“I can’t deny the fact that you like me; right now, you like me!”
Sally Field babbled those words during her Oscar acceptance speech in 1984.
She was delusional.
The Academy didn’t “like” her.
They “wanted” her to win.
For her role as Edna Spalding in Places of the Heart.
I empathize with Sally.
I want to be liked.
You probably do, too.
We all do.
It’s how we’re wired.
And that wiring has us short-circuiting.
Especially in the marketplace.
Where we often conflate what people like with what they want.
For the record (and I’ve said this over and over for years):
People don’t choose what they like.
(That’s your delusional mind talking to you).
They choose what they want.
What makes them feel good about themselves and their decisions.
In fact, what we like and what we want are controlled by different brain circuits.
We can like things without wanting them.
And we may want things without liking them.
It sounds illogical.
And that’s why scientists were surprised by the discovery.
They performed an experiment on rats.
Cutting off their “want” circuits.
Figuring that the rats wouldn’t be attracted to cheese.
They were wrong.
The rats scurried to the cheese like Vegas gamblers to a free buffet.
But then they just stood there.
They didn’t eat.
So the researchers double-checked those “want” circuits.
And sure enough, the circuits were turned “off.”
But another circuit was lit up.
One that terminates at the same area of the brain.
They refer to it as the “like” circuit.
The mice liked the cheese, but they didn’t want it.
Most times, the two circuits light up simultaneously.
When we’re hungry, we eat what we like.
But just because we like something, doesn’t mean we want it.
Do you like your local bookstore?
Me too!
Is that where you buy your books?
Me either.
Being likable, as a business strategy, is severely flawed.
Instead, you should work to be liked and wanted.
Both circuits firing together creates the greatest impact.
The same applies to success with any pursuit.
Simply liking the idea of achieving it won’t get you very far.
You must deeply want that achievement, as well.
Yes, liking is the lubricant that makes the world go round.
But wanting is the force that keeps it growing.

Last week, dozens of newsletter readers unsubscribed.
I have an idea why, but it still stung.
I’m wired to feel that way (so are you).
But then I remembered something.
Ironically, it was something that I said years ago.
Following a speech and during Q&A with a room full of CEOs.
This was the question, as best as I can remember.
“What’s the one piece of advice you’d give us to help increase sales productivity?”
All eyes were on me (I felt like I was being baited).
“That’s an easy one,” I replied.
“The next time one of your salespeople feels a prospect may not be interested, have him or her say this.”
“Mr. Prospect. I may be way off base, but I get the feeling that we’re not going to be doing business together.”
The questioner looked confused.
So did everyone else in the room.
“And what if the prospect replies, ‘You’re right. We’re not going to be doing business together?'”
“That’s great!” I said.
“Now your salesperson can get on with doing the real work of finding and helping interested people.”
I still sensed skepticism.
“Look, there will be two, and only two, possible reactions to that very honest and direct approach.”
“And both are extremely helpful.”
Here’s the first.
“You’re feelings are wrong. I’m definitely interested.”
“That’s good, because now your salesperson can probe to find out what’s holding that individual back.”
“And the other response is just as good.”
“Yeah, you’re feelings are right. We won’t be doing business together, because . . .”
“And that’s good too!”
“Because now your salesperson can stop bringing that person donuts every week.”
Suddenly, everyone in the room lit up and started writing.
It’s so simple.
We hate the word “no.”
We avoid it like writers avoid clichés.
“No” feels like rejection (it’s not).
And so we gravitate towards “maybe.”
Maybe validates us.
Maybe gives us hope.
We’re living in a world of maybe.
But maybe is dangerous.
Because maybe feels good.
Maybe appeases us.
Maybe keeps us on the same path.
A path that goes ’round in circles.
It’s time to put on the brakes.
If you feel it, say it.
Straighten yourself out.
What’s the worst that can happen?
Certainly not “no.”
No is valuable information.
No is a kick in the pants.
No gets us moving in a different direction.
No helps save our most precious resource.
For as Buddha’s teachings made clear, our real problem is this.
We think we have time.
We don’t.
And that’s why we need more nos.

Someone asked me to define belief.
And to do so “succinctly.”
So I answered, “Belief is simply the story in your head.”
My casual response gave him pause.
“What story is that?” he asked.
“What ever story you’re telling yourself.”
“To rationalize your feelings and behavior.”
He stared at me, a bemused look on his face.
So I did what I do.
I asked him some pointed questions.
Ones designed to wake him up and illuminate the answer.
“Do you like steak?” I began.
“I do.”
“And do you ever think about the cow?”
Long pause.
“Do you see?” I continued. “The cow is not part of your ‘steak story.'”
“In your story, a steak exists as a separate thing.”
“In fact, in your story steaks have special names.”
“Names which convey meaning and value to you.”
“Like tenderloin, porterhouse and rib eye.”
“But I’ll bet you have no idea if the cow had a name.”
He had had enough.
He got my point.
Here’s the thing about our beliefs.
We don’t want them pointed out to us.
We don’t want to have our comforting stories disturbed.
We don’t want to be woken up from our reassuring routines.
Otherwise, we’ll have to think.
And then, heaven forbid, we may have to change.
Our stories, our beliefs, drive all of our decisions.
From what we try to what we buy.
To question those stories is hard work.
And to get people to question them is even harder.

I was standing in line at one of a chain of gas station/convenience stores.
Inching forward to pay for a cup of coffee.
Suddenly, a disgruntled customer burst in.
“Excuse me,” he interrupted. “The car wash shut down and left soap all over my car.”
The stoic cashier paused and glanced out the window.
At the customer’s soap-covered car.
He then turned and walked away from the register to make a phone call.
Since he was the only employee on duty, the rest of us simply watched and waited.
And waited and waited for his climactic response.
“You’ll have to come back on Monday and speak to the manager.”
The customer was frozen with disbelief.
Had he heard correctly?
He was supposed to drive away with soap all over his car (for which he spent $10).
Figure out how to rinse it all off.
And then go out of his way a few days later and return to “speak to the manager?”
How could a scene so ridiculously wrong be allowed to arise?
Especially in today’s hyper-competitive, customer-connected marketplace?
The notorious boxer Mike Tyson once quipped.
“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”
In my mind, Tyson was trying to convey the character of failure.
Especially in an involved, fast-moving environment.
(Truth be told, one is never quite sure what Iron Mike is thinking or saying).
In the boardroom, on the battlefield, in the ring, or behind a register.
When losers get hit with the unexpected, they flinch.
Instead of confidently working their well-designed plan, they start thinking.
“What should I do?”
And, like the aloof cashier, that’s precisely when they blow it.
Former Indianapolis Colts head coach Tony Dungy made it clear.
“Champions don’t do extraordinary things.
They do ordinary things, but they do them without thinking.
Too fast for the other team to react.
They just follow the habits they’ve learned.”
Winners plan.
Winners detail the precise activities required to achieve their desired goals.
Winners train obsessively to instill the requisite habits.
Winners prepare for the unexpected.
And when times get tough, winners follow through on those concrete plans.
Losers, on the other hand, wing it.
Losers do their thinking in the heat of the performance.
Losers convene endless meetings.
Losers let their minds paralyze them with free-flowing information and a plethora of options.
Losers wander into the ring to get punched in the mouth.
After making this view clear during a presentation, a business owner challenged me.
“Are you suggesting that we develop a response for every possible scenario?”
Yes. Yes I am.
You, and your people, should know precisely what to say and what to do when the curtain opens.
Sure, make adjustments when necessary and learn to improvise on the fly.
But always know what role you play in the scene and why.
Winners don’t think when the pressure is on.
They use their mind to plan their work.
Then shut it down and work their plan.