Category: Thoughts

The Danger Of Inaction

What is the cost of doing nothing?

Of standing pat? Of deciding good enough is good enough?

Sometimes the cost is not that high. The only real factor is opportunity cost — the value of possibilities that might have existed if we only went for them.

Other times the consequences can be grave, even deadly.

When armed forces are under attack, a lack of action can lead to mass casualties. One need only to see the end of Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End to get a cinematic view of this.

The implications of inaction are clear in this situation. But what about situations where they’re not as direct? How do we act then?

In a word: Poorly.

Consider this.

When we go out and have a good time, one companion is often in the middle of the action. Alcohol.

Booze helps us lighten up. It removes our inhibitions. It gets us feeling good.

And it’s a cultural staple. One inextricably woven into nearly all kinds of get-togethers.

But alcohol provides significant dangers. It affects our behavior, slows our response times and alters our decision making.

At their worst, these effects can ruin lives — or even end them.

Many of us learn about these dangers well before we take our first legal sip of alcohol. Drivers education classes are littered with warnings about drinking and driving. College orientations alert students to the dangers of binge drinking.

But even with these warnings in tow — not to mention the electronic “Don’t Drink and Drive” signs up and down the highway — we still make alcohol-induced decisions that put others at risk.

If those risks come to fruition, we have a ready-made excuse.

But I was drunk.

 This excuse is bogus, and even insulting to those harmed by alcohol-fueled behavior.

Having a few drinks shouldn’t give us a free pass to harm others. To victimize and traumatize. To deprive people of their God-given rights.

Yet, it does. Because we, as a society, let it.

We sanctify the act of throwing one back, or having a couple cold ones. Just as we sanctify the flawed principle of Let boys be boys.

We ignore the consequences of defending these principles, because we don’t want to live in a world that deprives us the change to indulge ourselves.

But the danger of inaction is grave.

It impinges justice. It silences victims. And it makes us all complicit in tragedy.

We can do better.

We can do right by those harmed by this behavior.

We can save countless future would-be victims from their fate.

But we can only do so by taking action. By destroying the façade that says having a good time is beyond reproach. By tossing out the flawed defense of youthful innocence.

We don’t need to give up drinking, as I have. We don’t need to put an end to partying.

But we need to lean in to accountability. We must hold everyone responsible for actions that harm others. We have to prevent the root cause of harm from being treated as an immunity defense.

The actions we take matter.

Inaction is no longer an option.

The Character Choice

He’s not a bad person. He just has a character flaw.

You might have used this line before. Or heard of someone else who did.

This line has been used for those who smoke or drink too much. For those who act out on occasion or demonstrate a bad temper. For those who lose interest or focus at times when it’s needed.

The point? That the most unsavory characteristics of our behavior can be written off, or explained away.

That the good can cancel out the bad. Or at least make us forget about it for a while.

It’s our way of lightening up. On focusing on the positives rather than dwelling on the negatives. On seeing the good in people rather than dwelling on the bad.

It’s why we have Boys Will Be Boys. Or Girls Just Want To Have Fun.

No harm, no foul.

Shame on us.

This attitude shrugs aside incidents that can ruin lives. It gives a free pass where none is warranted. It leaves us complicit in the abdication of fair treatment.

Worse still, it misinterprets what character truly means.

 

Character is not a flaw. It is a choice.

Think about that statement for a moment. Then think of someone you consider to have character.

What comes to mind?

The way they carry themselves, most likely. The way they act and the things they do.

But if your character role models are anything like mine, another word comes to mind as well.

Consistency.

High-character individuals don’t talk the talk. They walk the walk.

They live the values they embody. Every minute of every day.

There’s no room for flaws in judgment. Character is a choice they make, and one they commit to abide by at all times.

Showing up with the right attitude every day is not as noticeable as flying off the handle now and then. Taking the right actions is not always as noteworthy as screwing up.

Yet, over a wider time frame, it stands out.

People remember what they don’t see from high-character leaders. The lack of meltdowns, embarrassments and lapses in judgment. And that lack of red marks can garner respect and adulation.

Character is not a flaw. It is a choice.

So, how can we get there?

How can we aspire to improve our character? To live into the type of behavior we idolize?

We can start by kicking the free-pass to the curb. By no longer writing off lapses in judgment. By instead yearning for something greater.

For our legacy is measured by its entirety, not its majority.

When we reduce the threshold of acceptable behavior to that second level, we all stand to lose.

We can do better than that.

We must do better than that.

So, let’s stop compromising.

Character is not a flaw. It is a choice.

Choose wisely.

The Upward Shift

Betting on oneself.

It’s become a cliche.

Whenever we expose ourselves to the uncertainty of change, we roll out that familiar rhetoric like a red carpet..

Sure, it’s a risk. But I’m betting on myself.

It’s as if our self-certainty is our superpower. As if it’s the constant that makes the changes we encounter adapt to us.

By counting on ourselves in the face of change, we feel we can overcome adversity.

Nothing can stop us. We can walk out on the tightrope without a safety net and make it through.

There are good reasons why this narrative has wings. It’s inspirational, dramatic and ultimately satisfying.

But there’s one big problem.

It’s not accurate.

You see, we can’t meet the challenge of new and disruptive change simply by betting on ourselves and plowing forward.

We need to level up.

Charting our way through new challenges requires a new set of skills. Mere survival demands growth and adaptation.

What was working before has no jurisdiction over future success. The landscape is too unfamiliar. The obstacles ahead are too imposing.

There must be an upward shift.

I have seen this time and again through my own experience.

I went from sitting in my college classes under the palm trees of South Florida to running a TV newsroom in the desert of West Texas in a matter of months.

When my news industry days had played themselves out, I moved to Dallas and switched careers. All with only a modest savings, a credit card and an abundance of hope to steer me through.

Several years later, I committed to hitting the books once again — starting business school while still maintaining my full-time job.

These were all significant left turns in my life trajectory. Business as usual no longer applied.

I had to make significant changes to meet the challenges that lay in front of me.

I had to level up.

Now, this process wasn’t always apparent to me when I was going through it. The path ahead was more of a gradual incline than a rugged cliff face.

And besides, I was so focused more on the six inches in front of my nose that I was oblivious to my steady climb. Only when I had a moment to look back did I realize I’d gained elevation.

But regardless of when I came to recognize it, that upward shift had occurred. I’d done was needed to not only survive, but also thrive.

There had been a transformation of perspective. My skillset for navigating life’s experiences had become broader and more multifaceted.

But I hadn’t gotten to this point solely by betting on myself. No, I’d molded myself into a person equal to the task of what lay before me.

I’m far from unique in this experience. Plenty of us have upped our game to meet the heightened stakes in our path.

Yet, for whatever reason, we are loathe to credit the upward shift. Whether due to ego or pride, we indulge our self-importance. We brush aside the twists and turns we endure along the path to something greater.

But those lessons, those adaptations — they’re what make us stronger. They’re what make us smarter. They’re what prime us for success.

We should take the time to recognize the change that lies ahead of us. We should embrace the learning opportunities embedded in our next moment of ambiguity.

For only when we consciously commit to leveling up do we unleash the full potential of our growth. It’s only then that we leverage the true benefit of new experiences.

So, embrace the upward shift. What lies within it make it worthwhile.

Scope of Perspective

What is the essence of life?

Which element do you focus on most? What do you consider most important?

Some might say the people matter most. That regardless the environment, the opportunity for human interaction is invigorating.

Some might say status matters most. That the opportunity to earn respect on the basis of prestige is what they live for.

And some might say the setting matters most. That our placement in relation to the rhythms of our surroundings sustains us.

People. Status. Setting.

All three are critical in establishing a rich and fulfilling life. But assigning priority to one over the others is like trying to find the right answer to a Rorschach test.

It all depends on your perspective.

The people perspective is the most refined. It focuses on the company we keep. What people have to say and share with each other matters more than who they are or where the interaction occurs.

As social beings, we are most naturally drawn to this dynamic. We crave social interaction. We demand trust. And sometimes, we even value intentions over actions.

Connection is at our essence. It’s why we’re so fascinated with interesting personalities. It’s why cocktail hour is such a time-honored event. And it’s why we insist on documenting every social gathering these days with a group picture on social media.

Yet, not all of us embrace human interaction equally. Those who are more reserved or less comfortable in social settings are inclined to take a wider view.

This starts with the status perspective. This level focuses on our achievements relative to others. Where we have access to that others don’t. What we achieve that others can’t.

This is the impetus for first class seating on airplanes. For gated communities of mega-mansions. For Platinum credit cards.

This all might sound a bit snobby and elitist. But in practice, many of us consider this aspect of life to be mission critical.

If you don’t believe me, consider the last time you avoided someone with different political views. Or recall that last time you spent time on the other side of the tracks. There’s a good chance this encounter wasn’t recent.

Yes, status is our middle ground. Our opportunity to soak up social interaction on our terms. To build a culture of association, and to assimilate ourselves to it.

But this coziness comes at a cost. Status is context-specific, and cultural divides can lead to closed-mindedness. Our perspective is limited by our blind devotion to measuring sticks and self-defined boundaries.

The challenge, then, is to take our perspective one level further, to the perspective of setting.

This is the Bird’s Eye View — but with a twist.

It’s where we take a 360-degree view of our surroundings, and consider how we interact with them.

When we focus on the setting, we observe the weather, the lighting, the peripheral sights and ambient sounds we encounter. We value these details as much as the interactions that take place within them.

It’s hard to operate at this level. It’s not easy to pay such close attention to detail, but also be aware of the big picture. It’s challenging to have enough humility to realize we’re part of a bigger narrative, and that we should give that narrative its due.

This is why the perspective of setting is so often reserved for those who choose to remove themselves from the din of social connection. It’s why it’s so often tied to intellectuals, introverts and authors.

These groups are predisposed to taking the wider view. But by no means do they have a stranglehold on it.

There’s much that can be learned by taking this scope of perspective.

It can make us more well-rounded. It can make us more situationally aware. And it can make us more conscientious.

These benefits are worth the work needed to adapt our mindset toward them.

So, while there’s no clear choice as to which element of life has the highest priority, there is a clear directive.

Broaden your scope of perspective. Reap the results.

The Competitor Within

Is competition a zero-sum game?

I say no.

Sure, there’s plenty of rhetoric out there about vanquishing our rivals. On how There Can Be Only One or If You Ain’t First, You’re Last.

We’ve taken that to heart more than ever these days. From the ballfields to Capitol Hill, from the job market to social media feeds, partisanship is as vicious as ever.

Competition has brought out the worst in us. It’s poured lighter fluid on the vitriol of groupthink. It’s caused us to dehumanize anyone who’s not on our team. It’s eviscerated any empathy we might otherwise have for those who lie in the path of our selfish desires.

In the relentless quest to win, it appears we have all lost.

Yet, it doesn’t have to be this way.

We can still compete without causing each other carnage. Without drawing lines in the sand and causing further chasms in our society.

We just need to shift our focus.

I’m a highly competitive person.

I grew up playing baseball and watching Luke Skywalker lock light sabers with Darth Vader. The win at all costs mantra was strong within me.

Then, things changed.

I was 13 when the Twin Towers came down, and the skies above New York and Washington filled with fire and smoke. It was a horrifying, unfathomable event. Amidst my grief, there was confusion. How could the free world I knew have suffered such a brutal loss, out of the clear blue sky?

Of course, I wanted to punish those who took thousands of innocent lives. I supported the U.S. military’s operations in Afghanistan, and still do today. Petty as it was, I smiled when Seal Team 6 took out Bin Laden a decade later.

But my view of competition had changed. Going after the terrorists didn’t constitute winning. We had already lost something we could never get back.

As I moved into high school, I was lost. Disillusioned with the Zero-Sum game of competition and the horrors I’d seen come from it, I held myself back. I did my best to blend in at the expense of standing out.

By the time I was 16, my mother was fed up with my act. You’re lazy, she told me.

Those two words lit a fire under me.

The competitiveness that was long-dormant in my soul roared back to life. And I sprung into action.

I improved my grades enough to get multiple acceptance letters from colleges across the South. But upon choosing which school to attend, I didn’t let up.

I continued to strive for greatness through college, and the two careers that followed. Good enough wasn’t sufficient for me. I could always do better.

In fact, I was obligated to do better.

You see, I came to realize that by bringing out the best in myself, I could provide more to those around me. That I could help make the world a better place.

I came to realize the best kind of competition isn’t a Zero-Sum game.

When we shift our competitive focus inward, we change the game.

Think about it.

By demanding the best of ourselves, we play the role of both coach and critic.

We achieve what we might not have thought was possible before. We push our boundaries. We grow. We iterate.

Better yet, by turning the fires of competition inward, we can connect with others. We can respect our rivals, embrace our differences and focus on helping each other through a common drive for better.

Everyone wins in this scenario. In fact, the only casualty of self-competition is complacency.

So, let’s stop the blood feuds, the name calling, the nastiness. Let’s shift our competitive focus to a more productive place.

Let’s embrace the competitor within.

Distilling It Down

I am process-oriented.

Much like an engineer, I think in terms of previous steps and next steps. Aspects and ingredients. Time and place.

These are important components on their own. But when they’re brought together in a cohesive way, that’s where the rubber meets the road.

It takes careful coordination for many of the occurrences in our lives to take place. The right set of factors must line up just so for the end result to be memorable and noteworthy.

Sometimes, recognize this chain of events. Other times, we’re oblivious to it.

Either way, the end result gets the most attention. When things just work out, the how’s and why’s don’t seem to leave a lasting impression in our memories.

We focus on the shiny objects we see. On the warm fuzzies we feel.

We fixate on the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow more than the leprechaun that led us to it.

And yet, without all of the right elements in place, we wouldn’t be basking in the glory.

Without a firm foundation, the greatness of serendipity would never be realized.

So, I make it my mission to distill down every process I can.

To look at what the elements are. To consider what’s needed to drive success. To be aware of the circumstances that could lead to failure.

A great example of this is cooking. I love to cook, and I love the satisfaction of getting a dish just right. It awakens senses of fulfilment and satisfaction I rarely experience otherwise.

But that result hardly comes out of the blue.

Getting a meal just right requires the right elements in place. If the ingredients are subpar, the cooking apparatuses are inefficient or the timing is off, a meal can turn into a disaster.

Just one missing element can trip up a dish. While I can still salvage a meal without top-notch meat, a fully functional oven range or precise cooking times, the end result just won’t be the same.

Distilling down the process helps me find the path to success in the kitchen.

But this technique is effective in many other areas as well.

In fact, just about anything that requires a decision can be distilled down to its core elements.

For each decision is a part of a process that leads to a result. And each decision involves root factors that can be considered.

We might not want to evaluate these factors, time after time. But we should take the initiative to do so.

For looking at the minutia gives us agency. It allows us to discover what drives success. It provides us the opportunity to iterate and grow.

We owe it to all those around us to have this depth of focus and commitment to precision. Just as importantly, we owe it to ourselves.

So, continue to dream big. But think small as well.

Focus on distilling it down.

On The Precipice

I’m on the edge of glory, and I’m hanging on a moment of truth.

These iconic Lady GaGa song lyrics speak volumes.

Whether we’re watching our favorite TV show, playing Monday Morning Quarterback after a football game or researching business case studies for work, the narratives we absorb have one thing in common.

They hang on the precipice. On the point of divergence between what got us here and where we’re going from here.

These cliffhanger moments are both overdramatic and overly cliché. But we continue to see them because they work.

That feeling of being on the edge of something new exhilarates us. Much like the moment before that first big drop on our favorite roller coaster, we can feel the butterflies of anticipation.

We’re addicted to this narrative. And the content creators are addicted to our addiction.

So, the literature we read, the hot air we listen to on the radio, the moving pictures we binge on our flatscreen TVs — all are filled with moments of truth.

It’s as if these game changing moments are a dime a dozen, just waiting for us to grab them.

They shouldn’t be.

You see, continually living life on the precipice is as irresponsible as it is exhilarating.

For those turning point moments are more than just high drama. They’re often the result of a lack of prior execution.

If the person or company facing a moment of truth had acted earlier, their future wouldn’t hinge on one make-or-break decision.

Debate the thought process for the fourth down play all you want. If you’d moved the ball enough on the first three downs, it wouldn’t have come down to one play.

Evaluate that big acquisition all you want. If the company had kept its financial health in order, then maybe it wouldn’t have had to bet the farm on such a risky move.

Glorify Jordan Belfort’s life all you want. But The Wolf of Wall Street wouldn’t be writing memoirs and sales coaching books for restitution money if he hadn’t spent years defrauding investors.

Yes, just like our fixation with the Rock Bottom Paradox, we can’t seem to move off of the life-and-death moments. We celebrate the winners and take lessons from the losers — all without realizing that all participants have already lost.

The real winners? They’re the ones who never brought their venture to the edge of a cliff. They planned ahead, executed with consistent precisions and heeded the warning signs of lurking danger.

You don’t hear about these winners, because their stories are wholly unmemorable. The highs and lows of their journey don’t captivate our imagination, call to our fears or stimulate our aspirations.

Make no mistake, though. This is the path we should follow.

It’s far more likely to get us to where we want to go. And it’s far less likely to put us in a spot where we risk losing it all.

So, forget the fancy narratives and the juicy cliffhangers.

The steady path forward is enough.

No Filter

How will you act with no net?

With no excuse? No safety blanket?

With no filter?

I try and answer as affirmatively as possible. For it’s the way I live my life.

I don’t pass the buck for my actions. The responsibility lies with me, and me alone.

If I make mistakes, I do what I can to rectify them. I’m not perfect, but I can strive to be better.

For I am the master of my domain. It’s critical that I assert control over my actions, even when I’m not in prime condition.

If I do something out of step because I’m sleep deprived, ill or under any number of influences, I own it. Then, I take the steps to depreciate those conditions moving forward.

Those steps could include giving up drinking, maintaining a healthier diet or adhering to a proper sleep schedule.

Regardless, the end goal is simple. I get to look upon the world without a filter. And the world gets to see the real me in real time. All the time.

Others know what to expect of me. They know how I’m likely to act.

And they know that the words coming out of my mouth — or being typed into this article — have gravitas. They have intention behind them.

I adhere to a consistent, accountably approach because I believe strongly in the One True Self philosophy. While others might believe in Being Their Best Self, I see that line of thinking as a farce — one that gives people an unwarranted Mulligan for times when they don’t act up to par.

Make no mistake. The world is watching our every move. Our actions carry more weight than our excuses.

The guy who makes a fool of himself while drunk doesn’t get a pass. Neither does the girl who says offensive things to others when she’s tired and cranky.

What we say and what we do resonates. Regardless of context, it resonates.

Heck. In this era, our facepalm moments might even go viral — for all the wrong reasons.

It’s time to cut ties with the Best Self Fallacy. To stop stumbling through life dazed when we find it convenient.

It’s time to be more accountable. To be more aware.

This might be uncomfortable at first. Especially in a world where the radio implores us to Blame it on the alcohol, amongst other vices.

But we must power through. We owe it to all those around us to take this step forward.

For we can offer so much more by being more consistent. And we can eliminate a great deal of collateral damage.

So, let’s find greater clarity.

Let’s approach life with no filter.

The Rock Bottom Paradox

At the start of the year, I gave up drinking.

I was not in crisis, but I had my reasons.

I didn’t like what alcohol did to my body or mind. I wanted to save the money that beer and liquor cost. And I wanted to ensure I was always in a situation where there was someone sober that could get behind the wheel.

It was a necessary move. A calculated one. But I wasn’t prepared for what would come of it.

For while my decision made me feel healthier and more fulfilled, it also opened me up to a constant line of questioning.

Why did you stop drinking?

What’s wrong with having a cold one now and then?

Did something bad happen?

Is there something wrong with booze?

Is everything OK?

I tried to anticipate the question. To have an answer at the ready.

But in truth, I felt like I was in that scene in Forrest Gump when the media bombarded Forrest with questions about why he was running.

As question after question rolled in, he gave one simple answer.

I just felt like running.

I can relate to that. I just felt removing alcohol from my life was the best thing to do. Simple as that.

And getting a barrage of questions about it quickly wore me out.

I understand the source of these questions. I don’t live in Utah, or a dry county in West Texas. Drinking is very much a societal norm. And I’m an outlier.

Yet, I find the line of questioning troublesome.

You see, the first question in the series is innocuous. People want to figure out what keeps me from raising a glass or clinking a beer bottle with them.

But once people find out I didn’t make my choice because of alcoholism or a DUI, they start grilling me with question after question.

They simply can’t grasp that someone would shun drinking all on their own. That no demons would be involved in the decision.

I’m not sure why this perception is so prevalent. But I don’t like it.

Why must we hit rock bottom in order to better ourselves?

I fail to see how that trajectory does anyone any good.

For when we wait until we bottom out to seek change, there’s collateral damage. Traumatic things happen. People get hurt. Or worse.

Sure, it makes for a better story when someone reforms themselves and emerges from the darkness. When an antihero finds redemption, everyone soaks up the narrative.

I know this pattern well. I’m a storyteller and a former news producer.

But are the warm fuzzies of a comeback from despair really worth the price paid to get there? Are they worth the suffering, the ruined lives and the traumatic memories that ensue when we let bad habits spiral into disaster?

Not at all.

I might not have ever hit rock bottom with my drinking habits. I might never have seen firsthand the misfortune and devastation that alcohol can bring.

But I wasn’t willing to take that chance.

I wasn’t willing to cede control of my mind just to live without inhibitions. I wasn’t willing to shed my dignity just to make it onto the dance floor. I wasn’t willing to drag my body through a round of beers — let alone 10 rounds with Jose Cuervo — just to fit in.

No, I drew the line. No demons were going to come out of that bottle. Not for me anyway.

Now this is not to say I think drinking is a bad thing. What’s wrong for me might not be wrong for everyone.

But the Rock Bottom Paradox needs to go.

We need to stop looking to the chasm as our source of redemption. To stop glorifying the canyon floor as the launchpad for the stars.

Far more good comes from righting the ship before it teeters over the edge. From finding salvation through pre-emptive action.

It won’t make for a compelling Hollywood script. It won’t make us memorable or legendary.

No. Instead we will all prosper. No one and nothing will have to be sacrificed for us to see the light.

Isn’t that worth it?

How We’re Wired

How are you wired?

It’s a question that gets to the heart of our individuality.

For the way we operate is not standard. Everyone has their own approach, their own flavor.

And that variance in styles — that diversity — is what makes us innovative. It allows us to grow and adapt in ways that our ancestors never could.

If we are able to fully understand exactly how we operate, we can use that information to maximize our effectiveness. We can actively work to make the world better.

As such, determining how we’re wired is both personal and powerful.

I recently discovered then when I set out to determine how I am wired.

It all started with a career assessment. The exercise highlighted that I approach situations with an “engineering mindset.”

I saw those words and laughed incredulously. After all, I considered myself the furthest thing from an engineer. My arithmetic skills have long been lacking, and I struggled mightily in most science classes I took.

Yet, the more I thought about it, the more I understood what the assessment said.

You see, an engineering mindset is not about complicated math formulas and high-level scientific laws. It’s about developing a consistent process for problem solving.

This means classifying what occurs in an often-messy world into a set of inputs and outputs. It means focusing on the journey between those points as much as the result.

It takes intense discipline, obsessive organization and a Spockian adherence to logic to live into this mindset.

It’s a trio that’s hard to put into practice. Yet, I’ve been making it work for years. I just hadn’t realized it until I took that assessment.

Why not? Because, as a writer and former journalist, I’ve traditionally considered myself a connoisseur of the softer skills. I’ve believed in the power of logic, but have long felt that emotion was a more critical element in my work.

Emotion is what inspires connection. It’s what drives action. It’s what makes one resonant and makes contributions memorable.

As such, I’ve harbored a profound obsession with emotion. I’ve shared my thoughts on connection, context and intent in this space and throughout my daily life. I’ve rehashed the memories that have taken my breath away, in the hope of inspiring those same feelings in others.

I can’t help it. I’m a storyteller. This is the way I communicate.

Yet, under the hood, my day-to-day life looks much different.

From the moment I spring out of bed to the moment I collapse back into it, my day is full of choices.

Everything from what shirt I wear to whether I buy a pack of Skittles from the checkout line rack is up for grabs. Anything and everything that requires time or money sparks an internal deliberation.

These choices I face daily represent a series of inputs. And the decisions I make in each instance represent outputs.

In between, I do a lot of careful calculations in real time.

I look at the costs and benefits of each option, and their probabilities. Then, I determine whether each option worth the requisite resources.

I am both deliberate and decisive in choosing the best path forward.

Many times, the choices I make put me in a better position to succeed. Or at the very least, they keep me in line with my goals.

Other times, things don’t work as anticipated. Whether through bad luck or bad choices, I don’t get the result I’m looking for.

But either way, I know that I did my due diligence. I recognize that my careful and calculated approach gave me agency over the decision. And I understand that I eliminated much of the variability of outcomes.

This approach is not for everyone. It takes a lot of energy and willpower. And that probably explains why I’m continually in thought, and able to carefully observe the details of my surroundings.

Yet, this is the way I’m wired. And now that I recognize it, I must admit that I’m quite comfortable with it.

In fact, I can’t see myself approaching life any other way.

Still, I know that others approach their daily lives quite differently. And that the world is better for this diversity of thought, this balance of cognitive approach.

The key is for us all to recognize our patterns. To see which ingredients we bring to the table, and then use them to build and innovate.

So, let’s start that process — with a question.

How are you wired?

Your answer could make all the difference.