If I could be anything I wanted to be, I think it would be an executive coach. The idea came to me like a bolt from the blue the other day while I was reading an article about such in the Economist magazine and chewing my toenails.
From what I gathered, it's a fairly new phenomenon, something of a personal trainer for the old career, but with bigger fees. The article said "no name" coaches get up to $20,000 an individual, but if you have the blessing of a big name, the fee could be $35,000.
For that much money, the service ought to come with a daily back massage and a free ticket to Disney World. Personally, if I go into the business, I'm going to the higher fee and offer to walk my client's dog.
I have this mental picture of greeting my executive charge as his (or her) morning alarm clock goes off, and then shouting like a drill sergeant for him (or her) to hop to it as he (or she) begins 30 minutes of rigorous calisthenics before jogging two miles.
As I pondered the prospects, I wondered what a executive coach could have done for my career, which reached its plateau a short time after grammar school. I mean the first newspaper I ever reported for went from a nickel to a dime -- and then folded.
Then there was the wire service stint with United Press International. It is now owned by religious cult freaks, the Moonies. I worked for a U.S. Senator, but that's not a real job. And I went into public relations, which is sort of like common sense put to music.
My one claim to fame is that I write books faster than most people read books. But with my last one sitting at 500,000th on the Amazon.Com success chart, it's no threat to The Complete Book of Rock Formations, much less that Harry Potter kid.
Monica Lewinsky can get semi-boinked by a president and have a bestseller. My fellow native West Virginian, Jessica Lynch, barely out of training bras, gets a $1 million book contract after her Army truck ran into a ditch in Iraq, and she woke up a hero.
This has nothing to do with sour grapes, and certainly an executive coach could have been called in at any stage of my career, and today I would probably be living the fabulous life of an expat in Kyiv, Ukraine.
("Mike, buddy, you are living the life of an expat in Ukraine." )
Oh.
The magazine article did point out one moral inconsistency, if such things make you squeamish. What if the executive coach hired by your company advises you to, as the song says, tell the boss to "take this job and shove it."
This conflicting problem, according to the article, is easily handled by the executive coach who tells the boss "a reality check" on this particular employee is probably needed. I personally think that steps from PR-land into flimflam-land.
But having an executive coach, as prestigious as that might be, is not nearly as interesting to me as being an executive coach. It is not those high fees to which I am drawn, but the possibility of helping my fellow man (or woman).
("Mike, we're collectively gagging here.")
We are told that executive coaches even have their own union of sorts, the aptly named Executive Coaches Federation (ECF) with some 7,000 members, up from a measly 1,500 in 1999. The Harvard Business Review calls it a billion-dollar business and growing.
This all goes to show you that it doesn't take a good gig long to catch on. I mean, 75 years ago you never heard about PR people, and now where two folk gather to think business, another half dozen flacks swarm in to offer sage advice.
Maybe the executive coach is simply a Darwinian progression of the my own public relations field, sort of like fish growing gills and creepy - crawly things taking on legs. Perhaps, through natural progression, I am an executive coach already.
So, okay customers, step right up. For $35,000 a pop, I'll even mow your grass and take your kids to ballet lessons.
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