I’d like to begin this week’s post with a nine minute, forty-six second assignment. Grab your headphones or earbuds and watch Richard Goodall sing Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin' on America’s Got Talent.

If your boss asks why you’re watching YouTube on the company dime, tell him Greg said it’s okay. It’s work-related. :-)

Come back when you’re done. I’ll wait right here.

Oh, and you might want to grab some tissues.

Don’t Stop Believin’

As you have just learned, Richard Goodall is a fifty-five year old janitor at West Vigo High School in Terre Haute, Indiana.

Terre Haute, due west of Indianapolis on the Illinois border, just happens to be my home town.

I don’t know Richard, but my sister does. She describes him as the “sweetest soul.” As I watch him on stage, I have no trouble believing she is right. The man oozes kindness.

That said, I did not ask you to watch this video to promote the hometown hero. I asked you to watch it so you could consider two questions:

1. What goes on for you when you watch that performance?
2. What do you think was going on for Richard Goodall?

Let’s start with you.

Question 1: What Goes On For You?

When Richard shared his story, what happened inside you?

I’m not asking what you thought; I’m asking what you felt.

If you are anything like me, you might have initially just felt some curiosity about this soft-spoken janitor from Indiana, who was coy about his song choice when asked by Simon Cowell.

Then came that unmistakable opening piano riff from Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey.

How did you react?

If you have ever watched a show like American Idol, The Voice, or America’s Got Talent, you might have felt some apprehension. Maybe even a sense of dread.

Oh no, this could be bad…

Dangerous Territory

Don’t Stop Believin’ is the male equivalent of covering Celine Dion or Whitney Houston. Everybody knows the song, and the original artist has set the bar impossibly high.

Steve Perry was, after all, the one people originally called “The Voice” for his incredibly powerful tone and seemingly effortless vocal range.

I hope this guy knows what he’s doing, because this is a huge risk.

In the lead up, Richard’s nerves are palpable. He reflexively puts his hand on his pounding heart in an attempt to calm himself.

How can one possibly sing from that place? How do his visible nerves affect you?

Finally, after all the build-up, our trembling Terre Hautian lifts the mic and gives voice to the first line:

Just a small town girl...

The audience erupts.

Piloerection (Or Horripilation, If You Prefer)

Did you get goosebumps? Chicken-skin, as Richard calls it?

If so, that’s your sympathetic nervous system doing you the evolutionary favor of taking our slow and error-prone thinking brain out of the equation, and telling you, pay attention!

Our bodies react to the emotion automatically, raising hair we no longer have, in a response that made our ancestors look bigger and scarier to a potential threat.

Over the course of millenia, through a quirk of evolution, that response seems to have gotten tangled up with our reward system. When art or music triggers it, we call it “frisson.” It is an outward manifestation of our inner, non-verbal experience. It is the voice of the part of our brain that doesn't have one.

That bit of trivia is fascinating, but it doesn’t elicit emotion. Cognition tells us what a thing is, but it is emotion that tells us how important it is.

High Notes

Richard continues. He nails the high notes. He is not just a competent mimic. He sings with real emotion (and in music, emotional expression is everything).

Did your eyes well up? Mine certainly did! If so, why? What’s that about?

When the performance concludes, the audience on their feet, Richard is incredibly emotional, barely containing the flood of tears. When Heidi Klum presses the Golden Buzzer, which guarantees him a spot in the live rounds later in the competition, his knees nearly buckle.

What did you feel? What did this stir in you? Did your eyes remain dry? Did your throat tighten at all? Did you feel anything?

Disconnected

If the answer is no, maybe this is just not your thing. Everyone is different, and perhaps Richard’s story and performance just don’t resonate with you.

But there is another possibility, more likely in my experience. Many of us are cut off from our emotions, for innumerable legitimate reasons.

• Maybe, like me, you are male, and you grew up with years of cultural conditioning, both overt and covert, that boys don’t cry. Emotion and vulnerability are signs of weakness.
• Maybe you are female at work, and you have picked up the cues that shedding tears is a cardinal sin for women in business, and will cost you your credibility.
• Or maybe you’ve been burned by life, and difficult experiences have rendered you cynical.

Regardless of the reason, a life cut off from emotion is no life at all. You cannot accurately make sense of the world without feeling and understanding emotions.

Reconnecting should be an imperative. Try watching some more AGT Golden Buzzer videos. :-)

Question 2: What Do You Think Was Going On For Richard Goodall?

From what well do Richard’s tears flow?

What is it, exactly, that causes him to break down in such a beautiful, moving way?

We can’t know without asking him, of course, but I can make a pretty good guess.

Perhaps for the first time in his life, Richard Goodall was deeply seen.

Yes, I know these talent shows are cheesy. Yes, they are contrived, predetermined, and maybe outright rigged from the start, but the producers are no dummies.

They know that people don’t watch because of what the show makes them think, but rather how it makes them feel, and they are masterful at understanding and evoking those emotions.

Did you notice the background music? After his performance, as Richard stands before the adoring crowd, Billy Joel sings,

Time can make you blind, but I see you now.

You might have missed the lyric, but you probably felt its impact anyway. I see you now.

Like I said, masterful.

And, fancy Hollywood production or not, if Richard Goodall is faking those emotions, then not only is he a great singer, he is an even better actor.

What Can We Learn?

Richard Goodall from Terre Haute, Indiana, showed the world who he really is, and the world responded with a standing ovation.

He took an incredible risk. Imagine, for a moment, the vulnerability of standing on that stage in LA and singing to a live audience of thousands and a virtual audience of millions, having never even been on an airplane.

I get a knot in my gut just thinking about it. We call it "gutsy" for a reason.

Mr. Richard, as the kids call him, bared his chest to the world, and the world responded not with the dagger of criticism, but with an outpouring of love.

What could be more validating?

Being Deeply Seen

To be truly known and accepted is such a profound experience it shakes us to our foundation, especially if we have long been without it. As we saw with Richard, it can quite literally bring us to our knees.

Richard cries because the combination of relief and acceptance and being truly known is overwhelming.

We cry partly because we are hard-wired to share in the emotions of our fellow humans, but also because we want that, too. Everyone wants that.

It is an experience that, for many–not just janitors from Terre Haute–is far too rare.

Do you know–really know–the people at the bottom of your org chart? Even a little? Do you really know your coworkers? Your friends? Do you really know your spouse? Your children?

If you do, then they are lucky to know you. But for almost all of us, it is worth asking what other sweet souls we have passed in the hallway without really seeing. 

A Gift Worth Giving, A Risk Worth Taking

To truly see someone is one of the greatest gifts you can give.

And to be truly known, you must risk showing people who you really are.

If you are holding out, waiting for an easier time, one that does not involve risk, know that the real risk is that you will one day find yourself asking the question that completes Billy Joel’s chorus...

Did I wait too long to turn the lights back on?

Until next time,

Greg

P.S. A small request from me to you: if you liked this, forward it to a friend. It's a low risk way to show them a little of who you really are, and it might inspire them to return the favor. Everybody wins:-)