Sheffield: Apathy — the silent killer
By Mark Sheffield
The following article was submitted by contributor Mark Sheffield, a former dealer principal, and appeared in the September issue of Powersports Business Magazine.
I was about eight years into my role as a dealership GM when I hit my breaking point. I walked in one day and told Mark Woods that I needed some time off and that I was going to Scotland. He asked when I wanted to take my break, and I let him know I’d be leaving the following week and wouldn’t be back for 30 days.
The trip was incredible. Seeing old-world craftsmen hand-making barrels for storing Glenfiddich whiskey. Visiting Lockerbie and standing in the spot where the major fuselage pieces of Pan Am Flight 103 came down. Visiting Alnwick Castle, where multiple scenes from Harry Potter were filmed, and getting to spend some time with my father’s twin, who passed away a few months after I saw him. Ultimately, 30 days might have been a little too much — but when I got back to work, I was rejuvenated and ready to hit the ground running.
I stepped down from my GM role in 2016 and said I’d take a little time off. It didn’t take long for me to get bored, and before I knew it, I had more projects going on than I could count. Over the last nine years, I traveled more than half a million miles, and in most years, I spent over 100 nights in hotel rooms. I had multiple email addresses, and my inbox became a war zone — one where there never seemed to be any options for declaring a truce.
Many times over the last decade, I’d wake up in a hotel and forget what city I was in. I’d shuffle to the window, look out, and play a quick game of “guess the skyline.” Conference rooms started to blur together. Dealerships began to feel the same. But I kept pushing. Those are the traits I developed during my time in the Army, and it’s what we do in this business. We hustle, we grind, and we tell ourselves it’s all for the greater good.
However, somewhere along the way, I stopped noticing the wins. A dealer would have a record month, and I’d nod, reply with a quick “nice work,” and jump to the next fire. Another OEM would announce some bloated initiative that wouldn’t sell any more machines, but would make life harder for the dealer, and I’d shrug and say, “par for the course.” I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t bitter. I was just… tired.
That’s the thing about apathy — it doesn’t show up all at once. It creeps in. Quietly. You start accepting average. You stop questioning broken systems.
You tolerate vendors that add no value. You nod through meetings that go nowhere (and man, were there a lot of meetings). And the worst part? You don’t even realize it’s happening until you catch yourself going through the motions.
Recently, I parted ways with my employer of the last few years. The day it happened, the wife and I celebrated by popping the cork on a nice bottle of champagne. And while that day was a good one, every day since has been better. I’m happier, healthier, and excited about all of the recent opportunities that have found me.
What I don’t understand is — back in 2012, I recognized when things weren’t right. It became clear that I needed to perform a personal Ctrl-Alt-Delete. That trip to Scotland saved me. Stepping away gave me perspective. However, for whatever reason, I wasn’t able to identify a similar issue the second time around. Aren’t we supposed to get wiser as we get older?
Regardless of how things played out, maybe my personal failings can help someone else. If you’ve been doing the same thing for a decade or more, maybe it’s time to take a step back. If you’re no longer waking up and looking forward to the day, it’s possible you need to reset and recalibrate.
Being honest with yourself and taking a break is not the same as giving up. It’s about recognizing that you’re human — and that from time to time, we all need a change of scenery.
Apathy is like a Trojan Horse. It slips in with a hidden payload, and it’s possible it won’t attack the next day or the next month — but it will happen at some point. And apathy is great at wearing disguises. Sometimes, it looks like just another Tuesday.
If going to work isn’t as fun as it used to be, then say something. Do something. Call a friend. Take a walk. Book a damn flight to Scotland and tell your co-workers you’re pulling a Sheffield (bagpipes are great for the soul). Just don’t sit there and let the slow leak turn into a flat tire. Because in this business, passion is our fuel. And once you’re running on empty, it’s almost impossible to pass the competition when there isn’t any fuel in the tank.
