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The Uphill Battle: The Middle of Success Feels Like Failure

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Remember, the middle of success feels like failure. 

The middle of success is a hill you’re halfway up. You’ve made the commitment and are paying the price, but you have yet to reach your reward.

The middle of success is work. It’s the grind where your perseverance is tested and you’re most likely to feel alone. You don’t have any of the naivety you had before you started. And you don’t have the sense of accomplishment you’ll have when you are done.

To be blunt, the middle of success really sucks.

If you’re working hard in pursuit of your dream and having this experience, hear this: You are not doing anything wrong. This is just how it goes. Keep believing in yourself. Continue to put one foot in front of the other. Success is a process, and you are working your way through it.

Tailoring Veterinary Medicine: Lessons from Prego’s Spaghetti Sauce Story

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Last weekend, I read the best article I’ve ever seen about ketchup, mustard and spaghetti sauce. Now, I know what you’re thinking – how can condiments and pasta sauce be so intriguing? Well, this article taught me a valuable lesson about understanding our clients’ needs. If you have the time, I highly recommend hitting that link and settling in for an interesting ride.

My favorite part was the story about a man named Howard Moskowitz who, in 1986, was hired by the Campbell’s Soup Company to revamp their Prego spaghetti sauce line. Prego was in a slump and desperate for new ideas to compete with Ragu.

At the time, the standard approach would have been to conduct a focus group and gather feedback from consumers to determine how to improve the sauce. But things didn’t go as planned for Prego. The focus group sessions yielded frustrating results. The data collected seemed to lack a clear consensus, and it appeared as though no one could agree on how to enhance Prego’s sauce.

If you’ve ever tried to talk to your clients about what they want in a veterinary clinic visit, you’ve probably had a similar experience. While the idea that clients will simply tell us what we should do to serve them is attractive, I’ve personally rarely found it to be true.

However, this is where Howard Moskowitz had his breakthrough moment. Rather than giving up, he decided to reanalyze the data. And that’s when he discovered a pattern hidden within the seemingly conflicting feedback. It turned out that there were three distinct customer preferences when it came to spaghetti sauce: plain, spicy, and extra-chunky. The last turned out to be most important.

Instead of trying to improve their existing sauce, Prego did something bold and innovative. They decided to offer not one, but two varieties of spaghetti sauce. They kept their original sauce as it was and introduced a new, extra-chunky version, which no other brand had done before.

Prego Extra-Chunky was launched in 1989. Over the next decade, the category generated hundreds of millions of dollars for Prego. More importantly, it changed the industry. 

It was here that food companies came to understand that there is no “perfect product.” Different people have different preferences, and attempting to create a one-size-fits-all experience often leads to no one customer being completely satisfied. 

Since reading this, I’ve been thinking about how many veterinary clinics offer only one standard client experience. How many of us serve up medicine “original style” without considering the diverse needs and preferences of our clients? What if we were to acknowledge that people are looking for different things and strive to provide them with more variety?

I genuinely believe the future of veterinary medicine is going to be full of options for pet owners. I’m excited to see what veterinary entrepreneurs come up with to engage those pet owners who have never loved what we, as a profession, have been cooking. This is a fascinating time to be in practice!

Is Interpersonal Conflict In The Way Of Work?

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“If we could just stop having interpersonal issues, we could get the actual work done!”

I’ve heard countless leaders and managers say something along this line. I’ve said it myself. Do you know why this sentiment is flawed? It’s because managing interpersonal relationships is doing the work.

As a leader, spending time to help your people build relationships, collaborate effectively, and feel good about being together isn’t a distraction from the job. It is the job. People who communicate and collaborate easily don’t tend to have problems with following protocols, helping others or holding people accountable. Getting your people into this space is not an annoyance. It’s probably the most important aspect of leadership.

If you’re pulling your hair out because you feel like you’re “wasting time” supporting and facilitating team members working through interpersonal issues, maybe it’s time to take a step back. Veterinary medicine is a deeply human profession. Helping teams feel good about their relationships isn’t a distraction from providing care. It’s possibly the single most important aspect of it.

Graduation: Embracing New Chapters With Intention

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It’s that time of the year again. The time to turn a new page, wrap up an important chapter, and start a new one. It’s graduation season.

A year ago I wrote about why I think graduations are important, and why we should have more of them. I still believe this strongly. Our lives are defined by impermanence, even if we seem dead set on convincing ourselves that they are not. Change is inevitable. We are not the same people we were four years ago (that was pre-pandemic!) and we will not be the same person four years from now. Graduations help us handle that change gracefully and with intention. They are an opportunity to reflect on where we have been, and to actively re-invent ourselves to meet the changes around us.

As this email arrives in your inbox, I will be driving through the beautiful Appalachian Mountains. I have been invited to share advice or words of encouragement at the graduation ceremony for the College of Veterinary Medicine class of 2023 at Lincoln Memorial University.

I have been asked to do a number of these in the past, and I always take them seriously. I try to think of what I could say that would actually be useful to someone who is just starting out. I definitely don’t want to lecture, because the path that I’ve taken in my career will not be the one any of them take. The world is a different place than it used to be, and the rate of change in our society seems to only be accelerating.

I also want to stay away from talking too much about what to expect in the coming years. As I said, the world is changing quickly and my track record for predicting what medicine will be like years in the future is pretty abysmal. 

Basically that leaves some thoughts about human nature. After all, people really don’t change. The clients that James Herriot wrote about in All Creatures Great and Small in 1972 are the same clients we see today. They just have different jobs, different commitments, and Apple watches. Underneath it all, they’re wired the exact same way.

Today, the things I wish I’d known about people when I left veterinary school include the following:

  1. Almost everyone is trying their best – It took me a long time to give people that grace and to allow them to simply be flawed human beings. 
  1. You don’t have the power to make other people happy – You’d better figure out what YOU need to be happy and how you’ll know that you are doing a good job, because getting that validation from others is a path to frustration.
  1. You choose how you struggle – You can have a job that no one cares about, or you can have one that really matters. Remember there are headaches that come with either choice. As graduates of veterinary school, these students have clearly chosen the latter. I hope they’ll own their choice.

I know these ideas seem really simple. I think most things in life that last are just that. I’ll find a way to dress the ideas up and maybe tell some stories of when I finally internalized these lessons, and then I’ll wish the students all the best luck in the world.

I’ll tell them that our profession is a great one. I’ll remind them to enjoy doing the mundane work of veterinary medicine, not just achieving an outcome. I’ll encourage them to remember that veterinary medicine is what they do, and not who they are. They should get comfortable taking off their white coats and being proud of who they are without stethoscopes.

Finally, before I go, I will share with them some bad news. I will try to shield them from a pain so many of us have felt in our profession. I will say to them, “I know that you are excited to get out into the world and help the people you care the most about… but know this: no matter how many degrees, honors or accolades you acquire… your family is not going to take your medical advice seriously. Just get ready for that.” 

And with that, I will depart.

The Hope Rebellion

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The opposite of grimdark is hopepunk. 
Pass it on.
– Alexandra Rowland

Everything is deteriorating and the only smart outlook is a cynical one. At least that’s what I’m hearing. Well, nihilism, the belief that nothing matters, isn’t a worldview or a professional outlook I’m interested in. 

Yes, our profession is a hard one. There are challenges and uncertainties every day. There are angry people, diseases that can’t be cured, and treatments that can’t be afforded. There are fights with management, arguments among staff, and disagreements over how best to get our work done. Cancer isn’t fair. Pet owners make mistakes. Some people are just in it for the money. And those who are hurting emotionally tend to lash out and hurt others.

A lot of us in veterinary medicine think the enlightened response is “to fully accept and expect dark days.” These people protect themselves (and tell themselves they are protecting others) by anticipating the negative as if it’s a given. They signal their insight and experience in the world by telling others that hardship is coming, things are broken, and “that’s just the way it is.” 

After all, if something painful happens and you “called it,” it doesn’t hurt as much, right? 

Well, I have decided that the culture of despair and defeat is one that I’m not interested in being a part of. In fact, it’s one I’d like to see torn down. I think we need to revolt.

It’s time for a rebellion.

A rebellion against negativity and darkness, however, is not driven by positivity. Rather, the way to battle back is not telling ourselves that painful things are actually good and everything is fine. It’s not reminding people who are struggling that they should be grateful. That’s its own type of toxicity.

No. The rebellion against cynicism is defined by hope. 

In a world where fear and problems walk through our doors and appear on our phones, rebellion is stubborn, lip-curled, gritted-teeth optimism. 

Today, hope is punk rock. It’s the mindset of those who don’t want to be told what to do or think. Owning your power to step forward and make days brighter is leather, spikes, and chains. Helping when you don’t have to is an ace of spades face tattoo. And telling someone that they are making a positive difference in the world is a spiked mohawk. This is how we rebel.

So, what do you say? Do you want to be hopepunk with me? Do you want to flip off the doom and gloom system with a rebellious smile and kind words? Do you want to stick a finger in the eye of the doomsayers by asking the question “what if change actually causes things to get better?” If so, let’s get to work. 

We may not win the war against cynicism, but we can punch tiny holes in it all day, everyday, and no one can stop us.

Is Convenience Leading Us Toward Misery?

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I know I’m not the only person who enjoyed practice back in 2020. That was when pet owners were being seen curbside, and vet medical teams were powering through appointments with pit crew-level efficiency. Seeing pets that way was, for us veterinarians, extremely convenient. It allowed us to stay in one spot, do our work without distraction, and focus on clear communication in bite-sized chunks. Many of the minor frictions that come with navigating the pet + owner experience were removed.

I also suspect that I am not the only one who recognized that there was a price being paid for this convenience. 

By removing the pet owner (and all the inefficiencies that come with them), it felt like I was losing something important. The longer we went curbside, the more convinced of this loss I became.

It’s not unreasonable to want a happier, more convenient, less irritating life. In fact, society seems fixated on helping to make that happen. We now have the ability to stream movies or TV on our phones, wireless headphones to summon music, podcasts or audiobooks at a moment’s notice, and texting and messaging apps to save us from awkwardness on the phones. Tired of traffic? Grab an Uber! Worried about missing the game? Stream it on your watch!

As I look around my living room right now, my dog is chewing his bone while I type on my laptop. Each of my children stare, completely immersed in their cell phones. No one is bored here. No one is inconvenienced by the behaviors of other family members. No one is doing anything other than what they want to do at this moment.

That’s wonderful… isn’t it? I’m not so convinced.

My Doubts About Convenience 

It’s so easy to remove the frictions of life, and in the moment it feels great. It’s awesome to not be bored. It’s great to be able to duck away when things quiet down in the clinic for a moment. It’s nice to get work done while my kids are entertained. 

That quiet time in the treatment room absolutely could be used for emails, or it could be used for just standing around and talking with the team. Getting the email done feels like the priority. However, in the long term, not spending time simply being present with my techs and fellow doctors would have negative consequences.

That’s often how this goes. Taking the easy and convenient path in the short term sets us up for loneliness and shallow connections in the long term. 

Inconvenience Can Become A Doorway 

No, we shouldn’t swear off the little things that make us happy. There’s nothing wrong with watching the show you love, listening to a podcast while you drive, or scrolling social media on your break. We do run into a problem, however, if we do them so regularly and quickly that we never see the opportunity to strike up a conversation with someone we don’t know (or who we love and care deeply about). At some point, inconvenience is the doorway to connection.

Working with clients while treating their pets is how we build relationships. Advertisements on the radio are our impetus to turn the volume down and talk to our friend. Turning off social media on our breaks and just asking a co-worker what they did over the weekend is a step toward building trust. 

Maybe we should start getting a bit more tolerant of irritation, boredom and inefficiency. Maybe taking the path that’s immediately fast and easy doesn’t get us where we want to in the long term. Maybe it’s good to be just uncomfortable enough that we make time for the mundane acts that build connection and a rich life.