As a young consultant, I got the project work done, but it was always the people that interested me most: how they worked, how they got along with others, their life outside of work, how they led their organizations, the career paths they were on. Consulting gave me a chance to observe the clients up close over a long period of time, as some of the projects continued for several years. Consulting permitted me to indulge my curiosity.
The consulting projects might have been challenging and interesting, but I wasn’t satisfied with my own work situation. I often put in seventeen hours a day, six or seven days a week; I had little time for anything else. I didn’t have much of a social life. The only parties I went to were work parties or events with clients. I lived on sandwiches and take-out food. My only exercise was walking from my office to the coffee machine. Before long I was smoking three packs of Marlboros a day to relieve the stress. There had to be a better way than this. I was definitely on the wrong track.
While still working as a consultant, I began a doctoral program in human and organizational development at Boston University. I wanted to learn everything I could about motivation, quality of life, psychology, sociology, leadership, organizations, and communication. I took an overload of courses and studied with the best professors I could find. I had a tremendous desire to learn and eventually share what I knew with others as a professor and consultant. But there was clearly another reason for going to graduate school, which I recognize now: I needed to make my own life better.
After I finished my doctorate, I moved to Southern California, began my career as a professor, and also did management training for big companies. I stuck to the conventional formula and put out the same message as other professors and consultants. I taught students and conducted management training courses ripped straight out of the pages of textbooks. I lectured on the functions of leadership, theories of motivation, and the obstacles to organizational communication. At the university, I got promoted to associate professor within a year and was even selected professor of the year by students.
I delivered the content with passion and got good feedback from the students and the training clients, but it wasn’t enough. I was just following the pack. I also was not prepared for the minefield of faculty politics and the university bureaucracy.
As I gained more self-knowledge, experience, and confidence, I began to teach more of what I knew. I taught what was not in the books. I forged strong relationships with the students, but it was tough for me to get along with the other faculty members. I was the first new faculty member in almost ten years, one of the few with a doctorate, and it was no place for innovation. When it came time for my tenure vote, I was denied and had to leave the university.
Not being granted tenure was a tough blow, but I realize now it was truly a lucky break. Eventually, I had time to rethink how I worked and look for a place that would value me and allow me to work in a way that was true to me.
There are those times when getting fired or leaving a certain job propels you to do something better. This was one of those times.
I vowed to pay more attention to understanding a situation before taking action, and I focused on developing stronger relationships with colleagues at work. I spent another year in Southern California consulting for large companies and government agencies, and I taught in the undergraduate and MBA programs at Pepperdine University. I taught more of what I was learning about life and work from my own experience—not just from the manual and text—and was beginning to have the kind of work life I wanted.
I never thought I would leave Southern California, but a friend told me about a position with Chapman University, which changed the direction of my life and helped me put everything I knew into action. Chapman hired me for a project with the U.S. military in Asia, helping military personnel transition into civilian jobs. I taught in the university’s graduate programs and counseled military officers and government workers in planning their careers after they left government service.
Every two months, I went to a different military base and often to a different country. I’d start up the project and help people plan the transitions they’d be making as the military downsized. I traveled to bases in Korea, Guam, the Philippines, and Japan.
Instead of coming across as an expert, I tried to understand the military culture. I focused on what the participants needed and shared my own experiences with them. I could understand what they were going through, since I was going through my own transition as I went from base to base. I had never been in the military or in Asia before, so I spent time learning about the military life and local cultures in order to add the most value to my teaching.
I appreciated more of my own skills. I didn’t try to blend in or be like everyone else, nor did the military expect me to conform. The program participants knew I was a civilian and wanted me to contribute my unique knowledge. Military culture actually has more freedom than some companies and universities I have worked with. It’s a place where you can find a niche as long as you are adding value.
Most of the other project instructors lectured from textbooks, parroting the usual formulas for success on the “outside.” They taught participants about the human resource management cycle, the six steps of job hunting, and the roles and functions of leadership. But they didn’t connect with the people in the program.
My approach to teaching and consulting was more “inside-out” than “outside-in.” I focused on helping participants understand themselves and strengthen their courage, creativity, and confidence. My motto was Every day fresh. This is how I was beginning to live and how I encouraged them to live.
Work for me was becoming more of what I had always wanted it to be. I liked the discussions in the classrooms. I was learning as I taught. I began to develop a much richer life outside of work as well. Many of the military personnel invited me to their homes for dinners, barbecues, and holiday celebrations. I rekindled my interest in art, which had been dormant for so many years. I had planned on staying overseas for only a year, but I signed up for another year. Finally, work was working out well. And there were even better times to come.
Toward the end of my second year on the military project, I decided to stay in Japan instead of returning to California. I gave notice and left my job with the military. I thought I would eventually go back to live and work in America, but Japan seemed to be the perfect place for me to use what I knew and for what I had to learn. It was the early ’90s, the time of the economic bubble in Japan, and there were consulting opportunities helping Japanese companies expand overseas. As someone who loves art and design, I appreciated the minimalist aesthetic that I found in Japan. I also was attracted to the focus on groups and teamwork and the lack of overt conflict. I knew I had to learn how to function as a member of a group and learn about harmony. I had to give up my more confrontational style. And there was one more reason, which may have been the most important: I had met Hitoshi Ohashi, who would become my life partner.
I had no permanent job but I soon found consulting work with several organizations that were expanding in the United States, including Nissan, Hitachi, and NEC. I eventually added non-Japanese organizations such as AIG, the European Union, IBM, Intercontinental Hotels, Gap, and UBS to my client list.
After a year consulting in Japan, I started teaching part-time at a nearby university. I didn’t know it at the time, but that institution, Keio University, is considered one of the best in Japan. More Japanese CEOs graduate from Keio than any other university in Japan,1 and Keio ranks ninth in the world for the number of alumni holding CEO positions in Fortune Global 500 companies.2 Eventually I was appointed to a full-time position and became the first tenured American full professor in the faculty of business and commerce.
When I left twenty-two years later, I gave my final lecture to three hundred people and the president of Keio University spoke to the group about how much I contributed to the university. I had to pinch myself—was he really talking about me? What happened? How did I do it? Work was working just as I had once dreamed it would.
I had learned how to make my life better and have a positive impact on the lives of the people I worked with. No one knew how much I had suffered in