I stepped into the simulator bay and set a golf ball down on the turf. With a deep breath and a mighty swing, I sent it skyward.
The ball’s rising arc was quickly interrupted by the simulator’s backdrop. The screen took over from there, projecting it partway down an imaginary fairway. The ball – now virtual – took a hop and rolled for a bit before coming to a stop.
As I paused to admire my handiwork, I heard a voice from behind me.
That’s a good start. But try not to let your hips fly open. And make sure your arms don’t drift backward.
I took another hack, trying to internalize what I’d just heard. But the swing resulted in a dead duck.
The ball squirted feebly ahead for a few yards, barely gracing the backdrop with its presence.
OK, let’s try this, the voice responded, now close to my right ear. I turned to see my golf instructor pointing to the inside of my right arm.
See your triceps there? Imagine there’s a magnet connecting it to your side. As you swing, make sure you don’t lose that connection.
I took a deep breath and readied myself for another hack. And as I swung, everything was different.
The ball rose majestically off my club face, soaring much further down the virtual fairway than before. My instructor seemed satisfied.
Better. Much better.
I learned a couple things on that afternoon.
How to swing a golf club competently. But also, how best to internalize instruction.
Yes, it turned out that I did much better when I was told what to do, than what not to do.
When I was instructed about what to avoid, I’d tense up. I’d be tentative and get in my own way.
But when I was told what to focus on, I’d zone in. I’d incorporate improvements effortlessly, and I’d iterate my technique with fluidity. Results would inevitably follow.
This realization was a game changer.
On subsequent trips to the driving range or the golf course, my swing would occasionally get out of whack. But when it did, I wouldn’t get flustered. I’d calmly tell myself Keep that triceps connected. And I’d get back on track.
The same rule applied to life away from a golf club. If I was given a roadmap forward, I’d fare far better than I would with an edict of avoidance.
Do this resonated far better than not that.
Carrots and sticks.
It’s become a trope for leadership.
As best I can tell, this phrase originated in the horseback era. An angry owner might have flogged his steed as punishment for poor performance. But if the horse acted as expected, that same owner might have rewarded it with a carrot.
Horses, of course, are no longer a primary means of transportation. But in the realm of power wielding, the carrots and sticks debate persists.
Some of the powerful assert their influence through deterrence. Others inspire a following through benevolence.
Each has proven effective in certain group settings. But when it comes to individual improvement, the carrot stands apart.
Growth, you see, cannot be spurred by the heel of a boot or the buckle of a belt. Fear of suffering will not speed up evolution. It will only clutter our mind and make us hesitant.
To know the way, we must be shown it. And as we follow down that path, the reinforcement can help fortify us.
We can become more self-assured. We can build muscle memory. And we can see the full picture.
Then, and only then, can we focus on erasing the stray brush strokes. On eschewing what doesn’t fit in favor of what does.
The carrot must precede the stick. Do this must come before not that.
I made plenty of mistakes during my childhood.
Nothing critical, mind you. Just a large dose of youthful indiscretion.
When I erred, I’d often turn toward my father with my shoulders slumped. I’d fess up to what I’d done and prepare to face the music.
Each time though, his response would be the same.
What will you do differently next time?
This would inevitably catch me off guard. And I wouldn’t always have a response.
But the question was less a test than an invitation. An invitation to dialogue.
My father would coach me up. He’d remind me that I’d likely come across the same scenario in the future. And he’d help me formulate a sound game plan for that eventuality.
Then he would end the conversation with a warning.
Don’t make the same mistake twice.
I’d be lying if I understood this method in the moment. Truth be told, I thought I was getting away with my mess-ups.
I’d heard so many stories of friends and classmates getting grounded for their mistakes — or worse. Hadn’t I deserved that fate too?
But now, I recognize what my father was doing. As a longtime teacher, he was using his professional and parenting skills to help me grow. All while keeping me accountable.
Now, there is no one-size-fits-all manual for parenting, managing, or mentorship. Our experiences and styles diverge. But I do think that the pattern my father displayed has broad potential. Potential that is all too often left uncovered.
You see, we are overly obsessed with mistakes. They’re unfortunate, unsightly, and can cause downstream effects.
But mishaps, flaws, errors — they don’t occur in a vacuum. There’s so much more below the surface that can precipitate a wrong step. So much that will remain if we simply kill the visible part with fire.
We can’t adequately address the root cause that way. Removing all that’s wrong won’t necessarily lead us to what’s right.
It’s simply not that intuitive.
We need new seeds to supplant the unruly weeds of our garden. We need a torch to illuminate our path through the wilderness.
We need a guide for our journey. A guide who can help us find our own way.
We need do this before not that.
So, lets change our approach. Let’s reset our focus.
Let’s put ourselves on the best possible path to sustained success.