Taste Life’s Dessert:
Become Alert! (Heaven Can’t Wait.)
by Brian D. Biro

One evening as we dined in a cafe in the Bitterroot Valley of Montana, my youngest daughter, Jenna, opened my eyes to a secret of extraordinary coaching and leadership I had nearly forgotten. The cafe was located on the second floor of a old main street building and had huge windows that captured the stunning panorama of the Bitterroot and Sapphire Mountain ranges enclosing the valley. Everyone in the cafe was eating or chatting quietly when something caught Jenna’s attention and she walked over to the window. As she stood gazing out at the mountains, suddenly her eyes brightened and a look of pure wonder came over her. Then, with great excitement and considerable volume she announced for all to hear as she pointed out the window, "Look, Mommy and Daddy. We're in heaven!"

Everyone in the restaurant lit up at her revelation. The more I thought about it, the more I realized Jenna was right. She had seen and felt the beauty that is always around us, but that most of us pass without the slightest notice. We can miss the "heaven" that is right before our eyes. Yet opportunities abound in our lives when we remember to look for them.

Great leaders and coaches are extraordinarily alert because they recognize that sometimes the smallest insight can make the biggest difference. Each Monday during the last thirty-five years of his remarkable life, Mahatma Gandhi did not speak. He made this choice for religious reasons, but found it had an amazing and unexpected effect. These silent Mondays helped Gandhi to heighten his powers of observation, to let go of defensiveness and the need to be right. Most important, never once on these days of silence did he find himself thinking about his response when another was speaking. Instead, he was truly listening. Gandhi's choice created the opportunity for him to develop keen alertness and sensitivity. You can build this same skill by quietly disciplining yourself to use your own senses to take in information more fully.

In college I enrolled in a class called "Observation of Children." It was held once a week at a preschool located on the Stanford University campus. Each of us selected a child to be our subject for the eleven-week quarter. Our task was simple: We were to observe everything we possibly could about our chosen child during our three-hour session each week. At the end of the quarter, we were to write a paper detailing our observations and thoughts from the experience. While observing we were not to speak to our subjects, and we were instructed to remain as inconspicuous as possible. The children were accustomed to having college students milling around, so the challenge of becoming invisible was not as difficult as one would think.

To be honest, I had enrolled in the class only to complete the developmental psychology units I needed for my major. I thought it would be a simple course, a break from the rigorous schedule I was facing that quarter. Little did I know that it would become one of the most stimulating educational experiences of my entire college career, and its impact would last me a lifetime.

Within minutes of observing the girl I had selected, I was completely enthralled. I watched her with total concentration. It soon became obvious to me that I had never really observed another human being with such sustained focus in my entire life. The three hours flew by so quickly they seemed like minutes.

The more I observed, the more I connected with this girl’s spirit. I understood her perhaps as well as anyone I had ever known, though I never uttered a word to her. I watched her grow and develop over those eleven weeks in her language skills, physical dexterity, courage, and interpersonal relationships. It was like watching a flower blossom under time-lapse photography. I realized how quickly most of us make judgments about one another and then hold onto our initial impressions without gaining the greater insight available to us through expanded observation. If her teachers could have stepped into my shoes, they would have discovered so much more about what inspired her, built her confidence, and sparked her curiosity. I became acutely aware of how much I miss in most conversations with others because I am so occupied with my own thoughts about what I will say next.

When we use our senses more acutely and sharpen our alertness, we discover opportunities to affect and inspire others as never before. It is a surefire strategy to become a dedicated lifelong learner, an absolute requirement for excellence.

Today, I carry a beautiful poem in my wallet to remind me of the impact we create when we use our awareness and our senses with our full potential:

The Most Beautiful Flower

The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read

Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree.

Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown,

For the world was intent on dragging me down.

And if that weren’t enough to ruin my day,

A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play.

He stood right before me with his head tilted down

And said with great excitement, "Look what I found!"

In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight,

With its petals all worn, not enough rain, or too little light.

Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play,

I faked a small smile and then shifted away.

But instead of retreating he sat next to my side

And placed the flower to his nose and declared with overacted surprise,

"It sure smells pretty and it’s beautiful, too.

That’s why I picked it; here it’s for you."

The weed before me was dying or dead.

Not vibrant of colors, orange, yellow, or red.

But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave.

So I reached for the flower, and replied, "Just what I need."

But instead of him placing the flower in my hand,

He held it mid-air without reason or plan.

It was then that I noticed for the very first time

That weed-toting boy could not see; he was blind.

I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun

As I thanked him for picking the very best one.

"You’re welcome," he smiled, and then ran off to play,

Unaware of the impact he’d had on my day.

I sat there and wondered how he managed to see

A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree.

How did he know of my self-indulged plight?

Perhaps from his heart, he’d been blessed with true sight.

Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see

The problem was not with the world; the problem was me.

And for all of those times I myself had been blind,

I vowed to see the beauty in life, and appreciate every second that’s mine.

And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose

And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose

And smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in his hand

About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.

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© 2001-2007 - Brian D. Biro
Leadership Article