Leading with Compassion and Grace

Today marks another milestone in my journey as an HR Leader. Reflecting on my first day as a recruiting coordinator, at the mecca of consulting firms, Accenture, I can still remember the excitement I felt about starting a new job and ultimately, a new career path, despite having never spent a minute in recruiting. However, that career was nearly derailed just three months into my tenure.

I had been assigned my first major project, which I enthusiastically accepted with the eagerness and excitement of a monkey with a new banana. We were conducting a survey with a large, highly reputable university. This was back in the '90s, long before email was a staple of the office. We were conducting it the old-fashioned way—by mail. The task involved sending out a survey package to over 500 students, and it was my responsibility to ensure each package contained a letter, marketing collateral, the survey, and a return envelope. I also had to correctly upload and manage 500+ student names and addresses.

I took ownership of this project as if it were my only ticket to survival. I worked tirelessly to get everything in order and sent out, and when it was done, I allowed myself a moment of pride. I had successfully completed my first big professional girl project—or so I thought.

Three days later, my head of HR, Don Shaw, approached me in the hallway. “Hey, LoriAnn" he said with a look of curiosity in his eyes and cocking his head to the side. "Did you remember to include the return envelopes in the mailing?" he asked. My heart simultaneously raced and sank. My initial thought was, of course I had. Or... did I? I vaguely remembered seeing boxes of return envelopes in the storage closet at the beginning of the project, but in my rush to prove myself capable of handling this assignment, had I forgotten this crucial step?

Don waited for my response, and I immediately remembered a lesson my parents had instilled in me: always tell the truth, even when it’s difficult. As much as I wanted to confidently say, “Yes, I included the return envelopes. I mean, did you not see how I slayed this dragon of a project” I knew I needed to be honest. I told Don I wasn’t sure but that I would double-check.

Racing back to my office, my mind was spinning. The only way to know for sure was to check the supply closet. As I approached, I desperately hoped not to see boxes full of unused return envelopes. But when I opened the door, there they were, staring back at me, almost taunting me—a clear sign that I had indeed forgotten to include them.

I felt sick. I wanted to pack up my things, resign on the spot, and flee the scene. But instead, I sheepishly made my way to Don’s office, dreading the inevitable conversation. I knocked softly on his door, standing in the doorway, terrified. I confessed my mistake, telling him I had forgotten to include the return envelopes. In my embarrassment, I rambled, offering to fix the situation and even acknowledging that if this was grounds for dismissal, I would understand.

Don signaled me to come in and sit down. My heart sank further—surely, he was about to fire me and simply wanted to take the kill shot up close. As I sat in the large wingback chair, feeling quite diminished by its size and bracing for the worst, Don said, “I appreciate you telling me the truth. I already knew you forgot to include the return envelopes. We’ve received about 20 calls from students asking where they were.”

“I’m really sorry, Don,” I replied, feeling crushed.

“I know you are,” he said. “And yes, you will remedy this by sending out another mailing apologizing for the mistake and including the return envelopes this time.”

“Of course, whatever is needed, I’m happy to do,” I said, eager to fix the situation.

Then, Don surprised me. He said, “I know it would have been easier to tell me you included the return envelopes. But you didn’t. You came back and told me the truth, and for that, I learned something valuable about you: I can trust you to be honest. As for double-checking your work, well, that’s another story and something you’ll need to work on.”

To my relief, Don didn’t fire me that day. Had he done so, my career in HR might have ended before it even began. Instead, he offered me my first important lesson in compassion and grace. By extending compassion, Don gave me the space to grow. His decision to see beyond a single mistake and instead focus on my potential allowed me to find my footing and build a career that has spanned more than three decades.

When leaders act with grace, they communicate a belief in the worth and potential of their team members, which, in turn, inspires loyalty, creativity, and perseverance. By trusting me despite my misstep, Don instilled in me a deep understanding that people are not defined by their mistakes, but rather by how they learn and grow from them. This principle has informed my leadership style ever since.

So, thank you, Don, for not firing this eager but overzealous young professional during a significant misstep. Thank you for teaching me the value of leading with compassion and grace. Your grace in that pivotal moment not only spared my career but set the foundation for a path I never could have imagined. As such, I’ve had the privilege of building a career in HR that has brought immense fulfillment, allowing me to pay forward the same compassion and grace you showed me. It’s a lesson I carry with me in every decision, every mentorship, and every opportunity to guide others. Because of you, I strive to be the kind of leader who doesn’t just manage people but believes in them—and that has made all the difference.

 

Book of Encouragement

My mother recently gifted me several of her personal journals, and it feels like she handed me pieces of her very soul. Deeply woven into the tapestry of her life is a writer, a revelation that has illuminated the source of my own passion for writing. On the first page of one of her journals, in faintly read script, she simply and solely wrote, "Book of Encouragement." Upon reading this, my heart felt an overwhelming warmth. As I turned the pages, I found her steps to stay encouraged, each word resonating deeply within me like a gentle whisper of love and wisdom.

There’s something profoundly touching about reading the intimate thoughts, emotions, and daily musings of a loved one. Through her journals, I am discovering the hidden corners of her heart, the silent battles she fought, and how she truly saw the world and me. It feels like I’ve been given a precious gift, a glimpse into her past and the challenges she faced as a mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend, employee, and member of society.

This experience is like meeting her all over again, realizing that she had the same fears, hurts, joys, and aspirations that I have. It’s a beautiful journey, unveiling the true essence of my mother and forging an even deeper connection with her. Each page I turn reveals more about the incredible woman she was and still is in my eyes.

As I read her personal manifesto for encouragement, it further heightened my admiration for her. This is what she wrote:

• Read uplifting material and avoid discouraging conversations or news.
• Associate with positive and inspiring people.
• Believe in yourself and remind yourself of how far you’ve come.
• Keep a journal of your accomplishments and read it as often as you need.
• Consider your setbacks as profitable learning experiences.
• Ask for help when you need it.

We all have mantras, quotes, scriptures, tools, bullet points, or accountability persons we use to keep ourselves encouraged and uplifted, affording us the ability to press on and seize the day. I love that these are my mother’s. She is a woman who has faced tremendous challenges, traumas, setbacks, and, at times, unfathomable pain. She is one of the strongest women I know, and I have often drawn strength and encouragement from her. Yet, if you were to meet her, you would find her to be upbeat, positive, and radiating immeasurable resilience. Her six bullet points for staying encouraged are not just words; they are a testament to her fortitude and a guide we can all follow.

Thank you, Mom, for graciously sharing the tools that helped you stay encouraged and inspired when everything felt like it was falling apart, and for providing a roadmap that I, and hopefully others, can use. Your wisdom and strength echo more profoundly and play an amplified role in guiding me through my life’s journey. I love you! 

Ageless Ambitions: Fearlessly Pursuing Knowledge

In January, I made the decision to return to school—an aspiration that has lingered for far too long in the corridors of my mind. Why the delay? One word: fear. The prospect of diving back into the demanding realm of academia at mid-life is undeniably intimidating. The sheer time commitment required for classes, coupled with the countless hours of study and research, is ample grounds for even the most driven student to succumb to bouts of anxiety and break out in hives. Then there's the nagging question of mental acuity. Will my brain's synaptic connections recall how to absorb and retain information as effortlessly as they once did in the distant days of my youth? And what if—dare I utter it—I fail?

But what if I don't fail? What if I view the collective hours invested in classes and studying as a valuable investment in myself? What if my brain's cognitive functions kick into high gear and I rediscover a passion for learning? Remarkably, that's precisely what has transpired. With each passing week, as my confidence has swelled, I've come to the realization that I CAN DO THIS!

I've often challenged others with the quote, "The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek." It was high time I heeded that very advice and charged boldly into the realm of uncertainty and challenge regardless of the age on my driver's license. Just last week, I took four tests. The subject matter is dense, and the tests themselves are unequivocally arduous. However, my scores—a resounding 100, 96, 100, and 92—served as a testament to the immense rewards that await once we muster the courage to confront our fears head-on no matter how old we are. We should never let fear, or age, hold us back from learning.

So, if you happen to come across a bleary-eyed redhead downing numerous venti espressos while muttering about HR Law to herself, extend a word of encouragement and reassure her that she's more than capable of conquering this endeavor—and remember, so are you once you take the leap to do so.

Breathe

February 4, 1998. I had been rushed to the hospital, my mind spinning at warp speed, my breathing rapid and chaotic, tears streaming down my face, and every cell in my body filled with fear and anxiety. I wanted to close my eyes and eternally surrender to the darkness that had plagued my mind.

In the ether of the turmoil, I faintly heard a voice calling out, "LoriAnn! I'm Dr. Ramos. Can you hear me? LoriAnn, can you hear me?" Slowly, I turned my head to the left, attempting to connect with the voice beckoning me. My eyes immediately met those of an attractive Latino man, dressed in a soft cashmere scarf and a dark gray sweater. It might have been the warmth exuded by his attire, coupled with the look of compassion on his face, but his mere presence brought an unexpected sense of calmness mingled with curiosity. Our eyes locked, and he gently smiled as he said, "I need you to do something."

 "Okay," I replied without hesitation, placing my immediate trust in whatever he was about to ask of me. "Breathe," he softly instructed. "Just breathe." Nodding through the tears and anxiety, and with my eyes still fixed on his, I took a deep breath in as he breathed with me. Then another breath, and another. Before long, an overwhelming sense of peace and tranquility washed over me.

"I'm Dr. Ramos," he kindly introduced himself again, still wearing a gentle smile. "Hi," I responded graciously. "Rough night?" he inquired. I nodded, crying, and said, "Rough life." “Well," he said, "we’re going to work on that together and get you feeling better. Sound good?” “Yes,” I said. “That sounds great." His words, paired with his genuine empathy, offered an instant balm for my soul, forging an immediate trust and lifelong bond. 

That night marked my initial steps toward recovery from severe anxiety and depression. Dr. Ramos and I would spend the next 18 months walking through my healing and reclaiming my mental and emotional fortitude. I’ve often said that if you x-ray my heart, you’ll see a small part where Dr. Ramos’ name is etched on it.

Sitting here 26 years later, mentally and emotionally healthy, reflecting on the terrified girl lying on that hospital stretcher, wishing to close her eyes and never open them again, I am humbled and overwhelmed with gratitude. I am immensely proud of how far she has come. Since then, I've learned that no matter how dark, scary, or painful the circumstances may be, never, ever give up. Amidst the pain and darkness, there will always be sparks of light guiding you to the other side. No matter how challenging the battle, fight, and fight hard, because you are worth it.

Dr. Ramos changed my life with a single word: 'Breathe.' It was a simple yet profoundly powerful reminder of how to calm my mind and soothe my soul. Our lives begin and end with a breath. I am grateful for the billions of breaths I've taken since that harrowing day. They haven't always been easy, but they were mine to have and meant to be had.

Here's to the frightened girl who, 26 years ago, bravely affirmed she was enough and worth the fight, and who discovered the transformative power in learning how to truly breathe. Every day and every breath since has been a precious gift.

Leading Through Trust

The chilling shower sequence in the iconic American thriller, "Psycho," remains one of the most intense and unsettling scenes in the history of cinema. It left a lasting imprint on audiences, instilling a profound fear of showering and forever associating the simple act with the bone-chilling screech of violins that accompanied the scene.

What does the movie "Psycho" have to do with leaders leading through trust? Quite a bit. Let me elaborate.

Bernard Herrmann was an acclaimed composer and conductor, primarily recognized for his outstanding contributions to film composition. He is particularly celebrated for his collaboration with the director Alfred Hitchcock, most notably on the film "Psycho."

During the filming of “Psycho”, Hitchcock initially intended for the shower scene to be devoid of any music. However, Herrmann, ever the musical genius, strongly believed that the scene required music to enhance its terrorizing impact. During post-production, Hitchcock began to express concerns about the shower scene feeling incomplete and lacking a more amplified tone of terror. 

This presented Herrmann with an opportunity to provide Hitchcock with the solution to the scene's shortcomings. Herrmann approached Hitchcock and enthusiastically stated, "Well, I did compose something. Would you like to hear it?" Upon receiving Hitchcock's approval, he played that ever-so-haunting and famous barrage of screeching violins. When Hitchcock heard what Hermann had composed, he immediately changed his mind and recognized how the intensified sound of the sharply accented strings created the perfect chilling atmosphere that the scene was missing. Hitchcock was quoted as saying, "Well, absolutely, we'll use that." 

If Hitchcock had stubbornly resisted Herrmann's expertise and refused to defer to his judgment, the world would have been deprived of one of the most famous musical compositions in cinematic history. Moreover, this decision could have diluted the intensity of the iconic shower scene's impact. Fortunately, Hitchcock recognized the importance of setting aside ego and entrusted Herrmann's creative genius. This trust was indicative of a collaborative partnership between two renowned experts in their respective fields. 

Today's leaders can glean a valuable lesson from Hitchcock. In our roles as leaders, we ascend to our positions based on our expertise and our ability to offer effective solutions. It's undeniable that we've dedicated significant time and effort to earn our credentials. Nevertheless, there are moments when we find ourselves without the answers or a clear strategy to navigate a complex issue. Recognizing when to take a step back and tap into the talent and expertise within our team can often yield the desired outcome. This act requires humility.

Ironically, vulnerability is a conference room where many leaders hesitate to enter. However, it takes genuine courage to embrace vulnerability and abandon ego. By doing so, we empower others to step forward and contribute their insights and capabilities. This, in turn, leads to a more collaborative and successful approach to problem-solving. 

Recognizing the importance of stepping aside and affording an opportunity for your team to take the lead in providing solutions is a hallmark of effective leadership. Exceptional leaders understand that they aren't necessarily the best at everything. Instead, they seek out individuals who excel in various areas and aim to unite them under a common goal. For myself, I prioritize hiring people on my team who bring expertise in areas where we can offset our individual strengths and where I can grow as a leader from their knowledge and skills. This approach strengthens the team and fosters personal and professional growth for all involved, allowing us to be better together. Failure to adopt this approach just might leave you with a sense of helplessness and despair, much like Janet Leigh's fate as Marion Crane, lifeless and slumped over the bathtub, requiring you to cue the violins, fade out, and call cut!

©2023 LoriAnn Boyer - All Rights Reserved
This product is protected by copyright and distributed under licenses restricting copying and distribution.

Farewell My Friend

"LoriAnn, I have some very sad news to share." Deep down, you're already aware that what follows will not be easy to hear.

The news was indeed very sad. It was undeniably sorrowful. My dear friend Terri, who is also the wife of my beloved friend and former colleague, Byron, had the painful task of informing me that Byron had unexpectedly passed away. The news hit me with the force of a cruel blow, and a chilling numbness swept over my entire body. I found myself screaming in disbelief as if my denial could somehow rewrite the reality before me. Byron's passing has left me utterly devastated and heartbroken. He was only 47, departing painfully too soon and leaving an already irrefutable void. 

Byron was my former HR leader from my time at McGladrey. He was a mentor, guide, friend, and a truly exceptional human being. Working under his leadership was a privilege and so much fun. He possessed the remarkable ability to recognize talent and skills within me that I hadn't yet discovered. He boldly pushed me into the necessary scary and uncomfortable places, with the intention of shaping me into the HR and talent acquisition leader I am today. He was one of the first leaders to give me wingspan and the freedom to explore and excel, while also offering a safety net should I stumble. Through his own example, he taught me the noble act of falling on the sword for my team, and he also knew when to rein me in if I got out in front of myself. He affectionately nicknamed me "Fireball," - emblematic of my unyielding determination. Every so often I'd hear him utter, "Hold on there, Fireball. Let's take a step back and walk through this slowly." He’d then guide me with compassion and grace.

Byron's sense of fairness was unwavering, and his ethical standards set the benchmark for HR excellence. A significant portion of my leadership persona was molded under his tutelage.

What truly elevated our connection was that he and his family became a loving extension of my own. He assumed the roles of big brother and mentor to my son. Our interactions transcended the professional realm, as we shared life's experiences, fun-filled family get-togethers with abundant laughter, and ceaselessly uplifted one another. He and his family loved, I mean LOVED, my chocolate chip banana bread. And I was all too willing to bake countless batches of it for them.

In light of all this, Byron faced a myriad of struggles and inner demons, engaging in a frequent and intimate dance with them. Our conversations often delved into the battles he fought. I mention this as a testament to the intricate tapestry of human experiences and the multi-dimensional nature of him and our friendship. In a heartfelt conversation with a friend, I tearfully expressed my profound anger over how his demons ultimately prevailed, silencing him forever. This tribute serves as a voice for him, and to break the tragic silence that has befallen him and those who held him dear. 

Our last exchange occurred a few weeks prior to his passing after a call he had with my son, and his final message resonates deeply within me:

"Hey - not that you need my reassurance, but your son is amazing. You've done an incredible job, Mom. We had a meaningful talk about the writer's strike. He's an inspiration to me, and you built him from the ground up. Thank you for bringing him into our lives and sharing him with us. He is truly a gift. Love you." ♥️

My response echoed gratitude for the sentiment and concluded with "Love you. XOXO." ♥️

I've revisited the entire history of our text exchanges countless times, cycling through moments of laughter and tears. The solace lies in the fact that our last words to each other were ones of inspiration and affection, and concluded with a heart emoji. Just like so many times before, they were infused with love and the essence of a beautiful and tender friendship.

My heart is a mixture of love and heartache. The memories I've shared with Byron are treasures I will forever hold close. My thoughts are with Terri, and his children, as they grapple with the absence of their beloved father and husband.

I'm left with a profound sense of loss and devastation and completely shattered. Coming to terms with Byron's passing and the realization that our exchanges—conversations, emails, texts, and get-togethers—have reached an irrevocable conclusion is a process I will forever be navigating. I'm striving to comprehend the depths of this loss as well as extend comfort to my son.

The weight of it all is overwhelming, a poignant reminder of the imperative to be wholly present, to embrace life in its entirety, to release trivial matters, to quickly forgive, to hug longer and tighter, and to love deeply the individuals who grace our lives. It's a call to transcend our self-imposed barriers, quiet the ceaseless chatter of our minds, and relentlessly embrace the beauty of each day we are granted on this amazing journey we call life.

Here's to you, my dear friend. Thank you for the beautiful and invaluable lessons you've taught me. For the camaraderie, affection, and laughter you so generously offered. Thank you for the countless engaging, candid, and vulnerable heartfelt conversations as we sought answers to our shared burdens. You were my brother, my friend, my confidant. Your name is etched upon my heart, and you will forever occupy a special place in my life. Both Stephen and I are committed to standing by Terri and the children, supporting them as they grieve your absence and move forward in a world without you. In due course, we will share stories of our time with you, ensuring your memory lives on.

For now, my friend, the time has come for you to finally and fully embrace peace and gracefully dance among the angels.

Love and miss you!

Goal Setting at Strawberry Field

The summer following my tenth birthday, my parents granted me permission to take on a summer job, allowing me to earn some pocket money, and, in hindsight, a deep respect for day labor. I embarked on this journey by working at the mecca of produce in our tiny town of Swansea, MA – Chace Farm. I lived about half a mile from the farm and always admired the meticulous rows of plants and quaint fruit and veggie stand when we’d drive or walk by our local agricultural gem. Of all its yummy offerings, Chace Farm was known for its delicious, mouth-watering strawberries. It was not uncommon to find a pint or two of their succulent strawberries adorning the kitchens and tables of our fellow residents within our neighborhood.

On the morning of my inaugural day pursuing what I believed to be a venture into "serious money-making," I was vibrating with giddy enthusiasm. After all, I was now an up-and-coming professional woman earning my own money, and even though my journey began quite literally at dirt level, the sky was the limit. This day was also poised to mark a pivotal lesson in goal setting that would resonate throughout my lifetime.

With a fervent determination and a hearty combination of Cheerios and Tang fueling me (yes, Tang - after all, it was the 70s and if it was good enough for astronauts, it was good enough for me), I eagerly set forth to become the money-making prodigy that would undoubtedly become a source of parental pride, especially in conversations with their friends. I could envision the scenario: parents competing to outdo each other with their children's remarkable achievements. Meanwhile, my parents radiated joy as they happily shared that their daughter was occupied that day, giving an interview to Rolling Stone magazine in recognition of her achievement as the adolescent entrepreneur of the year. Brimming with the confidence of a person adamant about capitalizing on their earning potential, I hurriedly skipped to Chace Farm, each step becoming a leap towards my financial ambitions.

During my gleeful and determined sojourn to the farm, I resolved that the day's strawberry picking would yield a grand total of $100 for me. Now, in hindsight, I realize my tender age of ten shielded me from the intricate economic realities of agriculture. Nonetheless, I clung to an unwavering determination to become the epitome of financial success that summer. My soul was ablaze with aspirations, and I believed myself en route to achieving a financial status akin to Rockefeller's.

I entertained myself with fanciful thoughts of the exciting spoils my $100 would afford me. My list included: a tape recorder, a pink Huffy bike with accompanying tassels, the latest issue of Tiger Beat magazine, a new flavor of Bonnie Bell lip gloss – strawberry, of course, to punctuate the experience – and a coveted pair of Trax sneakers. All of these treasures would be procured from our town's grand emporium of retail delights, Kmart.

I excitedly arrived at the farm and reported in with the farmer. She carefully instructed me on my duties and informed me that she’d pay me 25 cents for every five-quart basket of strawberries I picked. The strawberries had to be plump, fully ripe, and free of bruising. Unfazed by her directives and blissfully unaware of the size of a five-quart basket, I readily accepted her terms with eagerness. Without hesitation, the farmer handed over several five-quart baskets, and a realization dawned upon me – this was going to be much more challenging than I had initially anticipated and perhaps an extra glass of Tang would have been a wise choice. The farmer then proceeded to inform me that the baskets also had to have a cap. Still unaffected by the task, I took the baskets and set off to a row of strawberries ready to accumulate my fortune.

After several hours hunched over strawberry plants under the scorching July sun, my Cheerios and Tang had waged an internal battle, leaving me feeling lightheaded and a bit queasy. Covered in dirt and drenched in perspiration mixed with the sticky residue of strawberry juice, I conceded to the overwhelming fatigue and sunburn that was now smarting. It was evident that it was time to present my hard-earned harvest to the farmer and claim my day's earnings.

Throughout the morning, the farmer carefully took note of how many baskets I surrendered. As I laid my final strawberry bounty before her, covered in berry-strewn clothing and hair, I stood readily awaiting my earnings. The farmer tallied a total of 17 baskets of strawberries. She then carefully placed in my weary, strawberry-stained hands a mere 4.25 cents for hours of arduous fruit-filled labor. As I stared at the paltry sum, I couldn't help but imagine myself as a modern-day Oliver Twist, standing before the stern headmaster, filled with a mixture of exhaustion and yearning, as I gathered the resolve to utter those iconic words, "Please sir, I want some more." And more was what I desired. But for the time being, a well-earned shower and a hearty lunch awaited, where Kool-Aid would play substitute to the mornings elixir of Tang.

As my berry money-making escapade came to an end that day, a vital lesson had come squarely into view: the art of crafting attainable goals. Too often we get so caught up in the excitement of the reward that we lose sight of the very road map leading us there. I was so excited about what I was going to do with the money I earned that I failed to realize how my over-zealous ambition positioned me for eventual disappointment coupled with an immense amount of sweat equity, yielding a less-than-moderate return on my investment.

We have grandiose ambitions that come with a checklist longer than the unabridged version of "War and Peace". We chase after these colossal feats with the fervor of a caffeinated squirrel, only to find ourselves as worn out as an overused typewriter ribbon. The idea is to ensure our aspirations are as achievable as they are admirable.

Whether establishing goals personally or professionally, engineer them to be measurable, achievable, and realistic. Do your research – like understanding the efforts required to fill a five-quart basket of strawberries. Be prepared for setbacks and have a contingency plan ready to address them when they arise. Most importantly, don’t get so fixated on the reward that you lose sight of the purpose of your goal. After all, shouldn’t the journey be just as delightful as a bowl of decadently delicious summer strawberries from the bygone days of Chace Farm?

©2023 LoriAnn Boyer - All Rights Reserved
This product is protected by copyright and distributed under licenses restricting copying and distribution.