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As I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, I recently turned my attention to writing a business book. I’d actually written 112 pages of stories and thoughts about the world of consulting and why I enjoyed my career, and my firm, so much. Possibly too much! It reflected nearly 30 years in consulting and literally hundreds of trips to clients all over the world.
Writing it reminded me of one of the funniest moments of those years, which somehow didn’t make it into the 112 pages. My daughter was really into Frozen at the time, and I hadn’t seen it. I was on a domestic flight in the US, spotted it among the film choices and decided to watch it. There I was, all 6 feet 5 inches of me, squeezed into economy class, weeping my way through Frozen. At one point I looked around and realised people were watching me rather oddly. I couldn’t blame them.
And perhaps that ridiculous little story explains something important.
What I loved most about my career wasn’t necessarily the business itself. It was the people, the relationships, the experiences and the stories. The clients I helped, the colleagues I worked alongside, the places I visited and the extraordinary things that happened along the way.
The process reminded me of a time when I gave a lecture to a large audience in Amsterdam. I introduced myself as Ben Lazarus, and the audience fell about laughing. I had absolutely no idea why. It turns out that the Dutch expression ik ben lazarus can mean “I am completely drunk.” Not quite the introduction I’d intended for a serious business lecture!
So many more came to the surface and it has made me smile.
I’m happy, even proud, that I managed to produce 112 pages, particularly given the challenges of PSP. But when I read them together, something didn’t feel right. I was writing my own story and a book about consulting? It had become a bit of a mishmash, without the clear focus I wanted.
After discussing it with a couple of friends, I’ve decided to put it on the shelf. And, rather surprisingly, I feel very good about that decision.
I was devastated to retire before turning 50, and even more devastated by the reason: PSP. But while I miss my clients and the wonderful people I worked with, I can’t honestly say I miss the business world itself.
That world is changing rapidly, particularly with AI, and I’m no longer living and breathing those changes. I don’t pretend to be on top of them, and frankly, I’m rather pleased not to be dealing with them.
Recently, I received an invitation to a book launch on a particular business topic. Once upon a time, I might have been fascinated. This time, it simply didn’t interest me. That probably told me more than anything else.
My career was enormously rewarding, and I achieved more than I could ever have imagined. But it was my career. I’ve moved on.
My priorities today are my family, my faith and documenting my journey with PSP, both for myself and for others. Those are the things that matter most to me and deserve my limited energy.
And it’s hardly as though I’ve stopped writing! I’ve already written four books covering PSP, my amusing kosher travel tales, my faith and Jewish themes, and I’m working on a fifth. That’s quite enough to keep me busy!
I’m also working, quietly and occasionally, on a private collection of family stories. It’s not for publication. It’s simply something I want to create for the people I love. Somehow, that feels much more important. Perhaps I’ve realised that the stories I most want to preserve are about people, not businesses.
There’s also a rather amusing footnote. One of my former colleagues has created an AI bot called Ben Lazarus, based on my previous business material, which answers business questions. Perhaps that’s enough of a professional legacy! I can leave the bot to do the consulting.
Writing those 112 pages wasn’t a waste of time. I enjoyed revisiting my career, remembering the people and experiences, and proving to myself that I could still undertake a substantial intellectual challenge. More importantly, I discovered what I actually want to write about, and what I don’t.
I don’t have to finish everything I start. Sometimes the achievement is in discovering what you no longer want to do.
Perhaps, like the film I watched somewhere over America all those years ago, I simply need to let it go.
OK. That wasn’t funny.
Of course, knowing myself, I may have an impulsive moment and return to those 112 pages. I wouldn’t rule it out.
But that’s for another day.
And the important thing is that I’m planning on there being another day.
In fact, I’m planning on there being plenty of them.
