Thirty years ago, when I was an executive at Showtime Networks, I worked to get a pay-per-view business off the ground. Crunching numbers was a part of my work. I was not a CPA and did not have an MBA. Never took a class on budgeting or balance sheets.

And yet, for some reason, numbers have never made me anxious. In fact I was quite good at helping other execs make sense of the numbers. So good, in fact, that I was deployed for nine months to educate the members of the finance department on how to bring the numbers to life – to make them matter to the heads of business units – so they could make better decisions based on the stories the numbers told.

Ooops. I think I just leaked the moral of this story, the lesson in this post.

Have you ever felt the “heaviness of the lids”? I bet you have.

You know, that dozing sensation you get when you listen to a budget or finance presentation? That feeling that leads you to daydream about that thing you have to do for that person that you forgot to do yesterday?

Yeah, that. Let’s cure that once and for all. It’s time to get serious about bringing numbers to life.
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Cindy Pereira basically runs my business.

She also produces my podcast and entertains me all day long. And I’m really lucky. I know it.

To know Cindy is to know that she is ambitious, and she gets more done in a day than any human I know.

But there are still things she just doesn’t get to.

One day I’m at her desk and a reminder pops up on her screen. Just two words:

Write novel.

I was weak with laughter. She returns to the office and I can’t even talk, I’m laughing so hard. I point to the reminder. She says, “Oh yeah, I have had that daily reminder for like years.”

Today I am not going to talk about your big hairy audacious aspiration and how to get it done.

I want to talk about those things on your to-do list that just keep showing up. They have been there for what feels like years. They never make it to the top of the list. You’re not putting them off because they are super hard, like “Call angry donor”.

These are regular things you are supposed to do. Every time you look at the to-do list they are there. Right where you want them.

At the bottom of the list.

For me, it’s “Update Database Contacts”. I see it on the list and I swear it’s staring back at me, judging me. I try to ignore it.

You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?

If I asked you if they were important, you’d say “Yes, BUT”. Yes, BUT I first need to focus on the IMPORTANT stuff higher up on the to-do list. And it happens again tomorrow. And the day after. The week after. The YEAR after.

Is there a way out? You can’t just take it off the list. You can’t really delegate it either. The task matters and you’re the one who has to do it.

Can you imagine how amazing it will feel to be able to cross one of these off?

I have some advice. I have conquered one of these beasts recently – cleaning up my contact database – and I believe my recipe could really help you.

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One aspect of 2020 that I think is overlooked is that the year brought out the adrenaline junkie that lives at or just below the surface of every nonprofit leader. The fixer, the problem solver, the person prepared to do whatever it takes.

My clients and members of our Nonprofit Leadership Lab are heroic every day but never more than the 365 days (or if you are a musical theatre fan, 525,600 minutes) of 2020. (Yes, I realize 2020 was a leap year, but I refuse to give it any more days. 2020 was long enough!)

You fixed, you problem solved, you leaped tall buildings in single bounds (nod to your Superman tendencies).

How are you feeling right about now?

A few months into a year in which you are probably feeling more optimistic (nothing like seeing ‘shots in arms’ to offer a shot in the arm for all of us).

But you’re really really tired right?

My daughter Kit had febrile seizures as a toddler that demanded an ambulance and an E.R. visit. Fortunately she grew out of them after age 3 but when they happened, they were scary as hell and we did whatever it took to keep Kit calm.

Not just Kit – her twin brother and her older sister too. We tried our best to keep calm while Kit’s seizure was on full display. We learned the drill and an ice bath in the E.R. settled things down quickly. We’d head home.

And Kit was all smiles, we’d tuck her into bed. And then Eileen (my wife) and I would fall totally and completely apart.

But not before having some kind of argument with each other about who knows what. Or going way overboard, criticizing our other kids about something that could barely qualify as inappropriate or even worth noting.

I see this behavior in my clients. Lots of misbehavior, uncivilized behavior towards one another, lots of misdirected anger. The craziness at home is now beginning to feel even more intolerable now that we can see glimmers of light about where 2021 might end.

It’s like me and Eileen after Kit was tucked into bed all smiles.

We were big ol’ messes.

I have some advice. Definitely not about parenting. But about how to lead when the adrenaline rush wears off. And about what I call an “oil can” problem.

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One very hot summer afternoon, we took our eldest daughter, Scout, to a local circus. She was maybe 3 and had slept during the ride there. We took this adorable sweaty groggy kid into a really noisy tent, paid for our three tickets, bought some popcorn and took our seats.

It was exciting. Well we were excited – she was dazed and confused.

Until… the first act. Out rolls a cannon. A man climbs in. Another man detonates the pretend wick and BBBBBOOOOOM. The man flies out of the cannon and lands in a net some distance away.

Scout reacted with sheer terror; as if she herself had been ejected from the bleachers. She ran as fast as she could out of the tent. Followed by her two mothers certain she had been scarred for life by a well-intended afternoon at the circus.

Once she had calmed down and started breathing again, she asked a single question. And then she asked it again. And again. And again. For the entire ninety minute ride home.

Her question was simple. “Why’d they shoot dat guy out da cannon?”

And presumably our answers simply were not cutting it. Answers like, “People think it’s fun,” or “That’s what circus performers do,” fell on deaf ears. These answers offered no solace.

In her quite logical mind, the whole thing seemed unfathomable. Someone suggested to ‘dat guy’ that he get into that cannon so that it could be detonated and ‘dat guy’ could fly through the air into a net that was really far away.

And ‘dat guy’ said YES.

Are you wondering where I am going with this? It’s not a story about what lousy parents we are. It’s a story about ‘dat guy.’ And it’s a story about you.

You have just returned from some kind of holiday break after one of the most tragic and terrifying years in American history. Maybe you took a legit break and maybe there was a novel or a board game or an extra nap. And now you are back at work.

You open your laptop and before you is an imaginary cannon. And you are ‘dat guy’

You can agree to begin 2021 by making an intentional decision to be shot out of a cannon. Endless to-do’s. Everything is a priority. So much noise. Stress. Anxiety.

Or… you can take a different path. Today, I’ll offer you suggestions about three very important conversations you need to have this month.

And I’ll give you one piece of advice before we get started.

Say no to the cannon.
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During my senior year of college, I was the dorm director on duty the night a student fell from the window of his thirteen story dorm room. Everything about that evening was terrifying, starting with four dorm directors who were no older than the young man who fell to his death.

I could have been paralyzed by imposter syndrome but the moment demanded something more.

I’m also terribly squeamish and pass out nearly every time my doctor points me toward Quest Diagnostics. But that night the moment demanded courage. I summoned it.

And so Joan Garry, Johnny MacNamara, Matt O’Connor and Jim Kelly (yes, Fordham University was crawling with the Irish) – the four senior leaders on duty that night became a team and turned into the leaders that the students on campus needed us to be. Johnny led the way – the incident happened in his dorm, but we led with him. Long into the night and in the days that followed.

We were not trained in crisis services; we did what we knew to be right. We comforted our fellow students, we opened our doors to the many who just needed to talk. We led, each in our own way.

I remember thinking a few days later that I never once felt squeamish. In this crisis, there was no place for that. It wasn’t what leaders do.

I learned so much about leadership this year – where to find it and what it looks like.

As we close out what may be the most devastating year we have experienced in my lifetime, I’d like to share with you what I have learned about nonprofit leadership in a time of crisis, and why I believe that the nonprofit sector is actually the biggest source of leadership in the world today.

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