Nothing Matters
“But immortality is nontransferable.”
Don’t let the title fool you; this isn’t an exercise in nihilism.
I’ve been thinking about the power of presence lately — and of its inverse: absence.
It crystallized for me last night, when I learned that a friend and mentor of 40 years passed away the evening before.
While I wasn’t surprised (he had been in failing health and entered home hospice care a couple of weeks ago, with doctors not giving him past the weekend to live), it was still something that tugged at my heart and made me realize that I’ll never see him again.
And although the decades had brought an unavoidable absence due to distance, the finality of death means an eternal, unyielding absence.
And that lack of something — that nothingness, even though it means something that won’t appear — holds a great deal of power.
“Have you noticed that death alone awakens our feelings? How we love the friends who have just left us? How we admire those of our teachers who have ceased to speak, their mouths filled with earth! Then the expression of admiration springs forth naturally, that admiration they were perhaps expecting from us all their lives. But do you know why we are always more just and more generous toward the dead? The reason is simple. With them there is no obligation. They leave us free and we can take our time, fit the testimonial between a cocktail party and a nice little mistress, in our spare time, in short.”
Nothing is Something
St. Augustine reasoned that original sin had to do with man being made out of nothing. When man turned toward himself and away from God, he was turning to nothingness. That is, toward an absence of something.
Where in our lives do we have power over our presence or our absence? In how we choose to spend our time: where we go, who we see, what we say.
Every time we decide to go somewhere, determine with whom we need or want to spend time, and select the words we use, we are signaling what’s important to us. It shows others who we are and reinforces the values we talk about.
Conversely, when people see the places, people, and conversations that we avoid, that sends a powerful message as well. In fact, the absence of action can send many messages about us.
Why many? Because in the absence of information, people come to their own conclusions.
They might think you’re too busy, or that you simply don’t care enough about them to extract yourself from whatever self-important and misguided priorities you have. Or that you’re maliciously and intentionally staying away, so as to send a message.
The problem is, you’re sending all sorts of messages, depending on the imaginations of everyone who sees you not showing up.
Present and Accounted For
The remote work phenomenon we’ve seen over the past half decade has changed the way many businesses and leaders think, although not all of them.
[Note: I'll have a separate essay on the return-to-office phenomenon in a future newsletter.]
How can we make a difference simply by showing up?
Whether its in-person or on a video call, our presence makes a difference because it gives us a chance to listen, learn, and share.
More importantly, our teams need us to provide context and meaning to their work, otherwise we’d just send out to-do lists every week and ask them to complete tasks like automatons.
In providing that context, remember this acronym: K.U.B.A.
K
Do they know what they need to do?
U
Do they understand why they need to do it?
B
Do they believe in what they’re being asked to do?
A
Do they have the resources to act on it?
All too often, we see leaders asking people to go from K to A, skipping the U and B.
Being present and communicating regularly gives you a chance to talk about vision, purpose, goals, and values.
When you’re not there, all of that can get forgotten.
Meanwhile, I’m replaying memories of my mentor, as I sort through the years of correspondence, photographs, and clippings.
In those moments and contexts, I’ll be replaying the times we were present for each other, using them to inspire me to be present for others the way he was for me.
There’s so much to learn,