In your mind’s eye, picture what it is that you want, then ask yourself, if you go for it, what’s the worst thing that could happen? You can recover from anything short of death, and if you fail, you probably won’t be worse off. But if you rally your talents and your inner strength, chances are you won’t fail; in fact, you are likely to succeed beyond your wildest dreams.
Gabrielle sat up straighter in her seat, her chest suffused with the strange, prickly feeling that the magazine article was written especially for her. Change your mind, change your life, take a risk.
When was the last time she’d experienced an adrenaline rush? In the evenings, she either worked late or brought work home, which had ceased to be exciting years ago. On weekends she did her volunteer stint at the Fox Theater, which required wearing a red-and-black outfit and showing people to their seats in exchange for sitting in an empty seat or on the stairs to watch the shows for free. She hadn’t dated since…a long time ago. The only special people in her life were Tori, who could be a bit of a downer, and McGee, who wasn’t even a person, but her pet bulldog.
She sighed, conceding that the only adrenal activity she’d experienced lately was when she passed Dell Kingston in the hallway, or the times he had saved her from some bumbling mess she’d gotten herself into.
God, how pathetic that the most exciting thing in her life was a reaction to someone else—someone who barely acknowledged her existence. Other women her age, like Courtney, were creating excitement in their lives by proactively stepping out of their comfort zone and trying something new.
It was time she took control of her life, she decided, lifting her chin.
Then she bit into her lip—but how?
She scanned the article again. In your mind’s eye, picture what it is that you want, then ask yourself, if you go for it, what’s the worst thing that could happen?
What did she want? she asked herself. What would make her happy? To be noticed…to be recognized…to be given the opportunity to showcase her brains and her talents…
She wanted the CEG account.
The bus stopped and the doors opened at the midtown station. Gabrielle stuffed the magazine in her bag and disembarked, her mind clicking. “I want the CEG account,” she said aloud, testing the words on her tongue.
But you heard Dell…he has designs on the CEG account…of course Bruce Noble will give it to him, her subconscious whispered. It was crazy to think that the boss would hand over one of the firm’s most lucrative accounts to her, especially after witnessing her spectacle today.
On the other hand, with Courtney leaving, she was the person who was most acquainted with CEG and its products—she had worked with the product engineers to understand the specs of each piece of outdoor equipment and helped to create brochures to highlight the premium features that CEG wanted to stress to consumers.
She climbed the stairs to her fourth-floor one-bedroom apartment. Hadn’t she walked up and down these very stairs for hours to test CEG hiking boots so she could better understand how they functioned?
She unlocked the door to her apartment, smiling and crouching down to hug McGee and rub his little, flat face. After promising him a walk as soon as she changed, she glanced around her crowded apartment with a frown.
And hadn’t she dedicated much of her and McGee’s living space to CEG products—tents, backpacks, rappelling equipment and camping gear?
With McGee at her heels, she raised her hands and grabbed onto a metal T-bar, then lifted her feet to ride a cabled zip line down the hall—another CEG product—to her bedroom. She put her feet down and set her purse and briefcase on the end of the cluttered bed, unused for the past three months because she’d been testing the comfort of a CEG tent pitched in the living room.
A sigh escaped her as she glanced at the clothes piled on the bed. And hadn’t she given up most of her closet space to CEG workout clothes and running gear?
She didn’t spend the weekends defying death, like Dell Kingston was purported to have done with his rock climbing and acrobatic rappelling and triathlons. But she’d analyzed the products, studied the specs and knew the limitations. She’d bet that she knew at least as much about CEG products as Dell did.
“I want the CEG account,” she repeated, this time with more force.
McGee barked his enthusiastic agreement.
She slowly undressed, peeling her sticky blouse from her body, and bypassed her dry cleaner’s bag in favor of the trash can for her soiled, dated suit. She pulled on shorts and a T-shirt, using her hand to smooth down the loose bits of hair that stuck up from her French braid. Good grief, the stuff was like an unruly scouring pad.
If you go for it, what’s the worst thing that could happen?
She’d be humiliated and have to slink back to her cubicle and be satisfied with her feminine hygiene and hemorrhoid cream accounts. Although, would it really be any more humiliating to be turned down by Bruce Noble than wrestling with a tree in front of the entire department—and losing?
No, she decided. But would she be able to talk to Bruce Noble without lapsing into a babbling fool? She glanced at the discarded suit, which McGee was sniffing suspiciously. And if she were going to step into Courtney’s shoes, she had to step up her wardrobe a notch. Or three.
Gabrielle reached into the back of her closet and removed a pale green suit that her mother had given her for her birthday. Fiona Flannery was a flamboyant redhead who was always pushing her daughter to play up her unusual coloring, frequently sending makeup and beauty products and clothes that Gabrielle hadn’t had the nerve to use or wear.
She held the suit in front of her and stared at her reflection in the closet door mirror. The fabric was soft and clingy, the color set off her green eyes. The jacket was fitted and flirty, the skirt was short—well above the knee.
Remembering Dell’s comment about her long, albino legs, her cheeks warmed. He’d only been teasing her, of course, trying to get a rise out of her. But it was fun to think that maybe the flash in his decadent eyes had been a tiny bit of male appreciation.
Then she smirked at her reflection. If Dell got wind of her vying for the CEG account, would he feel threatened…or would he laugh?
What’s the worst that can happen?
She could always go back to being invisible.
She put a leash on McGee and pulled the magazine out of her bag to take on their walk. McGee was the dearest dog ever created, but he moved his squatty little self like a sleepy snail—a turn around the block gave her plenty of time to reread the “Adrenaline Rush” article for tips on how to begin working toward her goal.
To prepare for an uncomfortable situation, visualize the scene, how you want it to unfold, how you will respond to resistance. Write a script, and practice what you’ll say until you can speak with authority.
Visualize…practice…
She closed her eyes and with great effort, banished the vision of her walking into Bruce Noble’s office Monday morning, her knees quaking, her voice leaving her. Instead, she visualized walking into his office Monday morning, declining his offer to sit, calling him “Bruce,” and telling him that she wanted—no, that she deserved—the CEG account.
But each time she visualized Bruce’s face, he looked incredulous, skeptical and stupefied at her request.
But when she returned to her apartment, now carrying McGee because he couldn’t maneuver the stairs, an idea popped into her head. She rifled through her briefcase, and pulled out the company’s full-color annual report. Inside was a picture of Bruce Noble, his face nearly life-size…and smiling. She tore out the photo and pasted it onto a piece of cardboard, then cut along the outline of his face. Then she fastened the cardboard face to the front of a ball cap.
“McGee, come here, sweetie.”
He