I'm ten years old and walking my first show pig, Munchie, around the ring at the county fair. We had worked all summer to get here and it was finally time for the judge to make his announcement. "We've had a very competitive fair, but I'll now shake the hand of our Reserve Champion Market hog."
The judge walks a few laps around the ring, and then to my surprise, comes right up to me, shakes my hand and gives me a small purple box with a ribbon hanging off the side. I am STOKED, but also confused. I knew that winners received ribbons, but I had no idea what was in the box.
I get back to my tack area and open the box to find a shiny, gold and silver belt buckle. "MOM! I GOT A BELT BUUCCCKKLLEEEE" I yodel at the top of my lungs as I hold it up and sprint across the barn to her. "Pretty awesome, huh? Keep it up and you might even win some more," she assures me.
Over the next eight years, my siblings (who also showed livestock) and I made it our mission to win as many belt buckles as possible. We missed sports practices, sacrificed time with friends, and dedicated ourselves to our livestock to give ourselves the best chance at leaving fair with as many belt buckles as possible.
At the end of show season each year we'd line our belt buckles up to compare, show off our favorites, and count to see who had the most.
The feeling of being handed another belt buckle by the judge in the show ring motivated me to dedicate time, money, and effort to my livestock year after year, until, it didn't.
It's my senior year, my final year to show, and I know what it takes to win, but I just can't muster the motivation to want to do it. I don't want to bathe my pig twice a day, hand-mix feed in a bucket, or go to salons in downtown Portland to get specialty products for its hair.
The results mirrored my attitude and that year at the fair, for the first time in eight years, I leave without a belt buckle. As I drive away from fair for the final time, instead of being loaded down with belt buckles, I feel burdened with disappointment.
It wasn't until a few months ago while listening to a leadership message that I understood what led to me that disappointment. For me, showing livestock had become about collecting belt buckles. The first year I showed, I reveled in the process of working with Munchie. I looked forward to each day in the barn, to the long hours dedicated to small improvements others may never recognize or acknowledge.
Then, I started counting belt buckles and measured my success by the hardware instead of the hard work. I learned the hard way that what we measure determines what matters most to us. Our values are often reflected in what we measure.
When we measure our lives by what others award us with for our effort, we may miss out on the true reward the process of earning that award offers. We may also find it more difficult to push through hardships or overcome a lack of motivation if we only focus on the result we want.
Measuring our success solely by results will often leave us falling short of our desired end-result and believing we've failed. In reality, we've made remarkable progress, but simply failed to recognize it.
As a speaker myself, it's always interesting to me when speakers include how many audience members they've spoken to in the introductions, as if a higher number should mean that they will be of more value to the audience they are currently in front of.
My success in that moment isn't determined by how many people are in the audience, but how much value each audience member takes away from the message I deliver.
What matters most in your life? Does what you measure reflect that?
Ask me what I measure and I'll show you what matters.
Fact
The first buckles were made by the Greeks during the Roman Empire.
Action
Choose one metric to stop measuring in your life.
Question
What values are reflected in what you measure?
Quote
"Not all that matters can be measured." - Albert Einstein
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