Last week, amongst a dozen meetings I had over a two-and-a-half day touchdown in Los Angeles, was one with a sage mentor of mine.

Said mentor is intensely private which is why he unfortunately won't be mentioned by name in this post (despite his many years of history being a major power player in Hollywood, a Google search of him brings up practically nothing).

To put him into perspective though, he started off as an agent at the industry's all-time most King Kong-ian talent brokerage; he then ran one of Hollywood's most legendary TV production companies, one responsible for over two decades of epic and beloved television series; then he dabbled in talent management, theater ownership and tech company buying-and-selling.

Now into his '80s (I suspect, we never ever talked age, but I did some basic detective math), he still works, and does so from a gated palace high in the Hollywood Hills...where he hosted me for a late afternoon conversation over iced tea in a room filled with magnificent art and handcrafted furniture. We don't talk as often as I would like, but when we do, the outcome is always the same--time well, well spent.

Notwithstanding the fact that there's so much I want to ask him, my mentor always starts every conversation the same way: "So tell me...what's new in the life of Andy Nulman?"

So last week, I told him lots.  I told him...

• About the accomplishments of my two children.  
• About some new artist I discovered.  
• About the last great book I read and how I wish I had time to read more.  
• About a new book idea I had germinating.  
• About the C2-MTL conference and other "shows" I had done.  
• And, of course, about the trials and tribulations of my professional life; about dealing with a rapidly-changing showbiz landscape, about inter-office hassles and internal struggles.

We chatted chum-like and happily for the first few subject matters, chuckling over anecdotes and similar situations.  But when I touched on my personal/professional side, my mentor's demeanor downshifted into serious, with fewer conversation breaks and extended periods of contemplative listening.

After some uneasy moments of silence, he looked at me an uttered the words that formed this week's learning.

"Not that you have a major problem, but you know what your problem is?" he asked.

I didn't have to answer, because he continued.

"You're at the point in life 

when you gotta start

working less..."

Pregnant pause.

"....and start fighting more."

He then went onto explain:

"Work is a task.  You go into the office, you do what you have to do.  You get things done, or you don't.  Then you go home, or go off to do things you really want to do, and start all over the next day.  It's a not the greatest routine for anybody...but especially not for someone like you.

"The fight is something else.  It's a motivator, energizer and driver all in one.  It's tougher than work, but it's way more rewarding.  It's exhausting and exhilarating but when you're in the thick of it, you forget that you're working altogether.  

"The concept of fame, being in the papers or on TV never appealed to me.  But that next battle is what kept me going.  And is what keeps me going to this day.

"Once you lose the fight, it's just another job and you're just another working stiff."

After 90 minutes, I didn't want to overstay my welcome, so I said goodbye, expressed profound appreciation and asked how the imposing gates would open to let me out (weight sensors on the path to them was the answer).

On the drive back to the hotel, I had the time to contemplate my mentor's words and realized how easy the transition from "work" to "fight" can be, no matter who you are or where you're situated on the corporate structure.

You can fight an enemy (competition, rumors, etc.).
You can fight for what you believe in
You can fight for a cause
You can fight for what's right

But you gotta fight.

Forget the cliche "Love what you do and you'll never work a day in your life."

Thanks to my mentor, I think the new adage is:Save

"Find the right fight,

and you'll never work again."

So...who's my next challenger?

If you are reading this, we have at least one thing in common: we are both a day older than yesterday.

And, provided we are not met with some catastrophic circumstance in the next 24 hours, tomorrow, we will both be one day older than today.

Despite a plethora of industries, products and promises that try to impede the march of time, it plods along nonetheless, coolly, efficiently and mercilessly.

Yes, this post is about getting old.  Old-er, at least.  And it comes at a strange coincidental crossroads of recent events, namely yours truly making the final payment on my “final resting place”; the brutal reality of a close high school friend undergoing triple-bypass surgery; and the upcoming arrival of Father’s Day this Sunday. 

It’s a strange feeling both, when you learn about a friend undergoing a major medical procedure, at about the same time you get a “paid-in-full” notice after 18 months of paying off your gravesite, a plot of land perhaps the most expensive real estate in the world.  Your mortality, so certain a little while ago, is questioned. In doing so, your mind gets scrambled in a Blend-tec spin cycle of “what if?”, conjuring up multiple scenarios, almost all of them bad.  

And then, a splash of reality calms you down.  A bit.  For a while. 

Let’s get real, then. In the case of my friend, he’s on the mend, doing fine (surreally in this new world, we check up on him constantly via a web app called CaringBridge), and—happily, luckily—he, too is a day older today than yesterday. 

As for my cemetery plot, when I eventually get to use it, at least it’s city-central, close to those of my parents and grandparents, making it a convenient visiting spot for my kids…provided that my younger son doesn’t move away like my older one has already done.  Paranoia aside, I don’t think I’ll be needing it for a while.  Well, I hope I wont…

So this week’s lesson COULD be:

“Getting old sucks…

unless you consider

the alternative.”

But it’s not.

Because the advent of Father’s Day made me re-think about the way one gets old. 

Actually, it was a side comment in a meeting about how to garner respect from a younger, new breed of entertainer that led me to the Father’s Day thoughts; the comment was “You want to be seen as a Godfather figure.”

And THAT was the catalyst, the launching point to this week’s lesson. 

The way I see it, there are two “Fatherly” ways to get old.

You can get old

as a Godfather...

or as a Grandfather.

Here’s the difference:

• Getting old as a Godfather commands reverence. 
• Your accomplishments are known and admired. 
• You are looked upon with esteem. 
• You are perceived as a mentor, filled with advice and wisdom that will help others learn and grow. 
• You may be older than “the others,” but you’re never treated as such; you’re “one of them in spirit” and all (most) of the physical features that distinguish you from the others are ignored. 
• And perhaps best of all, mixed in with all this high regard, is a soupcon of fear. 
• Need a visual?  Think Francis Ford Coppola.

Getting old as a Grandfather is a different story.

• Just think of the meaning of “The Grandfather Clause”—it’s there now only because it always was.
• Sure, your accomplishments may also be known, even appreciated, but today they are yesterday’s news and somewhat irrelevant. 
• You are looked upon with love, but as a relic of the past. 
• Your advice will most probably fall upon deaf ears, or met with an eye-roll if actually heard.  They may be quaint stories of yesteryear, but they hold no current significance. 
• You look way older than the rest of them, and are treated as such, being given the comfy chair in the back or the arm to stabilize your walk. 
• And perhaps worst of all, mixed in with all this legitimate affection and warmth is a spoonful of pity.
• I’d say “Paint your own visual,” but I know by now, you already have.  Many times.

There’s a fine line between the two.  You can’t be young again, but to be a “Godfather,” you have to stay in today’s game without looking like you’re trying too hard to do so (like the Capitol Records execs of the early ‘60s who sported Beatle wigs and snapped their fingers in an effort to be cool). At times, you have to play hard to get. Your accomplishments should speak for themselves; more likely, you should let others speak of them for you. The territory is filled with mines.  One false step and you’re blown into Grandfatherland.

So unless one of those future-tapping companies invents a wonder drug or time machine, we are all getting older.  Fighting it is futile; the only choice is one of two “Fatherly” paths at the fork in the road.

So take your pick—going Grand is good…but doesn't come close to playing God.

--------------------------------------

(Political correctness check: I could easily substitute the word “Mother” for every “Father.”  Go ahead if you really need to.  It’s just that “Father” is more timely this week, and the image of a Godfather is somewhat more searing than that of a Godmother. )

I spent the weekend speaking at a conference gathering of Quebec’s Young Chamber of Commerce Groups.  The event was an inspiring one, assembling youthful entrepreneurs, business and financial people, as well as policy and governance enthusiasts (and there are many more of these than I could ever imagine).

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote here about a better-than-anticipated company strategic meeting. 

One of the main accomplishments emanating from said meeting was the forming of a mission statement that didn’t suck.

This is a monumental achievement, as most company mission statements are about as relevant as an Organ Grinder or a telegram (ask your great-grandparents), and usually because of the one simple word that has become the scourge of the corporate lexicon:

Leader

Used as an adjective to describe a company’s stature, the word “Leader” has degenerated into an ineffective cliché, one that is not only a weak, second-rate aspiration, but a hard-to-measure milestone that shines as bright as a plastic neon glowstick…and lasts about as long as one, too. 

When I was in the tech business, every company—EVERY one!—had the word “leader” (or a derivative of) in its mission statement.

• “We want to be a leader in the field of branded mobile content.”
• “We want to be the leading provider of enterprise solutions.” 
• “We are a leader in systematic symbioses…” 
• “We are a leader at using the word ‘leader’ in our descriptions…”

I could go on for hours.  The image I used to conjure up, with so, so, so many leaders, was one of a race where 10,000 people cross the finish line at the same time, followed by the one poor sap whose second-place finish made leaders out of everybody else.

Now there’s nothing wrong with being a “leader,” particularly in the worlds of politics or social good. But what exactly is one, in the context of a company?  Are you a leader because you sell more stuff than anyone else?  Because your stock price is higher?  Because you’re most profitable?  Or are you a leader because you’re better know than anyone else?  Because you have more “likes” on Facebook? Because you’ve won more industry awards?  Because you’ve been around longest?

The evaluating factors are many and close together (note: the opposite of “few and far between”), so as long as you choose the proper—and most likely narrowing—niche, you too can be a leader within it.  And live up to your mission statement.  Hooray!  Let the bonuses flow! 

While we are still finalizing our mission statement at Just For Laughs, I’m at least peacock-proud that we’ve chosen to do away with the fossilized term of “leader” and have focused on something that can be equally as ephemeral, but is universally understood, and more importantly, emotionally internalized.

For at the root of our mission, we want to be recognized as a:

Worldwide Star

Hokey? Trite?  I think not.  Everyone knows what a “star” is.  We aspire to be one.  We make special previsions for them. We bask in their glow.  A star’s power is often disproportionate to its reality. A star can get away with things leaders can’t even dream of.  And a star can dream of things leaders can’t even fathom. 

Nothing against “leaders.”  People indeed respect them.  But the feeling is rational.  In the head.  In contrast, people are drawn to stars like iron filings to electro-magnets.  People bow to stars.  They open doors, and roll out red carpets for them.  The relationship overflows with emotion.

Is Google a leader?  Is Apple? Is Virgin?  How about Tesla, Amazon or Netflix?  I’m sure there are categories where they blow the competition out of the water…but other metrics/analytics where they may be miles behind the category “leader.”  But in the end, they “own” their spaces…and not only because of the bottom line.  Granted, stardom can be fleeting; nobody stays hot forever.  But being a leader is equally as transitory, no matter how you choose to ultimately measure it. 

So in business, if you ask me which one I’d truly desire to be, well…uh, look up. 

One anecdote to drive this home.  Last Thursday, I performed at the C2-MTL creative/commerce conference.  The three-day lineup was jammed with luminaries the likes of business legends Sir Richard Branson and Barry Diller, designers Philippe Starck and Diane Von Furstenberg, and entrepreneurs Bobbi Brown and Blake (Toms Shoes) Mycoskie…amongst so many others.   If this were a boxing or UFC match, I’d be on the undercard, scheduled when people are still getting beers.  If this were a music festival, I’d be on the poster’s bottom line of type, along with other bands whose names can only be read with the aid of a nuclear microscope.

Given that positioning, if you asked me my mission prior to appearing on stage, I could’ve said:

“Well, I hope, once the audience evaluations comes out, to be a leader in the categories of spectator satisfaction and appreciation.”

But I didn’t.  Because that would’ve been lame.  And selling my aspirations short.

What I did say—and did so like a cocky little bastard on Vine to ensure that the challenge was recorded—was:

“I wanna make sure

that people never forget me.”

Did I deliver?  Well, that’s for others to say.  But I wouldn’t be sending you to the #ctmtl Twitter hashtag if I’d bombed.

People may revere and admire their leaders. 

But they remember, and talk about, their stars.