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“Let’s see what you’ve come up with,” Mr. Liu asks before I even sit down.
“I’m not sure this is what you’re looking for.” I push a stack of papers across the desk to him.
It’s my twelfth week in the Power Broker Program, and according to my coach’s analysis, I’m significantly behind where he expected I would andshouldbe by this stage, the end of Q1 with him.
The problem is that his vision of my business and my vision of my business are quite different. Mr. Liu’s definition of growth includes spreadsheets and ever-increasing dollars connected to a reduction in the time it takes me to earn that money. I see growth using different numbers—basically, how many green things I get to interact with in a week or month.
Following Mr. Liu’s plan for The Other Side of the Fence, by the end of Q4, caring for plants will be a hobby for me. I’ll instead be dirtying my hands with the management of contract staff who will be the ones actually whispering to the wisteria—and the ferns and the azaleas and, and, and … Thinking about that kind of corporate growth makes me sad and anxious.
“Virginia.” He pushes my feeble marketing plan across the desk,tsk-tskinglike a disappointed parent handing back a subpar report card. “You can do better.”
I inhale a confidence-boosting breath, nod, and say, “You’re right. I could do this differently. But the business plan we developed? It’s not sitting well.”
“A personnel issue? Do you need more tips on how to manage a contractor?” he asks.
“No. She’s working out just fine. She’s good. Clients like her. It’s just that the next stage you’ve designed—”
“We’vedesigned,” he interrupts.
“Yes—we’ve come up with—has me training two more people to take on my contract in this building.”
“You’re having trouble finding the right people? We can use a few hours of HR time—”
“No. That’s not it, Mr. Liu. I don’t want to stop doing this contract. I don’t want to give it to other people.”
He looks confused. “But you’re not giving it up. You’re improving efficiencies. Your company will still be earning fifty percent of the contract. And that will free your time to go out and land even more lucrative contracts. Another building like this one, and you’ll have your same income for just a couple hours’ work a week, instead of thirty plus.”
Mr. Liu and I have had this same conversation every time I’ve seen him in the last month, and I’m frustrated that he’s not hearing me. I steel myself to say what I know I should’ve said much sooner.
“Mr. Liu, I am so grateful for all you’ve done to help me see the potential in The Other Side of the Fence. I never would’ve envisioned the kind of success you’ve helped me understand is possible.”
“You had some significant upper-limit barrier beliefs when we first met,” he says.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“It’s normal for you to backslide on believing you can be as successful as my financial projections indicate—”
“I’m not backsliding. I’m trying to say that I don’t want that kind of success.”
Mr. Liu smiles. It’s the biggest smile I’ve seen from him. “Classic stage two.” He chuckles. “You don’t want that success because, at some level, you still don’t believe you deserve it.”
I want to pull out my own fingernails, which, I notice, have dirt under them, as per normal.
“Mr. Liu, it may be true that I’m in stage two of whatever process I’m going through. But please look, see, and believe that these hands”—I hold them up with dirty nails facing him—“are happiest when they’re in dirt.Iam happiest when my fingernails look like this. I don’t need to be a millionaire to be happy. What I need is to be doing the work I love.”
He’s not smiling now. He’s scowling at his own hand while tapping his knuckles on his aqua-colored, tempered glass desktop. He sighs.
“Virginia, Virginia, Virginia …”
I wait. Watch his posture change from relaxed to rigid. I can tell before he speaks again that I’m not going to like what he says.
Will finds me in the sauna, which is where I’ve been for the last ninety minutes since leaving the twenty-sixth floor for what is likely the last time. Well, aside from visiting the offices that have plants, which do not include Mr. Liu’s.
I should’ve known this would end badly when he refused to accept my thank-you gift of a fern and again when he declined having anything alive in his space, even if it was owned by Will Power & Bros.
“I missed you this afternoon. Seems wrong to end my day without my plants being whispered to,” Will says, sidling up beside me and dropping the towel wrapped around his hips.
“Yup,” I agree.
