Sometime during the late eighties, I was at a midnight birthday party in New York City. I could tell the music was at full blast because each of the four strategically-placed stereo speakers appeared to be alive with a giant pulsating heart. The party was just starting to warm up, thanks to a few people who had the nerve to herk and jerk their hips like Elaine from Seinfeld:

There I was, holding a freshly refilled glass of white wine, surveying the crowd and looking for a place to fit in somewhere. Within a few minutes, I spied a group of articulate-looking people chatting incessantly with the birthday boy across the room. They were passing dirty jokes back and forth.

“Hmmm…this looks promising,” I thought to myself. Taking a deep breath, I promptly made my way over to join them.

Imagine my shock when I discovered they were babbling away 500 miles an hour, like that guy from the famous Federal Express TV commercials. Remember those?

Not wanting to slink away so soon and possibly draw attention to myself, I stood there, pretending to understand every word he was saying. Sipping my cocktail, I nodded, winked and even laughed at all the right moments. I was an expert at this kind of stuff.

But like a Cheshire cat poised to pounce on its prey, I waited for the birthday boy to say something, ANYTHING, that remotely resembled English so that I could at least have something to respond to.

Luckily I didn’t have to wait very long.

“I’m going to buy some condos downtown……..”

AH! I GOTCHA!

Springing into action, I brazenly cut him off and practically screamed, “Yeah, I know where to go for that. Have you heard of a cute little shop down in the village called ‘Condoms Around the World’?’ Oh, you gotta go check it out!!”

Dang, I was so damn proud of myself – I had done it. I had made my mark that night.

What I didn’t know was that just before I opened my big mouth, someone had turned the stereo down for reasons I’ll never know.

At first, a look of surprise registered on people’s faces. Then as if someone flicked on the switch, everyone degenerated into a cacophony of hoots, cackles, and wails, holding on to their stomachs for dear life. Some were repeatedly banging on the coffee table in a desperate attempt to catch their breath while others were giving each other high fives. Shocked and confused that I could be so profoundly funny over such an innocent comment, but not wanting to be left out, I joined in the chorus of laughter.

My best friend, who happened to be within arm’s length, knew better than to think I understood what had just happened. He decided to be helpful.

Instead of grabbing my arm and towing me to the other room where we could talk privately, he waved at me to get my attention and then said, “Hey, that wasn’t what the birthday boy said. The dude was talking about condos not condoms!”

Some friend he was, yeah.

For the first time in my life, I actually felt like I was having a hot flash if that were possible. Never before did I hope the Lord would magically float down to that living room and beam me out of there!

Food for thought: Bluffing your way through life ain’t the way to live!

a

It took me years to come to terms with my hearing loss. As a kid, not a day went by when I didn’t wish I was someone with “normal hearing.”  It would be a long time before I finally became aware of my inner power and understood that I was on a very special mission to make a difference in the world.

One night I had a brilliant idea. I decided to leave my hearing aids at home and go out on the town for a few drinks.  That way no one would know I was deaf—without those hearing aids, I looked completely “normal.”

Taking the train downtown to Soho, I entered a trendy nightspot and immediately ordered a martini. I sat at the bar by myself, minding my own business, looking around but not speaking with anyone. Don’t ask why I would go out and not want to talk to anyone!  But so far, so good.

Just as I ordered a second martini, a lady who looked like she had just stepped out of a James Bond movie walked in.  She was wearing a long mink coat that trailed behind her 100 miles, wore a red dress and red fingernails, a red pocketbook and even red shoes.  I never saw anyone so color coordinated!

I wondered who she was—perhaps a movie star or something?  I gulped down the martini.

Within seconds she slid next to me and proceeded to order herself a glass of red wine, the color of which matched her lips exactly.  She was clearly alone, but I did my best to ignore her.

At some point, I ordered a third martini and somehow made the mistake of turning in her direction. The inevitable followed. She said hi. I said hi back. Suddenly we were talking about nothing important. As far as I could tell, my accent-sounding voice never betrayed me.  I must have been doing a good job lip-reading because I was responding in all the right places.  Every time she laughed, smiled or rolled her eyes, I did exactly the same.  She had no clue.

Eventually, we reached a lull in the conversation.  I ordered a fourth drink and while I was waiting for it, the James Bond Lady suddenly leaned over and started to whisper in my left ear!  Instead of instinctively backing away and telling her that I couldn’t hear, I just sat there and acted as if I knew exactly what she was saying.  I laughed, smile and shook my head as if she were the funniest lady in the world.

Suddenly she pulled back and looked at me in a quizzical sort of way.  Judging from her look, she was looking for either a “Yes” or a “No.”

It took all of two seconds to respond.  “Uh-huh, yep, sounds GREAT!”  I smiled.

I guess that was all she wanted to hear because her reaction was swift and purposeful.  She expertly extinguished her cigarette, gulped down the rest of her drink and dove into the mink coat all at the same time, while barking orders like a drill sergeant, “FOLLOW ME.”

As if in a trance, I trotted after her like a clueless Golden Retriever to a waiting cab outside the bar.

While the cab wound its way in and out of traffic on the way uptown, my mind was busy with thoughts, trying to figure out what exactly she whispered in my ear earlier. We’re probably going to a party, I concluded.

Within twenty minutes, the yellow taxicab pulled up in front of the swanky Ritz Carlton hotel on Fifth Avenue.  After she paid the fare, we both breezed through the marble lobby and took the elevator up to the 19th floor. I grew increasingly uncomfortable as the numbers climbed higher on the overhead panel.

Trying to appear nonchalant, I finally asked, “So, where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“Oh.”

Arriving at the 19th floor, we stepped out, turned right and walked about halfway down the long corridor, stopping at Room 1960 (I remember that number because that was the year I was born). Pulling out the room key, she turned to me and breathlessly said, “Are you ready?”

Trying to appear like a cool cat, I shrugged my shoulders and managed an unintelligible response, “Nuhhh.”

Pushing the card in and out of the slot, she swung the door wide open. My eyes were immediately drawn to the king-sized bed, and what I saw made my knees buckle.  I had to hold onto the doorframe for support.

Sprawled across the bed was an assortment of leather chaps, a pair of handcuffs and a whip!

Face paper-white, I slowly turned to her and shakily said, “Hey, listen, um, this really isn’t my cup of tea.  I thought you invited me to a party or something.”

The James Bond lady’s face turned into a mass of contorted fury.   Bringing the tip of her red fingernail dangerously close to my face, she yelled angrily, “WHAT, ARE YOU DEAF OR SOMETHING?!?”

“Yesssssss!”

And then I bolted past her to the stairwell, where I practically slid all the way down to the lobby and hopped into a waiting cab—just like in the movies.

When I arrived home fifteen minutes later, I fixed myself a fifth and final martini.

Food for thought:  Be authentic.  You were created exactly as you are for a divine purpose.  If you don’t accept yourself for who you are, how can you expect others to accept you?

End of Sample Chapter 9

Chapter Nine Exercise

We’ve all made decisions that placed ourselves in embarrassing or otherwise dire situations (hopefully not like I did with the “James Bond Lady”!).   Despite those decisions, you’ve actually never, ever made a mistake.  This is because everything that happens is nothing more than an experience.  That’s all it really amounts to.

Having said that, have you ever made the decision to deny the very essence of who you are by dressing, speaking or acting in a certain way because you were afraid others would judge, criticize or attack you?  Have there been situations in your life where you agreed to do something even if it didn’t feel right in your bones because you were worried others would disapprove?

Write down where you could be adding layers of protection to shield you from the reaction of others.    What’s the perceived reality of withholding this information?

What’s the worst thing that could happen if you became a more transparent in certain areas of your life?

What’s the best thing that could happen?

a

This involves a story where the simple act of gargling mouthwash made for one of life’s most embarrassing moments made easier through a sense of humor.

Many years ago I was invited to give a talk to a group of distinquished business people in New York City. I was just getting started as a “public” speaker – “public” because I was not paid for my engagements at the time – I’m now considered a “professional” where I DO get paid.

One afternoon in November of 1997, I was invited to speak to “The 100 Club” in New York City. This group was composed of leaders from various industries.

Needless to say, I was really nervous that afternoon because I had never spoken in front of a bunch of distinguished businesspeople. Due to the way their meeting was conducted, I was given time to wander around the facility in an effort to shake off the nervousness. For reasons unknown to me, I often visited the bathroom just prior to a speech to check and recheck my appearance, wipe off any indication of sweat and if available, gargle with mouthwash.

Since “The 100 Club” met in a fancy private club in the middle of Manhattan, their bathrooms were stocked with shaving cream, razors, combs, mouthwash, aftershave lotions, hair gel, gum, breath spray and everything else you can imagine. You name it, they had it.

As I was tightening my tie and making sure it was aligned properly, something on the counter caught my attention. It was an attractive little bottle containing what looked like mouthwash. It was beckoning me to try it.

I thought to myself, “Fresh words will pour out of my tingling clean mouth and I’ll speak with such clarity!”

I poured myself a full cup of this liquid and swished it around my mouth for several minutes, feeling wonderfully happy. Then I spit it out and repeated the process several times.

Satisfied, I put the cap back on the mouthwash container and threw away the cup, took one last look at myself in the mirror and gave myself thumbs up with a wink for good measure.
Just as I was about to leave the men’s room and head out to the ballroom for my speech, I felt something odd happening inside my mouth.

My tongue was swelling! Someone walked past me in the hallway and I wanted to say, “How are you?”, instead what came out was “OW ARH UU.”

Glancing at my watch, I had a few more minutes before the speech. I ran back to the bathroom and picked up the suspicious container. I looked at the label a little closer. It read:

“The Concentrated Mouthwash is for long-lasting fresh breath. More freshness in a glass bottle for less money!!”

I realized with horror that I had just used concentrated mouthwash! You’re not supposed to use it without diluting it with water! I never felt so stupid in my life.

Panic stricken, I grabbed another cup and filled it with cold water and tried to wash away the effect of concentrated mouthwash. I looked at the clock on the wall, “Oh my God, I’ve got to go!”

Heart pounding, licking my mouth like crazy, I ran down the hall to the ballroom. Upon arriving to the door, I placed my hand on the knob, took a deep breath and slowly opened the door.

The club president was finishing up the speaker introduction.

“……and here is Stephen Hopson.”

I stepped on the stage and faced the audience. My tongue was massively swollen and I was beside myself with fear – I didn’t want to open my mouth and sound like an idiot but what choice did I have?

The opening words were embarrassingly unintelligible but somehow I managed to tell them what had just happened. Fortunately the swelling subsided quickly and the rest of the speech went without a hitch.

Guess what the topic was?

“Taking Risks!”

One cannot succeed without taking risks. In fact, in as embarrassing as they may be, they often turn out to be great stories for future speeches. They become your signature stories, your unique stories that no one else can duplicate because they happened to you, not them. They also make for great chapters in a future book such as the one I’m currently writing.

Stories like this often touches the human spirit and allows them to relate to your mishaps. It gives them a powerful reason to keep advancing toward their dreams because when they see that you’ve succeeded despite the risks you’ve taken, it stands to reason that they can do it too.

Let me ask you: What risks have you taken in advancing toward your dreams today?

a

I had been taking risks and entertaining the possibilities as far back as high school. Back in those days, my biggest passion was swimming. While I was not a “hot dog” (a term given to swimmers who consistently broke records), I did have a dream and that was to make the finals at the state championships in my last year of high school. (Photo:  Ciaranz).

My parents wanted me to belong to a sports team of some sort to help me develop social and competitive skills. Believe me, I tried out for track, baseball, football and even tennis but never made the cut. Did that ever happen to you?

My family was always going to swim meets for my two younger sisters (and eventually brother). We had always been a swimming family so when I arrived to high school, the natural choice for me was to try out for the swim team.

They immediately placed me on the freshmen team. Eventually I worked my way up to Junior Varsity and finally Varsity. At one point, I had gone to summer swim camp in Fort Lauderdale for some serious training for my event (200 yard individual medley – consisting of butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke and freestyle – in that order).

The swim team had done particularly well during my senior year, advancing all the way to the state championships. I was thrilled when “Rabbit,” our coach, put me in for the 200 individual medley event. (We called him “Rabbit” because he had two front teeth that was permanently puckered out of alignment).

The day before the state championships, I was watching the 1978 Olympics on television. My favorite event, of course, was swimming. As I was watching the men’s freestyle event, it slowly dawned on me that there was indeed a way to make the finals.

I noticed that all the guys were……bald!

Bald?

In my last year of high school?

Right before the senior prom?

Yeah!

Before I could change my mind, I made a beeline to my parent’s bathroom and promptly locked the door. The last thing I wanted was for someone to barge their way in while I was doing the unthinkable. Rustling through the cabinet beneath the sink, I found what I was looking for.

Trembling with excitement, I put the small black case on the counter and gingerly opened it. It was the electric shaver my Mom used to cut my hair when I was a toddler. Before plugging it in, I opened the door and poked my head out to see if anyone was around. Seeing no one, I got right to work.

With the razor whirring to life, I held it beside my face and stared at the mirror.

It’s now or never.

Starting on the right side, I mowed in neat lines from front to back, watching clumps of beautiful teenage hair tumble to the floor. I was halfway through when I felt the pounding on the door.

My mom!

Stupidly I said, “Who is it?”

More pounding.

“Okay, okay, just a sec,” I said in exasperation.

I opened the door a crack and positioned my head in a way that only the side with remaining hair could be seen.

“Yeah, mom, what’s up?”

“What are you doing Stephen?”, she said.

“Um, not much, do you need to use the bathroom?”

“No, answer my question, what are you doing in there!!??”

No sense in hiding anymore. Taking a deep breath, I pulled the door wide open.

She let out a loud gasp, covering her mouth in horror.

Mom practically screamed, “Stephen, what in God’s name are you doing?”

“Ma, some of those guys in the Olympics shaved their heads so I want to do it too. I’m going to make the finals tomorrow.”

She looked me up and down like I was crazy, then her eyes spied the mess on the floor – it was beginning to resemble my father’s favorite barbershop.

Letting out a loud sigh, shaking her head and pointing to the floor with her bony finger she said, “Make sure you clean up this mess.”

The cat was out of the bag. In no time the rest of my family will find out.

Waving her off, I closed the door firmly and hurriedly finished the job. I lathered my head with shaving cream and carefully plowed off the last remnants of hair.

Twenty minutes later, I was done…….

Is this how I’m going to look when I’m fifty?

It’s too late my boy, there’s no turning back!

If I’m going to shave my head, I might as well shave the rest of me!

Pssssss….more shaving cream.

When I went to bed later that night, I was in for a major shock – the sheets were ice cold! Where was the electric blanket when I needed it the most?

After tossing and turning for several minutes, I finally fell asleep.

The next morning I awoke at 6 am, had breakfast and headed for Albany State University, the site of the championships. So that no one would suspect anything, my head was concealed with a blue bathing cap. I wore nylon stockings and a couple layers of t-shirts to weigh myself down during pre-trial laps in the pool. The nylon stockings were nothing new in high school swimming. The “hot dogs” did it all the time. (Photo:  I’m the one in red goggles and blue cap on the right right).

The idea behind shaving is to compare it to a snake shedding old skin for new. You are in effect getting rid of dead body cells, giving you the like-new feeling. It provides a tremendous psychological boost – an indescribable feeling.

After swimming a couple warm-up laps, I got out of the pool, dried off and removed the nylon stocking and t-shirts. The bathing cap stayed in place. Grabbing my blue warm up suit, I sat in the corner to mentally prepare for the race.

I was very keyed up, filled with nervous anticipation about making the finals. This was going to be my special day – I was going to show everyone what I was capable of doing. I closed my eyes and meditated, murmured some prayers and took a couple of deep breaths. As I was stretching my legs, I felt a light tap on my shoulder.

It was one of the “hot dogs” from my team.

“Yo man, it’s almost time.”

My heart lurched. Here we go.

Wanting to savor the surprise, I slowly undressed, first the warm-up pants followed by matching windbreaker.

Then with a dramatic flair, I took off the blue bathing cap and threw it in the air, Mary Tyler Moore style.

The “hot dog” nearly fell in the pool.

He let out a gutteral scream, “Hey Hoppy (my high school nickname) shaaaaaved!”

The look on everyone’s faces was priceless. It was a sweet moment for me. “Rabbit” almost died of a fatal heart attack (See Coach in blue shirt, white shorts).

Laughing, I made my way over to the the starting block. Everybody gave me high fives on the way over.

Arriving at block # 5, I took one last look at my family up in the spectator section and gave them thumbs up. Snapping the goggles in place, I stepped onto the block, shaking my arms like they do in the Olympics.

Cocking my head slightly, I waited for the magic words to come forth from the starter’s lips.

Take your mark!

The swimmers instantly spring-loaded themselves into position. I was the only one with my head turned toward the starter’s gun – everyone else was looking down, intently listening for it to crackle. The only way I could knew the trigger was pulled was to watch for the flash that came seconds before the sound. As long as I didn’t hit the water before the popping sound, I would not be disqualified.

Splashing into the water, my hairless body sliced through the waves effortlessly. The first lap was over before I knew it and then I switched to backstroke.

Have you ever noticed arrow-shaped flags floating across both ends of a swimming pool (see photo above)? They serve as visual checkpoints for backstroke swimmers to alert them of the fast approaching end of the pool. As soon as they reached that checkpoint, they automatically counted a pre-determined number of armstrokes before touching the wall and flipping to the next lap.

Upon seeing those flags, I counted five arm strokes, 1-2-3-4-5.

Then disaster struck.

Everything happened blazingly fast. I miscalculated the number of armstrokes and crashed into the wall, almost knocking me out. It took me a few seconds to reorient myself but the mishap cost me precious seconds.

As soon as I came to, I pushed off the wall and tried to catch up.

I still have a chance, I still have a chance.

After completing the breastroke, I switched to freestyle and gave the last two laps everything I had, not daring to turn sideways for air. My eyes were riveted to the end of the pool.

Slamming on the touch pad, I ripped off my goggles, practically gasping for air and looked at my family. They were cheering, clapping and giving me thumbs up. So was the swim team. My hopes surged.

Glancing at the huge digitial time board, I couldn’t believe it.

My performance turned in the best time ever!

Excited, my eyes darted over to the column that listed the order of placement.

Mine was “3.”

Rubbing my eyes, I looked again.

Sure enough, I was not imagining things.

I didn’t make the finals.

Stifling the urge to cry, I dipped my head back in the water as if that would wipe away invisible tears and pulled my taut body out of the water.

On my way over to the bench, the “Rabbit” came up to me, cradled his arm around my shoulders and said, “Congratulations Stephen, you did your best time ever!”

I said, “Yeah, but I didn’t make the finals.” His mouth puckered in sympathy and he gave my arm a reassuring squeeze as if that would somehow wipe away the pain.

Meanwhile, the rest of my teammates were slapping my back, giving me high fives but I didn’t feel their joy. Suddenly my head hurt – it was throbbing furiously. I absentmindedly rubbed it. There was a lump the size of a small baseball.

That was almost 30 years ago. (That’s me on the left side with “Bunker” the hotdog swimmer who let out a guttural scream at the beginning).

The lesson? Have a passion for your goals and entertain the possibilities. Even though I didn’t make the finals, it wasn’t for lack of trying. Because of my passion for swimming, I was able to take a compelling idea and follow through. As a result of acting on my intuition, I ended up doing my best time ever and for that I can be proud. I won’t be sitting in my rocking chair wondering what would have happened had I shaved.

Let me ask you: “Do you have a passion for something? Have you entertained the possibilities? And finally, have you acted on your intutition? If not, what are you waiting for? You only live once.

a