“I put The Self Empowerment Pledge to the left of my computer screen and even shrunk the sheet to day-timer size, dated it, laminated it, and carry it in my briefcase. All this was just 2 weeks ago - and I already feel a difference in my thinking. Thanks Joe!”

“I keep a copy of The Self-Empowerment Pledge posted where I can see it every day, and I can’t tell you how helpful it has been to repeat those promises to myself. Things really are getting better.”

“I have The Self-Empowerment Pledge on my overhead cabinet at the office and I’m finding it’s most helpful for me to repeat the daily message.”

The Self-Empowerment Pledge

Seven Simple Promises that Will Change Your Life

Tuesday’s Promise: Accountability
by Joe Tye

This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is strictly coincidental. The questions that follow, however, are very real – and answering them honestly can help you internalize the true meaning and purpose of The Accountability Promise of The Self-Empowerment Pledge.

Click to listen to audio track on Tuesday’s Promise

Tuesday’s Promise: Accountability
I will not allow low self-esteem, self-limiting beliefs, or the negativity of others to prevent me from achieving my authentic goals and from becoming the person I am meant to be.

“YOU’LL NEVER AMOUNT TO A HILL OF BEANS.”
Ricky Marshall gazed out his office window at the city traffic below as the ghost of Mr. Ratcliff, his eleventh grade nemesis, repeated that long-ago prophecy. It mattered not the slightest that in the 23 years since graduating from Central High, Ricky had built one of the hottest advertising agencies in the city, and that he’d become a devoted husband and loving father. Nothing was ever good enough for the ghost of Mr. Ratcliff.

The same thing had been true back in high school. Nothing was ever good enough for Mr. Ratcliff. Ricky hadn’t much cared about pleasing “Rat Spit,” as the kids all called him, in chemistry class. Quite to the contrary, Ricky’s self-designated role as class clown assured that he and his teacher would be in constant conflict.

But on the track it was a different story. Mr. Ratcliff was also the track coach, and Ricky was the fastest sprinter on the team. He would push himself until his heart was about to explode just to earn a pat on the back or a locker room nod from Rat Spit. He’d earned a few, but those weren’t the ones that stood out in his memory.

That distinction went to the state track meet in his junior year Ricky anchored the 440 relay team that came in second. It had been neck-and-neck as the third runners passed the batons, but Ricky got nipped at the wire by the kid from Washington High. Staring into Mr. Ratcliff’s unblinking eyes, Ricky blurted out the words that he forever after wished he could have retrieved: “I coulda’ had him, Coach, but Tony gave me a bad pass.”

Mr. Ratcliff stared at Ricky for the longest two seconds of his young life. Then he’d simply shaken his head. “Ricky, you’ll never amount to a hill of beans.” Ricky didn’t go out for the track team the following year, and he never took another chemistry class. Those were the last words he ever heard Mr. Ratcliff say to him. And for the past 23 years, he’d kept hearing them, over and over and over again.

After pouring himself a cup of coffee, Ricky walked over to the conference room table and sat down. His stomach was churning and the black cloud of dread had closed in about him, colder and more sinister than ever before. This Friday, his small team would go up against Furston-James, one of the largest and most respected ad agencies in the world, for the Mountain Joe’s Coffee Company account. If they won, it would put him on the map and on the road toward the big time. If they lost, well, it would be a long time before they had another shot like this. Mr. Ratcliff’s voice once more echoed through his memory. “Ricky, you’ll never amount to a hill of beans.”

It was now eleven o’clock on Tuesday morning – three days before the face-off with the 800-pound gorilla of Madison Avenue – and Ricky’s’ team had come up with only a pile of mediocre ideas that wouldn’t begin to compete with whatever the pros at Furston-James would bring to the table. To top it off, on Friday evening Ricky was to be the graduation speaker for this year’s class at Central High.

“Some speech that will be,” Ricky muttered as he slumped into his office chair. “Let’s welcome our commencement speaker, Ricky Marshall, who just lost the biggest contract of his life and now will never amount to a hill of beans.” He pushed aside the model of the Dancing Coffee Cup, the cartoon sketch of Jazzy Joe the Java King, and the other inane ideas that his crew had come up with thus far, then put his head down on the table. “They’re going to blow us out of the water,” he moaned.

“Cheer up, Chief, the fat lady don’t sing till Friday!” It was Hank Reidy, Ricky’s Creative Director, wearing a cowboy hat and gun holster. As Ricky looked up, Hank whipped a Styrofoam cup from the holster. “Bang! Come out shootin’ with Mountain Joe, says Billie the Coffee Kid.” He pretended to take a sip from his Styrofoam cup, then looked hopefully at Ricky. “What do you think?”

Ricky rested his forehead in the palm of his hand and shook his head. “I think we’re going to get blown away on Friday.”

Hank flung his ten-gallon hat in the general direction of the coat tree and sat down across from Ricky. “What’s that you always tell us, man – you’ve never lost until you quit, but once you quit you become a loser. Something like that.”

You’ve never lost until you quit, but once you quit you become a loser.

“Something like that,” Ricky muttered as he looked out the window. He sighed and leaned on the sill. The bright sun that illuminated the scurrying little people five floors below merely accentuated his own dark mood. “I’m afraid we’re out of our league on this one, Hank. We’ve got no business going up against Furston-James. We’re going to end up the laughing stock of Mad Ave.”

“Hey, man, we’ve just got to use the old Goliath Formula. You know, turn their strength into a weakness and turn our weakness into a strength. We’ve sure done that before.”

Ricky got up and walked toward the door. “Yeah,” he said, slapping Hank on the shoulder as he passed by, “we’ve done that before. But right now I’m going out for lunch. Work some magic while I’m gone, will ya?”

It was a beautiful late spring day outside, and the sidewalks were packed with shoppers and cubicle rats out for a noontime walk. Ricky wandered past the shops, hoping against hope that something would jump out from one of those windows and inspire him with the breakthrough idea. No such luck.

After buying a loaded hot dog and a Coke from a sidewalk vendor, Ricky walked through the little park and found an empty bench. Savoring his first bite of hot dog, he closed his eyes and began to word associate: coffee, caffeine, Java. Nothing yet. Let’s see, Mountain Joe, G.I. Joe, Surfer Joe, Smokin’ Joe, a regular Joe – no, no, no. How about Joltin’ Joe – no, too obvious.

He took another bite of hot dog and started over. Mountain Joe, mountain man, mountains of flavor, mountains out of mole hills – now where did that come from? Okay, Ricky, start over: coffee, aroma, morning, alarm clock. Alarm clock? Ricky opened his eyes and looked up to see a funny little man standing not two feet away, just standing there, staring at him. Ricky took another bite of hot dog and closed his eyes again. This was, after all, New York City. Having some ridiculous little man watching you eat a hot dog was no big deal. Let’s see, coffee, Colombia, rain forest, Guatemala…

“Hey, mister, pick a card. It’ll change your life.” Ricky opened his eyes. The preposterous little man was still standing in front of him. He couldn’t have been more than four-foot-six; even with Ricky seated, they were eye-to-eye. With oversized front teeth, unkempt red hair, and pants pulled up nearly to his armpits, the little man looked like a refugee from Coney Island. “Only five bucks, mister. You can pick any card you want.” He smiled as he fanned out what appeared to be a deck of oversized playing cards.

“Five bucks? You want me to give you five bucks for one of these lousy cards? You crazy or what?”

“What’s the matter, mister? Don’t you think you’re worth five bucks?” Ricky raised his Coke to dump it on the little man’s head, then stopped his arm mid-air. The little man gave Ricky the guileless smile of a five year old. “If you don’t believe in you, mister, how ya ever gonna convince anyone else to believe in you?”

The little man’s sincerity short-circuited Ricky’s normally vast repertoire of smart-aleck come-backs. “Only five bucks, mister,” the little man repeated. “It’ll change your life.” The little man smiled, and those gigantic front teeth seemed to catch the sunlight and magnify it.

If you don’t believe in you, how are you ever going to convince anyone else to believe in you?

“What if I don’t want my life to change,” Ricky asked even as he reached for the wallet in his back pocket.

“Then I wouldn’t be here,” replied the funny little man.

“Well, in that case,” Ricky said, handing him a five-dollar bill, “I guess I’d better pick a card. And you must be the greatest salesman in the world, conning a guy like me who knows all the cons.” Ricky passed his hand over the fan of cards several times, then pulled one out. He held it to his chest and winked at the little man. Then he read what was on the card.

Tuesday’s Promise: Accountability
I will not allow low self-esteem, self-limiting beliefs, or the negativity of others to prevent me from achieving my authentic goals and from becoming the person I am meant to be.

Ricky read the card once more, then looked up at the little man, who was putting the cards back into his pocket. “Hang on there, buddy” Ricky said, “what if I want another card?”

The little man smiled. “They’re all the same.”

“All the same? What sort of scam are you running here, buddy?”

The little man shook his head. “All the same for you. All different for someone else. You’re not ready for the next one yet.”

Ricky closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get his arms around what he’d just heard the little man say. When he looked again, the little man was gone. Ricky’s five-dollar bill was blowing across the grass, but the card he’d bought with it was still in his hand. He took another bite of hot dog and contemplated the three monsters on his card – low self-esteem, self-limiting beliefs, and the negativity of other people. Mountains to be crossed? Or mountains out of molehills?

Low self-esteem, self-limiting beliefs, and the negativity of other people. Are these mountains to be crossed? Or mountains being made out of molehills?

“You’ll never amount to a hill of beans, Marshall.” Ricky dropped the hot dog into his lap. There, sitting next to him on the bench, real as the lions guarding the steps to the New York Public Library, was his ninth grade nemesis, Mr. Ratcliff, absolutely untouched by the march of years. Ratcliff glared at Ricky. “Nothing has changed since eleventh grade, has it, Ricky? Still blaming someone else for your problems.”

Ricky stood up and mopped at the mustard and onions from the front of his pants. “Drop dead, Rat Spit.” He put the card with the Accountability Promise into his shirt pocket and walked away from the empty park bench.

Back at the office, Ricky ignored the questioning glances directed at the mess on the front of his trousers, and went immediately to the conference room, where he closed himself in. At four-thirty, he asked Hank to come join him.

Hank stepped into the conference room and smiled, then laughed. “Now there’s the cat who ate the canary expression we all know and love. Welcome back. What have you got there?”

Ricky slowly turned around the poster board that he’d been working on all afternoon. On it was a rough sketch with small piles of coffee beans all around the periphery. In the center was one great big pile. Over it all, Ricky had stenciled in this legend:

Why settle for a hill of beans
When you can go for the whole mountain?
When it comes to coffee,
Mountain Joe is King of the Hill.

Hank sat down and studied the sketch, poker-faced as usual (a habit he’d developed long ago to prevent his first reaction from coloring the impressions of others). Finally, Ricky threw a crayon at him from across the table. “Come on, Rembrandt, what do you think? Can you turn this into a masterpiece?”

Hank looked again at the poster board, and a smile gradually filled his face. “Big shoot-out on Friday. And Goliath’s gonna take a big fall.”

* * *

Ricky was still apprehensive. Walking through the front doors of Central High School for the first time in over two decades brought back a flood of memories and emotions, most of which were not particularly pleasant. He’d made more than his share of marches down to the principal’s office, but tonight was the first time he’d done so by his own choosing.

Now he sat in the front row of the auditorium listening to Mr. Berman, the new principal, introducing him as the commencement speaker. Berman had finished reading the formal introduction, the one supplied by Ricky’s office, but then he continued on. “Before I ask Mr. Marshall to come up, let me add one more credential to his already impressive resume: giant killer. I’ve learned that today his company snatched a very prestigious account away from a giant ad agency. See what you can do with a Central High education?!” Ricky walked toward the stage to the applause.

At the podium, Ricky paused and took a long slow breath. There in the front row, in the seat he had just vacated, sat Mr. Ratcliff, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Ricky looked down at his notes and read the first line to himself, about how a teacher had once told him that he would never amount to a hill of beans. And at that moment, he understood what Mr. Ratcliff had been trying to tell him all these years. He folded up the notes and put them back into his suit coat pocket.

“Tonight,” Ricky began, speaking from the heart rather than from his notes, “I would like to tell you about a promise. It’s promise I’ve made to myself. A promise that’s changed my life. A promise that reminds me of dreams I must pursue and of the man I’m meant to be. A promise that reminds me of this: nobody can run my race for me but me.”

Ricky looked down at Mr. Ratcliff, who gave him an approving nod. He continued speaking from the heart. “This promise reminded me that I was put on this earth for a purpose, and that I am accountable to myself, and to God, for fulfilling that purpose.” Ricky looked one last time at Mr. Ratcliff. “Life is sort of like a relay race, isn’t it? God passes you a baton on the day you are born, then it’s up to you to run with it. And you can’t let the excuses of your own low self-esteem or the negativity of other people stop you from running that race.

God passes you a baton on the day you are born, then it’s up to you to run with it. And you can’t let the excuses of your own low self-esteem or the negativity of other people stop you from running that race.

Ricky had made up several hundred cards with The Accountability Promise printed on them, and he now asked Hank and the other members of his team to pass them out to the students. As they did, Mr. Ratcliff stood up and gave Ricky a military-style salute. Then he turned and walked, unseen by all but Ricky, down the aisle and out the back door of the auditorium.

Click to listen to audio track on Tuesday’s Promise

Questions and Exercises

Think about times you have allowed low self-esteem, negative self-talk, or the negativity of other people to stop you from doing the things you had to do in order to pursue and achieve goals that were important to you. How did you feel? Are you still allowing that to happen?

Is there a “Mr. Ratcliff” in your past? Can you reinterpret the hurtful things that person said to you so that they are in a more positive and constructive light, the way that Ricky did in this story?

Read The Accountability Promise again. How different would your life be today if in the past you had really believed that you would take responsibility for your life and not blame others for your difficulties?

Think about the path that your life is taking right now. What sort of changes would there be in your journey if, beginning right now, you truly internalized The Responsibility Promise – from today onward, you would own your problems, and your opportunities?

If you are a parent, are your children learning and living by the precepts of The Accountability Promise? What steps could you take to help them grow up to be owners, not just renters, of the problems and the opportunities that life will throw their way?

You have probably heard the (very good) advice that whenever you hear yourself play the victim by saying “Why me?” you should transform it into something self-empowering such as “Well, why not me? Why can’t I think and act like the winner who can turn this situation into a victory?” Think of a “why me” sort of statement that’s holding you back. How can you transform it into something that is positive and self-empowering?

If God really did, as Ricky put it, pass you a baton on the day you were born, doesn’t it also stand to reason that God wanted you to run the best race you could – in fact, that God wanted you to win that race? With that thought in mind, make a list of the hurdles that you have allowed yourself and the “Rat Spits” of your past to place in the way of your progress.

What actions can you take to go over, around, or straight through those hurdles?

What is one specific action you will take within the next 24 hours to hold yourself to The Accountability Promise?

Click to listen to audio track on Tuesday’s Promise