Hearing vs. Listening

Hear /'hir/ v.
1. to perceive or apprehend by the ear
2. to have the capacity of apprehending sound

Lis ten [lis-uhn] v.
1. to pay attention to sound
2. to hear something with thoughtful attention: give consideration
3. to be alert or catch an unexpected sound

There is a difference between hearing and listening. To hear is to simply allow sound to enter your ear. To listen is to pay attention to; to regard; to heed. If someone has had to tell you something several times, if you find yourself receiving seemingly repetitive advice, then perhaps you've been hearing, but you haven't been listening.

You're also not listening if you're the one doing all the talking. Listening is not to pay attention to the sound of your own voice; it is to pay attention to someone else's voice. If you're done learning and you feel that you can do fine without the help of others, then go ahead, continuing hearing. But if you want to go somewhere, if you want to be respected by others, open your mind and start listening.

How to Say "No"

Unless you are one of the truly gifted people who can unequivocally tell the majority of civilization to f*ck off (and believe me, if you are one of those people, I am exceptionally jealous of you), then you can probably sympathize with the average person's (read: my) occasional inability to say "no."

Not being a pushover is tough work. It takes originality, charm and sometimes a little bit of evil. I have a friend who, in her first time to New York City, guiltily accepted promotional fliers from every Times Square street ambassador with whom she made eye contact. Thankfully, I'm not that bad, and New York has toughened me up a tad. But I still find it hard to say no to people. So how do you do that? How do you learn to say no? Here are five tips that I find useful when you just need to give an honest "No, thank you."

1. Be polite. It's all about the presentation and, more often than not, if you turn someone down gently, they will respond much more positively to you than if you were rude.
2. Be firm. No means no. Make sure who you are rejecting understands that, and be prepared to turn-down counter offers.
3. Offer an explanation. Rejections and dismissals sound so much better when they are backed up with a logical explanation. "You know, Lisa, I've really been swamped with my own coursework. I'm sorry, I just don't have time to help you with your paper this weekend."
4. Be honest. If you can't help Lisa with her paper ever, then say so. Don't lead her to believe that you'll help her the next time if you really have no intention of doing so. Be honest from the get go, and people will be less upset with you when you turn them down in the future.
5. End on a positive note. Perhaps you're quitting your internship. End with something like, "But you know, Andrew, I've really enjoyed my time here and it's been a great learning experience. If you're up for it, I would really like to stay in touch after I'm gone."

It's All About the Presentation

A few months ago, I wrote a post about getting what you want, titled "The Power of Asking." Certainly, I believe that this advice is true, else I would not be broadcasting it. However, aside from just asking, there is another key to getting what you want: your presentation.

For those of you who are women and who have sisters, you will understand what I'm talking about in the following anecdote. For those who don't have sisters, bear with me.

After many failed attempts to borrow my sister's clothes while growing up, I came to the conclusion that it was much easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission. This is a lesson that most kids learn early on, and I was no exception. Usually, when I wanted to borrow something, I would sneak into my sister's room, take the item and then simply replace it later, unnoticed.

However, now I know why most thieves don't steal from their neighbors: once caught, they can't run very far. I also learned this lesson early on, and accepted that sometimes I just had to ask for permission. My sister tended to say no on principle, and every time this happened I ran upstairs and complained to my mom, pleading with her to interject with executive power.

Me: "Mooommmmmm! Mallory won't let me borrow her shirt! She's doing it for no reason. Will you tell her to let me wear it?"
My mother, getting ready for work and thrilled to be harrowed with these important issues, had a script for this issue: "Well, did you ask her nicely?"
Me: "Yes!"
Mom: "Are you sure?"
Me: (With notably less confidence) "Yes..."
Mom: "Well why don't you go ask her really sweetly--and if she says 'no' right away, don't get mad and start yelling. Ask her again--nicely. If she still says no, I'll come talk to her." And then iconically, my mother would end with this line: "But remember, it's all about your presentation."

Now, while I certainly hated to put on the "nice" act for my sister, I could see that my mother had a point. You can't demand something of someone; people don't like to help people who are rude. Rather, you have to ask for things calmly, rationally and nicely. Shed the self-entitlement and see what it does for you. Really, you'll find that you get to borrow many more of your siblings' shirts.

Change

I am a very sentimental person. As such, I typically don't deal well with change. I'm not talking about small change like a moved exam date or adjustments to the MTA schedule (although who hasn't had a minor freakout over this at least once?)--with these, I can roll with the punches. But major changes?--these tend to leave me clinging like a petulant child.

This Saturday marks my last day as a Division I volleyball player. It's a day that, for years, I thought I would welcome eagerly. Finally! I have time for a life! Now that the day actually approaches, though, I'm about as eager for it to arrive as the Angel of Death.

Perhaps it seems dramatic, but I do feel like I am experiencing a small death--the death of a piece of my identity. I've been playing volleyball since I was ten years old. Since ten years old, I had something that I could always rely on to take up my time. I was busy and I liked it. In fact, I think a huge part of the reason I've continued to play volleyball is that it simply gives me something to do. Naturally, then, the thought of not playing ever again, of not being busy, is a little scary. What is going to fill that void? Where am I going to put that time? What do we do when a part of our life is wrenched away from us and we're not ready to let go?

My answer: try something new. Sure, you're allowed your few days of wallowing; but eventually you have to get up from the couch, shower and keep going. Take up a new activity. Plan a road trip. Start a blog. After all, what better a time to work on your bucket list than right now?

Trust Your Gut

Present a classroom with any topic, be it as controversial as global warming or as mundane as the importance of matching socks, and I assure you, on each topic, each person in the room will have at least some mildly-formed opinion (yes, we all know that those try-to-please-everyone, neutral types actually have opinions, they just don't want to share them).

So, given the fact that everyone has an opinion, and that hundreds of these conflicting opinions are thrown at us daily, how do we go about choosing the right one? How do we settle on which one to trust, especially when sometimes we've asked for all of these different outlooks?

Recently, I asked a Fordham alumnus to critique my resume. For anonymity's sake, we'll call her Cynthia. Most of Cynthia's advice to me was extremely helpful, but some was also confusing. As I read through her comments, I found that several of Cynthia's recommendations actually conflicted with those I had received from other critics. One example is the small issue of the placement of dates on a resume. Cynthia says that dates should be placed on the far right because they balance out the resume visually. My business communication professor says that dates should actually be on the left, next to the position title, because you don't want to draw attention to one of the least important details on your resume. So who do I trust? Cynthia? My business communication professor? A third party?

In my opinion (see what I did there?), when in doubt, go with your gut. Given all of the opinions in this world, we are bound to run into disagreements eventually. And there is no way we can please everyone.

So, certainly, consider others' perspectives, but if you find yourself stumped with indecision, trust your gut to lead the way--when shit hits the fan, it's the best intuition you've got.

What's your brand?

Last week, I was at a career event featuring Fordham alumni, and one successful alum gave the group an interesting bit of advice. "I'm not saying this just because I'm in advertising," he started, "but employers are interested in buying a brand. You need to create a brand for yourself and then go sell it." His name is Paul and he is the Executive Vice President of BBDO's New York office (so clearly, he has something going with that).

Coincidentally enough, this morning I happened to stumble across an article by Fast Company titled "7 Ways to Build a Brand From Scratch." Ok, I thought, some higher power is really trying to give me a hint--work on my brand. The article was largely about taking advantage of "brand-lag"--when there is clear need for a new product, but no brand to fill it.

This product-development story, along with the words of that Fordham alumni, got me to thinking--what exactly is my brand? What do I have to offer (as an employee, as a volunteer, as a friend) that no one else can offer and that someone else needs?

Think about the last time you bought deodorant (let's forget the fact that you are a broke college student and probably bought the cheapest thing on the shelf). If you're like most Americans, when shopping for deodorant, you have a certain brand in mind. Say your brand is Old Spice. Old Spice smells good; Old Spice is reliable; it is fairly priced; you get along with Old Spice; it's been there for you for a while. You would never take your chances on Fly and Dry, that new brand on the shelf. No, you, like most consumers, will stick to the brand you know, Old Spice. Why? Well for one, you've never even heard of Fly and Dry--why would you buy something that hasn't been recommended to you (either by an advertisement or by a friend)? Two, you don't need Fly and Dry--your current brand, Old Spice, offers everything that Fly and Dry does, so why switch now? According to Paul, this is exactly how employers think.

You have to create a brand for yourself and sell it. Ask, "Where is there a brand-lag, and how can I fill it? What do I have to offer that someone else needs? Have other people tried my brand (at internships, for example)? Have I made my brand credible enough that it can be recommended to others?

Building a brand from scratch is tough, but it is important. Besides, who's to say you can't be the next Old Spice?

P.S. Here's the link to that Fast Company article in case you're interested in reading it.

Give Up the Jigsaw Puzzle

As a senior who will be graduating in May, I’ve been spending a lot of time lately researching prospective employers. I’m from California, but want to stay in New York after graduation. So obviously, I need to have this all figured out (job, money, apartment, etc.) before May 18 (cue the dramatic music). As one would guess, this process is rather stressful and time-consuming. Looking for a job is like having a job.  And even as someone who tries to steer clear of misleading websites like Craigslist, I often find myself sifting for hours through more legitimate websites like Monster.com , Career Link or the like. Though what I'm realizing about myself is that thinking about finding a job actually creates more stress and worry for me than finding the job itself.

This is not to say that my career hunt is half-assed (on the contrary, it is quite rigorous). But I’ve realized that I’ve been looking at my job hunt the wrong way. Rather than see my search as a jigsaw puzzle, in which I need to find all the pieces all at once (job, money, apartment, roommates, etc.), I need to be looking at my hunt as more of a map—a process that I take one step, one stage at a time.

So, if you find yourself in a similar situation—thinking more about what you have to do than actually doing it—I recommend that you give up the jigsaw puzzle and pull out your map; even if you are the world’s best puzzler, it’s impossible to get all of the pieces all at once.