Flaking Till You Make It

I’m driving across the Houston freeway spaghetti bowl, it’s a Sunday, and on Sundays, I’m doing my best not to think about Mondays – hanging out with my wife and kids, watching or coaching sports, which are basically my favorite things in the world.

That’s where I’d like to be.

But instead, I’m driving across the city to attend a documentary event for military vets because a fairly new friend of mine, this brilliant ex-military vet, was selected as a Houston spotlight spokesperson, and two months ago he wrote me asking if I’d like to come check it out.  At the time it seemed like a decent idea only because my initial reaction is enjoying the support of my friends, and so I said yep, for sure, I’ll be there.

But now that it’s the day and I’m driving 45 minutes into the city (90 minutes round-trip, I think to myself as I grip the steering wheel harder, and that’s without traffic), I’m starting to regret this whole thing.

I’m daydreaming about what it would be like to be back at home, relaxing in the backyard, doing overdue yard chores, hanging with my girls, living my own damn life, and not giving up half a day driving to an area I don’t live, for a person I just met to go view an art event in which I have literally no appreciation.  As I arrive, I suddenly realize as I pull up to the event, this is a pretty terrible way to spend a Sunday.

I walk in. I buy my ticket. I find my seat. The first thing I notice is how few people are in the building. The lights go down, and the movie begins.

I won’t do a whole recap. But suffice it to say that about halfway through the doc, my eyes started welling up. I saw military veterans in a way I never had before and learned some remarkable things, which it turns out my new friend struggled with in a big way - an incredibly difficult experience to capture.

By the time the lights go up, my mind is racing.  I’m totally moved, riveted, inspired.  Outside the theater, a small cluster of people, many of them veterans, are standing around talking.  My friend sees me, his face brightens in a way I’ve never quite seen before.

“You made it!” he says, clearly surprised that I showed.

“I did,” I say as we hug, trying to figure out how to tell him how glad I am that I came.

“We haven’t talked in a few weeks, so I just figured…”

“I know, I know,” I say, thrilled to be here, suddenly realizing that this          was actually an excellent use of my time.

I tell him I loved the piece. I ask him various questions about it and how we’d gone so long without my appreciating this incredibly proud part of his life.  He introduces me to lots of people, all who were clearly riveted by the documentary.

I then run back to my truck and head home, because I’m a dad and a husband and, you know, traffic.

When I get inside, I write my friend a quick email congratulating him again and telling him in more detail just how much I was moved by the documentary. I follow up on a few of the moments that really landed, and share some thoughts I had as a civilian viewer. I do this not because I want to do him any favors, but because I sincerely mean it — because I care. I hit send, then disappear back into my life.

The next day, he sends me a reply. His email stops me in my tracks.

Brother, your words hit home. Thank you for being a part of our experience yesterday … It was a powerful day all around, and I am still feeling it.

Thank you once again my friend. I appreciate your sincerity, and more than that, I appreciate the fact that you were there. For me, presence is 90 percent of impact.

I can’t help but smile as I read his email a couple times.  Over the next few days, we discover some really cool ways to help each other. He advises me on a few interesting marketing ideas.  I share some promotional strategies for the documentary.  We talk about life and work and family. Suddenly, we’re actual friends. I feel warm and connected and grateful and all that good stuff that comes from developing a meaningful relationship.

All because I showed up at an event I would’ve given anything that morning to not have to attend.

An Epidemic of Flakiness

Let me get one thing out there right now: I’m no stranger to flaking.

I’ve flaked on birthdays, I’ve flaked on trips, I’ve flaked on events, I’ve flaked on workouts. (So many workouts.) In my 20s, when the plans you make are about as reliable as an HP printer circa 2002, I flaked more than a perfect Gordon Ramsay pie crust. Which, if you don’t know, are pretty damn flaky.

I flaked for all the reasons you’d expect. I liked being in control of my time. I preferred to not be tethered to anyone or anything too strongly. I enjoyed bailing on plans that didn’t suit my whims at the last minute. I also flaked because back then, I hung out with people who were highly flaky and therefore highly flakable, it was actually part of the social contract. And, to be fair, I made a lot of plans that made me want to bail, because I hadn’t learned yet that it was perfectly fine to say no to stuff that I just didn’t want to do.

I tell you all this because I’m about to argue for the virtues of not flaking, and I don’t want you to think I’m some boy scout who’s never bailed in his life. I came around to the idea of Always Showing Up after years of shrugging off plans, and now that I’ve seen the impact its had on my life and relationships, I’m 100 percent convinced that showing up is one of the most powerful things we can do.

And part of the reason it’s so powerful is that so few people do it.

In any given week, we receive so many “Gah, sorry, stuck at work” texts and “Sorry, not feeling great, gotta raincheck” emails that we don’t even get mad anymore. Facebook events are a graveyard of “I’m Interested” replies, messages go read but unresponded to, and if you’ve ever created an Evite, then you know that the “Going” column doesn’t mean anything until the day of the event, when who knows who will actually show up. An RSVP just doesn’t mean what it used to (oftentimes, it doesn’t mean anything at all!), and we’ve slowly come to accept that.

Technology isn’t helping things. The fact that so much planning happens through a screen only makes it easier to bail, since we’re even more removed from one another than we used to be. It’s also increased the number of events we get invited to, which jacks up our FOMO and encourages us to keep our options open. And if you do bail on someone at the last minute, then at least you know they’ll have their phone with them, in which case they won’t really be alone, so bailing won’t be as big of a deal.

So here we are.

We live in the Age of Maybe, desensitized to other people’s flakiness, either too proud or too numb to let ourselves be bothered by how noncommittal our relationships have become.

In return, we play by the same rules, and treat other people just as casually. The result is a society that doesn’t take its promises very seriously at all. And why should it? We give as we get, and if we can’t have the kind of friends who show up when they say they will, then at least we don’t have to be the kind of friends who show up. And in a certain way, that’s kind of nice, even if we all know it’s total bullshit.

The flipside to all this, of course, is that when you do show up, it means a great deal. We’re so starved for integrity, so deprived of reliable connection, that any act of showing up feels like a major act of service. It shouldn’t be this way — it should be that when you show up, people go “oh, cool, you said you’d be here and now you’re here, that was totally expected” — but it is. And because we live in this Flake Age, showing up when you say you will has an even greater impact than it used to, which makes it one of the most important things you can do in your relationships.

Which brings us back to that email.

The Joy of Showing Up

For me, presence is 90 percent of impact.

I kept thinking about that phrase in the days following my friend’s note. In that simple phrase, he captured something crucial about presence. The act itself — just being there, whatever “being there” means in a given situation — is the biggest part of helping people, building relationships, and influencing the world.

To make a difference, we have to Show Up. And when we Show Up, sometimes the simple act of Showing Up is precisely what makes the difference.

But Showing Up isn’t just, you know, “showing up.” I’m not talking about showing your face, engaging in small talk or checking the box on an RSVP. We all know that being somewhere isn’t the same thing as being there. We can spend hours with people and bring little to the experience. We can spend years hanging out with someone and never really scratch the surface. We can clock in and clock out of a job and never make a mark on the company.

For many of us, this kind of perfunctory showing up is at least 80 percent of daily life. Which might also explain why we find it so tempting to bail. After all, what are we really bailing on, if there’s not much for us to show up for?

So when I talk about the joy of showing up, I’m talking about a more meaningful kind of showing up, which really comes down to three key qualities.

Commitment

The first and necessary condition of showing up is, well, actually showing up.

That means agreeing to be somewhere when you say you will. That could be a live event, a scheduled phone call, a role on a project, a timely response, a moment of need or a sudden crisis. It could be planned or spontaneous, required or elective. But when you say (or imply) that you’ll be somewhere, then the first step toward Showing Up as a way of life is to agree with yourself that you will not bail. You must make this promise to yourself before you expect it of other people. (In fact, as we’re about to see, sometimes this promise to yourself is all you really need to build a non-flaky life.) Showing up is a one-man job, to start.

When I drove to the film festival that morning, I had committed to showing up, even though I didn’t want to in the moment. Without that promise to myself, the relationship with my friend wouldn’t have been possible. It’s a simple agreement, but it’s absolutely essential.

Presence

Showing up in a meaningful way requires you to truly be somewhere, as opposed to just being there in body.

It’s a squishy term, I know, but “presence” really comes down to this: cultivating an awareness that you can only really be in one place at a time, and that the place you’re in now is the only place that really matters. It means being disciplined about mental chatter, distraction and the nagging desire to be somewhere else. It means being fully in the place and in the company to which you’ve agreed to show up. It means agreeing to make the most of the thing you’ve shown up for, knowing that you showed up in order to make the most of it.

When I surrendered to being at the festival — and agreed to take in everything I saw as much as I could — I let go of the (impossible) desire to be somewhere else and allowed myself to be completely in the theater while I was there. That presence allowed me to appreciate the doc and have a true experience to share with my friend. This one is a tougher mindset to cultivate, but it’s just as essential, because it allows for another crucial quality to kick in.

Fullness

When you’re truly present, you’re also in a position to bring all of yourself to the moment you’re in: to be somewhere in full. Bringing all of yourself to a moment means offering as much value, perspective, attention, joy, and involvement as is appropriate and desired.

Like presence, fullness is a choice. Instead of holding back — say, by refusing to socialize, retreating into your thoughts, shutting yourself off from the experience, deciding not to contribute to the moment, and so on — you agree to bring as many relevant qualities to the moment as you can. If it’s a meeting, you chime in, reflect, contribute. If it’s a movie, you stay open, take it in, engage with it. If it’s a first date, you ask questions, invest in the conversation, commit to authenticity. If it’s a crisis, you look for ways to help, offer support, and help people find solutions. You bring your full self to whatever the moment is.

When I watched the doc, connected it with other ideas and discussed it with my friend, I was showing up with fullness (or as much fullness as I could offer on a day full of other obligations). I wasn’t just another body in the theater. I was a viewer, a participant, and a friend cheering him on. That’s the stuff of a meaningful relationship, and it’s only possible when you bring as much of yourself as you can to every moment.

These three qualities — the act of commitment, the mindset of presence, and the quality of fullness — are the raw material of Showing Up. They’re the difference between “being there” and “being there.” (Or, to put it another way, the difference between being there and being here.) They’re how you honor and capitalize on the decision to show up when you say you will. They’re how you elevate the check-the-box act of showing your face to the meaningful act of becoming part of the thing you’re showing up for.

When you do show up in that way, you open up an entire world of potential value. That value, at the end of the day, is the source of the most important experiences in life — starting with great relationships.

The End of Flakiness

Is there absolutely no room for flakiness in our lives? Is showing up a non-negotiable?

Not quite. Sometimes we will have to bail on plans for legitimate reasons. Sometimes showing up will become impossible. Sometimes something more important will come up. Life happens.

But that isn’t flaking. A medical emergency, a more urgent obligation, an actual (not fake) illness — these are all acceptable reasons to cancel plans. But even here, respect and courtesy apply. There’s a rude way to legitimately bail and a respectful way to legitimately bail. The respectful way usually includes an honest explanation, a sincere apology, and concrete steps to reset the plans. Anything less tends to give way to good old-fashioned flaking.

Outside of those cases, though, bailing on commitments is usually a form of flakiness, and that’s what we have to eliminate.  I am certainly not there yet.  Yep, still bailing on occasion!

So what does it take to end flakiness in your life?

How do you stop being the kind of person who regularly bails, and start being the person who shows up no matter what?

The answer comes down to three simple agreements.

Do what you say you will. Don’t say what you won’t do.

From now on, make a promise to yourself to follow through on the commitments you’ve made. 

This might mean driving across town when you don’t feel like it, attending an event when you’d rather stay home, or doing some extra work when you’d rather relax. Showing up despite that resistance is how you create value that other people can’t. In the short term, it might feel quite onerous, especially if you’ve lived by flakiness up till now. Over time, though, it will bring you deeper into your own life, and avoid the dysfunction that flakiness causes.

At the same time, make a promise to not make commitments you don’t intend on keeping. This is the other side of the integrity coin. When you refuse to commit to things you can’t show up to, you eliminate the need to flake at all. You also free up room to only commit to those things that matter to you, so you can experience the joy of showing up more often.

Celebrate showing up.

The more you show up, and the more you hang with people who show up, the more you’ll discover how important showing up really is. Celebrating un-flakiness reinforces the promise, and spreads the showing up mentality across your life.

What does this mean in practice?

For one thing, it means taking stock of the impact of showing up. Every so often, check in with yourself and ask how honoring your commitments is working out. Are you feeling more connected and more productive? Are there opportunities to show up in ways that you haven’t yet? What impact would showing up for those people and places have?

Another way to celebrate showing up is to institutionalize it in every area of your life.

At work, you might make it a company policy (e.g., responding to your teammates because you care more about letting them down than you’re your boss thinks, incentivizing follow-through on goals and KPIs, creating a medium to highlight employees’ accomplishments).  In your family, you might make it a ritual (e.g., showing up at every moment for your kids and spouse, agreeing not to check phones at dinner, having dinner all together every week). In your personal life, you might make it an informal policy (e.g., not dating people who regularly flake, celebrating your friends’ accomplishments socially, looking for ways to commit to the other person’s growth).

The beauty of showing up is that it’s infectious.

The more you do it, the more you’ll want to do it, the more you’ll expect other people to do it, and — with you as an example — the more they’ll want to do it, too. It’s a virtuous cycle that begins with one person saying: I’m going to do what I said I would. That one agreement can literally change your life.

So this is our task: to show up when we say we will, to not say we’ll show up when we won’t, and to share that commitment to showing up across our lives.

The epidemic of flakiness is part of our culture now, but we can reverse it in ourselves. Ultimately, that’s all we really have to do to live a non-flaky life.

When we show up, we always end up finding other people who show up, too. We either attract them with our commitment or we inspire them with our example. That’s how great relationships are born. They deepen with value, gratitude, generosity, and kindness. But they begin in one place — ourselves — when we resist the urge to bail, and choose to be there instead.

For all those I love in my life, just know, I’m working on it.