On July 20, 1969, a nation watched with awe as three astronauts planted an American flag on the surface of the moon.
A month later, residents of the North Side of Chicago probably still felt like they were on the moon.
The temperate Midwest summer was still in full swing. The ivy on the brick outfield walls of Wrigley Field was lush and green. And the team playing in that venerable ballpark was having its best season in decades.
The Chicago Cubs had already won 75 games by mid-August, and the team held a 9-game lead in the division standings. The Cubs hadn’t played in the postseason in 24 years, and the team hadn’t won a World Series championship in 61 seasons. But it sure looked like the days of ineptitude were over.
They weren’t.
As August turned to September, the Chicago Cubs hit the skids. The team was suddenly losing games at an alarming rate, while the second-place New York Mets were stringing together wins.
When the two squads faced off in New York, a stray black cat ominously ran in front of the Chicago dugout. The Cubs would lose both games to the Mets and cede the top spot in the division soon after that.
The Mets would go on to win the division by 8 games, before rolling through the postseason and claiming a World Series championship. The Cubs would become a punchline.
1969 was well before my time. Still, I remain captivated by that season. My mother — a lifelong Mets fan — has said that year is what sparked her love of baseball. And the black cat incident remains an iconic moment in the sport decades later.
Still, I wonder if the 1969 Chicago Cubs deserved better than ridicule. Even with the late-season swoon, Chicago finished with a 92-70 record — by far the franchise’s best in what would ultimately become a 38-year postseason drought.
In subsequent years, 11 teams have gone on to claim World Series championships with fewer regular season wins than the 1969 Cubs. 6 more with identical records to that team have claimed titles.
But ultimately, that matters little. The Cubs failed to finish the job. And that’s how they’ll continue to be remembered.
Mama didn’t raise no quitter.
I’ve told myself this line time and again when I’ve found myself at a crossroads.
It’s not factually accurate. My mother might not have quit rooting for the New York Mets, but she’s stepped away from several ventures in her life. She also encouraged my father to leave a dead-end career for a better opportunity. And she was fully supportive of me during my youth when I stopped playing the violin or walked away from the cross-country team.
Still, the adage has resonated with me in adulthood. I’ve seen how our society treats those who don’t see a job through. And I don’t want to become one of those cautionary footnotes.
So, I’ve rarely quit at anything. And when I have, it’s come with a giant asterisk.
When I considered leaving the news media, I waited until my employment contract expired to do so. Since I was switching careers, I wasn’t beholden to that contract end date. But it provided the cleanest way to make a break.
When I gave up alcohol some years back, I didn’t consider sobriety to be quitting. Instead, I’ve treated abstinence as its own mission — one I must not ever stray from.
And even when I’ve dropped out of marathons due to injuries, it was on doctor’s orders. It took outside intervention to keep me from running through the pain.
Yes, I’ve remained steadfast in my commitment to finish the job. To be the 1969 New York Mets, and not the 1969 Chicago Cubs.
Yet, I’ve failed to consider the cost of this edict I’ve foisted upon myself.
You see, I’ve generally attributed finishing the job to consistency. If I show up day after day and give my all, I will achieve what I set out to achieve.
This is not a novel concept. It’s practically gospel in the worlds of sport and project management.
But this idea is fatally flawed.
Indeed, not much is consistent in the world around us. And the longer the timeline of an initiative, the more likely it is that we’ll face a curveball on our quest. A curveball that can’t simply be swatted away with the tenet of consistency.
This leaves us with a choice. Do we stay true to our approach, despite diminishing returns? Or do we become who we need to be to get the job done?
The answer is not as straightforward as it seems.
The Godfather is an American classic.
Both Mario Puzo’s novel and Francis Ford Coppola’s film adaptation represent storytelling at its finest.
Many consider The Godfather to be a Mafia tale. But I see something else.
In my view, The Godfather is an allegory for the challenges of finishing the job.
Consider the story structure.
Don Vito Corleone prepares his youngest son Michael for a future in the U.S. Congress, as his Mafia outfit seeks to go legitimate. But Michael leaves college to join the military in World War II. And upon his return, he draws a line between the Corleone family and himself.
The family is tough-minded, principled, and often violent. By contrast, Michael shows himself to be sophisticated, calculated, and thoughtful.
But a series of events eventually weaken the Corleone family. And Michael doubles down on Vito’s original vision of making the outfit legitimate.
This requires Michael to become ruthless and domineering while finishing the job. The metamorphosis of his character carries a heavy toll.
Time and again, Michael’s temper comes to the fore. Paranoia over potential mutinies leads Michael to cut himself off from lower-level associates. And his demeanor causes his marriage to crumble.
Yes, Michael Corleone chose both paths of the Finishing the Job Conundrum in succession. First, he walked away from the Corleone outfit so he could serve his country. Then he re-entered the fold and committed himself to finishing the job he’d previously abandoned.
That second path brought Michael Corleone the trappings of success. But he was undoubtedly happier following the first one.
I’ve been thinking about this more often, as I consider finishing the job on complex initiatives. Is following the principle worth the personal price? Perhaps not.
Mama didn’t raise no quitter. But maybe I should take a step back anyway.
When I was in high school, my family took a trip to Spain.
One of our many stops was the Sagrada Familia Basilica in Barcelona.
My parents and sister were awestruck by the ornate structure with its architectural flair. But I was preoccupied with something else.
Namely, the cranes and scaffolding hovering over the site.
The Sagrada Familia, you see, was still under construction. The groundbreaking had taken place more than a century prior, and the completion was nowhere in sight.
I wondered out loud why we were giving a construction site the time of day. My father bristled, explaining that I was looking at the site all wrong.
Sure, the Sagrada Familia was still a work in progress. But the work that had been done — all the finished accents illuminated by the Catalan sunshine — was still worth noting. It earned architect Antoni Gaudi acclaim in his lifetime. And it continued to add to his legend in the many decades since his passing.
Someday, my father explained, the Basilica would be completed. The world would marvel then at the realization of Gaudi’s vision.
But even now, there was much to celebrate. What had been done was far from nothing.
There was a profound lesson in my father’s words. One I could do a better job of heeding. One we all can.
Perhaps we shouldn’t put as much stock into finishing the job. In bringing the initiatives we’re involved in across the finish line at all costs.
For those costs could accelerate throughout the journey. And much like Michael Corleone, we could lose ourselves in a quest for what is ultimately an abstract principle.
Perhaps it’s better to take a step back sometimes and pass the torch.
We might not get feted for our early-stage accomplishments, as Gaudi has been. But we’ll still know the value of our contribution. And we won’t compromise our sense of self.
That means something. But only if we let it.
So, let’s draw a line in the sand. Let’s demonstrate that something matters more than finishing the job.
That something is us.