Never Eat Alone Read online

  "Who the hell do you think you are? You think McKinsey gives a damn about Keith Ferrazzi?" Before I could answer, he continued. "You think the CEO of McKinsey knows who you are? You think any of the senior partners would take a Sunday night to have dinner with you? You'll be just another number-crunching MBA grad lost in the shuffle. We care about you. We want you to be successful here. More importantly, we think you can make a difference in our firm."

  Was I in? Pat demanded to know.

  Wow, his pitch was compelling, and right then my instinct told me he was right. I knew he was right. But I wasn't about to leave that dinner without making a small pitch of my own.

  "Look, I'll make you a deal," I said. "If I accept your offer, all I ask is that you give me three dinners a year at this very restaurant for as long as I'm at Deloitte. I'm in if you're in."

  He looked me in the eyes and then with the biggest smile said, "Great. Welcome to Deloitte."

  By the way, I then asked him for more money. He just shook his head and laughed. Well, it never hurts to ask; the worst he could have said was no. So, after three hours in a restaurant, this man convinced me to make a life-changing career decision without one word about title, salary, or even one detail of how he expected I might make a difference.

  Honestly, I still had my doubts at the beginning that I had made the right move. In consulting, Deloitte's was smaller potatoes those days; its prestige didn't compare with McKinsey's.

  But what a right move I had made—in fact, it was the best of my life. First, because I went to Deloitte Consulting, I was given more responsibilities and I learned more about consulting in the eight years that followed than most people learn in twenty. Second, I found I could make a difference given my access to the senior partners. Third, and most important, I realized that finding a talented, experienced mentor who is willing to invest the time and effort to develop you as a person and a professional is far more important than making career decisions based purely on salary or prestige.

  Besides, back then the money wasn't important. You learn in your twenties, as the saying goes, and earn in your thirties. And boy, did I ever learn. Each year, Pat and I had at least three dinners at Grifone, that same Italian restaurant. For my entire tenure at Deloitte, I had the ear of the CEO, and he kept asking about me among his partners. He was looking out for me the entire time.

  Ultimately, of course, I got to work closely with Pat and other amazing men and women at Deloitte, and it taught me the importance of attaching yourself to great people, great teachers. Not that working with Pat and his right-hand man Bob Kirk was easy. They taught me some hard lessons about staying focused; that bold ideas weren't enough if they couldn't be executed; that the details are as significant as the theories; that you had to put people first, all people, not just those above you. Pat probably should have fired me a few times. Instead, he invested time and energy into making me the kind of executive—and more important, the kind of leader—he wanted me to be for the sake of the firm and for the sake of his role as mentor.

  There were two crucial components that made my mentorship with Pat—and makes any mentorship, for that matter—successful. He offered his guidance because, for one, I promised something in return. I worked nonstop in an effort to use the knowledge he was imparting to make him, and his firm, more successful. And two, we created a situation that went beyond utility. Pat liked me and became emotionally invested in my advancement. He cared about me. That's the key to a successful mentorship. A successful mentoring relationship needs equal parts utility and emotion. You can't simply ask somebody to be personally invested in you. There has to be some reciprocity involved—whether its hard work or loyalty that you give in return—that gets someone to invest in you in the first place. Then, when the process kicks in, you have to mold your mentor into a coach; someone for whom your success is in some small or big way his success. I owe so much to Pat. If it were not for him, I would not be the man I am today. And that goes for so many others, starting with my Mom and Dad and Jack Pidgeon from the Kiski School, and my "Uncle" Bob Wilson, to so so so many others I've mentioned in this book, as well as those left unmentioned but to whom I feel so close.

  The best way to approach utility is to give help first, and not ask for it. If there is someone whose knowledge you need, find a way to be of use to that person. Consider their needs and how you can assist them. If you can't help them specifically, perhaps you can contribute to their charity, company, or community. You have to be prepared to give back to your mentors and have them know that from the outset. Before Pat would consider having dinner with me three times a year, he had to know that I would be committed to his firm. That's how I found myself so early on in a trusted position that later turned into a friendship.

  If, however, there are no immediate opportunities to help, you must be prudent and conscious of the imposition you're placing on that person. Almost every day, some ambitious young man or woman sends me an e-mail that states all too directly, "I want a job." Or, "I think you can help me. Take me on as your mentee." I shudder at how deeply these young folks misunderstand the process. If they're going to get my help, and they haven't even offered their help in return, then at minimum they should attempt to endear themselves to me. Tell me why you're special. Tell me what we have in common. Express gratitude, excitement, and passion.

  The problem is often that these people have never had mentors before and they have a limited view of how it works. Some people think there is just one special person out there waiting to be all things at all times to them. But as my father taught me, mentors are all around you. It's not necessarily your boss or even someone in your business. Mentoring is a nonhierarchical activity that transcends careers and can cross all organizational levels.

  A CEO can learn from a manager, and vice versa. Some smart companies, recognizing this fact, actually have programs in place that view new hires as mentors to the company. After a month on the job, they'll ask these new employees to jot down all their impressions with the idea that a pair of fresh eyes can see old problems and make innovative suggestions that others can't.

  In fact, the people I've learned so much from are my own young mentees, who help me periodically to update my skills and view the world anew.

  As much as you stretch yourself by reaching up, be sure you are stretching just as far to reach back and help others. I've always taken the time to give young people a helping hand. Most of them actually end up working for me at some point, either as interns or employees. People like Paul Lussow, Chad Hodge, Hani Abisaid, Andy Bohn, Brinda Chugani, Anna Mongayt, John Lux, Jason Annis. The list goes on and on.

  There are those who don't get it at first. They sheepishly ask, "How can I ever repay you for all that you are doing?" I tell them they're repaying me now. All I really expect is sincere gratitude, and to see them apply all that they are learning.

  To see Brinda moving up at Deloitte, Hani becoming a partner in one of my businesses and "graduating" into a new company I had a hand in forming, Chad becoming one of Hollywood's most successful young writers, Andy becoming a player in Hollywood himself, or Paul attending Wharton is a total thrill. It's even more so when they get to a point in their careers when they start becoming mentors themselves.

  I can't stress enough how powerful the process is and how important it is that you give your respect and time to it. In return, you'll be more than compensated with spirit, enthusiasm, trust, and empathy—all things that will ultimately far exceed the value of any advice you gave.

  If you take mentoring seriously, and give it the time and energy it deserves, you'll soon find yourself involved in a learning network not unlike the one Intel uses. You'll be the recipient of more information and more goodwill than you ever imagined, as you play the role of both master and apprentice in a powerful constellation of people all simultaneously teaching and being taught.

  CONNECTORS' HALL OF FAME PROFILE

  Eleanor Roosevelt (1884-1962)

  "Connecting should a
dvance, rather than compromise, your principles."

  If connecting can be described, loosely, as the commingling of friendship and mission, then First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt was one of the twentieth century's premier practitioners. In her autobiography, she wrote: being " d r a w n together through the work . . . is . . . one of the most satisfying ways of making and keeping friends." Through groups such as the International Congress of Working Women and the Women's International League of Peace and Freedom (WILPF), Roosevelt befriended a w i d e circle of friends—and a few foes—in advancing some of the great social causes of our time.

  The First Lady was not timid about using her personal network to tackle testy social issues. For example, she fought for women's rights in the workplace—their inclusion in labor unions and their right to a living w a g e . Today, those seem like uncontroversial issues, but during the late 1 920s and early 1 9 3 0 s , many Americans blamed working women for displacing male "breadwinners" in the midst of the Great Depression.

  Roosevelt believed the beauty and obligation of living in a democracy was to make a stand for what you believe in; and she proved you could do so while gaining the trust and admiration of your peers. She also proved that sometimes it was your peers whom you need to stand up against.

  In 1 9 3 6 , thanks largely to the First Lady, an opera singer named M a r i a n Anderson became the first black person to perform at the White House. But Anderson's acceptance at 1 6 0 0 Pennsylvania Avenue was unusual. Though Anderson was the country's thirdhighest concert box-office draw, her success did not exempt her from the racial biases that pervaded her era. W h e n traveling, she was restricted to " c o l o r e d " waiting rooms, hotels, and train cars. In the South, newspapers rarely called her "Miss Anderson," opting for "Artist Anderson" and "Singer Anderson" instead.

  In 1 9 3 9 , Anderson's manager and Howard University tried to arrange a performance at Constitution Hall in Washington, D.C. The Daughters of the American Revolution (D.A.R.), the organization that owned the Hall, refused them. Roosevelt, herself a member of the D.A.R., promptly—and publicly—resigned her membership to protest. In a letter to the D.A.R., she wrote: "/ am in complete disagreement with the attitude taken in refusing Constitution Hall to a great artist . . . You had an opportunity to lead in an enlightened way and it seems to me that your organization has failed."

  Mrs. Roosevelt arranged for Anderson to perform on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. The show, on April 9 (Easter Sunday), 1 9 3 9 , was seen by a crowd of 7 5 , 0 0 0 .

  Yes, loyalty matters. But not when it means sacrificing your principles.

  Though Eleanor Roosevelt's positions on civil rights hardly seem radical today, they were far in advance of her time: All of this was decades before the Supreme Court, in its 1954 Brown v. Board of Education case, rejected the "separate but equal" doctrine.

  Every time the First Lady advocated for a social cause, preached tolerance in a black church or Jewish temple, or even when, acting as a delegate to the newly formed United Nations, which passed the controversial Universal Declaration of Human Rights, she lost friends and received vicious criticism for going against the tide.

  Still, this amazing woman persisted in successfully building influence for a progressive agenda. She left a legacy to which we are all indebted. What can we learn from Eleanor Roosevelt? It's not enough simply to reach out to others; instead, we all must be vigilant that our efforts to bring people together are in line with our efforts to, in part, make the world a better place.

  Of course, when you're driven by principles, there are always sacrifices involved. But your determination to connect with others should never come at the expense of your values. In fact, your network of colleagues and friends, if chosen wisely, can help you fight for causes you believe in.

  30. Balance Is B.S.

  Balance is a myth.

  You can't call my schedule "balanced" by conventional standards. Let's take a look at a typical day. Monday: I was up at 4 A.M. in Los Angeles to make calls to my team in New York. Then I worked the phone for a few more hours, trying to organize a fundraiser for a candidate friend of mine. By 7 A.M., I was at the airport for a flight to Portland, Oregon, to meet a new customer (with two cell phones buzzing, fidgeting with my BlackBerry, sending short e-mails, and my laptop never far away with spreadsheet access). After the meeting, I'm back in the car on my way to Seattle and back on the phone, setting up meetings for tonight, tomorrow, and a week from now. I'm in constant contact with my assistant, trying to get invitations out for a big dinner party I'm throwing in a month. In Seattle, I have a scheduled dinner with the folks organizing Bill Gates's CEO conference this year, after which I'll have drinks with some close friends. And tomorrow, there will be another 4 A.M. wake-up call to do it all again.

  Welcome to what my friends jokingly refer to as "Ferrazzi Time," a zone of operations in which the switchboards are always open and the rush of humanity is ongoing.

  Witnessing such a schedule begs a number of very important questions: Is this a life? Operating in such a way, can one have balance between work and having a life? And do you—God forbid— have to operate in Ferrazzi Time to be successful?

  The answers are: Yes, it is a life, albeit my own; yes, you can find balance, albeit your own; and no, thank heavens, you don't have to do it my way.

  For me, the best thing about a relationship-driven career is that it isn't a career at all. It's a way of living. Several years ago, I started to realize that connecting was actually a way of seeing the world. When I thought and behaved in that way, dividing my life between professional and personal spheres no longer made sense. I realized that what made you successful in both worlds were other people and the way you related to them. Whether those people were family people, work people, or friend people, real connecting insists that you bring the same values to every relationship. As a result, I no longer needed to make a distinction between my career happiness and my life happiness—they were both pieces of me. My life.

  When it became clear to me that the key to my life was the relationships in it, I found there was no longer a need to compartmentalize work from, say, family or friends. I could spend my birthday at a business conference and be surrounded with warm and wonderful friends, as I recently did, or I could be at home in Los Angeles or New York with equally close friends to celebrate.

  The kind of false idea of balance as some sort of an equation, that you could take this many hours from one side of your life and give it to this other side, flew out the window. And with it went all the stress of trying to achieve that perfect state of equilibrium we read and hear so much about.

  Balance can't be bought or sold. It doesn't need to be "implemented." Balance is a mind-set, as individual and unique as our genetic code. Where you find joy, you find balance. My wacky schedule works for me and perhaps only for me. The blurring of professional and personal lives isn't for everyone. The important thing is to see connecting with others not just as another manipulative tool used toward achieving a goal but rather as a way of life. When you're out of balance, you'll know because you'll be rushed, angry, and unfulfilled. When you're balanced, you'll be joyful, enthusiastic, and full of gratitude.

  Don't worry about trying to develop your own version of Ferrazzi Time. The way you reach out to others is the way you eat an 800-pound elephant: one small bite at a time.

  In the end, we all live one life. And that life is all about the people we live it with.

  More People, More Balance

  If you buy into the myth of balance (the one that sees life as an equation), as I once did, the answers to such questions as "If I'm so 'accomplished,' why aren't I having more fun?" or "If I'm so 'organized,' why do I feel so out of control?" is to "simplify," "compartmentalize," or "reduce" your life into its most essential components.

  So we try to save time by eating our lunches at our desk. We have less serendipitous conversations with colleagues, strangers, and other "nonessentials" at the water cooler. We consolidate our sche
dules to include only the most important actions.

  People tell us, "If you just get more organized, if you strike a balance between work and home, and limit yourself to the important people in your life, you'll feel better." That's just totally misguided. What they should be saying is "I gotta get a life filled with people I love." The problem, as I see it, isn't what you're working on, it's whom you're working with.

  You can't feel in love with your life if you hate your work; and, more times than not, people don't love their work because they work with people they don't like. Connecting with others doubles and triples your opportunities to meet with people that can lead to a new and exciting job.

  I think the problem in today's world isn't that we have too many people in our lives, it's that we don't have enough. Dr. Will Miller and Glenn Sparks, in their book Refrigerator Rights: Creating Connections and Restoring Relationships, argue that with our increased mobility, American emphasis on individualism, and the overwhelming media distractions available to us, we lead lives of relative isolation.

  How many people can walk into our homes and just open up the fridge and help themselves? Not many. People need "refrigerator rights relationships," the kind that are comfortable, informal, and intimate enough to let us walk into one another's kitchens and rummage through the refrigerator without asking. It is close relationships like these that keep us well-adjusted, happy, and successful.

  America's focus on individualism works against reaching out to others. Comparative studies on levels of job stress and worker dissatisfaction show that people of individualistic cultures typically report much higher stress levels than do the people who work in more community-oriented cultures. In spite of our high standard of living, wealth and privilege haven't produced emotional well-being. Instead, as these studies show, it's a sense of belonging that brings us happiness.