I’m Dan Oshinsky, and I run Inbox Collective, an email consultancy. I'm here to share what I've learned about doing great work and building amazing teams.
“Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.” — Jim Valvano
I have seen Jim Valvano’s speech at the ESPYs 100 times now. Maybe more. Probably far more, actually.
I’ve seen it on TV, and I’ve watched it for inspiration on my laptop. I once saw it played on the JumboTron at Madison Square Garden — even the beer vendors stopped for 10 minutes to watch.
It is, simply, one of the most marvelous, most inspiring, most deeply human things I have ever seen.
And for people like me — namely, people who enjoy public speaking — it’s a speech that can be watched over and over. I’ve studied it. I’ve wondered: How does he command a room like that? How does he deliver a speech like that?
Three things stand out to me about the speech:
1. His Poise on Stage — People forget this, but at the start of the speech, Jimmy V tells an opening joke about Dick Vitale — and it bombs! But he presses on. His facial expressions, his voice — they never waver in this speech. He demands attention with his voice, and he commands the stage by moving left to right, pointing at the crowd, throwing his arms around. He owns that stage. He’s got a few scripted lines ready, but mostly, he’s talking off the cuff. That really resonates here.
And when the ESPN cameras try to get him off the stage, and he tells them to screw off? That’s a raw moment in which Jimmy V wins the room. That’s the moment when the speech tips from great to epic.
2. His Use of Rhetorical Devices — He does two great things here. The first is his use of the Rutgers anecdote. It takes up the middle chunk of the speech, but it’s got a killer closing line, and it really humanizes him. For a few minutes, you get to forget that this is a guy who’s dying of cancer. For a few minutes, he’s a coach — speaking to a room of athletes and coaches, and a nation of fans watching on TV.
He also breaks out two great sets of three: “If you laugh, you think, you cry, that’s a full day,” and “[Cancer] cannot touch my mind. It cannot touch my heart. It cannot touch my soul.” Orators know: If you want to connect with someone, do it with a series of three.
3. The Call to Action — And here’s what so many speeches miss. So many speakers deliver great moments. They make the audience laugh. They make the audience think.
And then they walk off.
Jimmy V doesn’t. He closes with the biggest thing: A call to action. Donate, he says, to my new foundation. Help us find a cure. It will not save my life, but it may save yours.
The call to action is the reason why ESPN can play this speech every single year during their Jimmy V Week. Every year, even though us sports fans have seen the speech more times than we can count, Jimmy V asks us to donate.
Nearly twenty years after he first gave the speech, we still can’t say no to Jimmy V. The speech is just that great.
2. QUESTION: The Rhetorical Question Gets a Workout.
Speaking of New York: Here’s the Guy Fieri food review everyone was talking about last month. It was written entirely with rhetorical questions. And it reminded me a lot of “The Interrogative Mood,” by Padgett Powell. That’s a novel written entirely in rhetorical questions, too. It’s definitely an interesting — or maybe “unusual” is the better word — kind of read. And it’s proof that a novel doesn’t have to be what you always thought it could/should be.
3. SMILE: The Oatmeal’s Thoughts For People Who Make Stuff.
And here’s something for Guy Fieri — and the rest of us who make stuff — to keep in mind. The Internet is a wonderful place. It is also terrifying place. Navigating it isn’t easy. So The Oatmeal has some truly wise words for those of us who make things on the web.
So work’s getting hard this week? Consider this: We just achieved teleportation. Yeah, that’s right: TELEPORTATION. When you start complaining about your work, just remember: You didn’t have to solve the problem of freaking teleportation.
10. LISTEN: Steve Poltz’s ‘Stairway’/’Gilligan’ Mash-Up.
And then here’s something really weird: It’s a mash-up of Zeppelin and the “Gilligan’s Island” theme. Some of the best stuff doesn’t always seem like it goes together — but then you see/hear it together, and sure enough, it does. And here, Poltz pulls it off.
Now go out there and do some great work this month.
“Time will magnify whatever you do. So even in the smallest matters, do what is right. — Ralph Marston
39 days ago, Hurricane Sandy hit New York City.
It came. It flooded.
But now the city — Manhattan, at least — is back to normal. Next week, I’ll grab the keys to a New York apartment. It’s three blocks from the area that was evacuated during the storm, and a quarter mile from the power plant explosion that knocked out power to half the city.
You’d never even know. I was there last week, and the neighborhood looked totally normal. Five weeks changes a lot.
Time has a way of doing that. It’s been 1 year, 6 months and 15 days since the Joplin tornados. It’s been 7 years, 3 months and 1 day since Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast.
And there’s this: Tomorrow, we’ll recognize the 71st anniversary of the attacks on Pearl Harbor.
Of course, we won’t be talking about Sandy or Joplin or Katrina tomorrow. We’ll be talking about what happened that day in 1941 in Hawaii.
But here’s what I find most interesting: On big anniversaries, we always seem to ask the same question: How do we remember? We talk about what happened that day. We interview those who were there.
But I’m not so sure we’re asking the right questions.
I’d rather ask:
–Why do we remember?
–What did we learn?
–What do we know now?
We focus so much on the date itself, but on anniversaries, it’s often what’s changed since that really matters.
If we really want to remember, we need to ask better questions. I know that’s what they’ve done in Biloxi, Joplin and Hawaii. I hope it’s what they’re doing in my new neighborhood in New York.
It’s the way we get better.
That photo of flooding in my new neighborhood comes via David Shankbone.
I’m going to join them as their first-ever Newsletter Editor. I’ll be working out of their New York office. I am pretty freaking excited about this.
If you’re not all that familiar with the company, here’s what you need to know: BuzzFeed is built around the idea that great stories deserve to be shared, and they’ve made a major push into social networks like Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr and Pinterest.
But for the most part, they’ve stayed out of the email game.
No more.
I’m a big believer in email. I think it’s an underutilized tool. Consider this:
But email? There are 3.1 billion email addresses in the world. [1. Yes, I know. That includes spam accounts. But then again: Those other social network numbers are inflated, too, by fake accounts and non-active users.]
Email is — by a huge margin — the most widely-used network for sharing information, ideas and content.
And yet, among news organizations, it’s a tool we’ve largely ignored. When we talk about social networks, we mention Facebook and Twitter and whatever network just launched in beta last week, but we always leave out email.
I think that’s a mistake — so at BuzzFeed, we’re going to prove just how valuable email can be.
We’re going to use that giant email network to make sure that you can see the silliest cat photos the Internet has to offer. [2. Plus: We’ll be sharing lots of serious news, and many awesome non-feline stories.] We’ll be building out some new products just for email, and we’ll be doing lots of experiments to make sure that we get the best, most shareable content into your inbox.
“Slump? I ain’t in no slump. I just ain’t hitting.” — Yogi Berra
Over the years, I’ve developed a sixth sense for certain things during sporting events. Like many sports fans, I know exactly when to flick back to the game after a commercial break. Like other sports nuts, I can usually tell you the cliché the announcer is about to spout just before he spouts it.
And of course: I can tell you when one team has the Mo.
You know Mo, or maybe you know it by one of its pseudonyms: Uncle Mo. Mighty Mo.
Big Mo.
Mo is momentum. Mo is how teams make comebacks that don’t seem possible. Mo is how the hot goalie gets hot, and why the power hitter suddenly can’t swing the bat. Mo is that mighty force that can upend even Murphy’s Law.
You can have skill, strength, strategy and coaching, but if you don’t have Mo, you’re not going anywhere.
I’ve seen it with my own eyes: Some nights, Big Mo just gets rolling, and crazy things start happening.
Yes, you read that right: It takes a full year for United Airlines to get a new meal option onto a flight. It takes a full year — 12 months, 365 days, 525,600 minutes —
to create a new food option and get it ready to be served on a United flight.
And to think: Many of us who’ve eaten these meals would hardly classify them as “food.”
One year. I’m hung up on that number. That’s an awfully long time to institute a tiny change to an airline menu, isn’t it?
I’ll ask you now: What if they could do it in a day? What if they could do it better?
But what if United just simplified their list of ingredients to include things that can be found at any airport kitchen in the world? What if United only cooked from that list?
And what if United changed its menu every day, with United’s head chefs emailing out that day’s menu options?
And what if — because yes, local flavor is important — United empowered local chefs to add an ingredient or two from the departure airport to personalize the flight? (Sushi from Japan, hummus from Tel Aviv, cheddar cheese from Milwaukee.)
What if United focused on going fresh every day, and creating a beautiful meal presentation for all of its passengers?
What if United decided to spend a little more on airplane food? As of 2010, United spent about $6.35 per meal per passenger — is that enough for passengers who’ve paid hundreds or thousands of dollars for a seat?
What if United decided that while every other airline cuts back on meals, they’d make it a priority? What if passengers actually looked forward to their meals on the flight – because they knew it was made that day, and made specifically for them that day, not dreamed up in a kitchen a full year earlier?
I know what you’re thinking: Yeah, but… they’d never go for it. It’s too complicated. Too costly. Too hard.
And I say: Every day, United moves thousands of people around the world. You’re telling me they can’t think of a better way to serve us salad and sandwiches in the sky?
I am 25 years old, and I’m going through a period of transition in my life. I know, I know: I wrote the same thing last year. And when I sit down to write this post next year, there’s a good chance I’ll say the same thing.
Yes, I know: The mid-20s are an unstable time — there isn’t anything yet to anchor me down (a family, a home, a city, a career). Things are changing, and that’s been a good thing. Change has brought me some really amazing opportunities.
At age 25, there are certain things I’ve come to believe hold true. I know that my beliefs will change. I know that I will change.
But here, at 25, is what I believe.
I believe that…
People who hustle are the best kinds of people.
There is nothing quite like the feeling of “done.”
Respect must be earned. Passion must be shared. Rules must be ignored.
People who refuse to talk things out are people who don’t belong in your life.
Nothing good has ever come from a “reply all” email.
The same goes for reading YouTube comments.
Next year really is our year, Nats fans.
When you’re “close,” that just shows you have far you still have to go.
There really shouldn’t be people in the workforce who are younger than me, but there are. And that’s because you’re getting old, Dan. Just deal with it.
We need more people who are willing to be kind.
We need more people who are willing to struggle.
We need more people who are willing to serve.
And most of all: Today is a work day. Today, we must do great work. It’s our time.
———
That’s me with the amazing Stry.us team (from left to right): Bari, Zach, Jordan, Sarah, and Roman.
“The things we create tower over us.” — Matt Dopkiss
I was watching an old college football game on ESPN Classic the other day. It was from the 80s.
My mom walked into the room.
“What’s the score?” she asked.
Not sure, I told her.
“How much time is left?” she asked.
No idea, I confessed.
“How many yards do they need for a first down?” she asked.
Uhhhhhh, I said.
There was no on-screen scoreboard. There was no clock. There was no yellow first-and-10 line.
I’d been watching this game for 15 minutes, and I hadn’t the slightest idea what I was looking at. I had a football game in front of me, that much I knew, but I didn’t have any context to understand it.
Early football games — and when I say early, I mean “as recently as 20 years ago” — didn’t give viewers even the most basic information on screen. And as a result, viewers like me often got left in the dark.
“The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness.” — David Foster Wallace
That cartoon at the top of this post is by a cartoonist named Wally Wood, and — the title is kind of a giveaway on this — it’s a list of 22 ways to illustrate a panel in a cartoon.
Consider this: There’s only so much you can do with a cartoon. There’s only so many ways to keep a story going. There’s only so much that’s possible in a tiny rectangle.
Before looking at the Wally Wood graphic, I might have been able to name five or six ways to illustrate a panel.
But 22? I had no idea.
Point is: Whatever you’re thinking about, there’s probably another way of thinking about it. Whatever you’re looking at, there’s probably another way of looking at it.
Don’t get locked into your own perspective. Get out and listen — to friends, to critics.
Let them help you figure out what you’re really dealing with. Let them show you a new side of the problem.
