Leaders Don’t Preach Optimism. They Model It. 👀⚡

Optimism doesn’t count unless it shows up in the way you treat people. Yesterday was about seeing the glass as half full. Today is about acting like it. As an optimist, I see it as my duty to inject positivity into situations — comments, reactions, tone, and the overall temperature of the environment. Just sayin’…

The voice in my head is always running commentary on what’s happening around me, mostly to help me find the right frame for what I share. It’s like internal practice sessions — massaging a mindset so I can bring the right energy forward. Over the years, I’ve learned that optimism may start as an innate spark, but the behaviors that express it can absolutely be developed — and leaders play a central role in that development. Employees don’t learn optimism from a memo; they learn it from watching you. When leaders model reframing, constructive responses, and forward‑moving energy, others begin to mirror it. Optimism becomes contagious when people see it practiced consistently — and that’s where leadership makes all the difference.

When working with teams — directly or indirectly — leaders must be mindful of their behavior. Employees are always watching, taking their cues from what you say and do, and how you say and do it.

• You want employees to be engaged: show them how and why, then model it.
• You want attention to detail: always dot your I’s and cross your T’s.
• You want clear communication: be clear in yours.
• You want extraordinary customer service: treat employees that way and they’ll mirror it with customers.
• You want them to see the glass as half full: point out why it is and how to sustain it. 
• You want optimism to spread: remember, employees don’t learn optimism from a memo — they learn it from watching you.

Having a bad day is human. Making it someone else’s problem is optional. Optimism in leadership is never letting them see you sweat. The more you create a can‑do, optimistic, “let’s work on this together” environment, the more you’ll find yourself surrounded by people who want to do the same. Some may not like what they see in the mirror compared to what surrounds them and opt out. Either way, you end up with a stronger, more focused team pulling in the same direction. And that attracts more people with that outlook — and sometimes even turns others around.

People follow leaders who make them feel hopeful about where they’re going. Loyalty grows in environments where optimism is practiced out loud. Like I said, I’m a natural optimist and want others to be and feel the same. I see it as a leadership imperative. And a responsibility. Share your optimism with everyone you deal with today.

 

Laurence Allen “Larry” Elder (born 1952): American conservative political commentator and talk radio host.

An interesting guy – learn more here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Larry_Elder

Loyalty Starts With a Half Full Mindset 🧠💛

Sometimes the only difference between panic and perspective is the story you tell yourself at the top of the tree.

From Wikipedia: “Is the glass half empty or half full?” and similar expressions contrast an optimistic and pessimistic outlook on a situation or on the world at large. “Half full” means optimistic; “half empty” means pessimistic. The origins are unclear, but the idea dates back at least to the early 20th century.

And that’s really what Winchell was getting at — optimism isn’t about denying the lion, it’s about choosing the story that keeps you moving forward.

From my own history: When opening The Mirage, I recommended hiring for attitude and training for skills. Wynn asked me which attitude mattered most. After much research, we identified general optimism as the trait we should look for — people who see the glass as half full rather than half empty.

From my 30+ years of promoting and using this concept, I’ve learned that:

·       People who are optimistic are actively engaged in acting that way

·       They’re curious about the world and circumstances around them

·       They are open to new ideas

·       They’re flexible and adapt to changing situations

·       They’re resilient and quickly bounce back when things change

·       And they have the grit to see things through

For me, this wasn’t just a research project — I felt, and the results proved, that optimistic employees (1) loved to learn and were open to change (an interruption by a customer was an opportunity to shine), (2) engendered loyalty from the people around them (customers and employees), (3) were extremely loyal to other optimists on their team (empathetic, protective, and collaborative), and (4) had much higher performance and retention rates. It was good business.

Think about how often circumstances change throughout a normal workday — or a day in your life, for that matter — most likely more than you want. That’s why seeing those moments as opportunities to be your best and to roll with the punches is much more interesting and much less aggravating. That’s what work in a service job is all about. And since employees in every job are serving or servicing someone or something, you are better off hiring for an optimistic attitude and committing to training them to do what’s expected.

We all like being around upbeat, can‑do, happy people. Start by being one today.

Walter Winchell (1897 – 1972): American syndicated newspaper gossip columnist and radio news commentator.

Learn more: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walter_Winchell

Hey It's Good To Be Back Home Again...

Six days in a 25‑foot RV will rearrange your perspective — of the people you’re with and the country we live in.

We’re back in New York now, rolling along familiar highways. A few more hours and we’ll be at our mountain cabin. We’re all ready to get out of this RV, but I’m not ready to quit being an adventurer. I’m not ready to stop being curious about what’s around the next bend.

Not ready to stop noticing things like the mile‑long field lined with American flags on every fourth fencepost. Or the hand‑painted signs for picnics and community outings. Or the welcoming smiles of the farm owners who greeted us each night as if we were old friends.

We spent six days and five nights without a television, newspaper, or talk radio station — yet somehow it feels like we know more about what’s happening than if we had all of them. No politicians. No pundits. No headlines designed to raise blood pressure. Just the real‑time events unfolding through the windshield: good people, living their lives, caring for one another, doing their best.

At every stop, our hosts brought us to a large wall map of North America and asked us to place pins where we live and where we’re headed. Then came the questions — genuine curiosity about what those places are like, who lives there, what life feels like. They weren’t making small talk. They were expanding their world.

And yesterday, on the Ohio stretch of I‑90, we pulled into rest stops with RV services, EV chargers (all in use), and bustling food courts filled with travelers of every background. Just like the towns we passed through, these places reflected the interests and hopes of regular people — the ones who rarely make the news but always make the country work.

It might not be a bad idea for the folks in Washington — from every side — to take a drive like this. To ignite their curiosity. To listen to the simple, proud voices of the people they represent. No speeches. No ads. No certainty masquerading as wisdom. Just listening. Letting democracy ring the way it does on the open road.

Last night we stayed just south of Buffalo. Another warm host. Another group of fellow travelers who were both interesting and interested. Again.

The specifics matter less than the sum of the experience: six days on the back roads and highways of America, arriving not just at a physical destination, but at a new way of seeing things.

In the end, what stays with me isn’t the mileage or the map pins or even the landscapes that unfolded mile after mile. It’s the reminder that perspective doesn’t shift in grand moments — it shifts in the small, human ones. A conversation at a farm gate. A shared laugh in a rest stop. A host pointing to a map with genuine curiosity about who we are and where we come from.

Six days on the road didn’t change the country. But they changed the way I see it. They reminded me that beneath the noise, people are still generous, still hopeful, still eager to understand one another. They reminded me that curiosity is not a luxury; it’s a responsibility.

And as we settle back into our routines, I hope I carry that forward — the willingness to look a little longer, listen a little deeper, and stay open to the possibility that the next bend in the road might show me something I didn’t know I needed to see today.

Henry Miller (1891 – 1980): American novelist, short story writer and essayist.

Learn more: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Miller

Let the Detours Become the Best Parts of Your Story 🛣️📖

I’ve spent years telling stories — this is the first time I’m learning to tell one while I’m still inside it.

Within ten minutes of starting out yesterday, we crossed the Mississippi River — a landmark that fills your mind with adventure. Riverboats, Huck Finn, wandering spirits. And just like that, we were in Illinois, feeling confident and close to the finish line.

Then the GPS lost its mind and sent us miles off course. The detour cost us an hour, but it gave us something better: wide‑open fields, small towns, and a version of America you don’t see from I‑80. Places that feel like our vacation cabin — quiet, simple, human. A world away from the interstate, but only a few miles off it. In one of the many hamlets across America.

The Census Bureau says nearly half of America’s towns have fewer than 1,000 residents. Forty‑two percent have fewer than 500. These are places where people know each other, help each other, and walk at their own pace. Where life isn’t about accumulating things — it’s about accumulating moments.

I’m reminded of an old friend who gave away everything he owned except what fit in one suitcase. Extreme, yes — but the spirit of it resonates. Our daughter’s business says the same thing in a gentler way: for everything you bring in, let something go. Out here, that philosophy feels natural. Life is lighter. People seem lighter too.

After our detours, we rejoined the under‑construction interstate and eventually reached our next Harvest Host: a working farm in Indiana’s Amish Country. They greeted us and offered a list of things to see and do, but we chose to simply be present — to enjoy their hospitality and take a tour of the goats and cows their daughter will show at 4H this weekend.

As the sun set over rural Indiana, a quiet peacefulness settled in. No souvenirs. No shopping bags. Just another experience added to the story we’re living.

Fill your life with moments like that. The other stuff can wait today.

Abhysheq Shukla: Indian author, motivational speaker, and the writer of The Shadows of the Dark Souls, a book of inspirational reflections. He’s part of a modern wave of Indian writers whose short, punchy aphorisms spread widely on social media.

Look Closer — The Heartland Has More to Teach Than the Headlines Do 👀🌬️

Curiosity didn’t arrive with fireworks — it slipped in quietly and began to change our perspective.

We left the Crazy Y Farm at sunrise, heading east into the heartland. For miles in every direction, farm fields stretched to the horizon — feeding a nation and much of the world. The families who run these farms don’t need punchlines or politics to define them. They’re heroes and sheroes in work boots.

Out here we’ve seen power plants, solar farms, and wind turbines — all working together to keep the lights on. One Harvest Host told us they raise multiple crops just to stay ahead. And they rely on multiple energy sources to keep them and America running.

I‑80 has been under reconstruction much of the way so far — adding a third lane each way across Nebraska and Iowa. It’s the modern upgrade to the interstate system Eisenhower built in the 1950s, the backbone of American mobility. Forget the speeches. Drive the highway and feel the greatness under your wheels. I‑15 to 70 to 76 to 80 to 90 — our route from sea to shining sea.

The road crews we’ve passed are white, Black, Latino, Asian, Native American, and multiracial — just like the people in the rest areas and truck stops. Just like the teams I worked with for 40 years in hospitality. America’s workforce is a patchwork quilt of backgrounds and perspectives, each person putting a shoulder to the wheel of productivity. When leadership is enlightened, the team becomes greater than the sum of its parts. I’m seeing it through the windshield as clearly as I’ve seen it in my own career.

Last night brought us to Parnell, Iowa — to Old Man’s Creek Vineyard and Winery (named for the actual creek at the entrance to their property). First peaches, then popcorn, now wine. There are 11,620 vineyards in the U.S., tied with Germany for third in the world behind Italy and France. We didn’t know that until our host told us. They grow grapes for ten different wines, which we sampled at check‑in. We left with three bottles and a few more stories for the campfire.

This trip began with curiosity and a touch of adventure. Both have grown immeasurably as America rolls past our windshield. So have our feelings of awe and pride. The last time I drove across the country was during the bicentennial. Fifty years later, this journey is renewing what I felt back then.

Take your curiosity for a ride. It will take you places worth seeing today. 

Lovelle Drachman: Widely referenced as the author of this quote, but no other information can be found about her. This is the 4^th time in 18 years that’s happened.

Don’t speed past the beauty all around you... 🌄

Somewhere between the airplane we never boarded and the highway we never planned, the adventure found us.

Out West, the speed limit hovers between 75 and 80 mph. Normally, I’m right there with the pack — cruising fast, shaving minutes, focused on efficiency. But after two days driving an RV through the mountains, we’ve averaged 60 mph, and discovered something unexpected: slowing down is a good thing.

At the higher speeds, everyone jockeys for position — trucks, cars, all of them weaving in and out like they’re in a race no one remembers entering. But at 60, they simply pass us and move on. No drama. No competition. Just space.

I used to assume slow drivers were older or confused. Now I realize they learned long ago what I’m only discovering now. Life on the road mirrors life in general — there’s a lot to be gained by slowing down, noticing the scenery, and letting the world come to you. At high speeds, mistakes multiply, nuances disappear, and relationships get left in the rear-view mirror.

That’s how I miscalculated our driving times — seven hours becomes ten. But the tradeoff is worth it. Those extra hours give you time to gaze out the windshield at rolling landscapes and endless skies. And there’s a certain peace in not scanning the mirror for police cars or speed traps.

Yesterday we crossed the width of Colorado, leaving the peach farm behind and watching the mountains flatten into the prairies of Nebraska. Out here it’s farms, livestock, and fertile fields — simple, honest, beautiful. Best savored at reduced speeds.

Our host last night was the Crazy Y Farm — not crazy at all, just the name of their upside‑down Y brand. A working farm where they proudly show off their equipment and introduce you to their pets. Only two RV spaces. We pulled in and they gave us some freshly popped corn, explaining how they sell it to all the major retailers and resellers. After dinner we watched a sunset that stops you mid‑sentence. 

Most of what we think we know about this country comes from the news. But the view from this driver’s seat is more impressive, more humbling, and far more hopeful. Gone is the noise. In its place: America the beautiful.

We’re now in the 3^rd time zone since leaving home. And today’s lesson is simple: slow down. The adventure is easier to see when you’re not racing past it. Put on the brakes and see what you might discover today.

Helen Keller (1880 – 1968) was an American author, disability rights advocate, political activist, and lecturer.

Learn more: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helen_Keller  

Plugging In, Figuring Out, Moving Forward 🔌

The first mile wasn’t heroic — it was exhaling, gripping the wheel, and finally moving forward. And that’s when the fun began.

Cruise America sent pre‑pickup videos and FAQs to “familiarize” ourselves with RV operations. A nice young man at their office walked us through the highlights and reminded us of the 800‑help line. Yet as we pulled out of the driveway, we still weren’t sure whether the refrigerator ran on propane or the generator.

As we drove away, this is what I thought while looking out the rear-view mirror:

·       Never underestimate the importance of clear instructions. There’s always a gap between what’s taught, what’s heard, and what’s actually learned — and that gap shows up in the awkwardness of doing something for the first time.

·       Effective instructional communication helps people become comfortable and productive more quickly.

·       And the real measure of communication is whether the message was received and understood as intended.

In the service business, this responsibility often falls to supervisors. Whether they do it themselves or delegate it, they must go beyond asking, “Do you understand?” People often don’t — and rarely admit it. Be clear. Ask questions. Listen to their answers. Have them show you how. Coach them accordingly.

We eventually figured out the refrigerator, but that’s not the point. It was another reminder that onboarding is a process, not a checkbox.

After that, the world shifted to what was outside the windshield:

Yesterday delivered some of the most breathtaking geography of the trip. They call it Utah’s Panoramaland — wide‑open spaces, canyons, farmland, and arches stretching to the horizon. It looked exactly like the sales brochures, and for once, the brochures didn’t exaggerate.

We ended the day at The Mt. Lincoln Peach Company in Palisade, Colorado. Warm people greeted us, sold us peach and pear jellies, and showed us how to plug into the electrical hookup. Just like that, we were home for the night.

The day was a masterclass in planning, communication, and follow‑through. When messages land clearly, people move faster, feel more confident, and get to the meaningful work sooner. And when they don’t — well, you end up guessing which button keeps the milk cold. Make sure your people really understand today.

Laozi (6^th Century BC): also romanized as Lao Tzu, was a legendary Chinese philosopher and sage traditionally credited with writing the Tao Te Ching, one of the foundational texts of Taoism.