The Positive Pygmalion

As a network marketing leader and learner, have you ever thought about the impact our thoughts, beliefs, and expectations have on others?

Through a phenomenon known as the Pygmalion Effect, we are able to move, nudge, or pull those around us in another direction almost invisibly by how we think about them, what we expect from them, and what we believe they are capable of.

The term was derived from the story from Greek mythology about a sculptor from the island of Cyprus named Pygmalion who poured so much of his passion into a statue of a woman he carved from stone that he fell deeply in love with it. The goddess of love, Aphrodite, was so struck by Pygmalion’s love for his creation that she descended to earth and fired a magical arrow into the heart of the sculpture, instantly transforming the stone into a living, breathing woman named Galatea. Together she and Pygmalion lived happily ever after.

Every great teacher, coach, and network marketing leader has mastered the Pygmalion effect, the principle that our thoughts, beliefs, and expectations can impact others almost magnetically.

Whether conscious or unconscious, these great leaders are able to convey belief in others at key moments that can flip the switch of possibility for them and shoot their lives off on entirely new trajectories.

When I was a freshman in high school, my guidance counselor, Mr. Anderson, called me into his office one morning. Looking unusually serious, he said, “Brian, a student like you only comes along about once every ten or fifteen years.”

Now, the truth was, when he said it, there was a really good chance he meant it more in a bad way than in a good way. While I was doing pretty well in my coursework, all I really cared about was goofing around, hoping that everyone would think I was funny and cool. I was that kid you remember from high school who couldn’t wait to interrupt class with a joke or some smart-alecky remark. Deep down inside, I was just scared. I desperately wanted everyone to like me.

Somehow Mr. Anderson saw through all that. And the next words he said changed my life. “There’s something special in you Brian. Stop wasting it! Every day is a gift.

But only if you open it. You haven’t opened one. Stop messing around and being afraid to try your best. Put your heart into your life. Stand up tall and be the student, leader, and person I know you can be.”

Even more important than Mr. Anderson’s words that day was the way he said them. He wasn’t interested in appealing to my intellect; he was committed to reaching into my heart. The impact was like Aphrodite’s arrow.

Looking back now, I’m certain that had he not said those words to me that morning so long ago, I never would have worked hard enough to have been accepted into Stanford University. Had I not gone to Stanford, I never would have discovered my passion for coaching, which led me eventually to my search for balance, with ultimately brought me to my wife and daughters and wonderful life.

Mr. Anderson believed in me more than I believed in myself, and when he had the chance to express his expectations, he seized that WOO. That’s what positive Pygmalions do!

It was in my years as a swimming coach that I had the unforgettable experience of working with an athlete who took the lesson that Mr. Anderson had taught me to a whole new level: only when we see the best in others do we have the chance to inspire it. Positive Pygmalions look for strengths and WOOs; negative Pygmalions see only weaknesses and obstacles.

Throughout his swimming career, Ron was the kind of young man who caused coaches to shake their heads in disappointment and throw their hands up in frustration. Blessed with a great personality and considerable natural ability but seemingly little grit or determination, he skated by, never digging deep to bring out his true potential. His attendance at practice was as unpredictable as the weather. Just when you’d begin to think he had turned the corner in his commitment, he would disappear for days at a time, negating any progress he’d made in conditioning and focus. Though he had enough talent to do well even with his halfhearted effort, he simply didn’t seem to care that much.

Ron joined my team when he and the rest of his former club merged with ours to create a real swimming powerhouse.

I had seen him at meets over the years and knew of both his talent and his reputation for lackluster training habits. What I didn’t know when he walked onto the pool deck that September afternoon was that buried beneath Ron’s happy-go-lucky exterior beat the heart of a champion. There was a spirit of passion and energy within him just aching to come out. He was just frightened and hiding from his potential, as so many of us do. What if he gave his best and it wasn’t good enough? What if he committed himself and failed? It was so much easier to amble along on talent alone, protected by the invisible comfort zone called “unrealized potential.”

Ron’s past coaches had tried to needle him into caring, calling him a loafer and a waste of talent—a strategy that clearly did not work over the long term. Occasionally he would respond with an “I’ll show you!” effort, but quickly he would slide back even further into his blasé attitude.

I have never believed in sarcasm as a motivator because the energy it evokes comes from embarrassment, fear, or revenge. These emotions can generate short-term results but not long-term inspiration. From the moment Ron joined our team, I focused on his potential and praised him for every effort that moved him a little closer to it. I wanted to be a positive influence for Ron, and so I left his past behavior in the past, understanding fully that what we focus on is what we create. I knew how important it is to see what’s possible in people, even when they don’t see it themselves.

After his first week with the team, Ron came to me after practice one afternoon and said, “Coach, I’m having fun here. I’ve never felt like someone believed in me as much as you do.”

I responded, “Ron, you’ve been a joy to have here this week. You’ve got everything it takes to be the California Interscholastic Federation champion if you decide it’s something you truly want. The greatest fun in life is to put your heart and soul on the line one hundred percent and discover what’s really inside of you. I do believe in you, and I’m really excited that you’ve joined our team.”

He smiled and turned just a tad red. But I could see the positive impact of the faith I had expressed in him far overpowered any embarrassment he felt at receiving such compliments.

After that talk, Ron became a dream to train. In all my years of coaching, never had I worked with an athlete who tried harder and had more fun doing it. Ron made the decision to go for it; he attacked his senior year of swimming, placing his full faith in me and in himself. On the rare occasions when he didn’t have his A-game, he never let his positive spirit dissipate. As a result, he had few subpar days and bounced back from any disappointment almost immediately. More than any swimmer with whom I’d ever had the pleasure to work, Ron looked inside himself to determine his success, rather than evaluating his ability according to what everyone else thought, or on the basis of one poor performance. Even on days when he didn’t turn in his fastest practice times, he was able to feel good about his effort. With this fresh spirit, Ron improved dramatically.

By the time the high school season began, Ron was performing workout sets and drills I had never seen accomplished before. And he obviously enjoyed every minute of it. He came to practice each day with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye that seemed to say, Come on, Coach, let’s see what we can do today.

Where years of the negative Pygmalion staples of sarcasm and ridicule had left him uninspired and uncommitted, he responded to praise and positive energy with boundless enthusiasm.

His attitude and effort had quite an effect on the entire team. For the first time in his life, Ron knew what it felt like to be admired. He became our team leader by his extraordinary example. His enthusiasm was infectious, and all of the kids seemed to have more energy and worked harder while complaining less. Practices had never been so much fun.

It was hard to believe how swiftly the year flew by when we arrived at East Los Angeles City College for the California Interscholastic Federation High School Championship prelims. Ron was to swim three events—the 200-yard individual medley (50 yards of each of the four competitive strokes), the 100-yard backstroke, and a leg on his school’s medley relay. With all my heart, I wanted this transformed young man to experience a moment of great triumph at the high school championships. He deserved no less.

The prelims were the qualifiers for the finals that would occur three days later. Because of his fine performances during the dual meet season, Ron was seeded in the top three in both of his individual events, though there was no clear favorite. The top swimmers were closely bunched, within a few tenths of a second of one another.

In the sport of swimming, just as in network marketing, top performers work extremely hard.

These determined kids rise each morning around four-thirty and hit the water by five for a two-hour workout before school. Then, after a full day in classes, they come back for an evening workout, another grueling two-hour test of stamina. On top of their endless hours in the pool, they lift weights four days a week. As a result, during the season, they are dead tired. The entire training strategy points at one shining light at the end of an exhausting tunnel—the taper and peak period. This is the three weeks or so before the big meet when they stop morning practices and gradually reduce the intensity of their afternoon workouts. With the added rest, their muscles and spirits begin to rejuvenate, and they prepare psychologically and physically for their best performances. It is a very exciting time for a swimmer. With a couple of days to go before the target competition, the kids begin to feel so much energy they could pop.

The last big step is to “shave down.” The night before the big meet, the kids shave the hair from their arms, legs, back, and stomach—some even shave their heads, though most opt for a cap or a short haircut. When they hit the water after shaving, they feel incredible—it’s as if they are suddenly lighter than air. It’s an amazing sensation and a huge boost mentally and emotionally.

For the preliminaries, Ron and I decided that he would not shave down. Though it was slightly risky, we felt confident he would easily qualify in the top eight anyway and then would have an extra edge when he shaved for the finals.

The day of the prelims finally arrived and we were psyched. Ron’s goal for the 200-yard individual medley was 1:57.9, and I secretly hoped that he might go as fast as 1:55.9 in the finals if everything went perfectly. He had never broken 2:02 before, but we both were visualizing the best. In his preliminary heat, he started off the race looking strong, but his timing seemed a bit off when he reached the breaststroke leg. The effort was there, but he tired as the race progressed and really struggled the last 25 yards. His time was 1:59.9, and though it was a personal best, I could see his disappointment when he came over to me to talk about the race. Indeed, I was worried, because he had really looked tired in the last half of the event, and the finals were only a few days away. He had worked so hard, and our hopes were so high. What if we had overestimated his ability? What if his goals were out of reach? As he looked to me for answers, I could sense a tinge of doubt creeping into his mind.

I did my very best to instill more confidence in him than I actually felt at that moment. I smiled at him and said with great conviction, “No worries. You’re still three days away. When the finals come on Thursday, you’re going to be awesome.” Thank goodness he didn’t know I was trying to solidify my own faith as much as his. True to the spirit he had shown all year long, he bounced right back as he listened to my pep talk, nodding at me with the twinkle back in those laughing eyes of his. He felt even better when we found out he had qualified first in the individual medley and second in the backstroke. But when we left the prelims that evening, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was going to fall far short of his goals. He deserved his moment, and I prayed he would find something magical inside him by Thursday.

That week at our short practices, Ron was right back to his cheerful, upbeat self. We both knew Thursday would be his one big shot at his dreams.

If he approached the goals we had set for him, he might catch the eye of a college recruiter or two, with an outside chance of a scholarship. He would be a hero at his school, single-handedly responsible for his school earning an unprecedented top-five finish in overall team points.

Wednesday afternoon, after a very light practice with a few sprints tossed in to rev the kids’ engines, I asked Ron to come into my office for a talk. He had been in my thoughts incessantly and I wanted him to know how honored I felt to be his coach. I thanked him for all he had meant to me and told him that every day that season I looked forward to practice with extra enthusiasm knowing he was going to be there ready to meet every challenge with pure joy. As much as I had wanted to be a positive influence for him, he had been even more of one for me. I told him that no matter what he did the next day, to me he was already a champion in the truest sense.

“When you step up on those starting blocks tomorrow, remember how completely I believe in you. You deserve an amazing day and you are going to fly.” I gave him a big bear hug and joked with him about remembering to put a blade in the razor when he shaved down that night. The last thing I said to him was, “Sleep well tonight. You can rest easy knowing that you could not have prepared any better. You’re ready.” As I watched Ron walk out to his car, I looked to God for help in making my prediction after his prelim swims clairvoyant rather than unrealistically optimistic.

The energy was electric at the East L.A. City College pool the next day.

At that time southern California was the hotbed of swimming in the United States, and the CIF Championship was the premier high school swimming event in the world. School spirit was running rampant as cheers erupted from every corner of the aquatic center. Only the fastest eight swimmers in each event had survived the preliminaries to make it to these finals, and each and every competitor was primed to put it all on the line.

Because I was Ron’s club team coach and not his high school coach, I was not allowed on the pool deck for this championship meet. Knowing of this restriction, we had carefully gone over his warm-up plan in advance. I positioned myself at the most visible spot in the bleachers, where Ron and all of my other swimmers could easily spot me. If it’s possible to transmit energy and faith through space, from my perch up in the stands I sent my kids all I had as I watched them loosen up. Ron’s first race, the 200-yard individual medley, would be one of the earliest events. His performance would quickly tell me if this would be a day of triumph or one of disappointment. I just hoped Ron wasn’t as nervous as I was.

As he walked over to sit behind the starting blocks with the other seven competitors, Ron looked out at the end of the pool, deep in concentration. He was visualizing his race, just as he’d done a hundred times before. Each finalist stepped forward when introduced by the announcer and was greeted with a wild explosion of cheers. When Ron heard his name, he stepped up on the block and acknowledged the crowd with a wave, and then, spotting me, gave a quick nod as if to say, I’m ready, Coach. I got this. I smiled back and gave him a thumbs-up.

All cheering and last-minute conversation came to an abrupt stop as the starter blew his whistle, the signal for total silence except for his instructions to the swimmers.

“Judges and timers ready . . . swimmers take your marks . . .” Boom! The gun went off, and eight peak-performance athletes exploded from the blocks, their legs driving like pistons as they stretched for the water. Ron had a terrific start, and after 25 yards he was already in the lead.

The first half of the race, consisting of the butterfly and backstroke legs, was his strongest, so I expected Ron to open up about a body length’s lead. But when he hit the halfway mark I was stunned. He was flying. He was over two seconds ahead of the pace we had hoped for and had moved at least three full-body lengths ahead of the second-place swimmer. But could he keep it up?

I held my breath as he made the turn into the breaststroke leg. This was where he had faltered on Monday when his timing had fallen off and fatigue had crept into his arms and legs. But today he looked fantastic! He was on top of the water, driving forward with terrific thrust from his whip kick. I had never seen him swim with such power in the breaststroke before. My heart nearly pounded out of my chest as I watched this tremendous young man find the brilliance that had always been hidden inside of him. Fifty yards of freestyle left to go, I shouted in my mind. Please let him finish strong.

He turned for home, every muscle in his powerful body blasting toward the finish. With ten yards left, he put his head down and accelerated into the wall without breathing. His closest competitor was more than half a pool length behind him.

As soon as he hit the finish, he whirled around to look up at the giant scoreboard clock that instantly flashed up his time: 1:53.86! He had shattered both the CIF record and exceeded our wildest dreams by more than two seconds. In the process, he qualified for the most prestigious swimming meet in the United States, the Senior National Championships. We had never even considered that possibility.

As soon as he saw his time, he turned and looked for me in the stands. When our eyes connected, he leaped out of the water to his waist and pumped his right arm toward the heavens in absolute joy and triumph.

His huge smile was the greatest gift a coach could ever receive.

The entire stadium was applauding wildly for him, and he flew out of the pool, forgetting all about my pre-race instructions to go straight into the warm-down pool and loosen up for his backstroke event. Instead, he rushed up the stairs, pumping his fists and howling in utter delight until he reached me. He wrapped his arms around me and lifted me right off the ground in a giant hug of pure exultation. The next second, his parents joined our unrestrained celebration. Goosebumps, tears, and gratitude flowed nonstop. A phenomenal young man had transformed his life and received the moment he truly deserved.

Ron went on to win the 100-yard backstroke as well, once again eclipsing the CIF record and demolishing his personal best time by more than two and a half seconds. To top it all off, he lifted his team on his powerful shoulders and carried them to a third-place finish in the team standings, by far the highest place they had ever achieved. Ron was named outstanding swimmer of the meet and received a full-scholarship offer from the University of Utah.

Ron’s story of triumph and transformation that season means more to me now than ever, for on the night he was inducted as the first swimmer ever into his high school’s athletic hall of fame, Ron passed away from a sudden and massive heart attack. He was forty-seven years old.

The lessons he taught me about the power of the positive Pygmalion burn brighter than ever in my heart. Ron helped me see that whenever we give our most dedicated and determined efforts, our focus and actions will lead to extraordinary results, just as he experienced. Like Ron, we may not find instant gratification. Indeed, we may even wonder, as time goes on if a lifetime of planting will ever result in a richly deserved harvest. But remember, faith has no time limit. The rewards for living as a positive Pygmalion for ourselves and others and focusing on possibility rather than the limit cannot be denied. In simply making these important decisions and taking action we have already succeeded.

The instant we know we are the best, it is ours. We experience the joy that cannot be taken away. Through our choices, we discover the healing, freeing peace of mind that is faith in action.