Chapter 1 Connect to Your Impact The Mattering Core Recognition: You and your actions are valued, and your absence would be felt. Reliance: You feel needed because others depend on you. Importance: You feel significant because you''re prioritized. Ego Extension: You feel cared for because others are invested in your well-being. Attunement: You feel deeply understood and meaningfully responded to. Greg Bulanow felt glass crunch beneath his boots as he rushed toward the wreck. It was one of his first calls as a rookie firefighter, and he knew every minute counted. The driver was alive but trapped under the twisted steel.
Greg''s training took over. He squeezed through a jagged opening to reach the woman, who was crying out in pain. Her breathing was quick and panicked. Greg spoke to her gently. "We''re going to get you out of here," he promised as he draped his heavy bunker coat around the woman to shield her from the flying shards of metal and glass as they worked to free her. Greg stayed by her side, steadying her through every jolt. When the last barrier gave way and she was lifted to safety, Greg felt both drained and deeply grateful. He had helped someone through one of the worst moments of their life.
Greg never planned to become a firefighter. After earning an English degree from a small liberal arts college in Ohio, he moved to Charleston, South Carolina, with his new wife, Jacqueline, envisioning a life of cobblestone streets and a future in writing. He''d work for a year or two, then pursue an MFA in creative writing. When he saw a fire department job listing in the newspaper, he applied, thinking it would be a way to save money, have an adventure, and collect good stories for graduate school. But around the time Greg helped extract the woman from the wreck, his view of firefighting began to change. He was thinking less about becoming a writer and more about the meaning he found in the work. When Greg and his crew arrived on the scene of a medical emergency or accident, there was a moment when everything shifted. Strangers handed over their loved ones with absolute trust, believing that Greg and his team would make things better.
And Greg wanted to live up to that trust. Over the next decade, his dedication paid off. By age thirty-six, he was chief of the North Charleston Fire Department, overseeing 250 employees across eleven stations. But once Greg stepped into his new leadership role, firefighter morale-a perennial problem-now became his responsibility. The demands of the work were relentless. These men and women responded to roughly twenty-two thousand calls a year, and the physical and emotional signs of burnout were hard to miss. Many firefighters felt upper management did not understand their day-to-day challenges. Camaraderie was fading, and their personal lives seemed to be suffering, too.
Some firefighters had gone through multiple divorces, while others were turning to heavy drinking. Firefighters were leaving the department, and the constant turnover left Greg scrambling to fill station gaps. Greg attempted to rebuild morale with new trucks and top-of-the-line gear and equipment. But when he unveiled the improvements, he was met with skepticism. Someone muttered that the department was trying to buy their support. The comment stung. It also made Greg realize that the problem needed a deeper solution. The problem of invisibility We live in a culture that constantly tells us that the answer to discontent is to find a deep, driving purpose.
Self-help books, commencement speeches, and social media posts urge us to discover our calling, align our work with our values, raise children with intention, or serve the world through volunteering. This emphasis on meaning and purpose is understandable. It''s essential to our well-being. But as I researched the burnout epidemic, the advice to "do something meaningful" often fell short. Greg''s firefighters were a striking example. These were people saving lives, responding to emergencies, and doing work most would call deeply meaningful. And yet, many of them were burned out or disengaged, with some even leaving the force. It didn''t add up.
When I asked Greg about this paradox, his response surprised me. He explained that firefighters can sometimes struggle to see the impact of their work. My head tilted, confused. Wait-they literally save lives-how is that even possible? Greg then explained something I didn''t know. Firefighters are often the first to arrive at a crisis, whether it''s a multicar pileup on the interstate or a heart attack in the middle of the night. After firefighters pull people out of burning cars or revive someone, the paramedics or ER staff take over. The patients are whisked to the hospital, while the firefighters pack up their equipment, climb into the truck, and head back to the station. Usually, they never hear how things turn out, Greg said.
They never learn, for instance, whether the woman they helped rescue from the car wreck made it to the hospital or ever walked again-if their efforts that night made any difference. This uncertainty wears on them. There''s no closure, no connection to the outcome. Instead, they just write up their report and then head out to the next call. Greg told me that, over time, the lack of closure can erode morale and contribute to burnout or mental health struggles. There''s a common denominator in the human experience that we all share. We all want to know that what we do, what we say, and who we are matters. Every argument is really about, Do you see me? Do you see me? Does what I say mean anything to you? Do I matter to you? -Oprah Winfrey This disconnection from our impact isn''t only a problem of workplaces.
So often, we move through our days unsure if what we do matters to anyone at all. Like firefighters, we often struggle not because we don''t contribute, but because we rarely see the impact. We drop off soup for a sick friend but never hear whether it brought comfort. We contribute to a GoFundMe, uncertain if our donation helped. We give advice to an acquaintance preparing for a job interview and never hear how it went. Whether it''s because we live in a culture that prizes self-sufficiency or simply because we are busy and distracted, too often we forget to close the loop with others. Over time, this lack of closure can lead to a growing sense of detachment in our work, homes, neighborhoods, and communities. As a rookie firefighter, Greg felt that same sense of detachment.
He and his colleagues would risk their lives to put out a house fire only to pass by the same property a week later and see it demolished by the insurance company. Firefighters had risked their lives to save that house only to see it destroyed-how could that not erode morale and breed frustration? Whether you''re working in an office, managing a household, or driving a delivery route, it''s difficult to stay purposeful if it seems like what you''re doing has no real impact on others. When we lack the feeling that others are aware of us and our actions, we miss the very foundation of mattering, as in "the feeling that one is the object of another person''s attention or notice," according to researcher Morris Rosenberg. Even small gestures of recognition, such as when a barista remembers our regular order, a colleague stops by, or a neighbor waves hello, show us that we are seen, that we hold value. Research finds these brief encounters strengthen our sense of belonging and anchor us in our communities. Similarly, we need to know that our actions make a positive impact, like a former student returning to say he pursued an advanced degree because a teacher once believed in him. In a world where much of our effort can feel invisible, these gestures become the social proof that we do, in fact, matter. Gradually, Greg came to understand that it was exactly this kind of invisibility that had led his firefighters to feel so burned out.
After the lukewarm reception to the new equipment, Greg realized what was missing. Firefighters put themselves on the line daily without seeing the lives they changed or the gratitude that often followed. Greg was determined to close that gap. "I''m telling" One of the first things Greg did was to direct his medical officer, the person who trains firefighters for medical calls, to begin following up on patient outcomes when firefighters requested more information. Previously, they''d often been left wondering, Whatever happened to that little girl we pulled from the wreck? Or, Did the man who collapsed during his morning run survive? Now it was the medical officer''s job to find and share any available updates. Soon firefighters started receiving meaningful feedback about how their work had helped people. Around the same time, Greg also introduced a new fire investigator, whose job was not only to determine the cause of each fire but also to debrief the crews on the efficacy of the tactics they''d used to fight it. Historically, fire investigations were kept under wraps due to the possibility of criminal inquiries, which meant firefighters rarely received feedback on whether their strategies had been effective.
Just as the medical officer''s follow-up system gave firefighters a clearer view of their lifesaving efforts, the fire investigator helped firefighters see that their actions directly influenced the outcome of each fire, such as saving someone''s home or containing a burning building so it didn''t spread to a neighbor''s house, all without revealing information that would compromise an inquiry. Greg also decided to implement a system in which, every two weeks on payday, shift command.