Earlier this week, I was captivated by a Diary of a CEO episode with Rick Rubin. He was talking about creativity, but host Steven Bartlett couldn't get past the idea that Rick wasn't certain of success. He asked in three or four different ways how Rick knew what he was making would be a hit, and how he knew what to cut when something wasn't going to work.

Rick never gave him the answer he wanted. Every project you take on is like walking a tightrope. If you make it across, it's really good. If you don't, it isn't. But the tightrope is the only choice.

The most successful record producer alive still doesn’t make any promises, and neither can any consultant worth their salt.

Every sales leader wants a guarantee. A straight, repeatable line from input to output. That’s never gonna happen. You don't get to know before you commit. The reps who win most aren't the ones who got certainty. They're the ones who stopped waiting for it.

“Always be wary when getting advice because… people give you advice with the best intentions, but they're giving you advice based on their story, not your story."

Rick’s approach to getting the best out of artists is simple. He starts with what the artist has already made and really loves. Then he asks them what they liked about it. He's not handing anybody a system. He's helping them tap into what they already believe will work, what they already feel a connection to. That's a place to start that most people miss.

You don’t want techniques for everyone on your team to copy. You want repeatable ones that everyone can see themselves implementing. Those are two different things.

If there's an under-the-radar problem in the sales improvement industry, it's that most of it tells you what you're not doing well (or doing at all) and what you should be doing instead. Leaders tend to start with the team's deficits rather than identifying what's already working and building on it.

I was talking with a 30-year veteran in a recent client session. I assumed the newer reps on his team weren't doing what worked for him because they didn't want to. He paused and pushed back. Maybe it wasn't that they didn't want to, he said. Or maybe nobody had shown them the way, and some of that fell on him.

Then he proved his own point. It hadn't come naturally to him either. He learned it 30-some years ago, riding around customer lots with the owner of the company he worked for, seeing what was out there. He had to be shown too.

He’d been doing it so long that he'd forgotten he was ever taught. Meanwhile, the newer reps on his team are guessing in front of customers, chasing something they've been told can't be taught.

There's no reason it should take three decades to learn something. Somebody on your team has been doing this for 30 years and just never been asked to explain it. Start there.

Later in the week, my wife and I were talking. She’s one of the most creative people I know, and also my closest confidante. She said something that felt way too familiar to me…

“We pretend we can't be creative when really we're just afraid to be.”

We’re all capable of being great, and we’re not all meant to be the same. This is the foundation of my Sell Like You® philosophy.

You don’t need to read another sales book. You need to be less afraid to try the thing you believe in your gut (and your heart) will work.

And if you need someone to help translate that for you, I know a guy. I'll never promise you it'll work, but I can help you decipher what's already working, and help your team see themselves doing more of that.

I have a couple of projects that are starting to take off really nicely, and Kelly Riggs’ new book is one that should be on your list.

The real gem came on Thursday when I reunited with some college friends for our annual Up North get-together. Somehow, I’ve known these guys for almost thirty years, and it’s hard to illustrate what it means to have people who have known you for that long. There isn’t a perfect word to describe a guy that you don’t need to say good morning to, and you don’t need one. You just nod to them while you both watch the sun rise over a Great Lake (see above).

We caught up. We ate well, and way too much, though we never seem to drink as much as we did the year before. We talked about our lives, our careers, our kids, our marriages, and in some cases, our divorces.

That kind of camaraderie is priceless, though the cost of admission was cooking a meal and growing a mustache (we can’t take ourselves too seriously now, can we?).

They were going to be my shoutout this week too (with photos of said mustaches and all), but alas, the wifi had other ideas. 😉

Cheers,
JB