Tag: approach

The Right Track

We were in a pickle.

A debrief spouted out the dire news in slide after slide. Flagging sales. Frustrated customers. Poor product adoption.

A sense of exasperation filled the virtual meeting. I could sense steam rising from the foreheads of my colleagues, arrayed in small squares on my computer screen.

Everyone seemed perplexed as to why the status quo wasn’t working. But no one was willing to offer an alternative.

So, I did.

I recommended a new approach. One wholly focused on the most basic business concerns of our customers, and how our company – rather than its offerings – could help solve them.

There would be little mention of the details. We would hold product-specific specs in reserve until the customer requested them. We would deprioritize concerns about onboarding or data integrations when crafting our messaging.

Those were important issues, no doubt. But our company wouldn’t have the privilege of addressing them if the customers didn’t see the need for our services. And, in that regard, this broader messaging might cast a wider net.

Several people seemed uneasy with this suggestion. I could see them squirm a bit and glare at their webcams.

But no one outright told me no. So, I put my plan into action.

This didn’t quite work the way I hoped. And I found myself supporting a different business segment as a result.

It was a humbling experience. But I wasn’t disheartened.

For the essence of my original suggestions found new life with a new regime and a few refinements. And as I watched the relaunch from across the business, Version 2.0 started gaining momentum.

The business segment was no longer stuck in the mud. It was slowly, steadily making progress.

I might not have had the right answer. But I was on the right track.

I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.

This is perhaps the most famous quote from America’s most lauded inventor – Thomas Edison.

We can thank Edison for many modern staples, including video cameras, audio recording equipment, and – of course – the light bulb. But there were plenty of potential innovations that went bust in his lab as well.

Those duds might seem like footnotes. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

If Edison hasn’t experienced those failings, he likely wouldn’t have found such wild success. He would have gotten gun-shy, or proven unwilling to tinker and iterate.

Yes, even if he didn’t have the right answer, Edison was willing to explore the right track to find it. He didn’t let the twists and turns of that track distract him from the mission.

This spirit is sorely lacking today.

All too often, we aim to have the right answer before we open our mouths or lift our hands. We hesitate to make our move unless we have absolute certainty of success.

In a sense, this is understandable. No one wants to look foolish. And we strive not to be the person before the person behind the breakthrough, as I was.

But the right answer rarely grows on trees. Sometimes, it’s a Google search away. But most times it must be cultivated.

Committing to the right track gets us there, even if it doesn’t promise an immediate payoff. And the more we absolve ourselves of that dirty work, the fewer right answers we uncover.

Our knowledge base gets smaller. All while problems get bigger.

It’s a recipe for disaster.

We often say that Thomas Edison’s inventions changed the world.

They did. But not quite in the way we might think.

Take the light bulb. The filament encased in glass was a vast improvement over candles and gas lamps. It posed less of a fire hazard than those traditional lighting methods. And it could be turned on and off at will.

But it couldn’t become ubiquitous outside Edison’s lab without another innovation. Namely, a system to generate electricity and ferry it to the bulbs.

Edison turned his attention to building this system. And within a few years, his Direct Current (DC) utility system had been installed in multiple cities.

It was a crowning achievement for Edison. A paradigm shifting solution.

Or so he thought.

You see, DC wiring helped illuminate Edison’s perfect replacement for candles and gas lamps. But the DC system itself was far from perfect.

Its equipment was bulky and inefficient. And the required voltages proved devastatingly dangerous for anyone caught in the electric current.

A new solution – Alternative Current (AC) utilities – had none of these concerns. It was more adaptable than the DC system, and it didn’t require as high a voltage throughout the distribution chain.

The pioneers of the AC power distribution system in the United States were George Westinghouse and Nikola Tesla. Westinghouse was a rival to Edison, while Tesla was a former Edison employee.

Predictably, Edison fought relentlessly against the AC standard. The ensuing showdown for utility standard adoption because known as The War of the Currents. And it was riveting for a time.

But ultimately, AC power won out. It was more modern, more cost-efficient, and safer than DC power. It checked all the boxes to become the de-facto standard.

Edison was undoubtedly stung by this setback. He had sought to tie his legacy to his power generation exploits. But instead, he found it confined to the light bulb.

But Edison’s failure was not one of innovation. Rather, it was one of framing.

Edison was on the right track with the DC power system. It established the infrastructure that AC power could iterate upon.

But by declaring the right track to be the right answer, Edison closed the book prematurely. He limited his horizons, he capped his knowledge, and he abandoned his pursuit of the problem.

It was a costly mistake.

Which Edison do we want to be?

We all face this dilemma, no matter our level of innovativeness.

Do we want to be the tinkerer, the iterator who finds a yes through 10,000 nos? Or the authority who stands in front of yes like a stone wall.

That first option doesn’t sound too appealing. It requires patience and persistence, and it brings you face-to-face with rejection.

But make no mistake. The costs of the second option are far starker.

Yes, clinging to the right answer at all costs is a fool’s errand. One that can send us down the wrong path or keep us from pursuing the right one.

So, let’s change course.

Let’s open our minds. Let’s tap into our reservoirs of courage. And let’s commit to getting on the right track.

We won’t regret it.

Having It All

I sat at my desk, struggling to stay awake.

It was just past lunchtime. The early morning adrenaline had worn off. The food I’d consumed had yet to digest.

My eyelids felt heavy, and I was tempted to let them fall. But I couldn’t.

For I was on the clock. There was work to be done and meetings to attend. A snooze wasn’t in the cards.

I thought back – way back – to my days in Pre-K. Right around this time of day, the teachers would set up mats on the ground. I’d lie on a mat until a wave of drowsiness came over me. Then I’d descend into a peaceful slumber.

I really had it all back then, I thought.

But that statement was nothing more than a delusion.

In the late 1980s, audiences went wild for a movie called Big.

In the film, a 12-year-old named Josh ambles up to a fortune teller machine at an amusement park. Josh makes a solitary wish. He asks the machine if he could be big.

Josh wakes up the next day appearing like an adult, even though he is still a boy. This disconnect leads to a series of adventures tailor-made for Hollywood.

Many people consider Big to be an iconic movie. And I am one of them.

Although though I first encountered the film years after its release, I still found it resonant. Particularly the scene with the fortune teller machine.

You see, I remembered a similar moment in my own childhood. Only mine didn’t appear at an amusement park. It came during naptime.

Yes, each day, as I lay down on a mat in my Pre-K classroom, I had but one thought.

I can’t wait until I don’t have to do this anymore.

I was through with being patronized.

I wanted to ride in the passenger seat of the car. I wanted to be able to drink a beer. I wanted to be able to sit on the back patio, talking with houseguests late into the evening.

These were all things I saw my parents do. But I they were off limits to me.

I was stuck in the car seat buckled into the back row. I was stuck drinking Coca-Cola – if my parents let me have a soda at all. I was stuck with that 8 PM bedtime.

And I was separated from my parents for most hours of the day. Sequestered in a Pre-K classroom, with a mandatory afternoon nap.

I knew deep down that this arrangement wasn’t eternal. Someday, it would all be different.

But I was sick of waiting for someday to come. So, each afternoon, I spent naptime longing for my future.

Yes, my wish was the same as Josh’s in Big. But the results were far less instantaneous.

My mind was still deep in my past when my head bumped softly against the desk. Despite my best efforts, the urge to nap was winning.

I felt a stiffness in my neck and a strain in my lower back. I couldn’t even rest these days without risking injury.

My desire to pile into Doc Brown’s DeLorean was never stronger. I wanted to go back in time and shake my 4-year-old self into submission.

You fool! Stop complaining! Some of us would dream of being you!

But that would be disingenuous.

Truth be told, some of what the younger me yearned for was worth the wait. Finding my way to the passenger seat of the car was enthralling during my pre-teen and early adolescent years. Staying up late and drinking beer were exhilarating during my first years on my own in the real world. (Although I kicked both habits not long after that.)

And adulthood, for all its flaws, has proven to be a worthwhile destination. I cherish the freedom and control I now possess. It’s everything a young boy dreamed of, and more.

So why was I now yearning to go backward with the same fervor that my earlier self yearned to go forward? Did I miss the turn for utopia somewhere between then and now? Or was that destination never even on the map?

The second explanation seems more likely.

I never really had it all. Not in the way I imagined.

How could I?

I’ve been in flux for all my decades on this earth. My body has evolved. My mind has expanded. My priorities have shifted.

The world has also shifted over time. Trends have come and gone. Opportunities have opened and closed. Possibilities have appeared and vanished.

To have it all, I’d need to hit a moving target – all while I was myself in motion. That would be a tough feat to manage, let alone sustain.

I need to give myself some more grace for missing the mark. More than that, I should be grateful for such an outcome.

So must we all.

In 2005, Tom Brady sat down for an interview on 60 Minutes.

Brady had a lot going for him at the time. He was in his late 20s, he was dating a Hollywood actress, and he had already won three Super Bowl championships as the New England Patriots quarterback.

Some would say that Tom Brady had it all. But he wasn’t saying that.

When the interviewer asked which championship ring was his favorite, Brady calmly stated The next one.

Yes, despite all his accomplishments, Tom Brady was on a mission. A mission to get more out of himself and his team. A mission to expand his excellence.

The results of that mission are now legendary. Brady played 18 more seasons after that interview. He broke the National Football League’s all-time passing yards record. He won the league’s Most Valuable Player award three times. And he appeared in seven more Super Bowls, winning four of them.

If Brady had stopped and smelled the roses, would he have become the greatest American football player of all time? Maybe. But I doubt it.

That continual quest for the missing piece was what made Tom Brady Tom Brady. It gave him the motivation and discipline to doggedly pursue excellence – even as he started to line up against defenders half his age.

Brady refused to let time or circumstance define him. He was the one taking control of the narrative.

It’s a lesson we’d all be wise to follow.

For while might not spend our days evading 250-pound linebackers, we will undoubtedly contend with the disruptive forces of life. What it gives us and what it takes from us along our journey.

If we try to solely corral what’s been given to us, we’re condemned to disappointment. We’re bound to be bitter about the sins of our past, the barrenness of our present, or the hopelessness of tomorrow. Maybe even all three.

But if we stop searching for utopia – if we let go of the illusion of having it all – we just might make the most of the duality in our midst. We just might roll with the punches and bring continual improvement to our lives – no matter the circumstances.

This is a path worth following. This is a destination worth pursuing. It’s on us to take the first step.

We never had it all. And thank God for that.

Earn It

The sun was barely up and the coffee was piping hot.

Yet, there was palpable excitement throughout the office.

For it was Friday.

And not just any Friday. A short-week Friday.

There had been a holiday earlier in the week. We had barely gotten back to work. And yet, there were already two more days off on the horizon.

As the day wore on, more and more of the office slid into full-fledged Friday mode. Fewer and fewer items on to-do lists got completed. More and more sidebar conversations popped up at various cubicles.

It seemed like everyone’s focus was on the impending weekend.

But mine was not.

As my co-workers ran down the clock, I was racing against it.

There was so much to do. And there wasn’t enough time.

I did my best to tune out the distractions around me. I locked eyes with my computer screen. And I started crossing items off my to-do list.

It was slow going at first. But soon, I picked up momentum.

I was getting to more tasks in a shorter amount of time. The to-do list was getting shorter.

But it wasn’t enough. As the workday wound down, I was still behind the 8-ball. Some items on my list would have to get pushed to next week.

I got in my SUV and headed home, where two days of freedom awaited me.

But I didn’t feel triumphant. I felt like I had failed.

There are several theories about the balance between our lives at work and our lives outside of it.

Parkinson’s Law states that work expands to fit the time available for its completion. Many scientific studies have shown that vacations are good for our health. And there is even a growing consensus that working longer hours hurts our productivity.

These revelations have changed the way work is done. Many companies now offer flexible work schedules, generous vacation policies, and the ability for employees to work from home.

Now, some are pushing the boundary even further. Some experts in recent years have been calling for the 8 hour workday to be cut to 6 hours. And the Prime Minister of Finland has floated the idea of moving to a four day work week.

On the surface, I have no qualms with the idea of vacations or 4 day work weeks. After all, I once set my college class schedule specifically so I could have three day weekends.

But there’s another side to reduced work schedules. A darker side.

For while an abbreviated work schedule gives us more time to enjoy life outside of the office, it also leaves us with less time to get things done within it. And that can cause problems.

There are two ways to approach time off.

One is as a gift. As something bestowed upon us with no strings attached.

The other is as a reward. As something achieved in exchange for our hard work.

These days, many of us take the first approach. We expect time off to be generous and unconditional. And we indulge in opportunities to get away from the grinding demands of the professional world.

We live for the weekends and holidays. We curse Mondays and approach Fridays with a sense of righteous vindication.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with taking this route. It’s natural — even expected — in a world where the traditional workplace norms are getting unshackled, one by one.

But I don’t follow the crowd here. Instead I go for the second approach.

For I believe in the grind. I believe in rolling up my sleeves and getting to it.

Most of all, I believe that to get a break, I need to earn it.

Now, there are upsides and downsides to this approach.

On the plus side, I’m able to keep a steady course. I don’t get crushed by the Monday Blues, and I rarely find myself flying high on Fridays. There is only the next task. The next day. The next opportunity to get after it.

But on the minus side, I get flustered when I get off-schedule. So short weeks and missed deadlines each eat at me.

When the routine suddenly shifts, I find myself without direction. And I feel unworthy of the freedom bestowed upon me. For I haven’t earned it.

Why on earth would I subject myself to this torture?

In a world where instant gratification has never been more plentiful, why would I shun it in favor of monotony?

The answer is equal parts self-control and self-awareness.

As avid Words of the West readers know, I’m a bit obsessed with control.

I crave it. I depend on it.

Yet, I often have doubts on my abilities. And these doubts undercut my sense of control.

This paradox used to paralyze me. I was a ship in irons, caught between the warm trade winds of ambition and the frigid gales of doubt.

It got so bad that by the middle of my high school years, I had checked out. I would sleepwalk through classes, come home and blankly watch whatever sports game was on television.

I was a mess. My grades were slipping. And my misery was rising.

My mother saw all this. And she was not happy.

One day, in a fit of seething exasperation, she called me lazy. Not once, but multiple times.

I could have shrugged this off, the way I shrugged off everything else at that time. But something in those stinging words lit a fire under me.

I didn’t like being called lazy. And I wanted make sure that wouldn’t happen ever again.

So, I made a pact with myself. I conceded that others might have more talent than I did, but I swore that no one would outwork me.

This helped me break the ice of my self-doubt and regain control of my destiny. And it’s continued to provide me direction to this day.

Yes, the Earn It approach is not just habit. It’s my guiding principle.

There’s no need to evangelize the Earn It approach. For it’s not for everyone.

Still, it’s important that we understand the merits of this mindset. It’s important that we recognize the value of hard work and determination.

These principles might not be flashy. But they provide a steadfast certainty in an ever-changing world. And they can yield an unparalleled sense of satisfaction — the satisfaction of a job well done.

So, while we count our blessings and indulge in ever more abundant leisure opportunities, we should remember one thing.

Some of the best things in life are not given. They’re earned.

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.

Acting With Intention

What are your intentions?

We don’t often hear these words. But when we do, it’s safe to assume there’s a healthy bit of skepticism associated with them.

The mission is unclear — or perhaps unwanted — for the person asking the question. It’s on us to open the curtain and show what we’re really up to.

This cat-and-mouse game makes intentionality a taboo subject. Declaring our intentions outright sets us past the Point of No Return, where we must own our choices and their consequences outright. With this in mind, we prefer to keep our cards close to the vest whenever possible.

It seems like the safe play. But illusions can be deceiving.

You see, hiding our intentions is a lot like hedging our bets. It leads us to cede control in order to avoid responsibility.

When we’re not held accountable for our every action, we feel secure. We can go through our daily routines carefree — as if we’re floating on the clouds. All the while oblivious to how vulnerable we actually are.

For as peaceful as things might look in this scenario, we’re bound to encounter some turbulent moments in our lives. There will be some times where things just aren’t going our way.

When we come across these moments, it doesn’t really matter who or what’s to blame. Our sudden misfortune wipes the smile from our face and puts us in a bad mood instantly.

It turns out all the work we’ve done to avoid ownership of the situation doesn’t actually help us feel better at all when things go south. If anything, it makes us feel weak and helpless.

This is why it’s far better to act with intention whenever possible. To determine our purpose and then deliver on it with everything we do.

This is far from a simple process. After all, intentionality requires a continual commitment between the ears. A laser focus on purpose throughout the dozens of tasks we take on each day.

And this is far from a flawless process. Things will still go awry from time to time. And when they do, we will have to take a long look into the mirror to determine why.

But all that said, this is a critical process. For it gives us the power to better write our narrative. To go after what we seek, instead of waiting for it to be handed to us. To control many of the variables in our daily lives, and better react to those which we can’t control.

Yes, intentionality is a key concept in life. And one that can serve as a huge differentiator.

So, let’s go ahead and find that vigor for what lies ahead of us. Let’s embrace it with a renewed sense of purpose, and a laser-sharp sense of focus.

Let’s act with intention.