteen years, we’ve had lots of contributions from staff to keep our model and practices up to date and responsive. Everyone takes this seriously. A couple years ago, someone on staff was talking about a late-night brief or a big project, and two to three other legal assistants stayed until midnight to help this person out. They coined the phrase, “The Summit team runs toward the fire.” If I’m doing something that requires a late-night effort, I don’t have to go to anyone to get permission for help and work and support from others. Another person who doesn’t have anything on the case will run to the project to help out. That happens every single day. The staff sees a problem someone else has, and they run to the problem to help out. This stuff just happens. It’s one of the things I’m most proud of. Many years ago, someone sent an email thanking other people for helping. No one officially adopted the practice, but somebody did it, and it was rewarded, and now whenever someone does something they should be congratulated for, someone sends an email to everyone in the firm praising the efforts of that person to everyone else in the firm. Those emails fly around Summit on a daily basis. That has the impact of encouraging supportive behavior and making it part of the way Summit operates.

The entire problem is this victim mentality. When did that start? Life’s not turning out the way they said it would when you were in first grade. You’re not the president or a movie star or playing center field for the Yankees. Guess what? They lied! Move on! You come from incredible stock! Immigrants who chewed through it all and spit it out with thanks: Ellis Island, Manifest Destiny, the dust bowls, Normandy, and for what? For a society that now encourages everyone to choose up excuse teams: My attention span’s a little off, sometimes I’m nervous, sometimes I’m tired, insults make me sad, I was unfairly labeled slow in school when I really just didn’t want to do any work, a diet of super-size French fries turned me into a human zeppelin, your honor, so I need to be given a lot of money….

Dear Mrs. Wellington: I am interested in applying for the position with Beachwear International as Purchasing Manager and have enclosed my résumé for your review. I am certain that I can be a valuable asset to your team and meet and exceed the goals and objectives for this position. I respect your time and feel confident that my value, past achievements, and ability to contribute are well outlined in my résumé. If you feel, as I do, that I would be a significant member of your professional staff, I would welcome an interview at your earliest convenience. Thank you for your consideration, and I look forward to hearing back from you.

You suck, Gameknight, Dreadlord typed from jail, the respawn point after your character died in this game of team PvP. Yeah, thanks a lot, Salz added. LOL, Gameknight replied then turned and headed back into the heart of the battle.

Over the past few months, we have introduced a number of great benefits and tools to make us more productive, efficient and fun. With the introduction of initiatives like FYI, Goals and PB&J, we want everyone to participate in our culture and contribute to the positive momentum. From Sunnyvale to Santa Monica, Bangalore to Beijing—I think we can all feel the energy and buzz in our offices. To become the absolute best place to work, communication and collaboration will be important, so we need to be working side-by-side. That is why it is critical that we are all present in our offices. Some of the best decisions and insights come from hallway and cafeteria discussions, meeting new people, and impromptu team meetings. Speed and quality are often sacrificed when we work from home. We need to be one Yahoo, and that starts with physically being together. Beginning in June, we’re asking all employees with work-from-home arrangements to work in Yahoo offices. If this impacts you, your management has already been in touch with next steps. And, for the rest of us who occasionally have to stay home for the cable guy, please use your best judgment in the spirit of collaboration. Being a Yahoo isn’t just about your day-to-day job, it is about the interactions and experiences that are only possible in our offices. Thanks to all of you, we’ve already made remarkable progress as a company—and the best is yet to come. Jackie

He held Galen to a walk because Mollie felt too good leaning against his chest. He wrapped one arm about her waist and drew her even closer. She tipped her face back to look at him. “We made a good team tonight, didn’t we?” He thought they’d make a good team every night. If she would consent to a different type of partnership. He squeezed her a little tighter. “We made an excellent team. Thank you for coming.” “I’ll come whenever you need me, Jacob.” Her face looked so earnest. It seemed only natural to bend down and touch his lips to hers. “I fear I’ll always need you, Mollie.” He whispered the words in her ear, low and gruff. Then he kissed her again. Urgent. Breathless. A kiss that conveyed all his words could not. Her lips responded, softening under his onslaught. Her fingers tangled in the hair at his nape as she turned to accept his kiss more fully. A warmth that defied the predawn coolness suffused him. This was his woman. Galen meandered to a halt at his master’s lack of attention, then shifted restlessly. The sideways motion brought Jacob back to his senses. He eased his lips away from Mollie’s and stroked his hand over her hair. Her dazed expression made him smile. One of these days, he really ought to try kissing her when their feet were on the ground.

It’s always disappointing when you have a good team but you don’t win it all. But as disappointed as I was, this past season was a good reminder of just how special the 2006 season had been. Most teams don’t end up winning that final game with that perfect ending—just like life. We are thankful for the one time that we did. Those “perfect ending” moments in life need to be savored, as well as the journey itself, whether it ends at the Super Bowl or not.

It’s complicated, and I won’t pretend that part of me still feels betrayed by what he did. But once I got home, after a while it dawned on me that I had a choice to make if I wanted to move on with my life. Just because our pasts are part of us, it doesn’t mean they have to define us. I refused to give my past that kind of power over me. So I chose to let it go.” “How could you let that go?” he asked, his tone and expression incredulous. “How could you let that go after what he did to you? What they did to you?” “Forgiveness,” she answered. She knew it sounded overly simplistic and probably cheesy, but that’s exactly what had helped her break from the past. “Hassan saw himself as a patriot, first and foremost. He did what he had to in order to accomplish his mission, and did what he could to protect me at the same time. It’s why he married me, so I was off limits to the others.” She was thankful for that too, in hindsight. The alternative was beyond bearing. “He risked everything to get me out of that hellish situation, and wound up paying for my freedom with his life.” Taya paused to pull in a slow breath. “I’ve forgiven him for the rest of it. I had to, to be able to go on. But I didn’t forgive him for his sake. I forgave him for mine.” She needed Nathan to understand the difference. “Forgiveness was what earned me my true freedom.” He was quiet a moment. “Well then, you’re a better person than me,” he said in a low voice, his eyes burning with emotion.

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Thankfully, over time, I have come to realize those skills initially dismissed as “soft”—communicating a vision, providing feedback, or leading a team—are fundamental to everything we try to do in business. You don't create a successful, sustainable, and scalable organization unless you can engage the people within the organization to work together. The “best friend at work” from the

Thanks for calling. Be safe and I can’t wait to see you.” “Hang tight, sweetheart. I’ll be with you in spirit tomorrow and watching over you from close by.” Her throat tightened. His words gave her additional strength to take into the courtroom with her.

The Razorbacks would play Duke, the NCAA champs in 1991 and 1992. Duke had a host of great players, but their star was Grant Hill, a consensus pick for national Player of the Year honors. The day before the championship, Richardson grew pensive. He was reasonably proud of his accomplishments, but something was nagging him. Richardson had been the underdog so long that despite his team’s yearlong national ranking, he still felt dispossessed. He found himself pondering one of Arkansas’s little-used substitutes, a senior named Ken Biley. Biley was an undersized post player who was raised in Pine Bluff. Neither of his parents had the opportunity to go to college, but every one of his fifteen siblings did, and nearly all graduated. “I had already learned that everybody has to play his role,” Biley says of his upbringing. As a freshman and sophomore, Biley saw some court time and even started a couple of games, but his playing time later evaporated and he lost faith. “Everyone wants to play, and when you don’t you get discouraged,” he says. On two occasions, he sat down with his coach and asked what he could do to earn a more important role. “I never demanded anything,” Biley says, “and he told me exactly what I needed to do, but we had so many good players ahead of me. Corliss Williamson, for one.” Nearly every coach, under the pressure of a championship showdown, reverts to the basic strategies that got the team into the finals. But Richardson couldn’t stop thinking about Biley, and what a selfless worker he had been for four years. The day before the championship game against Duke, at the conclusion of practice, Richardson pulled Biley aside. Biley had hardly played in the first five playoff games leading up to the NCAA title match—a total of four minutes. “I’ve watched how your career has progressed, and how you’ve handled not getting to play,” Richardson began. “I appreciate the leadership you’ve been showing and I want to reward you, as a senior.” “Thanks coach,” Biley said. He was unprepared for what came next. “You’re starting tomorrow against Duke,” Richardson said. “And you’re guarding Grant Hill.” Biley was speechless. Then overcome with emotion. “I was shocked, freaked out!” Biley says. “I hadn’t played much for two years. I just could not believe it.” Biley had plenty of time to think about Grant Hill. “I was a nervous wreck, like you’d expect,” he says. He had a restless night—he stared at the ceiling, sat on the edge of his bed, then flopped around trying to sleep. Richardson had disdained book coaches for years. Now he was throwing the book in the trash by starting a benchwarmer in the NCAA championship game.

Is she okay?” “Yes, but… Well, son, she’s pregnant.” Nate laughed. “Are you serious?” “Yes, I’m serious. I’m not exactly sure how it happened, but—” “Now, Dad, I thought we already had this talk.” This was followed by more laughter. “I think you breeded Janet like Chinook—” “Son, shut your mouth for a minute.” When Jack was satisfied that Nate was listening, he went on. “Because of her age and her injuries, there are a fair number of risks. She’s got hyperemesis gravi… hell, something that makes her throw up a lot, so they’re giving her IV fluids and some drug to stop the nausea.” “Poor thing. I hope it helps. Is there any risk to her or the baby right now?” “We have a lot of questions, but not many answers yet.” “God, I can’t wait to tell Megan.” “See that you don’t tell anyone else. I want to put a ring on her finger and walk her down the aisle before word of this gets out so that no one can accuse her of forcing me into marriage or say that I married her just because I got her pregnant.” For some reason, this made Nate laugh again. “A father at the age of sixty-four.” “I’m sixty-three.” “You won’t be by the time the baby arrives.” “Shit.” He hadn’t thought of that. “Seriously, congratulations, Dad. This baby is very lucky to have you as a father. Trust me on this. I know.” Jack’s throat suddenly got tight. “Thanks, son.

Studies have shown that for people to be happy and productive at work, they need to experience positive interactions (appreciation, praise) vs. negative (reprimands, criticism) with their manager in a ratio of at least 3:1. (Watch out: For a marriage to work, you actually need a 5:1 ratio!!) So make it a simple habit to thank people each and every day — and that includes using the word generously in emails to your team.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! —2 Corinthians 5:17 (NIV) It’s amazing what a few gallons of butter-yellow paint can do for your soul. As I stepped out of a difficult year that included financial hardship and a painful divorce, I wanted my home to reflect not only my survival, but also my hope and renewed joy. I got rid of every painting and hung up blank white canvases waiting for colors and inspiration. Old photos were taken down and new ones were framed. My dingy linoleum floors were covered by bright laminate wood, and the dining room chairs were newly dressed in dark, childproof upholstery. As my home was undergoing its slow rebirth, I asked advice from carpenters who had come to my church on a missions trip from North Carolina. “I’m thinking of building a loft bed for my boys,” I said. I wanted them to have space for all their toys. “Is it safe to use my old bed frame to build it?” “Why don’t you wait till we get back to New York City next month?” they responded. I waited and painted my sons’ walls the color of sunny skies, and when the team finally returned they had a surprise waiting for me: the loft bed! I was overwhelmed by their generosity and love. As they installed the bed, I could feel God’s hand in it. He’d done so much to transform me on the inside and now He was helping me transform everything else. Lord, thank You for the gift of renewal. —Karen Valentin Digging Deeper: Rom 12:2; 1 Pt 1:13

Freddy and Mr. Bean helped the cow up, but she was laughing so hard that she fell right down again. “Thanks,” she said, “but you better just leave me here until I get my legs sorted out. My sakes, I was trying to cut a figure eight, but my front legs started on one loop and my hind legs started on the other, and I guess it’s a mercy I fell down. If I’d kept on you’d never have got me untangled.” So

 “Do you think I should go for a drive with her?” she asks, looking at the door. “Like, is she crazy?” “I don’t know.” I run my hands through my hair. “I didn’t even know she felt this way...” She walks over to the car and buckles her in with ease, then she climbs in the truck and lowers the window. “Will you text me a code?” I look at her, confused. “To tell me you’re still alive and she didn’t kill a rabbit or something.” Fuck, she’s stunning and funny, and all I want to do is sit with her and talk. I want to know what she’s done for the past ten days. Did she go out on a date? I mean, not that I have a say in it, but did she? “I’ll call you the minute she leaves.” “We should have a code word,” she says, and I think she’s joking, but from her face, I know she isn’t. “What color is the brown bear?” She looks at me. “The answer is.” “Brown,” I answer her. “No!” she shrieks out. “The color is purple. That will be a trick.” “Good God,” I mumble. “I saw it on a Dateline episode.” I have so many questions now. “So when you call, if you don’t say purple, I’m calling in the SWAT team.” “We are going to have so much to talk about when you come back,” I say, shaking my head. “So much.” “Whatever.” She rolls her eyes. “You’ll thank me if you are being held against your will.” She closes the window, and I watch her drive away and then brace myself for what I’m walking into... I dump the pan in the sink and then go to my phone and dial Candace, who answers right away. “Hey.” I sit on the couch. “I just paid for the food, and I’m walking out. What color is the brown bear?” she asks, and I can tell that she is rushing to the car. I want to laugh, but I know that if it were me, I’d be worried, too. “Purple.” “I’m not going to lie,” she says, now quietly. “I almost called 911 anyway.

Another big developer in New York had a new condominium project I desperately wanted to sell in Park Slope. I pitched my heart out for this project, but the developer didn’t go with me—he thought I was too small at the time. I could have just been annoyed or angry. Too small?? Really? Or I could follow back to show that this perceived flaw was ultimately something that didn’t matter at all. I decided to send the developer a gift as a thank-you for letting me pitch him. I ordered a 10-foot fig tree that took four people to deliver and had it sent to his office with a note that simply read, “IMPACT.” My new development team may have been small at the time, but make no mistake, I know how to make an impact.

I met with Chad Logan a few days after our first get-together. I told him that I would explain my point of view and then let him decide whether he wanted to work with me on strategy. I said: I think you have a lot of ambition, but you don’t have a strategy. I don’t think it would be useful, right now, to work with your managers on strategies for meeting the 20/20 goal. What I would advise is that you first work to discover the very most promising opportunities for the business. Those opportunities may be internal, fixing bottlenecks and constraints in the way people work, or external. To do this, you should probably pull together a small team of people and take a month to do a review of who your buyers are, who you compete with, and what opportunities exist. It’s normally a good idea to look very closely at what is changing in your business, where you might get a jump on the competition. You should open things up so there are as many useful bits of information on the table as possible. If you want, I can help you structure some of this process and, maybe, help you ask some of the right questions. The end result will be a strategy that is aimed at channeling energy into what seem to be one or two of the most attractive opportunities, where it looks like you can make major inroads or breakthroughs. I can’t tell you in advance how large such opportunities are, or where they may be. I can’t tell you in advance how fast revenues will grow. Perhaps you will want to add new services, or cut back on doing certain things that don’t make a profit. Perhaps you will find it more promising to focus on grabbing the graphics work that currently goes in-house, rather than to competitors. But, in the end, you should have a very short list of the most important things for the company to do. Then you will have a basis for moving forward. That is what I would do were I in your shoes. If you continue down the road you are on you will be counting on motivation to move the company forward. I cannot honestly recommend that as a way forward because business competition is not just a battle of strength and wills; it is also a competition over insights and competencies. My judgment is that motivation, by itself, will not give this company enough of an edge to achieve your goals. Chad Logan thanked me and, a week later, retained someone else to help him. The new consultant took Logan and his department managers through an exercise he called “Visioning.” The gist of it was the question “How big do you think this company can be?” In the morning they stretched their aspirations from “bigger” to “very much bigger.” Then, in the afternoon, the facilitator challenged them to an even grander vision: “Think twice as big as that,” he pressed. Logan

[Sebastian explains why he won't leave Boston] "Because I hate the cold and the forty-two different seasons this city experiences and the leaves"—it had to be noted that he said leaves with jazz hands, and I couldn't tell if those were ironic jazz hands or not—"and then cobblestones, which must've been invented by an orthopedic surgeon, and everything is old as fuck and that's supposed to be special, and the roads"—he cringed with his entire body—"the fucking roads look like a child with no object permanence drew them. They make no sense, none at all, and don't get me started on the sports. These people and their sports. My god. Do you know about the turkeys? There are turkeys here, Shap, they're all over the place, they don't appreciate that we're sharing their habitat, and they'll chase the fuck out of you if you're not careful. And then there's the coffee, which used to be the only part of my day that didn't piss me off but now I can't just order coffee, I have to also join a cult. And you can't park. You just can't park in this town. Don't try. Not worth it, but it means you have to walk on the danger rocks and you better believe they'll be slippery as hell because all the leaves came down between hot wind season and cold hurricane season so you'll roll an ankle just to dodge the turkeys and order a regular coffee which you must drink with cream and sugar by order of the cult but it's going to be free because one of the sports teams finally won a game—and thank fuck for that because they're not out driving drunk or beating on each other for one blessed night." He gave a brisk shake of his head. "That's why I can't leave." I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. "Because you hate everything?" "Yeah. I hate it all so thoroughly that I'm sure I'd never find anywhere else to hate with such completeness. Without all of this resentment, I'd be empty inside.

And they wouldn’t hold it against me, nor did I think they were infringing on my ‘leadership turf.’ On the contrary, I would thank them for covering for me. Leadership isn’t one person leading a team. It is a group of leaders working together, up and down the chain of command, to lead. If you are on your own, I don’t care how good you are, you won’t be able to handle it.

Hi friend, can you believe we're already a month into the new year? One of my resolutions when it began was how to make it different from the previous year, which started with similar resolutions and goals but ended with most unfulfilled. Maybe you’ve had that problem too? That’s why I’m kindly sharing with you today a solution to this problem I found in this quote: “You do not rise to the level of your goals. You fall to the level of your systems”. That bit of insight is from James Clear, author of the book “Atomic Habits”, and one of the key takeaways in my book on “Personal Growth”, which is also on Amazon. The is the quick explanation I gave for his words in my book: “Having specific goals is important, but having a good system in place to achieve them is even more important”. So, if we reflect on each resolution you and I made or goal we set at the start of this year, we do well to ask “What system or set of daily actions or behaviors have I put in place to enable myself to achieve it?” A system makes all the difference, not just having a goal, writing it down or repeating it every day. As Clear illustrates in his book, goals in themselves are overrated sometimes because, before the Superbowl, both teams or coaches had the ‘goal’ of winning it, but only one had the better system to achieve it. That was the team that actually won! So, having a good system in place to achieve our goals is just as important, if not more so, than simply having the goal. I will be sharing insights like this one as regular public LinkedIn posts each week. If you're interested in following along, please do. But no pressure, I completely understand if this type of content isn't your cup of tea. Just wanted to reach out and share something that has been impactful for me. Thanks for reading and have a great day!

How are earthworms going to get on board?” Sulfur asked, half-joking. “Good question. We’ll make sure there’s a way.” Zest looked at the structure with a critical eye. Acorn was confused. “Why would earthworms need transit?” Sulfur arched an eyebrow. “They’re members of the public.” “OK, I’ll put worm accessibility on the list.” With nonchalant acceptance, Acorn saved the audio of their last few seconds of conversation to a local to-do list for the team. “Probably they can use the same ramp as the naked mole rats, but we should check to be sure whether they might need some moist dirt to sit in during the ride.” “Thanks.” Zest sounded surprised but happy. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually do that.” Acorn tilted their head to the side quizzically. “Why wouldn’t we?

I didn't have the energy to scream at the flasher or yell for security. And besides, the 'security team' was just a bunch of tanned strippers in peekabook bikini briefs and heels. So I took matters into my own hands. 'Thank God you're here. Get on top of me right now and force-feed me all of that man meat!' I shouted at him. 'Your penis is irresistible to me! I must have it in my body right this minute!' I started to back him into a corner. 'No, don't put it back inside your pants! I require all of the services you are offering me. I request that you inspect my vaginables and see if they meet your exacting standards!' As I pulled my own pants down, he ran out of the building, never so scared in his life.

Thank you for coming, everyone,” Elvis called out. “Shall we get the party started?” Seth and January traded vows in front of their friends and family, the bright sun shining down on them. “I now pronounce you badass and wife,” Elvis said.

Officers with lace on their gray sleeves and civilians in black claw-hammer coats bustled in and out of Mechanic's Hall, as if the place were an ant's nest, with some workers going forth to forage and others returning with their spoils. Luke pulled up right in front of the building. A Confederate with the two stars of a lieutenant colonel on his collar shouted, "You damned stupid nigger, what do you think you're doing, blocking the-" The words stuck in his throat when Lee got out of the carriage. He pulled himself to attention and snapped off a salute that would have done credit to a cadet from the Virginia Military Institute. Lee turned and said, "Thank you, Luke," before he returned it. The black man smiled a secret smile as he took the team around the corner to find a place to hitch it.

Our team at Start With Why is working hard to build a world where the vast majority of people wake up inspired to go to work, feel safe when they are there and return home at the end of the day fulfilled by the work they do. We are working hard to ensure that every employee has a Golden Circle on their desk and every organization can clearly articulate their higher purpose, cause or belief. This book is just one of the things we are doing to help bring our WHY to life. We know we can’t do this alone. Thank you for joining the movement, for helping us share the WHY. Inspire on

8 Sam insisted they stop off at the baker’s on their way back; she had a feeling they were in for a long day. Once they arrived at the station, she told Bob to go on ahead while she hung around to speak to the desk sergeant. “Do you have anyone free, Nick?” “I can always find someone to help you out, Inspector. What do you need?” “A team of officers, actually. They need to go out to the Chatley farm in Mosser, more to the point, the surrounding area. Knock on the neighbours’ doors, see if they saw any suspicious vehicles in the area in the last few days.” “I can instigate that for you. Leave it with me.” “Good, thanks, Nick. Let me know if they come up with anything. I won’t be holding my breath. I think we have a crafty killer in our midst.” Nick tilted his head and winked. “They all slip up sooner or later, you know that as well as I do.” “How true.” She smiled, turned and tapped the number on the security keypad which released the door. Wearily, she made her way up the stairs to the incident room. She paused, wondering whether she should take a detour to the chief’s office, to keep him up to date. Her stomach rumbled which helped to make up her mind. The chief could wait. The incident room was buzzing, but it quietened down as soon as she entered the room. “Don’t let me stop you. Let’s get lunch underway and chuck around a few ideas while we eat, yes?” Bags rustled and Bob joined Sam at the drinks’ area. He added sugar to the cups. She touched his forehead. “Are you feeling all right?” He tutted. “Bugger off. I thought I’d better show willing, considering you bought the sandwiches.” “Thanks, it’s appreciated. I’m sure the rest of the team will agree.” Between them they handed around the drinks. In between bites and sips, Sam ran through what they had discovered up at the farmhouse. Crap, I wish I’d finished my lunch first. Her stomach objected and she placed half of her sandwich aside, to maybe go back to later. “That’s what we have, ladies and gents. Any suggestions?” Claire raised a hand, lettuce poking out from the corner of her mouth. She finished what she was chewing on and wiped her lips with a serviette. “Sorry about that, boss. Messy eater, I know, Scott’s always saying the same. Going back to the case, do you want me to delve into their backgrounds, the three who knew each other? Would that help?” “Anything we can find out about the three of them is going to help, Claire, so go for it. They’ve been friends for over fifty years, I seem to recall, so they might have a few skeletons in the cupboard to

Ruth suggests Richard first changed when he was thrown off the football team at the Lincoln School for his epilepsy. He was the quarterback, and Julian attended the Saturday games whenever he wasn’t away laying track. Richard was an excellent athlete and was very proud about being the quarterback. He was a fast runner and could think quickly on his feet. However, when Richard had had a grand mal seizure at the end of one game, the coach had unceremoniously and without apology thrown him off the team. There was medication Richard could have been given, but no one ever suggested it. Richard was very disappointed; it wasn’t his fault he had blackouts, and it was unfair for him to be thrown off the team. He protested to the coach, but the coach said, “If something happens to you while you’re playing, it’ll be all my fault. No, thank you.

If you have people in your organization who are not leading their people, not answering questions, and not showing up to company events, but are recruiting, my advice is to send them a thank you card and let it go—it being the need to change them into something they’ll never be. I’m serious. Stop demanding that people be leaders. You can’t force or demand someone else to be a leader! Just be grateful for what that individual does bring to your team and move on.

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Eventually Mom taught us to excurse ourselves from people who seemed to only care about splitting people in two teams: the 'haves' and the 'have-nots.' We knew something that their money couldn't buy: A wallet didn't mean compassion and a lot of zeroes in your bank account doesn't mean much more than you're getting a free blender from the bank as a thanks. I learned that during the happiest moments of my life when I was a 'have-not.

There were three elements that you can include in your responses: gratitude, process, and invitation. They thanked him, told him how his contribution was making a difference, and invited him to do it again. The same approach works for leaders when team members contribute ideas.

In 2013, on the auspicious date of April 1, I received an email from Tetlock inviting me to join what he described as “a major new research program funded in part by Intelligence Advanced Research Projects Activity, an agency within the U.S. intelligence community.” The core of the program, which had been running since 2011, was a collection of quantifiable forecasts much like Tetlock’s long-running study. The forecasts would be of economic and geopolitical events, “real and pressing matters of the sort that concern the intelligence community—whether Greece will default, whether there will be a military strike on Iran, etc.” These forecasts took the form of a tournament with thousands of contestants; the tournament ran for four annual seasons. “You would simply log on to a website,” Tetlock’s email continued, “give your best judgment about matters you may be following anyway, and update that judgment if and when you feel it should be. When time passes and forecasts are judged, you could compare your results with those of others.” I did not participate. I told myself I was too busy; perhaps I was too much of a coward as well. But the truth is that I did not participate because, largely thanks to Tetlock’s work, I had concluded that the forecasting task was impossible. Still, more than 20,000 people embraced the idea. Some could reasonably be described as having some professional standing, with experience in intelligence analysis, think tanks, or academia. Others were pure amateurs. Tetlock and two other psychologists, Barbara Mellers (Mellers and Tetlock are married) and Don Moore, ran experiments with the cooperation of this army of volunteers. Some were given training in some basic statistical techniques (more on this in a moment); some were assembled into teams; some were given information about other forecasts; and others operated in isolation. The entire exercise was given the name Good Judgment Project, and the aim was to find better ways to see into the future. This vast project has produced a number of insights, but the most striking is that there was a select group of people whose forecasts, while they were by no means perfect, were vastly better than the dart-throwing-chimp standard reached by the typical prognosticator. What is more, they got better over time rather than fading away as their luck changed. Tetlock, with an uncharacteristic touch of hyperbole, called this group “superforecasters.” The cynics were too hasty: it is possible to see into the future after all. What makes a superforecaster? Not subject-matter expertise: professors were no better than well-informed amateurs. Nor was it a matter of intelligence; otherwise Irving Fisher would have been just fine. But there were a few common traits among the better forecasters.

Nothing affects the learning culture of an organization more than the skill with which its executive team receives feedback. And of course, as you move up, candid coaching becomes increasingly scarce, so you have to work harder to get it. But doing so sets the tone and creates an organizational culture of learning, problem solving, and adaptive high performance.

He had a lot of stake in us. He didn’t want to give us equal partnership until we proved we were able. I say “we” because I always needed people to get to where I got; it wasn’t about “I, I, I.” Anyone who tells you he does it all by himself is full of BS. I wasn’t the one building those homes. We had crews doing everything. We became the biggest builder in California and stayed No. 1 for a long time, one year building more than 3,000 homes. We were in the top 10 in the U.S. for several years, and thanks to all the people who contributed to what we accomplished and the strong foundation we set, I was inducted into the Homebuilders Hall of Fame by the California Homebuilding Foundation at a 2004 ceremony in San Francisco.

Full Disclosure: when Dan DiDio approached me about doing one, I was wary to say the least. Nowadays events often mean character deaths or reboots or company-wide publishing initiatives and so on. But the run Greg Capullo and I had on BATMAN was, for better or for worse, idiosyncratic - about our own hopes, our fears, our interests. It was just... very much ours. Even so, I told Dan that I *did* have a story, one I'd been working on for a few years, a big one, in the back of my brain. It was about a detective case that stretched back to the beginnings of humanity, a mystery about the nature of the DC Universe that Batman would try to uncover, and which would lead him and the Justice League to discover that their own cosmology was much larger, scarier and more wondrous than they'd known. But I wasn't sure it would make a good "event". Dan, to his credit, said, "Work it up and let's see." So I did. But in the course of working it up, I reread all the events I could think of. Just for reference. Not only recent ones, but events from years ago, from when I was a kid. And what I discovered, or rediscovered, was that at their core, events are joyous things. They're these great big stories, ridiculous tales about alien invasions or cosmic gems or zombie-space-cop attacks that have the highest stakes possible - stories where the whole universe hangs in the balance and nothing will ever be the same again! They were *about* things, and - what I also realized while doing my homework - when I was a kid, they were THE stories that brought me and my friends together. We'd split our money and buy different parts of an event, just to be able to argue about it. We'd meet after school and go on for hours about who should win, who should lose... Because even the grimmest events are celebratory. They're about pushing the limits of an already ludicrous form to a breaking point. So that's what I came back with. I remember standing in my kitchen and getting ready to pitch DARK NIGHTS: METAL to Greg, having prepared a whole presentation, a whole argument as to why, crazy as it was, it was us, it was *our* event. I said "It's called METAL," and Greg said, "I'm in," before I could even tell him the story. And even though Dan thought it was crazy, he went with it, and for that I'm very grateful. In the end, METAL is a lot of things - it's about those moments when you find yourself face to face with the worst versions of yourself, moments when all looks like doom - but at it's heart it's a love letter to comic storytelling at its most lunatic, and a tribute to the kinds of stories, events that got me thought hard times as a kid and as an adult. It's about using friendship as a foundation to go further than you thought you could go, and that means it's about me and Greg, and you as well. Because we tried something different with it, something ours, hoping you'd show up, and you did. So thank you, sincerely, from all of us on the team. Because when they work, events are about coming together and rocking out over our love of this crazy art form. And you're all in the band, now and always.