Tag: effort

Dereliction of Duty

The initial message from my supervisor was direct.

A co-worker had not reported to work in a few days. I was going to need to pick up the consults with his clients.

I quickly agreed to the mission. But it turns out my supervisor had more to share.

I know this isn’t ideal, she stated. I know it’s a new circumstance, and it puts you in a tough spot. But rest assured that I’m going to get to the bottom of this.

I read between the lines instantly.

You see, my colleague had pulled this stunt at the most inopportune time. Our team had gone remote due to a global pandemic. And this made it easy to slack off on the job without detection.

Timecard reporting and vacation requests were on the honor system. There was no foolproof way to see if any of us were at our desks.

My supervisor had only caught on to my colleague’s ruse when clients complained to her. Messages to him went unrequited. A forensic analysis revealed extensive work undone.

It was increasingly clear that my colleague had abandoned his post. He’d deserted his responsibilities. He’d committed dereliction of duty.

And now we were left to clean up the mess.

Dereliction of duty.

It’s a fancy term. But it often carries severe consequences.

We bristle at violations of the Ten Commandments — murder, theft, dishonesty, and so on. But of the offenses not etched in those ancient tablets, dereliction of duty might draw our strongest ire.

You see, despite our boasts of individuality, we rely on others a great deal. There is no i in team, and it takes a village to accomplish anything of note.

The biggest threat to group work is attrition. When team members don’t pull their weight, it forces others to fill the gaps. Balance evaporates, progress slows, and strain proliferates.

This is a significant problem. And when team members walk away from the mission, the problem grows exponentially.

Deserters do more than put pressure on those they left behind. They threaten to use that team’s operational secrets against it. And they cast doubt on the group’s legitimacy.

This is an existential threat. One that leads us to sound the alarm for dereliction of duty.

Indeed, soldiers who’ve walked away from their battlefield posts have been rounded up and executed. Athletes who’ve walked out on their team have been banned from their league. And those who’ve walked off the job have often been sued for breach of contract.

I don’t believe my employer sued my deserting colleague for breach of contract. But I’m sure he was dismissed with cause for what he’d done.

Such a fate would have been deserved.

But plenty of others in differing circumstances have received similar punishments. And those condemned masses likely got a raw deal.

The medical bill caught me off guard.

Eight months after forking over some money to get an MRI, I was being charged for the remainder of the cost.

That remainder was not cheap. And it complicated my attempts to pay off my credit card balance.

As I stared at the bill, I fumed.

Surely, there a statute of limitations for this. A reasonable period in which such residual costs could be collected. And eight months seemed beyond the pale of that statute.

I felt like I was being extorted. I felt used. I felt blatantly disrespected.

And I wanted a pound of flesh from the medical billing employees.

If I was this terrible at my job, I wouldn’t have one, I muttered.

It wasn’t the first time I’d uttered this phrase. But deep down inside, I knew it was all talk.

I wasn’t looking to peel people from their livelihoods on the account of incompetence. I’ve been laid off before, and I know how damaging job loss can be.

I was simply blowing off steam.

That said, many in positions of power have been less merciful. They’ve been quick to hit the Eject button on underperforming employees. And all too often, Dereliction of Duty has been listed as the cause.

If this seems like a misnomer, it’s because it is.

After all, these employees are not abandoning their posts. They’re just degrading the effectiveness of their positions.

The specialist tasked with my MRI statement likely reported to work each day, even as my bill lay in limbo for months. The corporate associate who missed their monthly targets still showed up to give it their best shot.

And yet, if they were to be shown the door, it would come with the stain of abandonment. Of desertion. Of dereliction of duty.

Do the power brokers casting these stones know what dereliction of duty means? Do they care?

They should.

Four times in my career, I’ve joined a new company.

Each time, the fresh start came with plenty of emotions — and lots of paperwork.

Most of the paperwork was standard — federal tax reporting forms, computer usage policies and the like. But twice, I also had to sign a non-compete agreement.

These agreements were defensive maneuvers. The industries I was preparing to work in were highly competitive, and company-hopping employees were a clear threat. By demanding that new hires sign a non-compete, businesses were minimizing the danger of job abandonment.

I’ve long associated these overt agreements with a tacit one. By signing them and abiding by them, I was proected against professional character assassination. If I showed up each day, stayed above board, and maintained a strong effort, I wouldn’t be accused of dereliction of due.

So far, that has come to pass. But that’s more by chance than by decree.

More and more companies assess employee performance by outcome these days, rather than output. Hitting the objectives of a role matters, but only if it leads to positive outcomes for the company. This could be revenue growth, increased market share, or a host of other corporate markers.

If employees deliver the goods and the company prospers, they stay on. If they only manage the first part, they could be dismissed. And on the way out the door, they’ll be slapped with the label of Dereliction of Duty.

This is similar to the mandate for football coaches. A coach can improve the readiness and performance of all the players on the squad. But if that positive momentum doesn’t lead the squad to win football games, that coach will get kicked to the curb.

But lay employees are not football coaches. There are no weekly scrimmages. There’s no central entity keeping score or handing out trophies at the end.

It’s apples and oranges. And it’s high time we start recognizing that.

So, let’s reserve Dereliction of Duty for those who truly deserve the label. Those like my ex-colleague, who pulled a Houdini and vanished into thin air.

And let’s stop smearing those who keep showing up and giving their best, just because the organization fell a bit short.

Team goals are shared responsibilities. Those who pursue them with strong effort and good intentions are derelict of nothing.

Going Hard and Going Smart

The gun went off, and I took off.

I felt my feet glide over the crushed gravel. I felt the air rushing by my ears. And I saw the pack of runners behind me.

It was my first Cross Country race in high school. And for a moment, I thought I might win it.

But then I felt my breath get heavy and my brow get sweaty. And I saw the hills up ahead.

There was no way I was going to keep this pace up.

I tried to fight the inevitable for a bit. But then a cramp emerged under my right rib. So, I slowed down and watched the pack whiz by me.

Now, I was on my own, plodding my way through the hills in a slow jog. It was a miserable, helpless feeling.

But then, something dawned on me. I’d run this course several times in practice. And I knew it better than my competitors.

I remembered that the circuit ended with a downhill, followed by a long straightaway. If I could take off on the downhill and maintain that momentum, I’d likely catch some of those runners who had just left me in the dust.

I followed this plan to perfection, passing startled runner after startled runner down the stretch.

And while I didn’t finish the race first — not by a longshot — I found myself beaming.

I had made something out of nothing.

I earned something valuable that day. Namely, a primer in race strategy.

You see, I had started the race thinking that effort was my key to success. But as I crossed the finish line, I realized that discretion mattered more.

I only had so much energy to give. If I kept going for it all at the start, I’d run out of steam before I reached my destination.

But if I conserved effort early on, and throttled down later, I’d be in good shape. I’d get the most out of my energy reserves, making it to the finish line in one piece. And I’d likely score a decent placement.

So, I started replicating my race strategy in subsequent contests. I would wait until the downhill to let it fly. And I’d use that momentum to pick off runners down the straightaway.

I never tired of seeing the panicked look on runners’ faces as I sped by them with the finish line in sight. It became my sole race motivation.

Eventually, this approach led to hardware. I medaled in the state championships.

But that turned out to be my final Cross Country race. I didn’t rejoin the team the next year. And I stopped running entirely for a time.

By the time I returned to the sport, I was a seasoned adult. I had gained much in maturity and wisdom. But I’d lost my grasp on strategy.

I would go into races with maximum effort and try to hang on for 3, 6 or 13 miles.

Surprisingly, I got away with it for a time. But eventually, my performance plateaued.

By this point, I was training with experienced runners. Many of them had coaches or had coached others. So, as big races approached, strategy conversations would percolate on our group runs.

I took these conversations to heart. I reconsidered how to race, how to pace my training runs, how to fuel, and how to recover. All of it would impact when I crossed the finish line.

Yes, going smart was better than going hard. It was just as it had been during my high school days.

But this time I was primed to remember the lesson. Maybe.

Most of my mornings start the same way.

I wake up and head out for a pre-dawn run.

Where I run from and how long I run for can vary. But my approach never does.

The days of me taking off like a racehorse are over. Even in training, I commit to going smart.

But something strange happens when I head home after my workout.

I shower, change clothes, and head to work. And in the process, I forget everything I’ve just practiced.

Yes, I approach my job, my errands, and other aspects of my day-to-day with an unrelenting tenacity.

I am dogged. I am determined. I only believe in going hard.

This ethos has paid dividends. It’s helped me build a career — twice — and live a fulfilling life.

But it’s also worn me down. It’s caused mental and physical fatigue. And sometimes, it’s led me to spiral.

All of this is tragically inevitable.

You see, going hard is an asset in certain situations. When we’re making a name for ourselves, we don’t get to choose when to give our best.

It’s full throttle all the time. It has to be.

But at some point, our ticket to the summit betrays us. That all-out grit becomes our undoing, sending us sliding down the mountaintop.

It’s our responsibility to see this demise coming. And it’s our obligation to change tactics to protect ourselves.

For our own preservation, we must switch from going hard to going smart.

I’ve figured this out in my competitive running career — twice. But in the world outside of running, I’ve missed the boat. Repeatedly.

I’m afraid I’m not the only one in this predicament. But it needn’t become manifest destiny.

Early in the COVID pandemic, I did something incredibly common.

I went online and ordered an outdoor furniture set.

I envisioned this furniture sitting on my patio someday. But what I didn’t envision was how I was going to put the set together.

So, when some boxes arrived at my door — filled with parts and a page of instructions — I knew I was in trouble.

At first, I tried to solve this problem by going hard. I followed the instructions the best I could, putting more and more effort into the project.

But I quickly realized I was in over my head. I didn’t have power tools and had no concept as to whether I was doing this right.

Flustered, I pivoted.

I hired a handyman, who put the furniture together in less than two hours. His work remains intact on my patio to this day.

I hadn’t thought much about that situation until I sat down to write this article. But it proves the value of going smart.

If I had doubled down on going hard, I might have gotten that furniture put together. But I likely would have injured myself or melted down in rage during the process.

The toll of going all-in would have been heftier than the benefits.

Fortunately, I never faced that toll. I made the smart move instead.

I can take something from this experience. We all can.

There are times when it makes sense to take a step back. To consider other options than Try Harder. And to calibrate our efforts accordingly.

Navigating this nuance won’t be easy. But it will be beneficial.

Much like runners, we’ll conserve our energy. We’ll maximize our performance. And we’ll likely be happier than we otherwise would have been.

Going hard is a means to an end. Going smart is a path to sustained success.

Let’s follow it.

Effort vs. Execution

Try hard.

We’ve heard those words time and again.

The implication is clear: Put in the effort and the results will follow.

There’s only one problem.

It ain’t true.

Now, don’t get me wrong. There’s certainly some value to trying hard. To putting the maximum effort into whatever you do.

But ultimately, we’re not being judged on our effort.

We’re being judged on our execution.

This is a difficult concept for us to grasp. Largely because we’ve spent an entire generation praising and incentivizing effort.

My generation grew up thinking we could be whatever we wanted, as long as we tried. Our parents reinforced that theory by telling us we were special, and that a little initiative would go a long way.

Schools and extracurricular activities gave us participation ribbons, simply for making the effort to compete. Gatorade told us that if we wanted to be the next Michael Jordan, all we had to was put in the work — and drink their product. (Yes, sweat and a sports drink were all we needed to Be Like Mike.)

We carried this message like a William Wallace battle cry. Try hard and the rest will take care of itself.

Then we grew up, and reality hit us in the face like an Arctic wind.

You see, the real world doesn’t care how hard you try. It cares about results.

And if you can’t deliver those results, you will be held accountable for your failings.

I use the word failings here intentionally. For lack of execution is failure.

It doesn’t matter if you poured your heart and soul into something. If you didn’t get the needed result, you failed.

This is a harsh lesson for us to learn.

After all, we’ve conditioned ourselves to find silver linings, to tilt toward empathy in the times when things don’t go as planned. In doing so, we’ve made effort into a security blanket that covers us from the cut-and-dry nature of accountability.

But in reality, effort guarantees us nothing.

Someone with superior talent can roll out of bed and execute on a task better than we could, even with hours and hours of trying. And in a task-execution-based society, they get all the benefits. It’s as if we didn’t try at all.

So why put in the effort?

Because it builds character and demonstrates integrity.

Those attributes are valued in the long run. And they’re within your control.

Yes, execution is more highly valued in the short run. But the chances of success are determined by more than your talents.

There are elements out of your control that can negatively impact your ability to execute. If you don’t believe me, try pitching a tent in a gale-force wind.

Effort, on the other hand, is firmly within your control. And much like your attitude, it’s something that can speak volumes.

So, it makes sense to try. To give your best effort day in and day out.

But it also makes sense to focus on execution. To look for areas where you have a chance to make an impact and devote your maximum effort there.

This will give you the best chance for sustained success. And that success can help drive society forward.

Execution drives results. Are you ready to take the wheel?

Given or Gotten?

As we seek to improve our standing in life, we essentially have two options.

We can wait for things to be handed to us, or we can work at getting them ourselves.

Both methods can get results, at least in theory. But one rings true, and the other rings hollow.

It makes more sense to go after the life we want than it does to wait for it to be handed to us.

There’s some sweat equity in going for our goals, to be sure. But this method provides more control over our destiny.

Many people do follow this path, and see great results from it. But plenty of others shun it, for a couple reasons.

First off, the idea of getting what we want is all too often interpreted as denying someone else what’s theirs. This has led to a culture of abuse and male dominance. An ugly culture that has come into the limelight due to sexual assault and harassment scandals in the sports and entertainment world.

Getting what we want for ourselves should never be a zero-sum game. It should instead be an intensely personal process. A process that empowers us to take control of our own lives to improve our situation. A process that implores us to up our effort, knowledge and skill set in order to attain the goal we set for ourselves.

It’s about stoking the fire within. It’s about finding self-power, not exerting power over others to improve one’s standing.

Those who find success by scrapping for it generally recognize this key differentiation, and stay on the clean side of it. But many people see the entire process as dirty, and steer clear of it.

This leads to the second objection. Going after what we want is often viewed as a needless exercise. Why get down in the dirt for something, when you can just wait to be handed it instead?

This approach is far from delusional. After all, we see it in action each time we get a paycheck. We fulfill our work obligations with the expectation that the money we earned will be headed our way on payday.

The problem arises when we try and expand this thinking to other aspects of our lives. It makes us look like we lack inspiration. And it places control of our hopes and dreams in another’s hands.

Why on earth do we think this is a good idea?

It’s time we get real. It’s time we stop hitching our future successes to the benevolence of others. It’s time we recognize that while Santa Claus might give kids the gifts they want, he doesn’t go around handing adults the life they dream of.

It’s time we get gritty. It’s time we focus in on what we want and then roll up our sleeves and get after it. It’s time that we get comfortable with making short-term sacrifices to serve long-term benefits.

It’s time we get smart. It’s time we devote ourselves to learning new skills and honing existing ones. It’s time we recognize he dual power of patience and persistence, and swing that balance in our favor.

Most of all, it’s time we take control. It’s our life and our future. We must be in the driver’s seat for this journey.

For the best things in life are not given. They’re gotten.

Holding Back

There’s this thing that Seth Godin does nearly every time he delivers a keynote.

At some point, he’ll ask the everyone in the audience to raise their right hand, as high as they can.

When everyone has complied, he asks the following:

“Now raise it higher.”

Invariably, most of the audience will lift their arm another inch or so in the air. This leads Godin to muse, “Mmm, what’s that about?”

Of course, that’s the point. The exercise serves as visual proof of our propensity to hold a little bit back.

But while Godin goes on to explain how this thinking is a remnant of industrialized society — where we’re taught to leave a bit in reserve in the event someone asks us for more — I think our tentative tendencies go even further.

I think we hold a bit back as a means of self-preservation.

You see, for as much as we idolize those who “go all out,” we’re inherently fearful of the potential dangers that are unlocked by a full effort.

Sure, I could run as fast and as hard as I could, all the time, but then I might blow out my Achilles tendon. And if that happens, how will I get down the stairs? How will I get to work? How will I drive to the supermarket to pick up groceries?

Better to play it safe by holding back.

And this is not just a physical phenomenon. We hold a little back when formulating ideas or supporting causes, all because of the chance we might fail. What we champion might not work or be fully accepted — and if that happens, we better have an exit strategy if we want any chance of saving face.

So yes, holding back is a crucial construct for acceptance and protection. It’s as essential as the governor in a car or the blowout preventer on an oil rig; it shields us from the dangers of flying too close to the sun.

But while there might be valid reasons for avoiding full throttle, must we hold back so much? Protecting ourselves from grave danger is one thing. Insulating ourselves from any sign of disappointment is another.

While we might not like it when things don’t go our way, we must be willing to take some chances. We must summon the courage to give a little more, to devote ourselves something that might not work out.

We shouldn’t be reckless, of course. But we shouldn’t short-circuit our potential on account of our fears either.

After all, life is defined by experiences. And shielding ourselves in a bubble is not living.

So, let’s not permit “What if” block us from exploring “What is.” Let’s open our hearts and our minds to the world.

It’s time to stop holding back.