Read the Room

Sneak preview, Chapter 15 of the upcoming book Invisible Chains

Growing up, my father told me, “You will never amount to anything.”

A lot, like all the time in all the ways.

I was overweight. My permanent teeth came in brown from tetracycline damage. I was the youngest in the family and, at seven years old, I wasn't particularly capable of defending myself.

That came later.

My father could also fly off the handle, so I learned to pay attention.

“Read the room.”

See trouble coming.

Figure out what to do about it.

A voice changed.

A look changed.

The energy changed.

I noticed.

And I adjusted.

There wasn't much I could control in that house.

So, I became incredibly good at controlling what I could.

And here's the part that has taken me most of my life to understand:

I spent my childhood learning to read the room. I spent much of my adult life trying to control it.

Now I'm learning something that seven-year-old kid never had the luxury of learning.

I don't have to control the room to be safe in it.

That might be one of the biggest realizations I've had after 50.

Because look what that kid did with what he was given.

I got out.

I built companies.

I created financial security.

I raised kids.

I fell in love.

I traveled.

I created a life the seven-year-old version of me couldn't possibly have imagined.

The kid who was told he would never amount to anything amounted to quite a fucking lot.

I'm proud of him.

Because there was no net underneath that kid.

And somewhere along the way, I became one.

I became the net.

If I love you, I show up.

Period.

My kids know it.

My friends know it.

Anyone I have ever really loved knows it.

If you're in trouble, I'm coming.

I became the guy I could have used when I was seven.

The World Rewarded Him

Business certainly did.

Reading the room is a pretty useful skill when you're building companies.

Something changes?

Notice it.

Something isn't working?

Adjust.

Things go sideways?

Move.

I was built for that.

The traits that developed in a house I couldn't control helped me create a life I could.

That's not damage. That's strength.

But strength can become something else when you use it long enough.

Being able to anticipate problems became wanting to prevent them.

Being able to carry a lot became carrying almost everything.

And because it worked, I never had much reason to question it.

Relationships eventually gave me some information I couldn't ignore.

What I thought was helping could sometimes feel like pressure.

What I intended as:

“This might make things better.”

Could be heard as:

“You're not enough.”

That stopped me.

Intention and impact aren't always the same thing.

My marriage had hidden some of that from me.

My wife knew my history. She knew the house I came from. After decades together, she knew me.

She also knew when to say:

“Enough. They heard you. Let them figure it out.”

And I trusted her when she did.

Our kids got the benefit of both of us.

They had a father who genuinely believed they could accomplish almost anything and a mother who occasionally reminded that father they didn't have to accomplish it by Tuesday.

Most importantly, they never had to read the room to know whether they were safe.

There was a net.

Us.

We broke that cycle.

Whatever else happened in our marriage, I will always be incredibly proud of that.

It also helped me recognize something I had misunderstood about myself.

Maybe my real strength isn't control.

Maybe it's adjustment.

I've been doing it my entire life.

At seven, it was survival.

Later, it became business.

Something works or it doesn't.

Once I know it doesn't, I change course.

The hard part was never changing.

The hard part was figuring out what actually needed to change.

Then My Body Stopped Asking Politely

It scheduled the meeting in an ER.

I've already written about my stay at ER Away Camp. Once was enough for all of us.

But afterward, I looked at the life I had built differently.

It was a great life.

But I had somehow made myself responsible for almost every moving part of it.

Another company.

Another problem.

Another responsibility.

“Give it to me. I'll figure it out.”

And I usually did.

That's the problem with control.

It works.

Until you realize you've built a life where everything seems to require you.

So, I tested that assumption.

I finally renewed my passport.

And I went somewhere I love.

Not for work.

Not because someone needed me there.

I just went.

And something deeply unsettling happened while I was gone.

Nothing.

My companies continued to exist.

People made decisions.

Problems got solved.

Nobody burned the place down.

I checked in.

Of course, I fucking checked in.

We're talking about personal growth here, not a personality transplant.

But I also walked.

I drank wine.

I swam in the ocean.

I sat on a beach.

And for stretches of time, I wasn't responsible for anything except deciding whether I wanted to get back in the water.

Turns out I can handle that level of responsibility.

More importantly, everyone else seemed capable of handling theirs.

And sitting there, I started to understand something else.

Maybe strength isn't always about how much you can carry. Sometimes it's trusting that you don't have to carry all of it.

I came home and started letting go of some things.

Real responsibility.

Real decisions.

Not delegating something and then standing six inches behind someone waiting to take it back.

And somehow things are getting done.

Imagine that.

Read My Own Room

Which has given me more time.

I've decided to use a lot of it to write.

A lot!

I had someone suggest that perhaps I'm writing too much.

And perhaps a little too personally.

Apparently, there are people who experience something deeply personal and then just keep it to themselves.

Mind Blowing!

The problem is I don't know how to write any other way.

And I really don't care.

Turns out I've accumulated quite a bit of material.

But writing has done something I didn't expect.

For most of my life, I've been incredibly good at reading everyone else's room.

What's happening?

What's changing?

What's coming?

Writing has forced me to turn that ability inward.

Read my own room.

Where did this come from?

What did it give me?

What did it cost me?

What still serves me?

What doesn't?

I'm not interested in spending life after 50 cataloging everything that happened to me and calling it damage.

I want to understand what it built.

And it built quite a fucking lot.

A man capable of having everything go completely sideways, figuring out what needs to happen next, and moving.

A father whose kids know he'll answer the phone at two in the morning.

A guy who will do ANYTHING for the woman he loves.

A man who built the life he was told he never would.

The net.

I'm keeping him.

What I'm questioning is whether he needs to be underneath everyone all the fucking time.

Maybe someone else can catch something.

Maybe a problem can exist without me immediately solving it.

Maybe the room can change without me controlling what happens next.

That's not becoming someone else.

It's understanding myself well enough to know when a strength needs a different application.

And when life goes sideways again, because it will, I know something about the guy who'll be standing there.

He'll figure it out.

He always has.

So I can leave.

I can get on a plane.

I can sit on a beach.

I can let somebody else handle something.

Not because I've become less driven.

Not because I've stopped caring.

Because I finally understand that I don't have to control everything to know I'll be okay.

That's not baggage.

That's a fucking victory.

I'm taking that man with me.

All of him.

I just know him better now.

• • •

From Invisible Chains, Chapter 15. Coming soon.

Paul Harkins