johnmaconline

Everybody has a boss.

Even solopreneurs, single folks, and living-off-the-land loners. Every body. Most people answer to many bosses.

Looking back over your life, you probably remember the good ones fondly and the sucky ones with disdain. What made the good ones good and the bad ones bad? Was it the way they spoke to you? Respected or disrespected your time? Allowed you to flourish or kept you shackled? Maybe they had great vision or no grasp at all on where you were going. Empathy?

Contrary to what productivity consultants, the street, and executives will tell you, a good boss isn’t just someone who gets results. There is no objectively accurate definition of a good boss. Not from your standpoint.

You can feel a good or bad boss.

Now look in the mirror, because one of your bosses is you. Chances are you suck at being your own boss.

What can you do today to take one step towards being a better boss for yourself? Start by remembering how the good and bad bosses of your life so far made you feel.

It might seem like everything stinks or trending down right now, but that is far from true. In fact, 2024 will likely be the best overall year for humanity since our genesis.

Bad stuff that’s decreasing (source):

• In 1989, the amount of ozone-depleting gasses in the atmosphere was 1300 thousand tons. In 2021, it had fallen to 17 thousand tons. Projects are completely removed by 2045.
• In 1970, 24% of the world’s population was food-deprived/hungry. In 2022, it was only 9%.
• In 1920, you needed to care about smallpox. Over 400k cases were reported. Since 1980, smallpox is 0. Yes, vaccination.
• In 1800, 191 countries had legal slavery. By 2020, it’s 0 (legally).
• In 1800, 43% of children died before age 5. In 2022, it’s 4%.
• In 1970, we had 79 oil tanker spills. By 2010, it had dropped to 6 per year.
• In 1950, 25% of children aged 5-17 worked to help support themselves and their family. It’s now less than 10%.

Good stuff that’s increasing (same source):

• In 1800, 10% of people could read. In 2022, it’s 87%.
• In 1980, 58% of people had practical access to clean drinking water. In 2022, it’s 91%.
• In 1990, 74% of the world’s population had access to electricity. In 2022, it’s 91%.
• In 1893, one country allowed women to vote. In 2023, it’s 195.
• In 1970, 69% of girls finished primary schooling. In 2022, it’s 89%.
• In 1972, there was one single female CEO of a US Fortune 500 company (Katherine Graham, The Washington Post). In 2022, there were 52. 

Sometimes you gotta turn off the news, get your head out of the echo chamber, and look around. 

Old guys like me say things like, “Why don’t kids play outside anymore?” Or, the even more dubious, “When I was a kid, I could play with a Hot Wheels car all afternoon.”

And generations before us have said the same things since the dawn of the Industrial Revolution. Replace “play outside” or “Hot Wheels car” with whatever activity or toy/mechanism/object lines up with that generation. My kids will say the same thing. Their kids will also. 

Let’s face it: Have you seen an iPad? If you were six and someone plopped a pile of rocks and sticks in front of you and an iPad next to them, what would you choose? What does a pile of rocks and sticks have compared to an iPad? Nothing, that’s what. 

We’ve built a callous up against wonder through technology. What once was magic and sci-fi is now commonplace. 

There’s nothing wrong with the younger generation. Each generation finds its own magic in the world, albeit through different lenses. The core of human curiosity and playfulness remains; it simply evolves with the tools and times. 

We just have different thicknesses to our callouses.  

People say, “Follow the money.”

But money isn’t the only powerful incentive. Power, love, God, altruism, recognition, purpose, adequacy — all incentives that people follow.

Follow the incentive.

We’ve done a lot of painting in our house over the 21 years we’ve lived here.

In the early spring of 2002, we moved into a monotonous sea of white. All walls and trim were bright and clean but repetitive. Since then, we’ve changed the color of every single wall, most of them several times. We’ve gone through bright and primary colors, earthy tones, faux finishes, and accent walls, and now we’re in a mode of whites, grays, and black.

We’ve done more than the walls over the years as well. We’ve changed the color of doors, trim, vanities, and furniture. We even painted our kitchen cabinets ourselves, turning the mid-90s maple aesthetic to a modern and clean off-white with black knobs. Currently, we’re tackling the open stairwell between the first and second floors for the first time. What has been a stained red oak is transforming to an opaque black with off-white kick plates and trim. The railings following suit.

The key to a good-looking and lasting coat of paint is preparation. Filling holes, washing, sanding, taping, and priming. If you rush through it or skip steps, you’re always disappointed. It’s what underneath that counts.

The beauty of a fresh coat of paint is it can totally change your perspective about what’s already there. Just a simple color change. Fresh and new. Different and exciting.

This article ain’t about paint.

“Trust is earned, not given.”

What if, instead, we all started with, “Trust is freely given.”

Yes, sometimes you’ll get taken. But also…

More comfort with risk. More support in failures. More possibilities. More empathy. More collaboration. More innovation. More growth. More speed.

My sump pump has been torturing me for the last three days.

It’s been running a cycle of 10 seconds on and 11 seconds off since the middle of the storm that dumped three inches of rain. First, the clunk of the float valve, followed by the relentless hum of the pump, then another clunk signaling the valve’s closure. This sequence reverberates across my entire ground floor, forming a tedious, drawn-out melody I can’t stand. My desk, where I sit this very moment, is positioned directly above the pump in the basement.

Torture. But then…

The pump has created a little creek running down my front yard that starts at its outlet at the corner of the house. It runs down the now mushy yard and into the swale at the edge of the road. From there, it follows the swale across the end of my driveway towards the bottom of the hill a quarter mile down the road. Where I sit, I can watch the water make its journey from under my house to the bottom of the hill a quarter mile away.

And then I feel it — the gratitude.

There’s always something to be thankful for.

My feet hit the ground.
My knees springy and strong.
The hard and smooth road.
Fields, barns, and grass bursting with optimism.

My feet hit the ground.
My knees resilient yet questioning.
The rough and ready road.
Fields, barns, and grass jaded with experience.

My feet hit the ground.
My knees tentative and weathered.
The pitched and unforgiving road.
Fields, barns, and grass mocking with the passage of time.