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Red, White and Water by Teece Aronin.
Just go to the phylliswalter store:
and click on the Flourish Collection.
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Most headhunters specialize in specific fields. My first headhunter job was recruiting engineers and technical sales reps. I wish I had a dollar for every time I said these words: "The position offers a 30 - 35K base with an 80 - 100K top end."
Translation: "The position offers a $30 - $35,000 base salary with potential annual earnings in the range of $80 - $100,000 dollars after commissions."
The only thing I liked about the job was slinging those numbers around followed by a K; there was a certain kool kwotient in that.
My second recruiting job was recruiting actuaries. I've written about that job before in a post titled Dial D for Dick.
In that post I confessed the hatred of that job that bloomed in my heart from Day One. It wasn't the actuaries themselves, it was the sneaking around on the phone to find the person I was looking to recruit, along with the sense of stealing and trickery I perceived to be going along with it.
That was when I started thinking about priorities and choices and what really mattered. I knew nothing about life coaching or career coaching or all the other means open to help me chart another course. But I was beginning to sense there was a better fit for me somewhere.
Blessedly, I had several gal-pals at that job, my two closest being Marti and Sharon. One day, Marti and I were at Sharon's place, sipping drinks with her by the pool. As it turned out, Sharon also had a hot tub and soon she and Marti and I were in it, sipping Chardonnay and gabbing like little girls.
We were laughing hard about something when Sharon's fanny slipped off the fiberglass seat and she was going under faster than Lehman Brothers. The lower she sank, the higher she held her wineglass in an attempt to keep it from going with her.
Marti and I sobered up immediately and lunged forward snatching the glass seconds before it would have gone down and seconds after Sharon had gone down.
Immediately, Marti and I realized what we'd done, set the wineglass down - carefully - then hauled Sharon back up. We apologized while Sharon sputtered water.
Then Sharon said: "You did the right thing."
And that was the day it occurred to me, as I poured myself more wine, that deciding what's most important in life can be downright intoxicating. I'm still deciding all these years later, right now with a nice glass of red. But sometimes it's a white, and sometimes it's cold, perfect water, more refreshing than anything a grape could ever dream of being.
Bottoms down, dear Sharon, wherever you are.
