Tag: consistency

400

Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.

Lou Gehrig uttered those words into a microphone on July 4, 1939.

The New York Yankees captain wasn’t reveling in his title. He’d last played an inning of baseball more than two months prior.

Nor was he expressing his patriotism. Gehrig was an embodiment of the American dream,

but that’s not what this day was about.

Gehrig, you see, was retiring. Forced out of the game by a debilitating disease, he was saying goodbye to an adoring Yankee Stadium crowd.

Such a ceremony was unheard of in those days. But so was Gehrig.

Yes, before his disease chased him from baseball, Gehrig had played in 2,130 consecutive games. For the better part of 14 years, he took the field every single day — earning himself the nickname of The Iron Horse.

That might not sound like much at first. But think about how many times you’ve called in sick or taken a vacation day. Gehrig never did, until his deteriorating body forced his hand.

It was a remarkable achievement. One that has only been surpassed by one baseball player — Cal Ripken, Jr. – in the near-century since. And one that might never be surpassed again.

They just don’t make ‘em like The Iron Horse anymore.

Consistency is hard to do.

What are the consistent traits of your life?

Eating? Sleeping? Walking around?

These seem like natural answers. But I know there are days and nights when I haven’t done one or more of these things.

This is not meant to glorify the all-nighter or the all-day fast. It’s more to highlight that doing anything consistently is hard.

This context makes Gehrig and Ripken’s feats even more notable. They fought through the inevitable speed bumps to get the improbable done.

Doing what so many cannot helped to make these baseball stars incomparable. Both Gehrig and Ripken are enshrined in the Baseball Hall of Fame.

But consistency did not bestow superhuman powers upon them. Ripken’s performance on the field declined somewhat in the late years of his streak. The disease that forced Gehrig out of the lineup ultimately claimed his life.

Yes, consistency is firmly within the grasp of humanity. We all have the ability to do the improbable.

And you’re reading one such example.

This is article 400 of Words of the West.

For 400 consecutive weeks, I’ve shared a fresh thought, opinion, or reflection with you, dear reader. That’s every week, without fail, for almost eight years.

Some of these articles were deep and personal. Some were more banal. Some were a tad preachy.

But no matter the tenor of the content, one new article has appeared here each week for 400 consecutive weeks.

Now, at first glance, this shouldn’t be noteworthy. After all, the first rule of any publication is Find a schedule and stick to it.

I heeded this edict, committing to sharing weekly musings before I ever hit Publish. But if we’re being honest, I never thought I’d be able to keep the streak alive this long.

How could I?

Think of other markers of longevity.

American football teams play between 10 and 17 weekly games as part of their regular slates. International football — or soccer — teams play 34 to 38 matches each year. Television series generally contain 22 new episodes a season.

And all of them have off weeks built into the schedule.

Yes, when exercising our abilities — of mind, body, and soul — there is a limit to our continued exertion. We need a break from our routine now and then. So much so, that it’s often mandated.

Even Gehrig and Ripken had a respite from the grind. While both donned a uniform and took the field every day throughout the summer heat, they had the winters off to recharge.

Year-round consistency is within the realm of human possibility. But it’s harder to find.

And year-over-year consistency? Rarer still.

Indeed, there are relatively few examples of people taking on feats like this without interruption or assistance. Marketing guru Seth Godin has famously added a new blog post each day for more than a decade. Some runners have taken to the streets each day for years.

But those are the exceptions to the rule. And in a way, what I’m doing here is an exception too.

You see, just about everything in my life has changed since I first hit Publish on Words of the West.

Where I live. What I do. How I interact with others. How I critique myself.

Both through circumstance and through choice, I’ve had to break with so many routines throughout this time. I’ve had to sacrifice sacred cows, lean into the unknown, and embrace novelty.

Yet through it all, the weekly articles here have remained a constant. The one steady rock amidst shifting seas.

It’s kept me grounded. It’s kept me honest.

And I thank God for that.

Ripken and Gehrig ended their streaks on their own accord.

Each man walked into the manager’s office and asked for a day off.

Circumstances were different. Eras were different. But the final act was the same.

What will be the final act of this streak? When will the stream of articles cease?

I don’t profess to know. And I don’t want to find out anytime soon.

When looking ahead, the only constant is uncertainty.

Years ago, when I started this publication, I would never have dreamed that my life would be as it now is. I would never have imagined that my writing would become what it has.

The void ahead of me was vast. And I knew better than to peer into its infinite depth.

I feel the same way today.

Yes, I have hopes and dreams for the future. But I harbor no illusions of manifesting them into reality. Much remains beyond my control.

What I can do is keep plugging away. Keep writing and publishing. One article at a time.

And that’s what I will continue to do. Until I can’t — or won’t.

So, let’s not focus on the destination. Let’s cherish the journey.

Thanks for coming along for the ride.

Consistency of Excellence

Pepsi Center. Denver, Colorado. March 2015.

The lights went down, and the audience buzzed with anticipation.

Spotlights aimed their beams at the haze, just as Garth Brooks emerged from it. The crowd roared.

From high in the upper level of the arena, I felt the energy pulsate through the Rocky Mountain air. Garth went through his many hits with clinical precision, and the audience ate it up.

It felt electric throughout the two hours Garth was on stage. And yet, it didn’t seem all that personal.

Sure, the crowd roared when he crooned I gotta ride in Denver tomorrow night. But that wasn’t a nod to his surroundings. It was a standard lyric that just so happened to coincide with where we all were. Garth would have sung it the same way in Detroit or Des Moines.

After the last song — and the encore — I marveled at how this performer could make something so boilerplate seem so special.

That’s when my friend reminded me that Garth had another show coming up at 10:30 that evening. He would be going through this whole routine again — with only an hour or so to recharge.

I wondered what that late show would be like. Would the audience get the same experience?

I didn’t have to muse about this for long. Other friends went to Garth’s 10:30 PM show in Dallas a few months later, and they told me he went through his set with the same energy I’d experienced at the early show in Denver.

Hearing this, I was in awe. How did Garth Brooks maintain this consistency of excellence, time after time?

Was he even human?

I try and be like Garth Brooks.

No, I don’t don a cowboy hat and sing my heart out to adoring fans night after night. But I do attempt to maintain my own consistency of excellence.

For me, this means precision regarding when I wake up, and what I do with those waking hours. It means intentionality regarding the food I put into my mouth and the language that comes out of it. It means upholding the highest standards of professionalism, whether I’m at work or off the clock.

And yet, despite my best efforts, this doesn’t always happen.

There are some days when I’m not feeling it. There are some times when I don’t have the energy or precision to act according to my standards. There are some moments when I fall short.

I wish I could say this happens rarely. But it occurs far more often than that. Once or twice a month, at minimum.

When it does, I’m ashamed of myself. I feel obligated to apologize to everyone around me. And I loathe the expression of my own humanity.

I marvel ever more at Cousin Garth, as he proves that our surname is our only commonality. (No, we are not actually related.)

I simply cannot match his consistency of excellence.

But perhaps, in these cycles of self-loathing, I should have been turning my reverence toward someone even more regal.

Not long before I sat down to write this article, the world lost a monumental figure.

Queen Elizabeth II of England passed away at the age of 96.

The Queen held dominion over the United Kingdom for 70 years — a national record. And while she didn’t control the government or the military, Her Majesty had plenty of responsibilities over those seven decades.

These responsibilities included a litany of public appearances around the globe, all governed by longstanding rules of regal decorum.

There was no respite for this activity. There was no off-season.

And with the 24/7 news cycle gaining steam during the queen’s reign, there was increasingly nowhere to hide. A series of scandals that enveloped the Royal Family made that abundantly clear.

Yet, Queen Elizabeth II was able to stay above the fray. By all accounts, she performed her duties with the utmost professionalism.

The only hint of a blemish on the queen’s record was her handling of the aftermath of the untimely death of Princess Diana, her former daughter-in-law.

The queen followed the playbook of decorum, at a time when a grieving kingdom yearned to see her humanity. Ultimately, she acquiesced, delivering a poignant address.

Queen Elizabeth II’s commitment to continual professionalism is even more striking when you realize that her role was preordained.

Garth Brooks might have chosen the life of a performer. And in doing so, he accepted the consistency of excellence that such a role demands.

Queen Elizabeth II never had such a choice. And she rose to the occasion anyway.

Indeed, two days before her passing, the queen performed one of her most important duties. She met with the premier appointee for the UK’s parliament, officially appointing her as Prime Minister.

Although she was not at full strength, Queen Elizabeth posed for a couple of photos, smiling radiantly in both.

To the end, the queen maintained a consistency of excellence.

Her aptitude should serve as a beacon.

Principles are critical in life.

They keep us centered, steadying us through the rough seas of our day-to-day adventures.

We have the freedom to choose our own principles. And mine are distinct.

Be present. Be informed. Be better.

The first two are clearly defined, forged through concrete actions and commitments. But the third one can seem ambiguous.

How does one go about bettering themselves? And what does better even mean?

Adhering to this principle can feel like a hopeless task. It can seem like boiling the ocean or corralling the wind.

Yet, being better is certainly attainable. Garth Brooks and Queen Elizabeth II prove this point clearly.

It won’t be easy. It will take all our focus. And it will require us to remain poised, even when we’re not at our best.

But it’s a quest we can strive for. One that we should strive for.

So, let’s cast away the excuses. Let’s double down on the fundamentals. And let’s seek a consistency of excellence at every turn.

Those watching our moves will be better for it. And so will we.

Everything’s Changed

They put up a plant where we used to park. That old drive-in’s a new Walmart.

So go a few lines from Everything’s Changed by Lonestar. A 90’s country song about how love endures, even as a town transforms.

For years, this song seemed ubiquitous to many others from that genre and era. Catchy, comfortable, and shallow.

But such descriptors are hardly adequate these days.

After all the disruptions of recent years, it’s hard not to relate Everything’s Changed to the world we live in. With so much transformation around us, we strain to find the reference markers that haven’t changed.

Those through lines are key to our identity. They prove that while we might evolve, our core remains consistent.

Such a rationale might seem sensible. But is it wise?

An ancient Greek parable — the Ship of Theseus — dives to the heart of this dilemma.

In the parable, Theseus’ ship sets off to sea with an original set of parts and a crew. Upon its return to port, none of the vessel’s parts are the same. The crew has meticulously rebuilt the ship, piece by piece, while at sea.

The question posed from this scenario: Has Theseus returned on the same ship he embarked on?

It’s an open debate. One that has enraptured philosophers for centuries.

But if you asked a bunch of people on the street, most would likely say Theseus was not on the same ship.

Our behavior dictates this response. Time and again, we long for connections to the past. We scratch and claw for any through lines that can persevere through the winds of change.

Such adherence to consistency has some benefits, driving an air of nostalgia and boosting our reliability. But they can also make us stubbornly rigid, ill-equipped for the encroaching tsunami of change.

I know this feeling as much as anyone. As a control enthusiast, routine and familiarity are my friends. I’ve historically struggled to lean into change. And even when I did make a shift, I struggled to reconcile it with my sense of identity.

I couldn’t be Theseus’ ship. A wholesale swap would not — could not — jibe with my narrative.

But now, everything’s changed.

Several years ago, I met my father at a baggage claim carousel in the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport.

We were meeting in the Twin Cities to embark on a road trip across the Upper Midwest. Along the way, we’d go to two Major League Baseball games — one in Minneapolis and another in Milwaukee.

We would meet up for trips like these occasionally, as I worked toward my now-completed goal of watching a baseball game in all 30 Major League stadiums. It was a great way to see the country and spend some time with my father, who lived halfway across the country.

Minnesota was in a heatwave when we arrived, and the steamy weather cut our sightseeing time short. But I was intrigued by the Twin Cities and vowed to return.

I was less impressed with Milwaukee. The city seemed sleepy and oddly arranged. The baseball stadium felt dull and cavernous. And even the lakefront seemed to pale in comparison with Chicago’s, 90 miles down shore.

We were in Milwaukee for less than 24 hours on that trip. But I was excited to get out of there and figured I wouldn’t come back.

Boy was I wrong.

As fate would have it, my best friend from high school got engaged to a Wisconsin native a few years later. The wedding took place at the Milwaukee Art Museum, and I found myself back in town. Wandering down the Milwaukee River Walk, through the Third Ward and across Walker’s Point in my spare time, I noticed the charm of the Cream City.

I realized that my initial snap judgment of Milwaukee was off base, and I regretted my error. Still, as I boarded my flight back to Texas, I once again thought it was a one-way trip.

My life and my job were in the Dallas area. And as far as I saw it, they would continue to be for years to come.

But then, the ground under my feet shifted.

The COVID-19 pandemic hit a couple years later, redefining the boundaries around me.

As my world shrank to the contours of a computer screen, it ironically expanded my horizons well beyond North Texas. The contours of physical presence evaporated as the virtual world went mainstream.

Several months into this new scenario, I was hit with another bombshell. My employer was acquired by a larger company — one that was based in Milwaukee. I landed a job on the parent company’s marketing team — a role that would represent a step up in my career trajectory.

And yet, as I prepared to begin my new role, I was whallopped with an identity crisis. I had built my professional existence as a Texan, working alongside members of my community. Now, I would be working with colleagues hundreds of miles away — many of whom lived in a region I was lukewarm toward.

I had two choices. I could withdraw, diving fully into my work and hiding behind my computer screen. Or I could lean in.

I chose the second approach, making a concerted effort to learn more about my colleagues and nuances of Wisconsin culture. And whenever I had an opportunity to make the trek north to Milwaukee for an onsite, I jumped at it.

Through the process, I made friends and earned the respect of my team. And I also grew fonder of the city so many of them called home.

I’ve fully accepted this shift for what it is. An unabashed about-face.

For regardless of the twists and turns along the way, I’m here now. Just like Theseus, I’ve made it back to shore. And unlike that Lonestar song, I’m not looking backward.

I’m fulfilled. I’m happy. And I could give a darn if such blessings align with my prior narratives.

We can all be a bit more like Theseus.

Instead of holding on to rotten boards for posterity’s sake, we can tinker. We can replace, renew, and refresh.

We can dive into change where prudent, without holding back for self-permission. We can be bold, and we can be brave — all while retaining our sensibility.

This potential remains within arm’s length. But it’s our responsibility to reach out and grab it. To stop tethering ourselves to the past and to instead embrace our potential.

The choice is ours. What move will we make?

On Consistency

Baseball is a timeless sport.

Games are decided by the passage of innings, rather than the countdown of the clock. And a passion for the game is passed down through the generations.

Yes, much of baseball transcends eras. Including some of the names of the game’s greats.

Babe Ruth. Willie Mays. Nolan Ryan. Sandy Koufax. Ted Williams. And countless others.

Few would willingly put Eddie Guardado on that list. But perhaps they should reconsider.

The legends listed above are Hall of Famers – players known for their greatness. Yet, Guardado is also legendary, thanks to his reliability.

Over an eight-year span from 1996 through 2003, Guardado pitched in at least 60 games each season for the Minnesota Twins.

Appearing in more than a third of a team’s games, year after year, is a rarity for pitchers, whose arms can tire quickly. But Guardado bucked the trend, improving over his years of high workloads. Guardado went from being a middle reliever to Minnesota’s star closer, giving up fewer runs on average with each passing year and becoming a two-time All-Star in the process.

He didn’t throw the nastiest pitches or intimidate hitters with his presence on the mound. But for Everyday Eddie, consistency paid dividends.

The curious case of Eddie Guardado speaks volumes about our mismatched desires.

All too often, we focus on flash and pizazz. These attributes captivate our imagination and unleash our sense of wonder.

But what we really want is consistency. We crave the ability for things to remain the same, time after time.

Our desire for this is mostly visible in absentia. When we run across patches of volatility, we long for a sense of stability that is out of reach. Consistency, therefore, becomes a silent expectation – one that is falsely taken for granted.

To be fair, the field coaches and managers in Minnesota did not make this error with Guardado. They kept turning to him, game in and game out. As the years went on, they even elevated Guardado’s role, giving him the ball in the critical 9th inning of ball games.

But management was not on the same page. When Guardado’s contract expired, the Twins ownership wasn’t willing to pay a premium for a reliable homegrown hurler. Guardado moved on to the Seattle Mariners instead.

Everyday Eddie was integral to Minnesota’s success on the diamond. But his value was all too invisible when compared with a Twins starting pitcher with a wipeout slider or a batter who could hit the ball halfway to St. Paul.

Those guys had the Wow factor, even if their overall performance was uneven. And as a result, those guys were the ones who got paid.

I often think of Eddie Guardado as I go about my everyday life.

After all, one of my core attributes is consistency. I show up each day and give it my all.

I demand such an approach from myself. The thought of varying my effort agitates me so much that I just don’t try it.

But I get few rewards or accolades for my steadiness. At best, this attribute is ignored. At worst, it’s taken advantage of by others.

I sometimes wonder if I’m selling myself short. If I’m limiting my potential by giving others the qualities they deserve, but not the ones they’re clamoring for.

I could follow Guardado’s lead, and head to greener pastures where my reliability will be more readily rewarded. But that would require me to uproot and break with consistency in the service of a new normal.

Why should I be the one who must change? Why must I be punished with a crucible just for going about things the right way?

I can’t stomach that. So, my story has diverged from Guardado’s. I’ve stayed the course.

It’s a rugged path. But things might be turning around.

The past few years have been incredibly disruptive.

There was the onset of a global pandemic, followed by economic volatility, and supply chain failures.

All these issues impacted multiple industries. But few took as direct a hit as the airlines.

As the nation locked down in the early days of the pandemic, air travel dried up. When it rebounded, divisive arguments over safety protocols quickly grabbed headlines — all while the airlines struggled to bring back furloughed staff.

These issues have led to a breaking point, with many flights canceled due to inadequate staffing. With the costs of airline tickets skyrocketing and few empty seats to be found, these cancellations have become logistical nightmares for travelers.

This whole ordeal has exposed the airline industry. The major air carriers spent years hawking premium perks and charging passengers for the pleasure of enjoying them. But through it all, they seemed to forget about what consumers were looking for.

Air travel turned into a spectacle of pizazz, all while basic consistency disintegrated in the background. And when the veil on this stunt was lifted, airlines were left with a black eye.

But the brands with their logos on the airplanes weren’t the only ones to take a hit during this fiasco. What we value as travelers has also faced a reckoning.

While we once might have overlooked reliability as a factor we treasured, we no longer can. We’ve seen a world of travel without consistency, and we don’t like it one bit.

In an instant, we’ve gone from lauding Babe Ruth and Willie Mays to singing the praises of Eddie Guardado. We’ve made availability our most treasured ability.

This shift might seem subtle, but it’s a game-changer. One that the airlines can only ignore at their own peril.

But why stop with air travel? This shift toward consistency could revolutionize other industries we frequent as well. It could improve outcomes while enhancing our experience. It could be the answer we need.

We can start this movement. We have the collective might to shift our society away from flash and toward reliability.

But it’s on us to make that first move. To draw a line in the sand and make clear what we stand for.

It’s important work. Let’s get to it.

Flow States

I’m in the zone.

It’s a common line. A cliched line. One that’s been parodied to great effect.

We use this statement because we’re deeply familiar with it. We know what it’s like to be keyed in. We recognize just how special that feeling can be.

When everything clicks, time slows down. Distractions fade away. And productivity soars.

Psychologists call this sensation a flow state. And the rhythm it brings can be addictive.

We want it. We need it.

So, we chase flow down doggedly. And once we capture it, we try to hold onto it for as long as we can.

But all too often, this process is more fraught than roping the wind.

For more than six years, I’ve had a familiar routine.

Each week, I’ll draft and publish an article here on Words of the West. This has happened without fail.

There are plenty of other activities I’ve taken part in regularly during that time. Cooking. Running. Going to work.

But I’ve taken a weeklong vacation from work before. I’ve gone a week where I exclusively eaten out. I’ve even spent a week without hitting the pavement in my running shoes.

In a world where routines are so often broken, writing for this forum has been my only constant.

Maintaining this pattern of weekly articles has come with challenges. Finding topics hasn’t always been easy. The right words to share have often proved elusive.

But the biggest challenge has been harnessing a flow state when I write.

Sometimes, I’ll catch lightning in a bottle and draft an article in a single sitting. But generally, my writing process is a multi-day slog.

This article itself is a great example of this struggle. I’d planned on writing about flow states months ago. But despite my best efforts, I found myself lacking any sense of rhythm each week. So, I kept pushing the article back.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here I was trying to write about flow. And yet, flow was nowhere to be found.

This bothered me.

After all, how would anyone take me seriously if I couldn’t practice what I preached? I felt like a charlatan, an imposter.

But maybe, I was looking at this situation all wrong.

Each day, we battle against two opposing forces.

One demands excellence out of us. And the other demands consistency from us.

We can attain either one of these feats. But generally, we can’t manage both.

For we are not machines or robots. We are humans with flaws and imperfections. And so, our performance is bound to vary.

The question then, is which demand to prioritize — the standard or the schedule. Do we wait for inspiration to find us, and save our working moments for when we’re in a flow state? Or do we show up day after day, knowing that what we contribute might not always be up to par?

The choice is often made for us. We have bills to pay and mouths to feed. And our capitalist society frowns on absenteeism. Add it all up, and we’re obliged to keep showing up, for better or for worse.

But strangely, this setup also feeds our obsession with flow. For the idea of a flow state seems to bridge the gap between these forces. It seems to offer us high performance, and deliver it daily.

If only it were that easy.

In the early 2000s, a young golf phenom grabbed headlines around the world.

The phenom was named Tiger Woods. And his achievements were truly noteworthy.

Woods won 10 major golf championships before his 30th birthday, often in dominant fashion. Nothing seemed to faze him. He made an immensely challenging sport look easy.

Prognosticators kept trying to find the key to Woods’ dominance. Was it his ability on tee shots? Was it his iron game? His putting? Maybe it was his weightlifting regimen or his diet.

Ultimately, pundits did find the secret ingredient — Woods’ focus. In a sport where even the best athletes get rattled, Woods never seemed to. He was able to tune out the distractions and zero in on the task at hand, tournament after tournament.

Yes, Woods was a master at finding a flow state and harnessing it for the long haul. It seemed nothing would stop him.

Then, his father tragically passed away.

Woods took some time away from the PGA Tour to grieve. But when he returned for the U.S. Open, he didn’t look right. His flow state was broken, his focus was shoddy, and his golf shots were wayward. He didn’t qualify for the last two rounds of the tournament.

This wasn’t the end of the line for Woods. He went on to win five more major championships and scores of PGA Tour events. But the spell had been broken, and the utter dominance of his early career was gone.

It turns out that Woods was human after all. But those flaws and imperfections only made him more endearing to fans. And his willingness to keep showing up — even when he wasn’t on top of his game — became a cornerstone of his legacy.

Flow states? They were hardly the entire story.

I am not like Tiger Woods.

I’m not a groundbreaking athlete with awards and trophies to my name. I’m simply a modest writer who’s looking to connect with his audience.

And yet, I often find myself mimicking early-career Tiger when I write. I catch myself attempting to summon flow states at will and to tune out everything that makes me human. This ploy invariably fails, leaving me bitter and frustrated. And my writing suffers as well.

Maybe it’s time that I emulate late-career Tiger. Maybe it’s time that I value the ability to keep showing up, even when I’m not at my best. Maybe it’s time that I give grit a fair shake.

Such a shift in focus won’t take the shine off any moments of excellence I might still encounter. But they could help me appreciate those moments more.

And that balance of perseverance and commitment — that’s the only zone we need to be in.

The Consistency Paradox

The chains of habit are too light to be felt until they are too heavy to be broken. –Warren Buffet

As is often the case, the Oracle of Omaha knows of what he speaks.

Yes, we are creatures of habit. We’re drawn to consistency, like moths to a flame.

In a world that’s all too often unpredictable, routines give us a sense of calm. Habits help us attend to our needs while diffusing the stress that comes from surprises.

This isn’t always for the best. Some habits — alcoholism, compulsive gambling, or drug addiction, for instance — can destroy lives.

Then again, healthy routines can lead to substantial improvements. Exercising can help us stay fit. Cooking can stimulate our curiosity. Getting enough sleep can keep us energized throughout the day.

But these routines only work if we keep them consistent.

The end goal is tantalizing. So, we go all-in.

We watch TED Talks about habits. We read self-help books about healthy routines. We turn ourselves into models of consistency, in hopes of reaping the benefits.

But at what cost?

I am familiar with the seduction of routines. They’ve long been a prominent part of my life.

I’ve gone for a run at least once a week for the last 8 years, for instance. And every week for the last 5 years, I’ve put together a fresh article here on Words of the West.

Much has changed during that time — my job responsibilities, my home address, my orbit of friends and acquaintances. But through this evolution, my routines have kept me grounded. They’ve provided a clear path from then to now.

Yet, the recent global pandemic threw me for a loop. The world dramatically changed at its onset. And like many, I struggled to adapt.

While there was a temptation to retreat in the early days, I dug in. If anything, the stress and uncertainty spurred me to double down on my existing routines.

For example, I ramped up my exercise regimen to four days a week — all while moving my workouts outdoors. I set up a meal prep rotation, with new staples such as Slow Cooker Sundays. And instead of solely writing an article here each week, I also kept a daily account of my life in quarantine.

There was a method to my madness. Accelerating my habits would give me a semblance of control over the uncertainties of pandemic life. Staying consistent with my routines would help me bridge the pre and post-pandemic worlds.

At least that’s what I told myself.

But the pandemic far outlasted my quarantine. And with the world in an extended state of flux, my consistency began to turn into a crutch.

As friends and family tried to connect with me, I turned them down in order to prepare another homecooked meal. I cut back on my sleep time to make room for my writing habits. And I even tried to run on four inches of snow, just to keep from going a week without a workout.

Consistency had gotten me through a major disruption in my life. But it also blinded me to the situation at hand. And it prevented me from moving forward.

The best ability is availability.

This adage has practically become gospel in any industry that relies heavily on teamwork.

The premise is simple. Someone with raw potential alone can amaze. But if they’re only able to showcase those talents here and there, their long-term impact will be muted.

Reliability is at a premium in our society, whether we’re playing ball or bringing our lunch pail to the construction site. From our earliest days, we’re taught the virtues of consistency. We’re urged to do things the right way, over and over again.

There are some virtues to this doctrine. It’s helped us rebound from significant setbacks. And it’s allowed us to set a standard that can endure across generations.

But the reliability mandate also pins us under a substantial weight. It leaves us to wilt under the strain of legacy.

As our society innovates and grows, the old patterns we once espoused lose much of their muster. Yet, we recognize that those very patterns — our habits and routines — are what got us to such an inflection point. We are fond of those memories, and we’re hesitant to cast those patterns off.

This is The Consistency Paradox. It’s the recognition that the same rigor that helped make us great can keep us from becoming even greater.

The Consistency Paradox is what’s made But that’s the way we’ve always done it such a powerful retort. The Consistency Paradox is why pledges for changes in behavior patterns so frequently fall short.

And as the pandemic dragged on, I found myself running headlong into The Consistency Paradox.

I was opening myself up to a gauntlet of my own creation. But in doing so, I was closing the door to new opportunities.

When is the right time to change course?

This is the question that we must grapple with when it comes to routine.

In my case, establishing consistent habits was critical early in the pandemic. It allowed me to fill the void that emerged when the world shut down.

But those same advantages soon became liabilities. As the familiar faded out of sight, so did the significance behind my routines. I became nothing more than a misguided soul standing defiantly against the wind.

I had believed that dogged consistency would spare me the worst outcomes of the pandemic — serious illness, economic hardship, and a sense of disillusionment. But even with my supercharged exercise, cooking, and writing habits, I found myself reckoning with crippling anxiety, strained social ties, and divergence from rational thought.

I eventually changed my ways. I dialed back on my routines and allowed a measure of randomness to return to my life. Even with the lingering shadow of the pandemic, I’ve been happier since making that shift.

But I wish I could have seen the light earlier. If I had spent less time chained to pointless routines, how much better off would I be now?

I’m sure I’m not alone in wondering this. The Consistency Paradox is a subtle anchor, dragging us down without making us aware of our dire circumstances.

It takes some extreme introspection to free us of The Consistency Paradox’s smothering embrace. And introspection is not something we’re all that great at.

Even so, the time for excuses has long passed. We can do better. We must do better.

So let’s treat routine or habit the way we do caffeine or sugar — as something that’s most useful in moderation. Let’s maintain some spontaneity in our lives. And let’s approach the uncertain future with the same zeal with which we recount the sepia-toned past.

Consistency can lift us up. Let’s not allow it to drag us down.

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.

Keeping it Consistent

Consistency.

It’s an attribute that I treasure more than just about any other.

Being consistent means being reliable. And, when it’s done right, it means being trustworthy.

Basically, it means being exactly what others think you are.

I see great value in this predictability. It provides for deep understanding and meaningful social connections.

And it keeps us at ease.

For, while we say Variety is the spice of life, constant spontaneity is stressful. When we don’t know what to expect from our family and friends from minute to minute, we tend to put up barriers. We become a skeptical observer of the world around us, instead of a participant in it.

Even the biggest hermits among us don’t want this. For if we can’t count on anything, if we can’t even rely on a roof over our head or clothes on our backs, the load can be too much for our mind to carry.

Make no mistake, consistency is a basic condition.

Yet, it’s an incredibly difficult one to pull off.

You see, keeping it consistent means producing the same output, time after time. No off days. No slip-ups. Consistency doesn’t allow for excuses, regardless of their validity.

But to err is human. Our actions and emotions can vary by nature. And this can make consistency seem like an impossible dream.

So, what can we do in the face of this conundrum? We can continue to work at it.

Take Words of the West as an example. Two years ago, I launched this website with four words, I am not perfect. I wasn’t perfect then, and I’m certainly not perfect now.

But I’ll be darned if I haven’t been consistent. I’ve put out an article every week since then.

This is not as easy as it seems. There are some weeks where the inspiration is lacking. And others where life simply gets in the way.

Yet, I continue to fight through these obstacles to put out fresh articles each week. I demand this of myself because my readers expect it from me.

And I can’t bear to break their trust by becoming unreliable.

We can all benefit by taking a similar approach.

By keeping it consistent, we can build connections. We can demonstrate our own reliability. And we can live more fulfilling lives.

This isn’t easy, by any means. It requires grit, determination and sacrifice.

But it’s certainly worth it.

Substance Over Flash

We love flash.

Flash is cool. Flash is glamourous. Flash stands out.

Flash invokes our fantasies and impacts our behavior. After all, we want to be cool, to be glamourous, to stand out.

This fascination with shiny objects is the catalyst for our salacious culture and for our waning attention spans. It’s what created the 24-hour celebrity news cycle, the Oregon Ducks’ jersey series and the term “Trending on Twitter.” It made materialism, and its associated habitual overindulgence both acceptable and expected.

Plus, flash is irresistible. Just say that name out loud. Flash. Doesn’t it sound like a red Ferrari zipping by? And who wouldn’t want a Ferrari?

I mean, long before the Internet was a thing, and even before hundreds of channels filled our cable boxes, we had Flash Gordon, and that mesmerizing theme song by Queen.

Yes, flash has been in for so long that even our parents thought it was cool. And somehow that fact doesn’t diminish our fascination with it.

But here’s the thing: Flash won’t last.

It is, by its very nature, a one-time attraction. A fleeting moment of glory. An adrenaline high.

Life is too long to base off of flash. And those that try — by drawing themselves to the bright lights over and over — all too often end up empty inside.

Indeed, everything from gambling addiction to personal bankruptcy can all too often be directly attributed to flash. We find ourselves consumed.

Like moths to a flame, only ashes remain.

This is not the way to be. We don’t build our houses with Styrofoam. So we shouldn’t build our lives out of a sensation that ends up in the dumpster just as quickly.

We must instead focus on substance.

Now, making this point is a hard sell. After all, substance is bland, dry and unremarkable. It requires dedication, hard work and consistency.

Still, while shifting to substance is bitter pill to swallow, it’s an essential dose to take. For even though substance doesn’t sparkle like flash, it can make you to shine in the long run.

Think of substance as the process of unearthing a diamond. It demands introspection and perseverance, but can lead to a lasting gleam.

It means being true to ourselves and staying the course. Doubling down on what’s essential and cutting out the distractions.

It ensures our messages are filled solely with meaning, and not overloaded with metaphors. (Sorry y’all. Still behind on practicing what I preach.)

This is what we should strive for. This is what we should be.

Substance over flash. It’s the only way.

The Power of Being Present

Growing up, I watched a fair amount of college football games on fall Saturdays. Each season, my beloved Miami Hurricanes would face off against the Virginia Tech Hokies, and the broadcasters would invariably talk about The Lunch Pail — a symbol the vaunted Hokie defense rallied around time and again.

The Lunch Pail was nothing flashy — a small hard-case container painted in the signature maroon and orange colors of Virginia Tech. But that was the point. It was there, every day — a tangible symbol of persistence. Likewise, the Hokies would always be a tough opponent — what they lacked in world-class athleticism, they made up for with pure effort and heart.

While I consistently pulled for my eventual alma mater in these matchups, I gained a great deal of respect for the Virginia Tech Hokies over the years, and learned a lot about the blue collar work ethic in the process. Funny as it sounds, watching football games on ABC on weekends gave me valuable insight I couldn’t get in the classroom.

Skills are important, but so is the fortitude to be present. The will to persistently devote your time and effort to something you believe in.

Along the winding road to adulthood, my vocation, home address and interests have all changed — multiple times. But one thing has stayed consistent — my devotion to all that I pursue. This persistence has allowed me to thrive in my various career positions over the years, and to build a life.

It didn’t take magic or luck for me to get where I am now; it took the proverbial blood, sweat and tears.

That said, sometimes, I feel as if I’m a relic from the past.

Lifehacking has become a central part of Millennial culture these days — a societal quest to cut the chaff and make everything from cooking dinner to completing your job responsibilities faster and more efficient. The corporate world has embraced this mantra with open arms (ostensibly for the promise of leaner payrolls and overhead), with one search marketing superagency even adopting the mantra “Work Smarter, Not Harder.”

In a matter of years, we’ve developed an extreme allergy to the grind.

Look, I get it. If only 20 percent of our work time is productive, it makes sense to focus on our money moments. If we can cut tedium and monotony out of our personal lives, we’ll enjoy ourselves that much more.

But at what point does cutting the chaff turn into cutting corners?

Wholesome success can’t be achieved in the time it takes to order a Big Mac. It requires persistent vigilance. It requires long-term focus. It requires being there, time and again.

We can’t hack our future with one swing of the chisel. We must strategically and consistently knock away small pieces of the stone to sculpt our destiny.

Make no mistake, there is substance in that Lunch Pail. There is power in being present.

The key is not to get started, but to keep going.

Will you?