Month: February 2022

The Feasibility Gap

Successful people are simply those with successful habits.

These are the words of motivational speaker Brian Tracy.

I’m not a rabid follower of Tracy, Tony Robbins, or any other motivational speakers. But these words stick with me.

I’ve attributed much of the success I’ve enjoyed in my life to the habits I’ve built. Good fortune certainly played a role in the outcome, but good habits have put me in a better condition to capitalize on those strokes of luck.

Staying physically active has improved my overall health. Harboring curiosity has helped me grow within my profession. Embracing moments of reflection has made me a better writer. And devoting myself to cooking — rather than constantly ordering in — has provided fiscal and nutritional discipline.

Still, for all the good habits I have, there are some bad ones in there too.

I get hopelessly distracted on sunny weekend days, putting off tasks for hours as I daydream. I’ll often mindlessly watch sports on TV in the evening, rather than reading a book or cleaning my home. And I don’t get enough sleep.

The first two habits are somewhat trivial. But the third one is not.

As you’ve probably heard, we’re supposed to get about 8 hours of sleep a night. (The Mayo Clinic technically recommends 7 hours or more.) I don’t hit that number – just about ever.

If true success is a three-legged stool, I’m missing one leg. The physical fitness and mental acuity? They’re sharpened like steel blades. But the ability to recharge is sorely lacking.

What gives?

In a word, time.

It takes time to exercise our physical muscles, as well as our mental ones. It takes time to see to our nutrition, balance our finances, or put words on the page.

I happily devote much of my day to this. I’ll get up well before dawn to go running, and I’ll spend much of my evenings attending to writing, cooking, and other tasks. In between these times, I’m logging productive hours on the job.

This allotment of time helps me excel. But with only 24 hours in a day, it doesn’t leave me much room for shut-eye. I generally only get 5 to 6 hours of sleep a night — both on weeknights and weekends.

I know this is a problem. There are signs all over — the amount of caffeine I consume, the occasional moments when my mind goes blank.

And yet, I also know that fixing the issues requires tradeoffs. It would require me to take time away from my morning or evening routines. And that’s a sacrifice I’m not willing to make.

In my case, there’s no feasibility for the Mayo Clinic’s sleep ideals. So, I ignore them.

I bring up this example not to gloat or to throw shade on common advice. The Mayo Clinic is a reputable medical research organization. Its recommendations speak volumes and should be followed.

No, I bring all this up to illustrate that what’s ideal is not always realistic. And we are left to manage the misalignment.

I call this contradiction The Feasibility Gap. And it’s among the trickiest situations we must navigate.

The Feasibility Gap forces us to choose. To determine which desirable elements are non-negotiable, and which ones we can do without.

There is no roadmap to pilot us through these tradeoffs, and no silver lining for the decisions we ultimately make. The consequences are real, and they can be raw.

In my case, neglecting sleep occasionally affects my ability to function during the day. Over the long haul, my lack of recharge time could be a drag on my health. But those costs pale in comparison to the perceived benefits of an active lifestyle.

There are other contexts for this conundrum too.

For example, the perceived Holy Trinity of employment is finding a job that you love, that you’re good at and that compensates you well.

While checking all three boxes is the ideal, it rarely pans out that way in real life. The labor force is too competitive, interpersonal relations are too volatile and economics are too tricky for everyone to see this dream scenario.

Instead, we must reckon with what’s feasible, by determining which factors matter more than others.

Is our salary most important? Our job satisfaction? Our ability to perform at a high level?

Such determinations can vary from person to person. They can even vary with the same person over the course of time.

For example, I once valued passion for my profession and my job ability over my paycheck. But now, I value compensation and prowess over passion.

These value tradeoffs could leave me in a job that I don’t much care for. But I’m far more willing to deal with that possibility than I am to risk being underpaid or feeling in over my head.

There are no easy answers for these tradeoffs. But I’m confident about what I value most at work, in my lifestyle, and in a great many other places. They help me sleep soundly at night.

Even if I don’t sleep nearly enough.

There’s a narrative going around our society. One lionizing the idyllic lifestyle.

Everywhere we look, we see images of happy families in beautiful houses. The parents have ideal bodies, and they work in ideal professions. The kids are sporting ideal smiles.

Look at these images for long enough and we can get deluded. We can start thinking that success should come easily to us. That it should just flow.

This is, of course, not true. A lot of hard work factors into the equation. The glamour is a byproduct of the grit and grind.

But to get where we want to go, we must do more than give our best. We often must cross The Feasibility Gap. We must navigate uncertain waters and make tough choices.

In doing this, we will weave some rewards on the table. Just as I’ve sacrificed a full night’s sleep and the notion of making my passion my profession, we will need to reckon with real opportunity costs.

But in making these tough choices, in crossing this void, we will show courage. We will demonstrate character. And we will forge successful habits.

Isn’t that the goal in the first place?

On Bureaucracy

There’s a story my grandfather used to tell. One of my favorite tales of his.

My grandfather spent about three decades in the New York City Public School system. The school in Brooklyn that he taught at had an annex building that gradually fell into disrepair.

Plans were made to shore up one part of the building by repainting the exterior doors. But as this proposal made its way through the Board of Education’s financing and approval process, red tape smothered it. A simple process that Tom Sawyer once completed in an afternoon was left pending for years.

Eventually, the city decided to demolish the annex and use the land for something else. But a day before the wrecking ball was set to arrive, the repainting order was finally approved.

So, workers showed up at the now-vacant building, painted the doors, and left. The next morning, demolition crews knocked down those doors, along with the rest of the building.

A fresh coat of paint was effectively wasted.

My grandfather used this story to illustrate the woes of bureaucracy. Having served in the Navy and the public school system, my grandfather wasn’t opposed to government on principle. But in practice, he saw much to be desired.

I think many of us can relate. Whether we’ve had to wait hours to renew our driver’s license or we’ve had to jump through hoops to change information on a document, we’ve seen how bureaucracy can make mincemeat of our time and a mockery of common sense. We’ve been flustered, agitated, and inconvenienced. And yet, we’ve done nothing substantive about it.

Should we have?

As I’m writing this, something fascinating is going on up in Canada.

Protesters have been occupying the nation’s capital — Ottawa — for weeks. And some protesters have been blocking several key border arteries to the United States.

This movement — which was started by disgruntled truckers — has been exceedingly disruptive. Cross-border business has effectively been halted, traffic has been snarled, and the idyllic image of mild-mannered and polite Canadians has been shattered.

It’s clear that something is broken in the land of the maple leaf. Clear to everyone except the Canadian government, that is.

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau has responded to the crisis with derision, branding the protestors as a fringe group and telling them to go home. Others have labeled the blockade as a White Supremacist movement. And while neither statement is baseless, both seem to miss the point.

Canada is effectively a socialist democracy. Federal and provincial governments provide many services to Canadians — including healthcare, car insurance, and economic assistance — in return for tax dollars.

Such a system is not uncommon in the western world. In fact, the United Kingdom and many European nations follow the same practices as Canada.

These systems provide a sense of security, but they’re far from infallible.

For one thing, socialist democracies can lead to even more red tape than we experience in America. There are plenty of anecdotes from people who needed to wait months to schedule non-emergency medical appointments in Canada and Europe.

But, beyond that annoyance, these pseudo-socialist policies come with another implied cost. Namely, that of expanded government control.

The Canadian protests are a direct result of this toll. For the movement stands in opposition to many pandemic restrictions and mandates established by the government.

These restrictions were far from unique in origin. In fact, most countries instituted restrictions to protect public health as the COVID virus spread around the world.

And yet, Canada’s restrictions and requirements were notably stringent. They had to be so that the government could provide its sweeping services to residents from Newfoundland to the Yukon.

At first, most Canadians seemed to comply without complaint. After all, fear of the virus was rampant, and treatments were lacking. Plus, such measures seemed to keep COVID’s rampage in the True North from reaching the catastrophic levels found in the United States.

Yet, after roughly two years of this vice grip, the unified front has started to crumble. Vaccines, high-quality masks, and anti-viral pills are now available to combat the virus. But the government hasn’t budged on loosening restrictions.

Bureaucracy has once again failed to meet the moment. But this time, people aren’t going along with it.

Government is not the solution. It’s the problem.

So said former United States President Ronald Reagan when he was running for office.

Reagan was far from flawless during his time in the Oval Office. His trickle-down economic theory didn’t quite work, and the War on Drugs had racist undertones.

But Reagan is still one of my favorite presidents for two reasons. He effectively won the Cold War, and he brought the concept of small government to the big stage.

Reagan understood that a government’s best function was to lead through legislation at home and diplomacy abroad. He recognized that high-functioning governments were more protectors than providers.

This thinking ran against the grain. For on both sides of the Iron Curtain, governments had spent half a century operating as distribution businesses.

In the Soviet Union and other communist nations, central planning and state-owned enterprises had effectively replaced the corporate sector. And in the west, socialized programs and federally funded programs had governments considering their balance sheets in a whole new way.

These systems were meant to serve the greater good. But all too often, they ended up clunky and inefficient.

Business pedigree was simply not in government’s DNA. Corporate functions worked best in the purview of the free market, just like legislation decisions belonged in the halls of parliament.

Reagan recognized this. So, he sought to shift the state of influence.

As president, Reagan unwound the U.S. government from many of its prior functions. And in the process, he made the nation’s legislative machine more efficient.

Much of Reagan’s work has not stood the test of time. Few initiatives meet that mark in Washington.

But the legacy lives on.

The United States government is nimbler today than it was decades ago. Sure, the politics are fraught, and too many bills die on Capitol Hill. But we don’t have doors repainted the day before the building is torn down. We aren’t stuck with long-term restrictions on our lives, simply because the government can’t afford to take a financial loss on a service it provides.

So, while we have plenty to argue over these days, one thing should be clear. Bureaucracy doesn’t build momentum. It destroys it.

Let’s do what we can to avoid that bulldozer at all costs.

In a Rut

It was all so mundane.

The days were nothing more than a dull drumbeat. I’d wake up in mid-morning, run some errands, eat lunch, and head to work. Sometime close to midnight, I’d return home and go to bed — only to repeat the process the next day.

The banality of my schedule was to be expected. Indeed, a hallmark of adulthood is wading through the drudgery of repeated tasks.

But I didn’t have a regular adult life. I was a TV news producer in the middle of Texas Oil Country. My job and my life were full of novelty by design. Always never the same.

And yet, months into my role, the excitement had worn off. The monotony of my schedule dominated everything. And my job performance began to stagnate.

I was in a rut.

Now, this stagnation didn’t lead to disaster. My newscasts still hit the airwaves at 5 PM and 10 PM each day.

But behind the scenes, signs of my plateau were everywhere. I refused to listen to editorial suggestions, leading to a power struggle with a colleague on the assignments desk. I ultimately prevailed, but the experience scarred the entire newsroom.

Meanwhile, my inflexibility deprived our reporters of a chance to spread their journalistic wings. They were stuck covering the same depressing news stories day after day. “Hard news” was all that I left room for in my newscast.

It was a no-win situation for everyone.

Ultimately, it took an unforced error to snap me out of my malaise. A typo on one of my news scripts made the air, and someone threatened to sue the TV station over the blunder. I nearly lost my job.

I rebounded from this near catastrophe, rediscovering the novelty in my role. But the resurgence was short-lived.

A little more than a year after the news script gaffe, I left the news media — and Texas Oil Country —behind for good. That rut I’d gone through had put an end to my first career.

Years later, I found myself in another crisis of monotony. But this time, I hadn’t signed up for it.

The onset of a global pandemic effectively shut the world down. My office was closed. Travel was banned. And even trips to the grocery store seemed dystopian.

In an instant, my world had gotten much more insular.

At first, I was OK with this. After all, there was no cure for a proliferating virus, and we were still unclear on how it spread. Sacrificing life as we knew it in the name of safety seemed prudent.

But as the weeks dragged on, my morale dipped. I was doing the same few things day after day, all within a five-mile radius of my apartment. I hadn’t seen anyone I knew in months. And I felt increasingly trapped in a self-imposed prison, unwilling to accept the risks of exposure but unable to reckon with my diminished life.

I was in a rut once again.

I responded to this realization by doubling down on my routines. I focused even more intently on the activities I’d assigned myself during lockdown — exercising, cooking, and journaling. But even as I did this, I started to consider how things would look when the world opened again.

What would be possible? And how would those possibilities improve upon what I was doing before this scourge upended my life?

While the reality of a brighter future remained frustratingly far off, these questions kept me conscientious and motivated. And they helped me avoid languishing as the pandemic droned on.

The rut disappeared into the rearview, without collateral damage in its wake.

It’s easy to connect the dots between these two situations.

The first time I was in a rut, I didn’t handle it well. But I learned from those mistakes. And I didn’t repeat them the second time around.

Still, such generalizations miss a key point. Both times, I should have seen the rut coming, but didn’t.

This is not because I was blind. It’s because I was idealistic.

After years of hearing such advice as Follow your passion and Live to the fullest, I convinced myself that ruts didn’t exist. If I was doing what I loved, and living the way I wanted to, I would stay energized and fresh. Nothing would slow that down.

This couldn’t be further from the truth. We all fall into a rut from time to time. We need to be ready for this inevitability. And we need to know how to respond.

I mention all this because I’ve occasionally run into a rut with Words of the West. I knew this was a possibility when I started this publication years ago. And indeed, I’ve been confronted with the reality of it from time to time.

Putting my thoughts and reflections on the page is one of the joys of my life. Many weeks, the words just flow. But not always.

Sometimes, inspiration just isn’t there. Topics to write about are anything but top of mind. Motivation is lacking.

In these moments, everything seems to be telling me to pack it in. To take a break. To wait until the lightning bolt of inspiration strikes.

But I resist such urges. Instead, I experiment.

I consider the blandest themes for articles. I rethink my writing format. I change the time of the week when I put my words to paper.

It’s all up for grabs, except for one rule: I must publish whatever I come up with.

These experimental writing weeks rarely lead to Rembrandts. But they rekindle my sense of wonder. And through that wonder, I find the joy that had eluded me.

This is the key to getting out of a rut. The tactics matter less than the sensation they spark.

Finding that sensation is critical, no matter how many twists and turns it takes to get there. We have full license to be our most free, even when we feel as constrained as ever.

And that freedom? It can be a beautiful thing.

So, it’s time to change our perceptions of being in a rut. It’s not a problem. It’s an opportunity.

Act accordingly.

Twists and Turns

It’s an adventure.

That’s what my aunt said, as my father and I sat at her kitchen table.

My car was out in the driveway, loaded with as many of my possessions that could possibly fit inside it. My father and I were heading halfway across the country to Texas, where I was set to start a job as a TV news producer. And we’d stopped at my aunt’s house near the start of our journey.

This whole endeavor was hard to fathom. Sure, plenty of people have set out for greener pastures somewhere across our fair land over the years. But not in our family.

That’s why my aunt called the whole endeavor an adventure. The word evoked an expectation that my foray to Texas would be short on time and long on memories.

As I sat at that kitchen table, I didn’t disagree with my auut. How could I?

After all, I had no idea what lay in front of me. I’d never been to the city I was moving to. I’d had no real career experience or adulthood experience. Add it all up, and it was hard to envision my move as anything more than temporary.

And yet, I never made that return trek by my aunt’s house, with my belongings in the back of my car. Instead, I made Texas my home for good.

That TV job? It’s long gone. And yet, I remain.

It might have seemed like an adventure at the start. But I ended up finding what I didn’t know I was looking for under the Lone Star flag.

Never again.

Those words were on my mind as I walked away from the finish line on a sunny fall morning.

I’d just medaled in a state championship cross-country meet, finishing in the Top 25 of the final race of my freshman year. But I was tired.

I was done with sweating through late afternoon workouts. I was done with sore legs and side stitches. I was done with my gray New Balance 880’s, which could never be as stylish as a pair of Nikes.

I quit the cross-country team that day. There would be no more running for me.

And for a good decade or so, I stayed true to that prognostication.

But gradually, I came back around.

I started by running 10 minutes on the treadmill twice a week after I lifted weights. Soon, I took the workout outdoors, running a mile on the road. And eventually, I convinced myself to sign up for a 5K.

It wasn’t pretty.

My medal-winning form from high school was a distant memory. I lumbered along for a couple of miles until I started seeing green flashes and hyperventilating. I had to stop for a couple of minutes to catch my breath before struggling my way to the finish line.

I was humbled by this ordeal and determined not to repeat it. But the scars of my cross-country days still festered. So, I kept doing what I had done before — running a mile or two after lifting weights. I entered a few more 5K races and did marginally better — making it to the finish line in one go. But my abilities were nothing to write home about.

Then, a global pandemic shut my neighborhood gym. Lifting weights was now impossible; running outside was my only option for exercise. So, I started running slightly longer distances more often.

It didn’t take long for me to notice the difference. I was stronger. I was faster.

But I was also bored.

And so, when an opportunity about for me to join a local running club, I didn’t hesitate.

My first run with the club was a 10-miler on a hot summer morning. I’d never ran that far in my life, but I managed to stick with the group the entire time. And, to my surprise, I enjoyed the experience.

Pretty soon, I was running with the group three times a week, putting more miles on my legs than ever before. And these efforts paid dividends.

I started medaling in races, putting up times I would have found unfathomable a year earlier. This inspired me to start a training regimen, which made me even faster.

Now, I’m signing up for half marathons all over the country. I’m spending a big chunk of my salary on workout gear. And I’m dreaming of the day when I can toe the line in the New York City Marathon.

I never could have imagined that putting one foot in front of another would get me so far.

These outcomes I’ve lived — they’re far different than anything I would have imagined back in my aunt’s kitchen.

They weren’t on the script. And yet, they’re now an indelible part of who I am.

What did I miss back then? Was I too young, too stupid, too naïve to anticipate what was around the bend?

Hardly.

Truth be told, there was no way I could have known what life would have in store for me. No matter how straight a course I’d chart for my future, there were always bound to be some twists and turns along the way.

Embracing those twists and turns is critical. For some of the greatest joys in life involve what you don’t see coming. Appreciation needn’t stem from anticipation.

Yet, even as I write these words — seeing their reflection in my own narrative — I struggle to adhere to them.

For I am predisposed to seek control. To chart a path for myself and follow that path to a T.

I struggle to leave things as they are. To sit still and let the waves crash over me. To allow the twists and turns to catch me off-guard.

This means my gratification is delayed. I can only experience the joy of the unexpected after the panic of being thrown off-course has dissipated.

It’s been like this for me for decades. But it needn’t be this way forever.

So, I’m adding a twist and turn of my own. Instead of charting my future, I’m simply committing to living my values. And I’m letting the chips fall where they may.

Life happens on its own terms. It’s about time I embrace the beauty in that.