She said, “I have very few regrets about what I have done. But what I re-
gret most are the things I didn’t do. Ideas I wish I had acted on and the pos-
sibilities I never explored—all because of the foolish and flimsy excuse that
I might fail. So what? So I failed. What would it have really mattered?”
Her answer stung me like a swarm of hornets.
A retrospective film began to play in my mind about the scores of ideas
I had come up with, where an initial burst of enthusiasm had been popped
by the first hint of disapproval from another. At that point, I would begin
talking myself out of wasting my efforts by taking the idea any further. I now
realize that this self-sabotaging mechanism was nothing more than a pes-
simistic monster that I kept alive by yielding to it. Pessimism becomes its
own self-fulfilling prophecy as “I can’t” evolves into “I won’t.”
After hearing this inspiring story, I vowed to myself and heaven that
with my next idea, things would be different, and I would choose a more
resilient and aggressive posture (and march right past the rejections and
self-doubts). Ironically, I was tested in very short order.
Two days later, I received a phone call from the Chicken Soup for the Soul
organization. Someone had heard a speech of mine and had suggested my
name as a potential contributor for their next book. I agreed to put together
a couple of stories for them. As I was looking at my short stories, something
began stirring inside of me, but I couldn’t clearly determine what it was.
That night at about 3:00 AM, I was awakened with a very clear picture
of what I should do next. I saw the scripts in my head and the idea that
came to me was to read those stories on the radio and to call them The Daily
Dose.I was immediately excited about the idea and experienced my typical
initial burst of enthusiasm.
The next morning I woke up and began to think through this idea.
The self-sabotaging mechanism kicked in immediately. “Why would any
radio station air a 90-second story? You don’t know anyone to talk to, even
at the local AM talk radio station,” were the first rounds fired out of my own
pessimistic artillery.
Remembering the promise to myself, I decided to call my father, a vet-
eran of over 45 years in the radio business, for his opinion. My father is not
one to hand out insincere flattery. I knew he would tell me the truth about
my idea. I read two stories to him, and he was silent for a moment, then
slowly uttered in his dramatic basso profundo, “Son, you’ve got something
special there. Get on the phone and call your local station. Ask for some-
one in advertising. If they like it, they’ll find someone to sponsor it.”
I called the local station and talked to an account executive who told me
I should record my stories and drop them off at the station. I dropped the
tape off that day with a note saying the cost would be $200 per month and
they would receive 20 stories each month. Two days later, I received a call
saying the program director and account executive wanted to meet with me.
Redefining Optimism 105