I’ve taken Gallup’s StrengthsFinder assessment twice. Both times, “Significance” landed in my top three strengths.

Gallup defines Significance as a deep desire to make a substantial, lasting impact and to be recognized for unique contributions. People high in Significance strive for excellence. They want to be seen as credible, influential, and capable of leaving a meaningful legacy.

At its healthiest, Significance is about purpose. It pushes people to think bigger, lead courageously, and pursue work that matters.

But if I’m being reflective, I can also admit there’s a shadow side to it.

At its core, part of me likes to feel needed. I want to know my work matters. I want people to believe I’m doing a good job. Most leaders probably do.

Then there’s another trait entirely: the need to be liked by everyone.

Continue reading “To Be Liked or To Be Significant” →

Do you have a responsibility not to offend?
Or do you have a responsibility not to be offended?

Of course, you shouldn’t intentionally offend people. That part is easy.
But what happens when offense isn’t intentional?

I’ve always disliked apologies that sound like this:
“I’m sorry if I made you feel…”

They don’t land. They feel hollow. Why? Because they avoid ownership. The focus shifts from the action to the reaction—as if the problem is how the other person felt, not what was actually said or done.

Let’s break this down with a few simple scenarios.

Continue reading “Where Does Responsibility Lie?” →

“Childish” is a real word. Webster defines it as “of, relating to, or suitable for a child or childhood.” That’s not the word I’m looking for, so I made up my own: kidish.

Gaudet (that’s me) defines it as putting the needs of your kids ahead of your own—often at your own expense. Think “selfish,” but replace you with your kids. I know there’s “selfless,” but that’s too broad. I even considered “otherish,” but that still misses the point. I’m talking specifically about your kids.

There’s a metaphor that gets used ubiquitously (that’s a Dave Knapp word): Put your oxygen mask on first before helping others. The idea is simple—you can’t take care of anyone else if you don’t first take care of yourself.

There’s truth in that. But I think we’ve taken some creative liberties with how we apply it.

Continue reading “Kidish” →

She was hungry.
The girl acted bravely.
The boy was mischievous.

These are the kinds of sentences we’re taught to avoid.

A major tenet of writing—one I’m very qualified to discuss as an elementary education major who ended up teaching math, and who, in high school, skipped The Tortilla Curtain and landed in British Literature instead of AP English—is this:

Show, don’t tell.

What made him evil?
How do we know she was hungry?
What did she do that made her brave?
What chaos did the boy actually cause?

If it matters, don’t label it.
Prove it.

Continue reading ““I’m the type of person…”” →

Let me start by saying that my mom is a saint.

I know everyone thinks they have the best mom, but I truly have the best mom. Even my friends say that my mom is a saint. With that disclaimer in place, this post is about the worst thing my mom has ever said to me.

“I thought you were my sweet one.”

I don’t remember what I said or did that prompted it, but I remember those words. And she didn’t say them with malice or venom. If anything, it was probably said a little tongue-in-cheek. But I felt a bit of truth behind it.

And it devastated me.

Continue reading ““I thought you were…”” →

The ride has two lines.
The regular line.
And the alternate line—
for those who cannot stand in the regular one.

There are many legitimate reasons
a person might not be able
to wait like everyone else.

A man with a broken leg approaches the ride.
He pauses.
He studies both lines.

The regular line stretches far—
a winding ribbon of patience.
The alternate line is short.

His leg aches.
His crutches press into his palms.
He feels each step.

But he is grateful
to be at the amusement park,
to feel the sun,
to hear the laughter.

He chooses the regular line.

A second man with a sprained ankle approaches.
He, too, surveys the scene.

The regular line is long.
The alternate line is short.

His ankle feels fine—
a self-diagnosed inconvenience.
A discomfort he rehearses in his mind
until it becomes justification.

He feels entitled.

He chooses the alternate line.

There is always someone
doing more with less.

And, unfortunately,
there is always someone
taking more
than they need.

I bite my nails.
It’s not a bad habit.
I just don’t use nail clippers.

I had a dog once.
I bought a pair of clippers,
cut too deep,
saw blood.
I never used them again.

She used to cut nails on Saturdays.
An assembly line:
one boy, then the next, then one more.
They fought to go first,
to get it over with.

Without her, there’s more to do.
I do the laundry.
I take them to the dentist and the doctor.
I sign their report cards.

But I can’t
clip their nails.

Everyone has problems.
Personal and professional,
Simple and complex.

But there’s something about problems.
They don’t have to be negative.
They don’t have to be all bad.

Problems are meant to be faced.
They’re meant to be solved,
To be thought through,
To be worked on.

Problems make you learn.
They make you better.
They make you stronger.

They prepare you
For future problems.

Continue reading “Problems” →

What People Think

Okay, maybe this reads like a Top 10 list from MTV Cribs, but it captures something real: the unfortunate desire to acquire material wealth not just to enjoy it, but to display it. Status over substance.

“Dave, are you going to say something sappy about family and friends?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”

Continue reading “How Do You Know if You’ve Made It?” →

A little over ten years ago, I was with my two brothers at the Final Four (brag). At that point in our lives, we were all married, kids were right around the corner (fast-forward to now and there are nine of them), and we had each settled into solid careers. Our conversation bounced from the weekend’s semifinals, to the potential of the Alien vs. Predator universe, to childhood stories, and—naturally—to our dad. He was supposed to join us for this “One Shining Moment” weekend, but his flight wasn’t landing until later that night.

Talking about Dad was the logical end point after reliving our childhood antics. So many of our stories ended the same way: getting caught by Dad, getting punished by Dad, or getting yelled at by Dad. They’re funny now—much funnier than they were in the moment.

Our father was old school. He grew up tough and he was tough on us. Before anyone feels too sorry for me, I should say I grew up extremely privileged: solidly middle class, great suburb, great schools. By “tough,” I don’t mean hardship—I mean expectations. Dad wasn’t the “I love you” type. If you did nine out of ten things right, he focused on the one you got wrong. And believe me, in his mind it was definitely you who messed up. His yell was scary, but the gritted teeth and cocked head were even scarier. When we screwed up, we went to Mom… and we prayed she wouldn’t tell Dad.

Continue reading “Thank or Resent” →

My junior year of high school, I took a computer programming class. I wasn’t particularly interested in coding; I was interested in stockpiling college credits. My guidance counselor knew this and recommended the course when we planned my schedule the previous semester.

Two buddies, Adam and Dan, had the same idea. (Although, if memory serves, Adam might’ve actually liked coding—but it’s been so long, I can’t say for sure.) The three of us enrolled together. We already knew the teacher, Mr. Matherson, from Course III Math. I think he realized immediately that we weren’t excited about the class, but we were good students, and he knew we could handle the work. He didn’t give us too hard a time.

The roster was mostly seniors—many of them planning to study computer science in college. Adam, Dan, and I weren’t wildly popular, but we played sports and were friendly with most of the popular kids. That gave us an unreasonable amount of confidence—borderline cockiness.

Continue reading “How You Treat People Matters” →