We all know that doping, or the taking of performance-enhancing drugs, in sports is a real thing.

Lance Armstrong famously said that he’d go back to 1995 and make the same decision, even having gone through what he’s gone through. But he also said that if he were racing in 2015, he wouldn’t.

His statement and decision-making have nothing to do with the legality or the morality of using PEDs. It’s strictly about the ability to compete and what those around you are doing. In 1995, everyone in cycling was doping. If you wanted to compete, you had to dope also. It was that simple. But in 2015, cycling had done a good job at eliminating it, so you could train naturally and still compete.

Using ChatGPT or another AI engine has a similar circumstance today.

If you’re running a business, your competition is using it. If you’re a software developer, journalist, accountant, or graphic designer, your colleagues are using it- the ones you compete against for raises, assignments, and accolades.

You might not want to use it or decide for your own reasons that you shouldn’t. That’s perfectly fine. But also, you should know your competition.

The breeze cools.
The air crisp.
Shadows stretch.
Twighlight encroaches.
Brown dominates.
Grey on its heels.
The wind whistles.
The air cuts.
White blankets.
Night expands.
Orion rises.
Silence deepens.
Everything wet.
The sun warms.
The buds whisper.
Light stretches.
Morning awakens.
Green sprouts.
The sun shouts.
The wind dries.
Roads sizzle.
Shadows shrink.
Evening lingers.
Gold reigns.

Someone said to me recently, “ChatGPT isn’t any different than me searching with Google.”

From one standpoint, that’s sorta true. Google has all of the internet. ChatGPT has all of the internet. Using ChatGPT like a search engine is one its use cases.

For example, you can ask Google or ChatGPT to give you the history behind the western Christmas holiday. Each will give you what you ask, but the difference lies in the context and application. Google gives you a bunch of links that you must follow and contextualize yourself, while ChatGPT synthesizes all of the data into a coherent narrative.

Using Google is like looking through the reams of raw data provided with the research paper. Using ChatGPT is like having your graduate assistant look through the data and summarize it for you. Both can be useful in different situations.

Like any other tool. You gotta know what you want.

To build a house, would you rather have a rock or a hammer?
To write a book, would you rather have a typewriter or a word processor?
To travel across the country, would you rather have a bicycle or a car?
To keep your food cold, would you rather have a root cellar or a refrigerator?
To cut your grass, would you rather have a sickle or zero-turn riding mower?

You may have a reason to choose the former rather than the latter. But it isn’t productivity, speed, usefulness, empowerment, or effectiveness.

So it is with AI.

You may have a reason why you wouldn’t choose to use it, but make sure you’re aware of why.

Right here, right now.

You know people stuck in the past. You also know people always trying to get somewhere in the future. It roughly maps to age. The older people you know nostalgically romanticize the past. The younger people you know are likely hell-bent on getting somewhere.

Where are you?

In truth, all we have is the present. This moment right now. This moment is where life happens. This morning. This dinner. This walk. This pain. This joy. This grief. This exuberance. This struggle. This relief.

The past and future are fine places, but don’t let this moment pass. There’s no time like the present.

The problem with this slogan isn’t who it represents.

The problem is that it’s a lie. It’s false.

It presumes that at one time, America was great, and now it is no longer. It presumes that someone, or a group of someones, has ruined it. It presumes that your parents, if they lived in America, had it better than you do now.

Do we have problems? Yes. Are we messy right now? Are people exploited, taken advantage of, and otherwise treated as less than? Indeed. Are some things about today’s life in America weird or worse (in your opinion) than they were in the past? Sure. Do we all get along like one big happy family? No.

But the beauty of today’s America is that you can fight for the America you want. You can be who you want. You can talk about the America you want. Because in this country, especially today, your opinion matters, and with social media, you have a platform to voice it. I’ve not been everywhere in this world, but I’ve been a lot of places, and in most of those places, your opinion doesn’t matter. You don’t have opportunity. Your ambitions are meaningless. Your spiritual views and self-identification feelings don’t matter.

So keep fighting. Keep arguing. Keep thinking and feeling about the America you want to live in. Because in this country, you can.

But don’t ever confuse the greatness of the beautiful mess that is today’s America with something that needs to return to the past.

Are you a Burn the Ships person? Or do you have a Plan B?

Unwavering commitment versus hedging your bets.

Plan A is smoke the Turkey. But currently, the smoker is non-functional. I’m waiting on the part, but will it show on time?

Therefore, I have a Plan B. 

I’ve written about, struggled with, and Lord knows thought about the benefits of “Burn the Ships!” But at the end of the day, I’m too much of a pragmatist.

Maybe being a Plan B person holds me back. Maybe I’ve missed out on something amazing. Maybe Plan B destines one for mediocrity.

But also, Apollo 13 aborted Plan A, Starbucks got into the cafe business, Captain Sulley landed on the Hudson, and Operation Dynamo evacuated over 330000 soldiers to safety from Dunkirk. 

The key is to know when to be a Plan B person. 

Your family, like mine, probably has some Thanksgiving traditions with the food you serve. 

Ever wonder where they come from? Do they have roots in the meal celebrated by the Pilgrims and Wampanoag tribe in 1621? Here’s an assessment of some of the traditional foods and the likelihood that they are rooted in historical tradition. 

Turkey (85%)

Wild turkeys were abundant in North America and a common game bird of the time. However, no actual records exist. Venison was almost certainly served. Some families do celebrate with venison.

Cranberry Sauce (60%)

Native Americans used cranberries for many things such as food, medicine, and dye. Plus, they are harvested in November. Maybe they didn’t serve the sauce we know, but there is a reasonable chance they ate cranberries on that day.

Pumpkin Pie (10%)

While the Pilgrims and Wampanoag probably didn’t eat pumpkin pie at the first Thanksgiving, pumpkins were a part of their diet. The tradition of pumpkin pie likely started in the early 18th century when colonists sliced off the pumpkin top, removed the seeds, and filled the insides with milk, spices, and honey, then baked it in hot ashes.

Bread Stuffing (5%)

While stuffing dates back to a cookbook reference from the 4th century during the Roman Empire, there is very little chance that it made its way into the first Thanksgiving meal. It became a Thanksgiving staple as a filling accompaniment to the turkey.

Mashed Potatoes (0%)

Potatoes didn’t make their way to North America until the early 18th century. Mashed potatoes became popular in the U.S. in the 19th century and probably found their way into Thanksgiving meals probably due to a combination of harvesting time, popularity, and the complementary mild taste to the other bolder Thanksgiving staples. 

Green Bean Casserole (0%)

No chance. The green bean casserole, like the white picket fence and “Don’t mess with Texas!”, was dreamed up by a clever marketing person to sell stuff. It was created in 1955 by the Campbell Soup Company to promote their cream of mushroom soup.

Sweet Potatoes/Yams with Marshmallows (0%)

Same story as the green bean casserole. This dish is a result of the marshmallow producers’ attempt to popularize their product in the early 20th century. The addition of marshmallows to sweet potatoes was suggested in a recipe book by Angelus Marshmallows in the 1910s.

So What Did They Eat?

Based on the above, let’s assume that turkey (other wild fowl), venison, cranberries (and other berries), and pumpkins were part of it. The other stuff was likely to be seafood, corn (probably in a porridge form), beans, nuts, and root vegetables. 

Now you know. 

Do you use the furniture that requires the coaster? If so, are the coasters prominently displayed and easy to reach?

Or do you purposefully have furniture that doesn’t require coasters? Or maybe you’re smart about the location of the pieces that do require coasters and the ones that don’t. Or maybe, screw it. We’re not using coasters on any of the furniture.

Of course, there are no right or wrong answers, but congruency matters.

As humans, we often create internal incongruency by saying or doing one thing but (secretly) wishing for something different.

This ain’t about coasters.

During one stretch of physical therapy during my two and half year ordeal with shoulder replacement, the physical therapist said to me, 

“Make sure you do these exercises three times a day.”

When it comes to PT, I’m the model patient. My goal is to heal, get stronger, or get better and return to what I want to do as fast as possible. In this case, use my f’n right arm like a real boy.

PT said three times a day. I’m doing it three times a day.

It wasn’t working. Still couldn’t raise my arm above my shoulder.

The PT asked about my home exercise routine. 

“I’m doing these exercises you gave me three times a day.”

“OK, when you say three times a day, how often are you really doing them?”

Blink. Blink. Stare.

“Three times a day.”

“Huh. Really?”

“Yes. I don’t understand.”

“Well, three times a day includes the human fudge factor — which is about 3X. Nobody really does the amount of work I ask them to do. I wanted you to do them at least once a day, so I say three times.”

“If I say once a day, it doesn’t sound that important to you. So you’ll do it once every other day or so. Three times a day makes it more important, and you’ll be sure to do them more often.”

Here’s a guy that understands humans and when to apply the human fudge factor. 

What’s your level of engagement in the physical act of living?

Do you make any of your own food? I mean assemble and create meals from single ingredients. Do you go to the grocery store yourself? What about multiple stores or farm markets to procure different things? Do you have a vegetable garden or raise chickens? Do you hunt?

Do you change your own light bulbs? What about paint your walls and trim? If the dishwasher breaks, will you grab a screwdriver? Do you own a ladder tall enough to get you on your roof? What do you do if the toilet needs repair? Have you built any of the shelves in your house? Would you consider gutting and rebuilding the master bathroom yourself? What if you wanted to replace all of the windows?

Do you change the windshield wipers on your car? What if a headlight is burned out or the cabin air filter needs to be replaced? Do you own a set of wrenches? Do you change the oil in yourself? What about the brakes? How about if it needs a new transmission?

Do you cut your own grass? Rake the leaves? Mulch the beds yourself? Do you have a wood-burning fireplace? If so, do you cut or split your own wood? What would you do if you wanted a new patio? How you handle an old tree that needs to come down?

Each of us has their own level of physical engagement in the act of living. There are no right or wrong answers as to the “right” level.

However, if you find yourself feeling blue, stuck, or generally restless, you might want to consider engaging at a deeper level. It’s not for everyone, but it might help you.

Humans have a deep connection between the physical and emotional.

I heard the song Paranoid in my grocery store a few days ago.

Paranoid.

Not the Musak version, or some adult-contemporary cover, or some otherwise softened homage. The raw 1970 version from the Black Sabbath album of the same name, complete with Ozzy’s whining and Iommi’s ripping riff (one of the best ever).

Are you f’n kidding me? What has happened to this world I live in? Paranoid in the grocery store? Shouldn’t there be a line at customer service of irate mothers and other do-gooders aghast at the filth they and their children are being audibly exposed to? This world is going to hell.

This is my music. Always has been. I’m a metal lover. Part of why I love it is because of its taboo-ness. It’s rough, energetic, irreverent, and abrasive. It’s heavy metal. My metal.

How dare they appropriate my music by assuming it’s fit for the general public’s consumption.

And then I remember. I’m no longer a teenager. The same is true for all generations and their music. It happened to big band, jazz, blues, rock, rap. All of it.

Eventually, the cutting-edge, abrasive, young-person-focused, and culturally taboo becomes…the norm. Even fit for the grocery store aisles. My music, once a source of pride in how I distinguished myself from the norm, has become a cultural nonfactor. Accepted even.

Get off my lawn!

I’d much rather watch any football game on TV than in person. But one time, you should stand in Beaver Stadium at the whiteout game as the Blue Band and crowd crescendo while the team exits the tunnel to take the field. I literally get teary. I can’t help it.

I’d seen a million pictures of the Great Wall. But then I stood on it myself. Only then could I even begin to comprehend the scope, engineering marvel, and beauty of it all. It’s mesmerizing.

I’d read some very interesting articles and seen pictures of the crater on top of Mt Haleakala on Maui. The rarified air, the odd, muffled sound sensation, and mars-like landscape. But then I walked down into the strange and beautiful landscape on my own two legs. I was breathless.

Technology is great. But sometimes you just gotta be there.

Americans now owe just north of $1 trillion in credit card debt. The average credit card interest rate is 27.8%, while the average that people are paying on carried balances is 22.8%.

Americans owe about $12 trillion in mortgage debt. The average current mortgage rate (traditional mortgage) is 8%. The average APR across all mortgage debt is 5.7%.

22.8% vs 5.7%. Heck, even 22.8% vs 8%. 

I’ve been buried at the bottom of the mountain. I know what it feels like.

A few things go the wrong way or make a bad decision, and within a few short months, the credit card debt piles up. Once you’re buried, it’s a seemingly impossible mountain to climb.

Stress. Inadequate and unworthy. Less than.

I’m no f’nance bro, but I gotta think there’s a business opportunity for a credit card offering an APR much closer to the mortgage APR. Yeah, I get it — credit cards have legitimately higher expenses to manage, and they are providing credit at a higher risk to themselves, but there’s gotta be an opportunity to move 22.8% closer to 8%. 

It will take creativity, insight, grit, and someone who cares. Doesn’t it always start with someone who cares?

In the meantime, here’s a great service to consider if you find yourself buried at the bottom of the debt mountain. 

At one time, there was Russian River’s Pliny the Younger in Santa Rosa if you liked the West Coast style IPA and The Alchemist’s Heady Topper in Stowe if you preferred the New England style. 

At one time, there was Joe’s Pizza in Washington Square Park if you liked New York style or the original Pizzeria Uno at Wabash and Ohio if you preferred Chicago style. 

At one time, there was Pat’s at 9th and Passyunk if you wanted a chopped steak Whiz Wit or Geno’s, also at 9th and Passyunk if you wanted a sliced steak Provologne Without.

Those were romantic times. The times when, to get the best, you had to travel to the place. The one and only place. Going there and eating or drinking the thing meant something. 

Nowadays, you can get almost as good, or even better, right down the street. Any street in just about any town. Honestly, your local joint can brew an IPA, toss a pizza, or fry up a cheesesteak that’s almost as good or even better than any of the original “bests.” Plus, now there’s goldbelly.com. 

That’s good for our taste buds but worse for our souls. 

As humans, one of the great advantages we have over AI is curiosity. AI isn’t curious about anything.

But you and I can be interested. Interested in each other, maglev trains, 18th-century art, growing a house painting business, how sticky notes stick, esoteric homophones, the origins of religion, copywriting skills, Pokemon, Star Wars vs Star Trek, the New Wave of British Heavy Metal, or how best to tell the story of your homemade wine.

Oh, AI already knows about all of that. At least, what it thinks are the facts. Just ask it.

But when you’re interested, you’re not just getting the facts. You’re forming your perspective.

That’s interesting. Think it more. Say it more.

Follow the thread.

Is it someone who has been “born again?” What does that mean?

Must you believe in the inerrancy of the Bible? Does inerrancy require the seven days of Genesis, the serpent in the garden, Noah’s Ark, Jonah’s whale, the tribulation of Job, and an immaculate conception? Must the earth be around 5000 years old?

If not literal inerrancy, must you believe that the Bible was divinely inspired?

What does it mean to take Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior? Must you walk to the front of a room, declare, and have hands laid on you? Can you do it on your deathbed or death row?

Must you be baptized? What if you’ve never had communion?

Is it someone to whom God speaks? What does it feel like to have God speak to you?

Must you believe in Satan as a being? What about hell as a place? What about heaven?

Is it someone who attends worship services every Sunday? What about Wednesday night services or Saturday mass? Must you receive ashes on your forehead on the first Wednesday of Lent?

Must you subscribe to a particular political view? Were any Nazi’s Christians? What about slave owners? Murderers? Tax evaders?

What if you’ve never donated a dollar to a church, another person, or an organization? What if you’ve never volunteered for a soup kitchen? What if you’ve never stopped to help someone else on the side of the road?

Who is a Christian?

Speed kills.
Haste makes waste.
Slow and steady wins the race.

But also,

First wins.
Success loves speed.
First to market, first to make an impact.

What’s the proper speed?

Regardless of how fast you are going, don’t forget to look around.

In the tech world, there is a (semi / unwritten / possibly erroneous) axiom: 

Version 3 is the good one.

The purpose of Version 1 is to prove it can be done. Your team needs to pipe-clean the technology, the process, and the concept. Version 1 isn’t even for the early adopters. It’s basically for your own team and YouTube.

If you’re lucky, you get to Version 2.

The purpose of Version 2 is to incorporate feedback, work out the kinks, tighten up the supply chain, and hone the marketing. Version 2 is for the early adopters. 

If you’re very lucky, you get to Version 3. 

Version 3 is the one that fixes enough of the mistakes, has the right features and performance, benefits from an improved supply chain, and most importantly, is the one that’s ready for the mass market and makes you money. 

Hu.ma.ne just launched their AI pin. Next week you can spend $700 on it. I find it intriguing but also a little dubious. For example, I hate my gadgets talking to me. I like what hu.ma.ne is saying, but I don’t really understand how the AI pin is going to do what Imram claims, i.e., what it “unlocks.” 

This thing isn’t for me. Yet.

But I got my eye on Version 3.

In the winter of 2003, when I was working with Apple on the iPod, I had a meeting at 2 pm in Cupertino.

I left my house at 2:30 am in the middle of a snowstorm to get to the Philly airport for an early morning flight. In normal conditions, it takes me an hour and fifteen minutes to travel from my house to the offsite parking lot I use. This morning took almost three hours. I jumped in the shuttle as the snow had already obscured my just-parked car’s roof and front windshield. 

Flying west for six hours, I watched the ground transform from the white Northeast to the patchwork green and brown of the plains, over the snow-capped Rockies, and back to the verdant San Francisco coast. I walked through the garage to the rental car pickup, feeling the mid-50s temperature around me as the morning fog lifted. As I drove the 45 minutes on the 101 south from the airport to Cupertino, I watched the temperature gauge rise to 75 as the mid-day sun beamed fully overhead. 

I met my colleague for lunch in Cupertino, and we sat outside. After lunch, we walked over to DeAnza 8 for the 2 pm meeting. A gorgeous day. 

For the next four hours, the iPod engineering team raked me over the coals, chewed me up, and spit me out. I white-knuckled it but emerged on the other side. 

Now a mental dishrag, I jumped in the car and drove to the closer San Jose airport for my trip home on the 10 pm red-eye. First stop — Vegas. I didn’t have to change planes, but we were taking on more passengers. It’s now the middle of the night. I’d never been to Vegas, so I hopped off the plane, ran down the gate hallway, and picked the first slot machine I found. Dropped my $5 in, pulled the lever, and promptly lost my $5. 

Flying overnight, I managed zero sleep in my window seat. We landed in Philly at around 6 am with the sun not yet peeking over the winter horizon. In zombie mode, I made my way through the airport maze to the shuttle pickup. Luckily, no bags except my backpack with my laptop. The shuttle deposited me next to my car in the lot as the rising sun made it just dusky enough to see without lights. 

Eight inches of snow buried my car. I grabbed the brush and small snow shovel from my trunk and spent the next 15 minutes digging it out. I drove home in the middle of the morning rush hour complicated by the weather. Another three-hour journey.

That was quite a 32 hours. Made possible only through the speed of modern technologies. Walking, driving, and flying my way across the country and back, as well as through all of the seasons and back. Even dropped a fiver in a slot machine in Vegas along the way. 

Speed is a perspective flipper. 

When trying to understand another’s perspective, you should ask yourself, “How fast are they going?”

“Have you ever noticed that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac?” 

– George Carlin

I couldn’t agree more.

More than one passenger in my car has heard me exclaim, “Do you believe this idiot? Doesn’t he have anywhere to be?” Or, “Look at that maniac! He’s gonna kill someone!”

But its not really about the other driver’s speed. It’s about your speed. Specifically, the speed you want to travel. Your own speed probably changes with context, familiarity, and time.

Whether you’re driving down the road, working on a relationship, navigating a career, writing a book, or affecting change in the world, you want to move at your own speed. 

Everybody else is either an idiot or a maniac. 

Humans run an average of 7 mph and up to 20-ish mph if they’re being chased over a short distance. I assume we’ve been running for our entire existence. 

Horses run an average of 30 mph. Humans started riding horses around 5000 years ago. 

Trains became the primary mode of long-distance travel in the 19th century. By the early 20th century, they were averaging speeds of 55 mph. Today, the Shanghai Maglev operates at 267 mph every day. 

Most cars could go over 55 mph by the 1930s. However, it wasn’t until the 1950s that the majority of the road infrastructure enabled this and higher speeds. Now, we travel routinely at 70+ mph.

The Ford Trimotor, one of the earliest commercial aircraft, first flew in 1925 and had a cruising speed of about 100 mph. Today, you’re traveling an average of 500 mph through the sky. 

The best way to understand speed is to look to the side. The objects you see and how you see them are defined by your speed and their relative distance to you. 

On the maglev train (I’ve been on this train. It’s crazy.), anything within 100 feet of the track is unseeable — just a blur. But look out toward the tall buildings across the city, and they just slowly march by. 

As you travel at 500 mph across the sky at 40000 feet, the quilted patchwork of the country and tight-knit circuit boards of the cities crawl slowly past you on the ground. 

Driving 40 mph down the country road, each mailbox zips by as an unseen blur, but the tree-filled hills in the distance stand almost still as the barns just a few hundred yards away slide between the mailboxes and the hills at their own in-between pace.

Run down that same country road, and now each and every mailbox shows its own unique personality. The barns and the hills sit together as stationary overseers.

Today’s world provides a myriad of paces at which you can take it all in. The pace at which you travel provides perspective. Because perspective isn’t just about what is. It’s also about how you see it.

Whatever your pace at any given moment, don’t forget to look. 

I finally started putting all the lessons together, as well as learning the last couple during my third semester.

It wasn’t perfect, and I still had a ways to go to perfect them, but I cracked 3.00 for the semester with a 3.01. That gave me 2.76 as I applied to be an Electrical Engineering major. I was nervous. In fact, I had started to work on what would happen if I didn’t get in.

I don’t know where I was ranked. I may have been the very last out of 300. But I got in. And now, I’ve spent over 30 years working in the tech industry as an Electrical and Software engineer. I can’t imagine what my career would have been without it.

I never got my cumulative GPA over 3.00. My high water mark was 2.99, and I graduated with 2.96. But it was enough. Later, I went on to get a master’s degree in EE. By then, I had armed myself with the lessons of my best learning methods, which paid off right from the first class. I graduated with a 3.65.

Part of growing up for me was learning that my capabilities aren’t fixed. Success or progress isn’t just about talent or inherent ability. It’s about learning, growing, and putting the work in to get better.

Learning itself is a skill. Once I learned how to learn, I filled my quiver with a bunch of arrows.

I learned the most valuable lesson of how I learn during my third semester.

This was the most critical semester yet because it was the last set of grades to go into my cumulative GPA prior to major entrance. I had piled up some spectacularly mediocre grades so far. With an A- in a four-credit Physics II class over the summer, I was now at a 2.64 GPA. 

Unfortunately, I was taking the hardest math course I had ever, or would ever take — Math 250: Differential Equations. 

I struggled right out of the gate, but within a few weeks, I was regularly working with a friend of mine (thanks to the lesson I learned about conferring with others). And he introduced me to the best lesson of all — go talk to the professor.

I can remember exactly one professor’s name from my entire college career: Dr. Crichton Ogle (now at Ohio State — the traitor), assistant professor of Math. My professor for DiffEq. 

Every Tuesday, after the first few weeks, my friend Mike and I visited him in his office hours. He patiently spent an hour or more each time giving us his undivided attention and working through our individual struggles. His attention and care is the only reason that I not only passed but semi-thrived. I came out of that class almost sort of knowing what I was doing.

At the end of the semester, he invited Mike and me to be his guests at another math professor’s house for a little gathering of professors and some special student guests. We were his guests. It was, quite frankly, an honor. 

The lesson I learned is that professors are people, and many of them care. Go see them. They’ll help you. They want to help you. They want you to succeed. 

I came out of that class with a B. The only reason was Dr. Ogle and the fact that I went to talk to him. 

I came out of my first full year of college reeling. Even after putting my mind to getting better, I had done worse my second semester.

I knew I was in trouble because in the late 80s in Penn State engineering, you applied for your specific major (EE in my case) after your third semester — 40-60 credits into your college career. To get into EE, I would need to be in the top 300 applicants. I didn’t know how many were applying, but I knew it was more than 300. I had to figure this out.

My third semester included my first course specific to my intended major — Computer Engineering 271: Digital Design. Even though I had been writing computer programs since 4th grade, I had zero ideas how the hardware operated. This course would be my first step on what would eventually be my career journey.

One month in, I was flailing. I didn’t understand the terminology, the symbols, or even the basic concepts of boolean logic. And I was really trying. I just didn’t get it.

The week before the first mid-term, a guy I met in class invited me to a group study session. I had never studied or even worked together like this before. Certainly not in high school. I was hesitant, but I went.

A group of five of us sat around a table and collectively worked through a bunch of the practice problems. At first, I was silent because I was self-conscious about my ignorance. But then, the smartest person at the table said to the group, “OK, I don’t get this one here…”

And the veil came down.

It seems simple; dumb even. But I was too embarrassed by my lack of understanding to even open my mouth until that very point. We studied together for a couple of hours, and I started asking my own questions. I came away from that single session having learned more than the previous month of lecture and solitary struggle. 

I had unlocked the next lesson on learning how to learn. 

Confer with your classmates. Study with your classmates. If you don’t understand a problem, work through it together. I still ended with a C in this class, but I felt like I had made a turn.

Disobeying this one almost sunk me.

Heading to the backend of the second semester of my freshman year, I had started to figure out some things about how I learn best, but I was about to learn the most important one.

Finals week was upon me, and it was a killer. I limped in with a C in both Calc II and Physics, both four-credit classes, and needed a win on each of those final exams to boost my grade. I took the Calculus test early in the week. Meh. I didn’t know my grade, but I knew I didn’t hit it out of the park. Next up was Physics at 8 am on Thursday. I had to nail this one.

One thing I’ve always known about myself when taking tests — I have to be well-rested. A clear head from a good night’s sleep always serves me better than cramming until the last second. Many fellow students pulled all-nighters regularly, but it wasn’t normally my thing for studying.

Wednesday night found me reeling and unconfident. Around midnight, I thought about packing it in and relying on a good night’s sleep. But I decided to keep going and work on more problems. Finally, around 3 am, I couldn’t do it anymore. I set my alarm for 5 to get a two-hour nap before picking it up again. 

The next thing I knew, my clock read 8:13.

I don’t know if I didn’t set it correctly or if I woke up and, in a stupor, turned it off and went back to sleep, but regardless, I had already missed the beginning of the test. I jumped up, threw on clothes, and ran out towards Eisenhower Auditorium, normally a 15-minute walk from my dorm.

Each semester, about 800 students enroll in freshman physics (Phys 201). Eisenhower seats about 2500, which is why we’re taking this test in this room. This is a monster course with no ability for personal attention or excuses. Here’s your score. Here’s the mean. Here’s your grade. Black and white.  

I arrived right around 8:25, and immediately ran towards the stage of the giant room to plead my case to the professor. To my surprise, I wasn’t the only one! Three other students were already pleading their case for more time due to oversleeping. I piled on.

But to no avail. He denied each one of us. He’d be collecting all tests at exactly 9:30.

I grabbed a test and ran to the first seat I could find, having wasted another 5 – 10 minutes. Needless to say, I didn’t get it done. Plus, I wasn’t at my best on the finished ones.

I failed. The only time in my life I’ve ever failed any graded test. The failed final gave me a D in the class. In engineering, you need C in physics or you must retake it. When I got my final grade and saw the D, I tried to contact the professor and plead my case again. Didn’t work. 

Not only would I be repeating Physics 201, but my second semester GPA was a 2.4, giving me a cumulative GPA of 2.5.

I was going in the wrong direction. 

My first semester punched me in the face. 

I had never seen a C before on a report card, let alone a sub-3.00 cumulative average. I now had a couple of lessons under my belt, but as it would turn out, not nearly enough.

My two best friends were also engineers, but they were hoping to be mechanical. They lived a couple of doors down from me. Aside from the halo of 15 guys that all hung around together, the three of us were peas in a pod. Unfortunately, even though we needed to take several of the same classes, we weren’t on the same schedule. 

About halfway through the semester, I’m struggling with two classes in particular — Math 141 (Calculus II) and Physics 201. But I’m trying. I’m going to class and trying to do the work, but its hard. Hard material and hard for me to concentrate. I’m easily distracted in a dorm full of my best friends.

One evening, I walk down the hall to my buddy’s room. Knock. They’re not there. Now that I think about it, they’ve been gone just about every evening recently. Where the heck are they going?

Later that night, I find them in the room and pose the question, “Where the heck have you guys been going at night?”

“Um…Well…We’ve been going elsewhere to study.”

“What? Where? How come you didn’t tell me?”

“Because we can’t study here. We can’t concentrate. It’s too distracting. And to be honest, you were part of the problem.”

Ooof.

I probably blinked at them for a few seconds while that sunk in. But I recovered.

“OK, I get it. But tell me where you’re going. Let me come with you and I promise I won’t bother you. I also need a better place to do work.”

They proceeded to tell me about the library and any random building on campus with its door open (most were open all the time in the late 80s) — just pick a room. I had never even thought of this. It never crossed my mind to leave my room to study. At home, my parents insisted that I study in my bedroom. It was all I knew. Of course, at home, I didn’t have 15 best friends right down the hall. 

They relented, and the next night, after dinner, we headed to the library, and I discovered the solitary confinement of the stacks. Here was the third lesson — create an environment conducive to what you need to concentrate.

I was hooked and going somewhere else to study really did help. 

Unfortunately, it was the next lesson that almost sunk me.

I aced my first college test, and it ruined my first semester.

The first test of my college career was in freshman chemistry — Chem 12. A 20-ish question, multiple-choice test, 6:30 at night in the forum. Right or wrong answers only. No partial credit for showing your work.

I hadn’t done the homework (the professor didn’t collect homework). Extra problems for practice? You gotta be kidding me. I didn’t study. I intended to, I really did, but I was too busy having fun with all my new friends.

I walked into the test nervous because I didn’t know what to expect, and I knew I hadn’t studied. But here’s the thing — the first month of Chem 12 was just a review of everything I already knew from chemistry in high school and I was pretty good at taking tests.

An hour later, I handed in my scantron paper with a smile and walked out thinking, “That was a breeze. This college thing is easy like high school!”

And that screwed the rest of my semester. I did the minimum, thinking I’d get maximum scores, just like that first chemistry test.

The result? A 2.6 GPA, which included a C+ in Chem 12 (a steep dive after the first test) and a C in Econ 14.

The second lesson about learning that I figured out by the end of my first semester was “do the work.” Study for the test. Do the practice problems. Yes, even the extra ones.

The first time it caught up to me, I woke up in a lecture hall all by myself.

Within 48 hours of arriving at Penn State, I found 20 new like-minded friends.

Wanna walk downtown? Yes!
Wanna play softball? Yes!
Wanna explore campus? Yes!
Beer? Yes!
Wanna hang out and listen to music till 3am? Yes!
Oh, you’re a hockey player? Wanna play on my team? Yes!

OK, all normal stuff, but what wasn’t normal was the sheer quantity of opportunity and the complete lack of understanding of when to say “no.” I did it all. Except study.

And over that first month, I found my schedule slowly skewing later and later. Eleven pm bed became 1 am bed, which became 3 am bed. But my class schedule was full of 8 am classes.

Econ 14 — Principles of Economics. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 8 am in the Biotech building in a lecture hall with 150 other students. There I was, sleeping like a log during the lecture.

I don’t know what the end of that lecture looked like, but in my head, 150 students tip-toed out of the lecture hall, pointing and snickering at me. Maybe it was the professor’s idea. Or maybe nobody really noticed, and they just left normally.

Regardless, I woke with a start and I was the only one in the room. Completely empty except for me. I looked at my watch — class ended twenty minutes ago. I was late for my next one.

In a pool of spit and solitary embarrassment, I found my first lesson about how to learn. I’d need to get a handle on my schedule. No more 8 am classes if I could avoid them, and if I had to take one, I’d better take it seriously the night before.

Sometimes, I’ll have to say no to fun.

I almost wasn’t accepted into my major.

Not only didn’t high school prepare me for college, but I think it hurt me. I have a good memory for things like dates, names, formulas, and definitions. I did a lot of homework on the bus ride to school or in homeroom once I got there. Through high school, studying for me was an exercise in breezing over the dates, names, formulas, and definitions right before the test.

I did well on the SATs, graduated in the top 10% of my class of 220, and gained acceptance into all three colleges I applied to (University of Colorado, Boston University, and Penn State). This was the mid-80s, so it was well before SAT prep classes, gamified school rankings, college application coaches, essays, DEI quotas, and personal mission statements.

Then I got to Penn State and promptly fell on my face — 2.5 GPA after my first year, including a D in freshman physics, which meant I had to retake the class. I’d never seen a C on a report card in high school.

I spent the next four years digging out from the hole I dug in my first two semesters. I never cracked a cumulative 3.00. My high water mark was 2.99, and I graduated with a 2.95.

I had no idea how to manage my time and live on my own. I had no idea how to study. I had no idea how to think about problems.

I had no idea how to learn.

So, step one was to figure out how to learn.

The first step in getting the facts is to know where they are.

With grocery store items, you’ll find the facts on the nutrition and ingredient label, not on the front label.
For research papers, you’ll find the facts in the section labeled “data,” not in the abstract or the conclusion sections.
In a financial report, you’ll (hopefully) find the facts in the balance sheet and income statements, not in the executive summary or footnotes.
In the courtroom, you might find the facts in the presented evidence, but you won’t in the opening or closing arguments.
For a car, you’ll find the facts on the performance and spec sheet, not in the TV commercial.

In today’s culture of weaponized “facts,” it’s helpful to know where to find them.

“Which side are you on?”

I’ve seen a lot of this recently. We all have. Between politics, world events, and even academia and science.

I’ve always thought that’s the wrong question. First, the question presumes there is a right side and a wrong side. Second, the question presumes you better be on the right side. 

Here are better questions to ask:

• How can we resolve this?
• What can we learn from each other?
• How can we find common ground?
• What do the sides believe?
• How can we find an agreeable outcome?
• What’s the third side?

Dan says to me from around the hood, 

“Come over here, I’ll show you. I’m gonna get in the car and hit the gas. Look right here.”

He pointed to a spot on the left side of the engine.

“You ready?”

“Yup!”

He hit the gas, and I immediately also knew what the problem was — the motor mount was busted. Sheered clean through. As soon as he hit the gas, the whole engine torqued and moved about an inch.

“To verify this causes the noise, let’s turn the wheel to the left and do it again.”

I got in the car, turned the wheel, and hit the gas.

“Bingo!”

We switched places again, and I saw that as the engine torqued and moved, it touched some of the wheel structure. Case closed.

“I can have this fixed in 15 minutes.”

I stood there as he grabbed the welder, got suited up, and went to work on welding the engine mount. When he was done, I asked him how much I owed him.

“I don’t know. How about $25?”

I handed him $25 in cash and asked, “How did the dealer miss this?”

“You gotta understand how they’re trained. They’re trained to diagnose and treat problems as a black box — which means they narrow down the problems described by the customer to a particular system. In your case the front right wheel system. Then, they just replace the parts inside the box. They don’t look inside the box for exactly what might be the problem. They’re rewarded — paid — for the number of jobs they can do in a day, not how many times they found or fixed the little gadget that was the real source of the problem.

Most of the time, black box fixes work fine. They fix your issue. But it is the costliest way to fix the problem because you’re paying for a lot of new stuff you don’t need.

Mechanics like me — we’re white box mechanics. When you come to me with a problem, I find the box, and then open it up and look inside. My goal is to not only fix your issue but do it as efficiently as possible. That saves you money and makes you really happy with me.”

Then I said it out loud, just to verify, 

“The bottom line is that I would have spent $1700 to have them replace all of the wheel infrastructure, but that wouldn’t have actually addressed the problem. As soon as I turned left and accelerated, I would have heard the noise. Man, I woulda been pissed.”

“Yup. In your case, the black box approach would have failed. If you had come in with better information about what caused the problem, for example, pinpointing it to when you accelerated and turned, they may have found the problem. But the solution would still have been an expensive replacement of the motor mount, rather than welding the current one in place.”

I drove out both elated and a lot wiser. 

I skipped across traffic and pulled into the little garage in the triangle. 

I didn’t know what to expect, but I was hoping whoever was there could at least give me some guidance or maybe even do the work for a lot less. I didn’t quite believe the dealer’s assessment of my problem (i.e., the entire right front wheel structure was bent). Plus, I didn’t have the $1700 that they wanted anyway. 

I needed a different solution.

As I cut the engine and got out, a youngish guy with a grey shirt, nametag, and a smile on his face came out to greet me while wiping his hands on a greasy rag. 

“Hi! I’m Dan. Can I help you?”

“I sure hope so…”

And I proceeded to give him the rundown of my predicament and the fact that I didn’t really buy the explanation. 

“Well, I got a few minutes now, pull it in the garage. Let’s pop the hood.”

As we stood in front of the car with the hood up, I stayed silent. Dan leaned in, pulled on a few things, touched a few others, and said “hmmm” several times. Then he told me,

“Get in the car. Let’s start it up. I want to watch it while it’s running.”

I did as told. After 30 seconds or so, he yelled at me over the engine noise, “OK, now hit the gas.”

Five seconds later, I see Dan’s face poke around the hood to look at me with a giant smile.

“I know what the problem is.”

I heard an awful scraping sound occasionally from the front right wheel when I turned left. 

And that was precisely the problem — occasionally. I could not put my finger on it because I couldn’t find the pattern to when it happened other than turning left. Putting my head under the hood and taking the wheel off didn’t enlighten me either. I was stumped. 

My red 1987 Celica helped me learn another lesson about how the system works. This time, the lesson was black box versus white box. 

I had just moved to the area, so I found my local Toyota dealer in the Yellowpages (how quaint) and made the appointment. I dropped it off and three days later got the call.

“Sir, we’ve found the problem. Have you hit anything with this car?” 

“No. Never.”

“Huh, OK. That scraping sound happens because a bunch of the wheel structure is bent. Basically, we have to replace the entire right front wheel…”

And then he listed off the laundry list of stuff he’d have to replace — to the tune of about $1700. I couldn’t pay that. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I knew I’d just have to go get it and figure something else out. Could I do it myself?

“Hmmm. Well, I can’t do that right now. Don’t do anything. I’ll come get it.”

Between my apartment and the car dealer was what I refer to as “the worst intersection in the world.” It’s a heinous five-points thing where three routes come together, two of which are four lanes. It’s a monster, and it’s a ten-minute wait no matter what direction you’re coming from. 

On the way home, I’m coming up on the light, and it looks like I’m gonna make it. I’m getting excited and tailgating the guy in front of me. I’m committed now, no matter when it turns. We’re gonna do this!

But no, it was not to be. Just as we’re approaching the light, it turns yellow, and the person in front of me inexplicably stops. Has he not been here before? Does he not know how much time he just cost us? Does he not know that a yellow light is simply a suggestion?

Regardless, there I sat, one back from the front of the line, steaming. 

Now with plenty of time to contemplate my situation, I noticed that across the intersection, in a little triangle, sat a small one-stall garage with a PA state safety inspection station sign hanging over its entrance. 

Eh, what the heck.

One day after having my 1987 Celica towed to his garage, Phil gave me a call.

“Car’s fixed. You can come get it.”

“Great! How much do I owe you?”

“$50”

“$50?! What was actually wrong with it?”

“I’ll show you when you get here.”

With that, Chris and I drove the 30 minutes to Phil’s to pick it up. 

“So what the hell was wrong with it?”

“All it needed was an adjustment of the electrical timing. On this car, you do that by adjusting the distributor cap. It’s pretty easy. Come out here, I’ll show you.”

We went to the garage, lifted the hood, and he showed me that rotating the distributor cap adjusts the timing. That was literally all it needed. 

“OK, so what was the dealer trying to do to me? Why was he insistent that the problem was that I needed genuine Toyota parts?”

“Ah, because you gotta understand how the system works.”

He pulled out some giant book with an official-looking Toyota insignia and flipped to somewhere in the middle.

“Look here. The timing belt replacement at a Toyota dealer actually requires two jobs: 1) the mechanical replacement of the timing belt and 2) the adjustment of the electrical timing. But that second part, the electrical timing adjustment, is part of the job labeled as tune-up.”

“Aha! The problem was that I declined the second job. This guy knew that genuine Toyota parts wouldn’t matter a lick (as I suspected, because nobody’s that dumb), but he was trying to tell me (with a wink) that the timing belt job isn’t complete unless and until they also perform the tune-up. The tune-up, although new plugs and wires were not required for my problem here, was code for: we’ll also adjust the electrical timing once we replace the belt so that it runs good.”

“Yes, exactly. Toyota, and all manufacturers, are a bit like chain restaurants in that they want the service departments at the various dealerships to provide the same customer experience no matter which one you take your car to. Plus, they get operations benefits by training all of their technicians and service managers on the same job system.”

“Why wouldn’t the timing belt job automatically include adjusting the electrical timing? That seems kind of slimy.”

“It probably is a little, but if you pay them for the job, they’ll do what they say — you’re car will come out with all new parts and the engine purring like a kitten.”

That was one of a few lessons that this 1987 red Celica taught me about how the service departments in car dealerships work. This one saved me a few bucks, but the next one saved me thousands.

Stay tuned. 

I pride myself on acting like a respectable adult in trying situations. 

I don’t whine at retail agents, make a stink at the wait staff, or yell across the counter when I don’t get my way. I’m not that person, except for two times in my life (of which I’m aware). One was in an airport in Doha, Qatar.

The other was right here at the service counter of the Toyota dealership in Pottstown, PA.

I simply could not understand why this guy would not follow basic logic. I couldn’t control myself. I stood there and whined, made a stink, and yelled at the person standing on the other side of the counter. Luckily for me, this was long before smartphones and social media. 

In hindsight, I give him a lot of credit for how he handled me (not his logic or his story; that was ridiculous). He stood there and patiently stuck to his story while I acted like a child. But he didn’t win me over. Clearly, I was going to have to spend more money, but for damn sure, I wasn’t going to give it to this guy. I ended with a flare, “Don’t touch my car! A tow truck will be showing up!” 

Embarrassed and not knowing what to do or where to tow the car, I called my dad. He calmed me down and told me where to have it towed.

“Don’t worry. Phil will figure this out.”

And as it turned out, Phil was also the one who could teach me the lesson about how the system works.

I got it started, turned that sucker right around, and limped back into the parking lot. I asked for the service manager, whom I had just handed $600 to about 10 minutes before. 

Still innocently and with genuine confusion, I said,

“Hey, I just tried to leave but there is definitely something still wrong. It spits and sputters and then stalls.”

“Yes, sir. We noticed that also. We think it’s because your distributor cap and wires are not genuine Toyota parts. I already recommended to you that we perform the tune-up, but you declined.”

It took a second for that to sink in because, you know, I am genuinely confused. I’m in my mid-20s, baby-faced, and not yet steeped in the cynicism required to navigate this world. 

But I knew one thing for damn sure — the problem with my car was NOT an aftermarket distributor cap and wires. I tried to reason with him.

“Sir, I don’t understand how that could possibly be the problem. It ran perfectly until the moment the timing belt snapped. Could something else have been damaged when it snapped?”

“No, we know that’s not the problem. I can promise that if you instruct us to do the tune-up ($300), your car will be running perfectly.”

I’m an engineer. I spend most of my days figuring out problems, what caused them, and how to fix them. This guy is not making any sense. So I stood there and tried to use logic and reason, but he stood his ground.

And then I lost control. 

One evening, on the way home from work, my 1987 Celica left me sitting on the side of the road.

The engine just quit. I had no idea what happened, but since it was a standard transmission, I shifted to neutral and coasted to the shoulder. Coincidently, right in front of a Ford dealership.

So I walked in, pointed to my car stranded out front, and then withstood the onslaught of sales pitches for a new Ford while I asked to use a phone (pre-mobile phones). An hour later, my car and I, under tow, pulled into the Toyota dealer. 

A day or two later, I got what I thought was a strange phone call from the service manager. He called to tell me the timing belt had snapped and would need to be replaced for about $600. Fair enough. But then he also said,

“We noticed that the distributor cap and wires aren’t genuine Toyota parts. While we have it, we’d like to perform a tune-up, and with that we’ll replace the plugs, distributor cap and wires, etc with genuine Toyota parts.”

“How much will that cost?”

“$300”

“No thanks, just the timing belt, please.”

“Sir, we highly recommend that we perform this tune-up. We can’t guarantee that it will be running correctly unless we do this service.”

I was genuinely confused. Until the second the timing belt snapped, it was running perfectly.

“No, thanks.”

He persisted. So did I. Just the timing belt, please.

I got the call a few days later that it was ready. I paid the $600, hopped in, and pulled out onto the road. As soon as I hit the gas to accelerate, the engine bogged down, missed, backfired, and stalled. 

Now, wait a minute, here. What’s going on?

In the mid-90s, I drove a stick-shift  1987 red Toyota Celica. 

I bought it right after I got my first permanent job out of college, and I was psyched. This was by far the best car I had ever owned. It replaced a 1984 Chevy Chevette. I loved this car – stick shift, more power than any previous car I had owned (only 116 HP, but my Chevette had 65 HP), power windows, and sporty (for the time). 

Although I loved it, it had a myriad of annoying little problems over the several years that I owned it. For example, it perpetually winked at oncoming traffic because one pop-up headlight stayed stuck in the up position while the other stayed down. The headliner fabric drooped down on the driver’s head, requiring your raised right hand to hold it up in between using your right hand to change gears. The air conditioner was a crapshoot, as were the power windows. The most annoying, however, was the engine had trouble in the rain. I never figured that out. Sometimes it was fine, and sometimes it would spit and sputter.

But it also had a couple of major problems that taught me a lot about how systems in the world work. Although trying at the time, these were critical lessons that have served me well.  

What follows over the next couple of days are the lessons I learned from my 1987 Celica.

When Salvatore Maranzano organized the five Italian Mafia families in NYC in 1931, he succeeded largely because each family agreed to operate within their specified geographic location. 

As long as each family stayed within their own turf, they got along reasonably well. Each family doing their own business and making their own profits. But, of course, sometimes they crossed the lines. When they did, people got hurt. 

I saw the following headline: “Food companies are freaking out about Ozempic.” 

The gist — food (and healthcare) companies are concerned and preparing business mitigation plans because people may stop spending as much on snacking and healthcare services. Of course, the street runs on foreshadowing, rumors, and fear. This is the food and healthcare companies getting out in front of the news with their own PR — this is the actual mitigation. “We have a plan.”

But the pharma brands in on the GLP-1 wave couldn’t be happier. If you own stock in them, you’re probably happy, also. Novo Nordisk (Ozempic) stock has doubled over the last year. Like opioids before it, GLP-1 drugs (Ozempic, Wegovy, etc) are already overprescribed. 

When one entity starts to gain or thrive, it’s often at the expense of another. 

A food company’s number one purpose isn’t to make you healthy. It’s to make money for its owners/investors/stockholders. 

A healthcare or insurance company’s number one purpose isn’t to make you healthy. It’s to make money for its owners/investors/stockholders. 

A pharmaceutical company’s number one purpose isn’t to make you healthy. It’s to make money for its owners/investors/stockholders. 

When you engage in a turf war, somebody’s gonna get hurt. 

What do you feel when you think of the road ahead?

Excitement? Trepidation? Pessimism? Optimism? Tired? Energetic?

The road is the road. You probably can’t change it. You may know what it looks like. You might have the map, so you know what you’re in for. Or you may not. That road may be uncharted, unpaved, or even unfinished. You may have to figure it out as you go or forge your own path.

This morning I watched the township crew working on my road outside my house. They prepared the shoulders, but I’m not sure for what. Beautiful and smooth new asphalt? Maybe the dreaded oil and chips. Maybe just some patchwork. Maybe nothing at all beyond cleaning up the shoulder.

I’ve walked, run, cycled, and driven this road thousands of times. I’ve put in the miles. I know what it looks like, feels like, and where it goes. Yet I can’t control everything about it. Tomorrow it may look and feel very different than today.

The unpredictability of this road is a reminder that even with familiarity, there’s room for surprise. It’s those surprises that add depth, transforming routine into adventure.

Whatever you feel when you think about the road ahead, remember that it’s not the road itself that defines you. It’s now you navigate it.

Life gets better when you’re smart about defaults.

Defaults are everywhere, from your tech gadgets to dining menus. In the tech world, defaults make sure things run smoothly. When you’re at a chain restaurant, the default options are often about inventory or profit margins. Contrast that with a gourmet restaurant, where the chef’s defaults are dishes they passionately recommend.

Automotive service shops have defaults, too, often labeled as “best value” or “customer favorite.” But “best” for whom? The same logic applies to furniture stores. The default is often the item on sale, but you can and should negotiate for what you actually want.

To find the defaults, look for words like “signature dish” and “best value,” bold font, arrows, and green checkboxes. They’re pointing you to what they want you to do.

Remember, defaults are generally set up to benefit the provider, not you, the user. Make it a point to understand who really benefits from these preset options and make choices that better align with your own needs.

When you start to see the landscape of defaults for what it is, you regain control, turning these hidden settings into tools for your benefit.

Yes, you still should get together in the same room.

You need human interaction. You need whiteboard sessions. You need to shoot the crap. You need to sit around a conference table and haggle over some stuff. You need to shake hands.

It’s about more than work; it’s about building a cohesive unit.

You need regular, if infrequent, get-togethers. Not every day or every week, but find the rhythm that works with the team and within your budget. That rhythm may change as the arc of the project changes.

With my current team, we would gather about every four to six weeks for a few days to a week. As we got to know each other better, we found that once a quarter or so works well for us now.

When you get together, don’t expect to work the same way or even do the same kind of work that you do when you’re sitting in your home office. That time together is all about being together. Use it to do the things that are a hard remotely. The watercooler conversation may be the most important piece. Let it be.

Maybe it’s once a month for you, or maybe once a year. Find the rhythm that works for you and your team. Once you do, you’ll be unstoppable.

Mastering your daily schedule isn’t only a work-from-home thing; since you’ve now integrated your home and work lives, you can use it to your advantage.

Master your remote work schedule before your day even starts. Create a night-before or morning routine. Prioritize your work with a clear head. If all else goes to hell, you want to make some level of progress on the #1 priority.

The power in doing this planning with a clear head is that it helps you control your reaction to the inevitable interruptions.

Make use of odd hours and take advantage of no commute. Utilize early mornings or late nights when the house is quiet. Leverage these hours to focus on high-impact work. Maybe 7 am meetings work better than 10 am meetings.

Organize your day around 1 – 3 hour chunks of time tht fit more naturally into the house schedule. Avoid scattering tasks. Group similar activities into specific blocks.

Schedule some dark modes where you go off the grid to focus. Turn off notifications and close extra tabs. Not every message has to be answered in real time. Those notifications are like crack. I love them, you love them. Nobody has the discipline to ignore them, especially when we’re in an easily distracted state to begin with. So just turn them off, and that solves the problem.

Now you’re making progress to mastering the remote work environment.

You gotta have the conversation with your spouse, partner, kids, and roommates. Even if your kids are very young. 

“When I’m sitting here, between these times, I’m working. Unless the house is on fire, or someone is bleeding, please don’t interrupt me.”

Start there. Make sure everyone has been told about your working hours, and your working space, and the expectation of no interruptions.

Of course, there will still be interruptions, and that’s OK. They are inevitable, even if the house isn’t on fire. When this happens, learn the phrase “Yes, but how about this evening or later today?” Or, “Yes, I would love to hear about that, but can we talk about it later?”

Here’s the key to using those phrases:  You must follow through. Don’t let them be an empty promise; you lose trust, and the phrases lose their power. Even 4-year-olds (especially 4-year-olds) will hold you to the fire on this. 

Unlike in an office where you are physically separate, your home and work lives are now integrated. Realistic boundaries have to reflect that. In the office, you get 8 hours. At home, maybe you get chunks of 1-3 hours. Find what works for both you and the others in your house. 

Give yourself and your family members grace and a period of transition. But set those boundaries.

Contrary to what you might fear, avoiding distractions when working remotely is not about self-discipline.

Thanks God, because if it was, I’d have no hope. I’m not a Navy Seal nor a Buddhist monk. I’m not disciplined enough.

The key to avoiding distractions is to create an environment that heads off your triggers. 

First, acknowledge that you have distraction triggers. It’s OK. Take a breath. We all have them. Once you acknowledge them, you can design an environment around them.

Is it the dishes in the sink or the lawn that needs mowing? Is it the email popup, or the text message buzz, or the Facebook messenger ding? Is it the kids walking in and asking what’s for lunch? Is it the incessant barking of the neighbor’s dog?

Now get to work buidling the right environment. Try stuff and test it. It may change over time. Over the next few days I will provide your with several pointers that helped me and can help you.

Start with creating a physical space for work. It may be the most important thing you can create to help eliminate distractions. 

Walking to and then sitting down at that space helps your mindset switch into work mode and signals to the others around you that you are now working. It’s worth giving up some area of your home to create this (semi-) permanent space. 

Don’t bring non-work related devices or distractions into that space. If you wouldn’t have it in your office, don’t have it on your desk at home. Either before you start the day, or at the conclusion of your day’s end, make this space conducive to your personal needs. 

For example, my wife requires a level of cleanliness in her space. If it’s a mess, she’s totally distracted and can’t get started. She must start the day with her space neat and tidy.

For me, it’s continuity from the previous day. When I sit down to start working, I want it to be like it was when I finished yesterday. That helps me jump right back into where I left off.

More to come…

Working from home, especially if it’s new for you, can present an almost paradoxical challenge to your productivity and energy. Especially in the afternoon.

Time works differently when working from home. 

A healthy and productive integrated work and home life schedule does not look like a commute to the office schedule. Working in an office has natural breaks built into the day, even if your normal routine is to work through lunch.

Working from home can bend linear time into an amorphic blob. 

Many days, you roll out of bed and right into work mode, and before you know it, it’s dark outside. You are often isolated from your team, and the household distractions that occur are counterproductive rather than naturally rejuvenating.

There is a pile of research from both the psychology and physiology angles indicating that physical exercise, especially something that you look forward to, helps boost your mood, energy, cognition, and mental acuity. 

These are the ingredients that keep you productive and happy during your workday. 

Taking a recess is about taking an intentional break from your work to do something that you look forward to in order to boost or regain your energy and creativity for the afternoon. If you use that break time to do something physical, you magnify the benefits.

What kind of break should you take? The one that you take.

Anything that you like to do can be a helpful recess, but you will get the most benefit out of something physical and outside. Get outside, get some fresh air. Maybe sweat a little or a lot. 

Feeling the benefits of recess, just like when you were in 5th grade doesn’t require something specific. It just requires that you do something you like so that you look forward to it and keep doing it.

And here’s one more suggestion for those of you whose schedule is stacked with one meeting after the other: 

Start declining meetings over lunch. You have my permission.

When the recess bell rings, don’t miss it.

It’s worth returning to why taking breaks, specifically a lunch break or some sort of recess, is critical to your success at mastering remote work.

To do so, let’s recall elementary school. Or at least my elementary school experience.

Fifth-grade was all about kickball. The way I remember it, the kickball game was the most important 30 minutes of the entire fifth-grade day. This was 1979, so unless it was pouring, we were going outside at recess, and there would be a kickball game. Dress appropriately.

The pre-game ritual started early in the day with trash-talking and anticipation of the impending contest. The lunch table was filled with underhanded draft negotiations just prior to the recess bell’s merciful release.

When the recess bell rang, it unleashed us to bolt outside, line up against the brick wall, and rush through the anti-climactic choosing of the mostly pre-negotiated teams.

And then we began.

The result was a glorious full-circle arc of anticipation, physical release, and the thrill of victory marred only slightly by the occasional trip to the nurse’s office for band-aids or finger splints.

The ending recess bell delivered our cohort of sweaty boys and girls back to the classroom. Some euphoric with the win. Others dejected and passing around the blame of the loss.

We were all physically spent yet mentally refreshed and ready to take on an afternoon of sitting in class and paying attention to the riveting lessons in language arts and the scientific method.

As it turns out, what’s good for readying a 5th grader for an afternoon of desk work is just as good at readying an adult for an afternoon of desk work.

More to come…

A quick but important divergence into the negative.

As a leader, you have a plethora of supervisory tools at your fingertips. The IT department can probably provide login reports, keystroke activity, and browser histories. Ignore them. Throw them away. Disable them.

The remote work environment is not a shop floor, nor is it a kindergarten classroom. You don’t need to maintain a watchful eye. You don’t need to ensure people are doing their jobs by making sure they’re online for the prescribed amount of time.

You might be tempted to create a standing Zoom meeting for the start of your workday or maybe mid-afternoon. If your project requires or runs better this way, then go for it. But if your true purpose is to ensure your team is working at what you consider the right time of the day, resist.

It’s not about supervisorship. It’s about respect and empowerment. It’s not about hours. It’s about impact.

Lead like a leader.

Provide more. Expect more. Get more.

Leading teams remotely is about, well, leadership. Specifically leadership in the new work paradigm. The new work paradigm calls for true leadership, not the supervisorship and micromanagement of org chart leadership. True leadership requires vision, connections, courage, respect, willingness to try things that might not work, and the ability to change one’s mind. 

Ensure each member knows what is expected of them and are empowered to control their own destiny. Empower through tools, responsibility, and trust.

Respect each team member’s schedule and the integration of work and home life. Consider alternate times for meetings. Does 7 am work better than 10 am now that no one is commuting? Use the tools to socialize everyone’s status throughout the day. 

A productive work community does not require a commitment to a daily schedule, but it does require a commitment to one another and to the mission. Encourage the commitment to one another and foster the commitment to the mission.

Developing and then keeping a productive and happy team is all about embracing the differences between the home and office environments, enhancing the benefits of working from home, and equipping your team to foster community and conversation. 

The schedules are jumbled. The distractions are greater. The isolation can be real. 

Acknowledge these challenges rather than ignore them.

Lead by example — work socially.

One of the keys to a cohesive, productive, and happy remote team is to foster community and conversation. Your team wants to feel cared for and cared about. You can do this through your actions and by encouraging everyone to work socially.

Start by putting a proper toolset in place, then use it correctly. Email ain’t it. Not for conversation anyway. Use tools such as Teams, Zoom, or Slack or even non-business tools such as WhatsApp (especially if you have a global team) for conversation. These tools make private and group conversations effortless and useful. Once you master them, it’s like you’re all sitting around the conference room table.

Establish daily contact. It doesn’t have to be intense, formal, nor even work-related. A few chat messages. A quick video session. Just like you might run into someone in the hall or walk by their desk.

Pull people into conversations on your messaging tool. Make sure they’re included and their voice is heard and valued. Actively seek out input from those who prefer to hide.

Once you master the art of working socially, your team will be on fire.

More to come…

The first step in successfully leading a remote team is to allow and help each team member to master it themselves.

Help them establish the same principles that you did:

1. Create a space
2. Find a routine
3. Take breaks
4. Work socially

Push for a budget. Your team needs quality gear and a comfortable setup to mimic an office vibe. Lobby for this. If they’re set up right, they’ll produce right.

Routine matters. Understand each member’s personal flow. Are they morning people or night owls? Schedule around these nuances. The aim is to integrate, not disrupt, their daily life.

Breaks aren’t optional. They’re necessary. Encourage your team to step away, recharge, and come back stronger. A walk around the block or a quick workout can do wonders for productivity. Make it a part of the work culture.

Social interaction keeps the team vibe alive. Use video calls, chat apps, or virtual meetups to keep everyone connected. Loneliness can be a creativity killer; keep the energy flowing.

You’re not just managing tasks; you’re curating an environment. Do it right and you’ll transform remote work from a challenge into a team superpower.

More to come…

Now that you’ve mastered your own remote work environment and practices, it’s time you figured out how best to lead your remote team.

I’ve been leading remote teams worldwide for the last decade, just as I’ve been working remotely myself. Here’s what I’ve learned.

Your goal for your remote team is really no different than if you all sat together in an office. You want to keep them productive, on target, and happy (maybe you don’t care about happy, but I do). The key is to embrace differences between the home and office environments, enhance the benefits of working from home, and to equip your team to foster community and conversation. 

Home life and work-life are now integrated, by definition. Rather than trying to ignore this integration, use it to everyone’s advantage. There is no more commute. The kitchen is steps away. Suddenly, the 3rd grade’s 20-minute presentation of Christopher Columbus’s arrival at the New World looks like something a parent can and should attend. Yes, you can take that 10 a.m. dentist appointment.

The workday might look different, and that’s OK if you know how to lead through it.

Isolation is real for your team. It’s a benefit for unencumbered focus time, but it can suck their life out when they need the energy and vibe of the team around them. 

Nail this leadership, and you’re not just running a remote team—you’re pioneering the future of work.

Mote to come…

I have found this one to be the most important one and the one that eludes most people.

The great news is that it’s not that hard, but it does take some awareness and intention. In fact, for introverts (like me), using your remote toolset to work socially can be better than sitting in an office full of people. Less distractions and more flow time. 

What does “work socially” mean?

Fostering conversation and community around work, but also around life.

How do you do that? By fostering community.

You probably have tools such as Slack, MS Teams, Zoom, etc. Use them instead of email for conversation. Email is a great tool, but not for fostering community. Email is for documentation, publishing, and formal external communication. 

These other tools make real-time conversation effortless. Real-time conversation helps develop a community. Use these tools to “overshare” what you are doing, ask questions of others, and generally create a transcript of the daily work and life conversation.

Turn your video on in meetings. If you have your video on, others feel more comfortable turning theirs on. When everyone has their video on, it’s like you’re sitting around the conference room table. And the potpourri of weird stuff in the background of your video? That just enhances the conversation.

Fostering and participating in conversation and community are the keys to working socially. And working socially is the single biggest factor that will help you master working from home.

OK, maybe that sounds silly, childish even, but I’ve found that taking breaks is one of the keys to unlocking the master of remote work.

Like a commute creates a natural routine, the office environment naturally provides mental breaks in your day — lunchtime, watercooler conversation, meetings, a trip to the coffee machine, a colleague stops by to lament about the game last night, a walk out to the restroom.

These little breaks don’t come as naturally when you’re by yourself. 

Done right, breaks can be your superpower. Not taken or done wrong, and you can derail the rest of your day and leave yourself mopy or agitated. 

How do you design breaks into your day?

Like your routine, try stuff and adjust, but start with a lunch break. 

If you don’t normally take a lunch break, start taking one. Take a walk. Workout. Run some errands. Decline your meetings over lunch and take a break.

Then be diligent and intentional about taking some other breaks throughout the day. Walk the dog. Go out to get coffee. Run to the post office. 

One warning — there can be a fine line between productive breaks and unproductive distractions and interruptions, especially when working from home. Setting boundaries helps with distractions and interruptions. 

Master your breaks, and you’re one step closer to mastering remote work. It’s that simple.

When you commute to an office, you have a routine. That routine serves the important purpose of transitioning you from your home self to your work self and back again.

This routine is critical in transitioning your mind and body into the workday in the morning, and out of the workday in the evening. These transitions occur naturally when you commute.

One challenge of working from home is the integration of home and work thwarts that natural transition. You’re unmotivated or distracted to start your workday, and that turns into difficulty staying engaged throughout, which then leads to a challenge in being fully present with your family in the evening. 

It took me a while to find what works for me, and it shifts around a bit. My routine currently doesn’t look exactly like it did a couple of years ago. But when I’m on my game, it always involves these 4 elements:

1. Intention to start the day
2. Priming my mind
3. Priming my body
4. Creating a ToDo list with a clear head prior to the firefights and distractions of the day

What should you do? 

Experiment. Try different things. Start with something similar to what you do today. Take a shower and getting dressed as if you were going to the office. Take a walk to emulate the commute. 

The key is to find a routine that transitions you from your home self into your work self. Once you have that, you’ll find your motivation and focus return. 

You still gotta go to work, which means you need a spot. 

Creating a physical space helps bridge the mental transition to the workday and sets boundaries for the others in the house.

Working from home full-time, or even just for a full day, is not the same as sending a couple of emails after dinner. You can’t do it from your bed or the couch, at least not effectively. 

Effective working from home requires a mindset commitment to the workday, just as if you were going to the office. Having a physical space helps transition your mindset, just as your commute did before. Once you set those physical boundaries, your focus sharpens and you’ll have a better time ignoring interruptions. 

At the office, everybody’s on the same schedule, but at home, the schedules clash. You can’t run your day interrupt-driven from your family and expect to be successful. 

This may be your biggest challenge, but it’s worth sacrificing a spot in your house. Even if you have a tiny apartment, make a permanent spot that you can go to each day. Set up your big monitor and docking station. Layout your favorite pen and notebook. Leave this stuff there just as you would at your desk in an office. 

When you go to this space and sit, you are going to the office.

Even though I started working formally from home ten years ago, my journey started about 15 years ago, in the middle of the night.

At that time, I was burning the midnight oil from home just to keep up with my job as a programmer. Found myself thinking, “I’m productive alone. What if I ditch the commute and office distractions?”

Tried it, but ultimately failed. Slow internet, household distractions, and isolation killed my motivation. I didn’t yet know how to do it effectively.

Then I took the job ten years ago. The daily grind of a three-hour commute to Philly forced my hand. I knew I had to get serious about remote work. So I went at it for two days a week. A lot had changed, but what really made the difference? I was mentally committed.

That’s step one.

Then I got laid off, but it was a blessing because I had learned how to work remotely by that time and started to love it. So, I jumped at a full-time remote opportunity and never looked back. I lead teams all over the world now from the comfort of my home office.

I’ve learned what makes me tick in this setup. And I’ve figured out how to keep a remote team humming.

Ready to dive in? Next up, I’ll share the secret sauce for successful remote work. Stay tuned.

Ten years of remote work and still loving it, with all of its ups and downs. Over the next several days, I’ll tell you how I mastered the art.

The transition began subtly. The first three years had me in the office three times a week, laying the groundwork for what would become my full-time remote career over the last seven years.

I’m astonished when I look at how far I’ve come since making that game-changing decision to jettison the familiar and forge off into the unknown. But today, the idea of trading my remote workspace for a traditional office feels unthinkable. That’s not to say the office doesn’t have value (it does, and I’ll talk about that), or that I wouldn’t take a position that required my frequent presence in an office (I might, and I’ll talk about that), it’s just that the remote environment is here to stay, so we should acknowledge it.

What’s coming your way? A treasure trove of insights on optimizing your personal efficiency, leading virtual teams like a pro, and leveraging the remote culture to benefit your business. These aren’t just theories; they’re lessons drawn from a decade of trial, error, research, and keen observation.

Stay tuned. If you’re hungry for success in the remote world, yearning to sidestep common pitfalls, or eager to challenge the norms, you won’t want to miss what’s next. Dive in, debate, and refine your remote work game.

More to come…

Just tried this in ChatGPT:

“You are a life coach specializing in personal development. You have a middle-aged client who is bored with their work and a little depressed. Create a self-directed exercise to help your client explore possibilities, both with work and life in general. The exercise should be interactive. Suggest ways to help them realign their core values with their daily actions. Your tone should be friendly, supportive, and encouraging throughout. Build this exercise by asking me questions and tailor your responses accordingly.”

It started an interactive conversation with me, but that conversation was too explicit. For example, it started here:

Let’s start by identifying your core values. These are the principles that guide you, the beliefs that you hold dear. Could you list five core values that resonate most with you?

Well, that’s not effective for real people who may be struggling. A better method requires subtlety. So I told it:

“Although I understand what you’re doing with this exercise, its too explicit. I’m basically just gaming the system. Can you use a more subtle approach that will be more effective at getting the core of the person?”

And it got better!

Here is what it came up with:

The “Two Lists” Exercise
Grab a piece of paper and divide it into two columns…

And it gave me an interesting exercise to write down experiences and moments that both invigorated and drained me. 

AI or not, good coaching is all about mastering the art of nuance.

On the one hand, Key Performance Indicators are a natural and necessary method for organizations to measure themselves and their people.

“Here are the things we care about. How did we do against those things?”

But the problem is the cat and when he gets out of the bag.

Because once you know how you’re being measured, you can easily game the system. It’s why oil companies can score high on the ESG scale, and fast food companies can score high on healthy eating initiatives, and big pharma scores well for affordable health programs.

If the help desk worker knows she’s being judged against how many tickets she closes and how fast, you gotta know that she’s closing tickets quickly and reopening new ones for the same issues. If a software developer knows he’s being judged against story points (or lines of code), you gotta know he’s inflating the points associated with his tasks (or writing extra lines of code).

That’s human nature. We optimize for what’s being measured. But optimizing isn’t the same as doing what’s best. It’s just doing what’s counted.

The fix?

First is transparency. Here are some KPI’s, but KPIs are not the only story. Impact is, and impact may be subjective. You care about the full picture, not just a scorecard.

Second, mix it up. Change the KPI’s. Reveal some after the fact.

Third, foster a culture of genuine improvement. Celebrate and encourage the innovations and attempts that didn’t work.

KPI’s aren’t the north star. Your mission is.

AI is only as smart as (all of) humanity, but not one tick more.

It aggregates knowledge. Crunches numbers at lightspeed. Finds correlations that we missed. Yet it lacks original thought. Can’t philosophize. Can’t dream.

It’s a tool, not a mentor.

AI might be the smartest entity in any room, but it’s not smarter than the collective human experience. Because wer’e the ones teaching it. Our data. Our patterns. Our successes and even our mistakes. It can’t push boundaries; it only works within the ones we’ve established.

It’s a reflection, not a pioneer.

Smartness isn’t just raw computation, speed, and size of the database. It’s creativity, empathy, intuition. All things AI can’t grasp. It’s fantastic for tasks and solving complex problems. Streamlines processes. Makes us more efficient.

But it can’t replace human insight. That gap is where you find your value.

Let AI do the heavy lifting. You handle the vision, the strategy, the soul.

So don’t fear AI. Respect it. Use it. But remember, its “smartness” is borrowed. Ours is earned.

Like John Mulaney said, “I always thought that quicksand was gonna be a much bigger problem than it turned out to be.”

As a Gen-X’er, I grew up on Saturday morning cartoons, and in the cartoons, quicksand is a big problem. One of the biggest, in fact. I just assumed I’d be dealing with it my entire adult life. I remember formulating my plan for how to survive when I fell victim to quicksand — grab on to whatever I could, lay out flat if possible, never struggle. I may have practiced my survival techniques in the backyard. 

As it turns out, I’ve never had to work around nor be saved from quicksand. I’ve never even seen quicksand.

I was a victim of availability bias.

Since the quicksand concept was right in front of me all the time, I couldn’t help but be worried about it. 

The News, and media in general, are masters at using availability bias to play us like fiddles.

The next time you find yourself anxious or angry because of something you saw, heard, or read on The News, ask yourself, 

“Is this quicksand?”

Because unlike quicksand, where you focus really can trap you.

I am one of those computer guys.

When I worked as an intern at GE Astrospace in 1990, our team of about 20 people shared six or seven computers situated in the common area of the office. We had two black and white Mac’s (SE-30s), a color Mac (Macintosh II), and three or four VT100 terminals (connected to the VAX machine somewhere else in the building).

One of my unofficial roles as the intern was to be the “computer guy.” Most of that computer guy work was secretarial. The real engineers would give me their handwritten tables and ask me to create a pretty graph on the Mac. Or they would give me the modified characteristics of a component box on the spacecraft and ask me to update the model on the VAX so they could perform new radiation analyses. 

I didn’t mind because a) I got to learn about real engineering work, and b) I liked learning how to use the computers. In those first few years, I taught my team members how to use now-ubiquitous technologies such as networking, email, and the web. 

My computer guy-ness spilled over into my entire life. Even though I was an electrical engineer working on spacecraft problems, I became known as the computer guy in all aspects of my life. 

My friends and family would describe what I did for work as, “Oh, he’s one of those computer guys.”

In the 90s, having the skill of operating a computer was a novel quality. A quality worth mentioning about a person. Just like being a “driver” was something worth noting about a person around the turn of the 20th century. 

But today? Everybody’s a driver and a computer guy. 

You’ll probably be better off embracing useful technologies rather than sounding the alarms. 

Humans have been competing with machines and systems for over a hundred years.

The human creator can win if he asks himself the right question.

We got machines and assembly lines pumping out millions of coffee mugs. We can go to Walmart and buy as many as we want in as many colors and styles as we want for a $1 each.

The clay artisan that asks herself the right question isn’t trying to compete with the machine or Walmart as she handcrafts her mugs and then carefully places them on display for sale at the front of her studio.

The question she asks herself is, “who’s it for?” If she gets that right and then serves that audience, she’ll find the customers who matter to her and keep her in business.

Content creators can ask themselves the same question. If they get it right and serve that audience, AI won’t ever take their job.

Hey, “creatives”…Welcome to the working world.

Some very famous authors are suing OpenAI, claiming copyright infringement. Similar suits have been brought for comedy and images. 

But these lawsuits have two prongs to them:

• The valid legal prong — Has OpenAI (and Midjourney, Meta, Stability AI, etc) violated copyright law?
• The fearful and whiny prong — Is AI better than us at our jobs, and will it supplant us in the future?

The Valid Legal Prong

Fair enough. Copyright law exists to protect the creators. It’s complicated, has a long history, and is generally well-legislated. 

The main question in my mind: Is it a copyright violation for another entity (human or AI) to consume copyrighted material legally and then use it as a base of knowledge from which to create other material?

An ancillary question: Has the AI entity consumed the copyrighted material legally?

I’m interested to see how it turns out. Basically, I trust the legal process.

The Fearful and Whiny Prong

What makes you so special?

The working world has been dealing with job replacement for 100’s of years. Content creation is no different.

Creatives have jobs because people like to consume your content. But make no mistake, the consumers don’t care who or what is creating the content. They just know what they like.

The good news is that, like with all job replacements, the outlook for creatives isn’t dismal. All it takes to remain relevant is for you to figure out how to add value. 

As humans, we like to, actually need to, simplify the world around us. It’s a survival mechanism.

Our brains are wired to reduce complexity to manageable chunks of information. Psychology research says we can hold 7 plus or minus 2 items in our working memory. But holding info isn’t the same as processing it or using it to make sense of the world.

Then we add in the marketers, headline-creators, and the fear-mongers of the world. They are smart and good at what they do. Their purpose is to distill the complexity into ordered, simplistic, single-variable problems.

Climate change causes forest fires and superstorms.
Children’s books on transgender issues cause transgender identity.
Capitalism causes poverty and racism.
Social programs cause dependency and lack of motivation.

The issue with this simplification, especially when pushed by those with an agenda, is that it gives us a false sense of understanding and control. When you’re trying to make order out of the chaos, leaning on half-truths is as good as knowing nothing. Oversimplification is like slapping a band-aid on a wound that needs surgery.

So, what’s the antidote?

Keep questioning. Keep digging. Keep changing your mind. Keep expanding your reach. Keep evaluating and re-evaluating. Keep trying stuff. Keep talking. Keep being surprised. Keep walking through doors. Keep opening windows. Keep believing before seeing.

Empathy first.

You gotta see before you believe.

Science. Evidence. Data. We are conditioned to trust our eyes, to give weight to what’s measurable, and to believe in what’s before us. If it can be demonstrated, quantified, or replicated, then it warrants our belief.

But that’s no way to live.

How do you pioneer without faith? How do you break through? How do you believe in your future? How do you trust in possibilities? How do you find meaning? How do you develop purpose? How do you build courage? How do you transcend?

You gotta believe before you see.

The next day is a powerful force.

It’s redeeming. It’s enlightening. It’s encouraging.

You can get started the next day. You can quit the next day. You can make amends the next day. You can try again the next day. You can assess the results the next day. You can make the change the next day.

The next day is like tomorrow but better because we all know that tomorrow never comes. The next day always comes.

Until it doesn’t.

Familiar no more.
Pushed away from shore.
The struggle is real.
Don’t know how to feel.
We’re here to guide.
To pick up and abide.
I wish you could hear.
While my heart holds you near.
I wish you could see.
You can be whatever you can be.
The future isn’t a place.
Nor is it a race.
The path isn’t straight.
And it’s never too late.
The future is open.
An unpolished gem.
Maybe put heart before head.
And open up instead.
The future is today.
And today is your day.

When I was a kid, we played good guys versus bad guys. I’m Gen X, so it was Cowboys vs Indians, cops vs robbers, or the US Army vs the Russians.

We mostly divided the roles randomly. Sometimes, I’d be on the good guys’ team, and sometimes, I’d be on the bad guys’ team. It was equally fun on either side. We certainly didn’t consider the roles explicitly. We didn’t think much of it.

But in real life, who doesn’t want to be one of the good guys?

Often, we outsource the decision of who the good guys are to our tribe. It makes sense because the good guys see the world the way we do, think and feel like we do, and say the things we agree with. So we get on their team, take their side, and cheer them on.

But if we lift the covers just a bit and look for ourselves, we find that we don’t know who the good guys are, or they’re not as good as we thought, or maybe we start to align a little bit with the bad guys.

Sometimes, I think we had it right as kids. Let’s just divide up the roles randomly because neither side is what it seems.

Comedy is tough right now. I get that.

Actually, art, in general, is tough right now. But is that really any different than at any time in history?

Interesting art usually treads the line between cultural norms and the taboo. Sometimes pushing over that line. Many times polarizing. Rick Rubin says that good art can divide the room.

I’m open to laughing at anything. I (like to think that) cultural norms do not affect my ability to find the funny, see the perspective, and enjoy the take.

Like any good art, good comedy pushes the edge. It shines a light on the absurd, at least from a point of view. The comedian using laughs to play with the emotions of the subject.

But if you’re gonna push that edge with comedy, it better be funny, or else its just tragic.

I believe God brings people into your life.

People that push you. People that help you. People that test you. People that love you.

People for you to push. People for you to help. People for you to test. People for you to love.

And people that complete you.

When that person comes along, grab them, and don’t let go. Because with them, the good times are better, the purpose is clearer, and the bad times are navigable.

I’ve grabbed onto you because you complete me. The good times are better, my purpose is clearer, and the bad times are navigable. I thank God for you every day.

Here’s to 30 more.

I believe that most of our collective issues arise from differences in perspective.

I see it this way. You see it that way. They see it the other way.

My group cares about the right things. Your group cares about the wrong things. The other group is evil.

I also believe that solutions to our collective issues derive from empathy.

The best way I’ve found to engage empathy is to care about, seek out, and genuinely try to understand other perspectives. The proverbial walk a mile in another’s shoes. The more we latch into another’s perspective, the better we understand what they think and feel and, more importantly, why they think and feel.

Perspectives are built through personal history, and personal histories are stories of experiences, sights and sounds, group affiliation, and even geography. The world looks different, sounds different, and tastes different over here.

One of the best methods for broadening perspective is to change geography, if even for a short time.

It’s a big world. Get out there and explore.

Fear is an interesting engine.

For some, it drives them inward — to protect, shrink, and even blame.

For others, it drives them outward — to go on offense, beat one’s chest, and act as if they’ll take matters into their own hands when the moment arrives. 

For the last couple of weeks around here (southeastern Pennsylvania), a convicted murderer was on the loose. He did a fanciful job of escaping prison and then eluding authorities for eleven days. If you listened to The News, Satan himself was running amok. 

Across the whole community, we had all of the reactions to the fear. Some wouldn’t step outside their doors. Security systems sold out (unusual since this is a rural community). So were guns and ammunition (purchases not unusual — sold out unusual). One guy was driving around on his 4-wheeler vigilante-style with a bulletproof vest and his rifle strapped across it. These were the reactions that The News highlighted. The toggle switch headlines, of course. According to The News, all of the southeastern PA had stopped their lives as the manhunt continued.

But if you talked with most people, their reactions to the situation were quite reasonable. They paid attention, ensured the house and cars were locked up at night, and generally were just a bit more diligent. 

But nobody stopped living like The News would have you believe.

Turn off the damn news. 

I will continue, at least for now.

I’m not sure what roads we’ll take, but then again, that’s one of the points of the project. Keep the articles short and manageable, but explore widely.

I’m fiction curious. I’m curious about how I can use ChatGPT better. I’m curious if I can group some of these daily shorts together into longer forms useful for others. I’m curious if I can build an audience. I’m curious if I can dig deeper with more personal stories.

Onward and upward.

Needing daily topics sharpened my observation skills.

That’s definitely a good thing because it required more presence in my surroundings. I was on the lookout. My subconscious prompting my conscious to engage. 

Sometimes topics came to me easily through something I saw, read, or experienced through conversation. Other times, they emerged from the quiet moments. The spaces between actions. 

The world produces plenty of content, but often I was short of attention. I found myself tuning into the nuance, the overlooked, and the subtle patterns amongst the chaos. Although sometimes the chaos itself provided the content. 

The art of deliberate attention. What did I notice today that I might’ve missed yesterday? How can today’s observations lead to tomorrow’s revelations?

One last curious and maybe surprising observation about observing — I found myself taking less pictures focused on the moments of the day and simply using my senses to engage and allowing the sensory perception to burn itself into my memory. The story — as I remember it — being the critical piece, not the concrete image of “how it was.”

Do what you want with that.

More to come…

ChatGPT can be a writer’s friend.

ChatGPT is already my friend as a software developer. I do use it to help me write code just about every day. I’ve described it as a crappy intern. But as I’ve gotten better at managing it (i.e., prompt engineering), it’s gotten better at helping me. 

But here’s the thing — I’m an expert software developer. As such, I know the terminology to use, the technologies involved, I can spot flaws early, and I know the thought process required to start with nothing and end up with something you want. If you know nothing about writing software, ChatGPT can’t help you write software. At least not today. 

I’ve also used ChatGPT to help me write. Again, if you know how to use it, and are already an expert writer, I imagine you could get it to work pretty good. Not so much for me, but as with code, I’m getting better. 

Here’s what I’ve found most useful:

1. I feed it my article, and it helps me edit.
2. I can ask it for synonyms and antonyms.
3. I can ask it to give me some surprising or non-obvious conclusions of what I’ve written.
4. I can ask it for historical examples and analogies.

I don’t always use it, and I don’t always use what it gives me, but it’s definitely useful. I will continue to use it and try to get better.

More to come…

I wondered if it would get easier as the year wore on.

It got easier, but not in the way I was thinking. The writing itself didn’t get any easier. The commitment, however, did get easier.

I knew that each day I had to write (except for just a handful). At first, that was a daunting task. But as the year wore on, that commitment became something I looked forward to rather than dread. In fact, here I am, still going.

The writing, though. Still the same. Some days it flows. Others, well, it’s a cat fight.

I gave myself the 250 word limit to give myself permission to write and publish small bits. Short would be ok. 

But a curious thing happened along the way. Many times I found myself having to cut articles down to fit within 250 words. I didn’t expect that, but I started to learn the importance and power of editing. I know I’m too wordy (also when I speak). So the 250 word limit helped me focus the content. 

Sometimes I spent longer editing that I did writing. I think that’s a good thing. Many great writers talk about the importance of editing, removing unnecessary words and explanations, and honing the final product.

I have not always kept 250 words, but when I go above, I do so with intention. 

“If you eliminate the unnecessary words, the reader will have time to catch his breath and to think.”

– Ernest Hemmingway

“The first draft is just you telling yourself the story. The second draft is you telling the story to someone else.”

– Stephen King

“The more you leave out, the more powerful it will be.”

– Raymond Carver

My parameter was to publish each day, not write each day.

Not initially, though. Since my purpose is to get better at writing, my initial goal was to write to completion each day. Come hell or high water, I’d need to commit. Just f’n do it — David Goggins style. 

Then, as I designed the project and really thought about the necessary boundaries, I realized even with my best intentions and discipline, I just wouldn’t be able to get it done some days. I can’t always place my own needs above the needs of the groups I’m a part of. I’m a husband, dad, team leader, and team member. Although I’ve become very good at controlling my own time, empathy, leadership, and professionalism demand prioritizing other’s needs over my own sometimes.

Hence, publish every day. I knew I’d have to work ahead to do so. But how far?

For the first few weeks, I worked ahead by one day. I wrote each day and published that article the next morning. That was too close to the hairy edge, stressing me out. I missed my 8:44am deadline one day in November. 

Over the next few weeks, I pushed the pendulum too far the other way. At one point, I was ten days ahead. A curious thing happened — I found myself not as focused, not thinking about topics, and I even “just didn’t write” a few days. Ten days was too much cushion.

I found a happy medium. I worked ahead just enough that if I couldn’t write on a particular day, I wouldn’t miss the deadline, but I’d be uncomfortable enough that for sure I’d write the next day. 

The happy medium is between two and four days ahead. That’s where I’m at right now as I write this — two days ahead. 

I learned that too stressed doesn’t serve me, and neither does too comfortable. It’s such a fine line between clever and stupid. 

I purposely wanted to try writing different types of stories. 

I wasn’t sticking to a rigid timeline, as in, “OK, let’s try narrative personal stories for the next 6 weeks,” but I found that once I started with a genre, I tended to stay there for a bit. Like a mindset.

I didn’t have a schedule of story types, but looking back, I can roughly group them as follows:

• Observational opinions (I’d call it Seth Godin style).
• Self-improvement / Personal Development
• Narrative personal stories
• Success in today’s work culture, team building, leadership, and professionalism

The easiest for me to write was, by far, the observational opinions. I guess I have a lot of opinions that I’d like to share. 

The hardest was the narrative personal stories, especially the ones where I dug in and shared the emotions of the time (maybe still?). I kept saying to myself, “Don’t worry, nobody reads it anyway.” But almost surprisingly, I think these might be the most satisfying. I’m sure a connection exists between the difficulty of the inwardness and the satisfaction of getting it out. 

One exception is the story about working on the iPod with Apple. That flowed out like water down the falls — once started, it could not be stopped. First, I’ve told that story (in person and standing at the front of rooms) several times, so I’d already had its basic structure. But also, I’m still really angry about it. It happened 20 years ago, and I cannot let it go. It feels like yesterday. I can recall the emotions of that moment in a heartbeat. No professional part of me can see anything other than ineptitude, fear, and short-sightedness. Coulda, woulda, shoulda. Of course, none of us know the result of paths not taken, but the ripple effects of that single dastardly decision reach far and wide.

More to come…

Some observations from the “Every Day for a Year” project. 

I needed boundaries. 

Luckily, I recognized going in that I would need to bound the problem, or I would fail right away. Hence, the parameters. I knew this from writing articles for the last few years and developing software for 30 years. 

There’s a big lesson here. Namely, we sometimes think that creativity, problem-solving, and “our best work” require less or no boundaries, when in fact, boundaries, even strict boundaries, are the exact things we need to unlock progress. Our minds can only handle a limited number of variables at once. Therefore, eliminating some variables, even artificially, can help you make progress, eliminate the wrong path, and finish what you started. 

I do this quite a bit as a leader. When my team gets stuck or can’t get started, I bound the problem and eliminate some variables. 

I needed boundaries, so I created some. In hindsight, the two most important were publish every day at 8:44 am and 250 words. 

More to come…

Why writing?

The young me thinks this is just plain crazy. Essays? The teenage me thinks I’m an idiot. But somewhere in my adulthood, I got the bug for putting words on paper (rather, typing on a computer keyboard. I hate writing longhand). 

I like to make things. In fact, I’ve committed my entire professional life to making things (as an engineer and software developer). That part of me is just as satisfied with a completed article as it is with a computer program, fully automated test system, or set of shelves I’ve built from scratch in my garage. 

Start with a blank sheet. End with something. I live for that.

I would suck in the service industry. I would suck as a doctor or a lawyer. I know I suck at sales. But I’m good at making stuff, helping others make stuff, and leading teams that make stuff. It’s good to know something about yourself. 

I’ve been writing a bit now for about 7 1/2 years, or at least, that’s how long I’ve been publishing off-and-on-again blog posts here. Here is my very first, from May 5, 2016. It’s terrible, but I wanted to get better. To get better, I must continue to do it.

As I started writing, I began to notice and then appreciate the ability to get stuff out of my head. It helps me make sense of things. Most of these articles are just me explaining shit to myself. You’re a voyeur. 

And the last reason is that I hope to continue well into the twilight of my life. Maybe it’s fiction. Maybe it’s more and better articles. Maybe it’s something entirely different. 

No matter where you are or who you’re with, you can always write. 

When I committed to The250 project, I knew I had to create some parameters and boundaries. 

I had already been publishing articles on johmaconline for over six years. Sometimes, with months in between. The250 project was going to be about commitment and discipline. I could not keep trying to do what I was doing. 

It took me too long to write. I got too hung up on what it was. I struggled with topics. I struggled with my voice. I was way too focused on “making them good” (which, of course, is bullshit). I didn’t really have a set purpose.

So, I knew I needed parameters. These parameters, although in some ways limiting, in other ways would provide the exact set of boundaries to keep me on task. The parameters needed to define some of the things with which I struggled. That way, I didn’t have to think about them. I could focus on the writing itself.

The parameters:

1. When? Publish every day at 8:44 am Eastern time.
2. Publish, not necessarily write. I knew that there would be some days, for very good reasons (not lack of discipline), that I just wouldn’t get a chance to write. Therefore, my parameter was publish, not write.
3. 250 words or less. 250 words is generally considered a single page. Size matters.
4. Topic? Whatever. Allow myself to explore. OK, this one is really squishy, but I knew what I meant. I was going to have to dig a bit here. 
5. Done is better than good. Ship it, always. No matter what.

More to come over the next few days…

“You’re on a 365-day streak on jmaconline!”

That’s what WordPress just told me.

I did it. That was my goal. Publish something on The250 every day for a year. Here is the first post from this run. 

What was the purpose of this exercise?

Discipline — to commit to something each day, no matter what else was happening around me. Discipline is freedom. Many success and life coaches preach about the benefits. By honing your focus on smaller, daily actions, you make the larger, more daunting tasks seem achievable while also creating a life rich in purpose and meaning. 

Improvement — You wanna get better at something? Do it. Keep doing it with intention. 

Practice what you preach — Even though I’m no certified success coach, I am a leader, a Dad, and a mentor to some. Coaching doesn’t require that you have “been there, done that” (i.e., how many great players were also great coaches?). But, the type of leader I want to be is a servant leader. Part of serving is engaging in the practice. I have little respect for unhealthy doctors. 

To be a writer — You are because you do. Not because you have a degree or have been chosen by The World. You can choose yourself. I want to be a writer. I am a writer, and I will conduct myself as one. 

More to come about this project over the next several days…

Tension is an engine.

It moves us forward or backward. It pushes us side to side. It gets us off our butts.

In a world seeking instant gratification and easy answers, tension serves as a reminder that the journey matters as much as the destination.

Philadelphia passed 100 homicides for 2023 in March. The problem is guns. The problem is a progressive DA. 

Homicides in that same period (Jan – March) are down 14% from 2022. We’re definitely making progress. I’m scared to visit.

Over the last two years, the average global surface temperature is between 0.8 and 1 degree higher than 1965. We’re doomed if we don’t do something drastic over the next decade. That’s nothing. What are we worried about?

Teachers earn 25% more, on average, in states with collective bargaining, and school support staff earn 15% more. Teacher’s unions are an important and helpful resource. Teacher’s unions are ruining our public school systems. 

Facts are facts, but rarely do we discuss the facts. We discuss our interpretation of the facts. Then we use those interpretations as “fact-bludgeons.” See this fact here? This is why I’m right, and you’re wrong.

The answer lies outside of the facts. 

The key is not to eliminate subjectivity but to be accountable for our own views and respecting others’ views. Owning our subjective beliefs means acknowledging that while they may not be universally applicable, they are still a valid part of our personal narrative. Respecting others’ views acknowledges and validates their different life experiences.

And that’s not only acceptable, it’s essential for a nuanced understanding of the world and ourselves.

You are an individual. You have unique needs, beliefs, desires, and ambitions.

You are part of a collective. Probably many collectives. These communities have unique needs, values, and shared goals.

Tension. Because, of course, the individual needs sometimes conflict with the collective needs. So which should win in any given situation?

The collective often faces the inertia of tradition, the unwillingness or inability to change quickly. The collective is also subject to the persuasion of the loudest voices. Conversely, the individual can be plagued by narcissism, an excessive preoccupation with personal needs and ambitions, often at the expense of others.

The surprising answer may be that neither should win outright; instead, the tension itself should be embraced. This dynamic interplay between individual and collective is not a bug in the system, but potentially its greatest feature. The push-pull relationship can actually be a catalyst for innovation, societal progress, and personal growth.

Embracing the tension rather than resolving it may just be the key to a more vibrant, resilient society and happier, more fulfilled individuals.

You can’t control your genetics, but you can control your health.
You can’t control the weather, but you can control your preparedness.  
You can’t control others’ commitment, but you can control your commitment.
You can’t control how others feel about you, but you can control your feelings.
You can’t control external results or outcomes, but you can control your activities.
You can’t control what others say about you, but you can control what you tell yourself.
You can’t control news or social media, but you can control what and how much you consume.
You can’t control where or when you were born, but you can control what you do, what you know, and who you know.
You can’t control whether the executives cancel your project, but you can control your professional skills and value to the organization or another organization.  

We live in a constant tension between what we can’t and what we can control. The things we can’t control are part of The World. The things you can control are part of Your World. 

Do you want to stop worrying, take control, and start having more happiness and success in your life? Recognize this tension and focus on Your World. 

“Yes” opens the doors to new opportunities, enriches your life with experiences, and expands your network. You never get anywhere or do anything with saying “yes.”

“No” promotes focus, filters out distractions, and swats away the flies of faux-busyness. “No” allows you to hone your most significant contributions.

Yes is about breadth. No is about depth.

But both can be an excuse — an excuse not to forge a new path, or an excuse not to finish what you’ve started. There is constant tension between the two.

They key to navigating this tension in any given situation is to look to your comfort zone. Ask yourself, “Which is harder for me in this situation?” Your comfort zone is a reliable guide, flagging what you probably should be doing. The choice that nudges you out of that zone is often the right one.

You’ll have to say “yes” until you find it, and then you gotta start saying “no.”

Balancing the two is not about adhering to external advice but about tuning in to your internal compass, guided by the subtle tension between comfort and growth.

Is it OK for authorities to listen to phone calls of someone suspected of plotting a terrorist act? What if that suspicion is based solely on a group affiliation?
Is it OK to peek in your neighbor’s windows if you suspect they’re up to no good? What if that suspicion is based solely on the fact that you think they’re weird?
Is it OK to access your child’s browser history if you suspect them of visiting forbidden sites? What if that suspicion is based solely on the fact that you remember what you were like as a kid?
Is it OK for authorities to search someone’s car if they are suspected of having weapons? What if that suspicion is based solely on time and location?

Privacy and safety are always in tension.

You can’t have both perfectly. But perhaps that tension isn’t a problem to be solved but a dynamic to be managed. What if this tension is the very thing that keeps our society in balance, compelling us to continually assess and reassess the boundaries we set? This constant friction might serve as a societal ‘check and balance,’ ensuring neither privacy nor safety is taken to an extreme that could jeopardize the fabric of our communities.

We might not need to resolve this tension but to embrace it, recognizing that its very existence helps us stay vigilant, mindful, and, ultimately, human.

Neuralink (one of the Elon’s companies) is working on a brain-computer interfaces. They’re making progress, but they have a ways to go.

If we assume they, or someone else in the field, are successful, what then?

Do we all become bionic? Will regular humans be obsolete?

Well, what about automation today?

Just as machines are taking over tasks that once required human labor, advanced brain-computer interfaces could take over functions that currently require human thought.

But are they augmenting or replacing? Extending or rendering obsolete?

The prospect of brain-computer interfaces, like computers, robots, and AI before it, highlights the perpetual tension between technology and ethics, progress and equality, the artificial and the natural.

Just as we’re grappling with the societal shifts brought about by automation, the challenge won’t just be in the technology itself, but in how we integrate it into the fabric of human life.

Although not opposites, efficiency and resilience are orthogonal.

Efficiency follows from centralized, standard, high-density, and common. In contrast, resilience follows from distributed, heterogeneous, low-density, and unique.

Efficiency thrives on optimization — doing more with less, reducing waste, and maximizing outputs. Resilience, on the other hand, is about having the ability to adapt and recover — not having too much power or functionality in one area of the system.

But beautiful, elegant, and worthy systems — whether business, society, or individual lives — bring facets of both to the table.

The art lies in recognizing how to balance that tension.

We should follow the rules. But what set of rules, and who makes them?
We should do what’s best. But for whom and who decides what’s best?
We should help each other live a good life. But what is a good life?

The tension between what “should be” and what “is” permeates the very fabric of our human existence — a philosophical battleground that spurs introspection, motivates change, and fuels discontent.

The “should be” often finds its roots in our dreams, aspirations, and the morals and ethics we uphold. It’s the world we envision: a place of equality, fairness, and boundless opportunity. The realm where dreams materialize, and justice prevails. But who’s dreams? And justice for who?

In stark contrast, “what is” represents the ground realities, the imperfections, the challenges, and the systemic structures already in place. It’s the world we live in, warts and all. It’s the pragmatic acknowledgment of the present that for sure falls short of our vision of the ideal.

This chasm can be a source of frustration, igniting passion, driving innovation, and spur movements. But there is always tension because of who decides and to what standards.

There is beauty in the tension. You think about what should be. I think about what should be. We both struggle with what is. Together we move us forward.

We scoff at those who display what we consider to be unearned confidence.

We call them arrogant and cocky, and smart people start labeling with smart labels such as Dunning-Krueger.

Basically, how dare they?

They didn’t earn the credentials. They didn’t wait in line. They didn’t start in the mail room. They didn’t check the boxes. They don’t have the experience.

All of this is true, of course. Who doesn’t want someone with the credentials and the experience? Many times, we need that person. When I had my shoulder replaced, I was looking for the team with the most experience — the most amount of “been there, done that.” Because I wanted each step to be routine. From the prep, the hardware, anesthesia, surgery, and post-op recovery. All as routine as possible.

But also, how do we find new solutions? How does one break out of the box? How does anybody do anything new? How do we create work that matters? How does one make a difference?

Through confidence that isn’t necessarily learned or earned because it comes through belief.

Who doesn’t want to be free?

I sure do.

But also, with freedom comes chaos, responsibility, danger, rif-raf, people not like us, consequences, grit, faster, slower, sharks, and a natural meritocracy.

So we have introduced order. With order comes stability, safety, expectations, people like us, understanding, systems, soft pillows, groomed beauty, and a plan.

We rarely argue over whether we need freedom or order. Not really. Mostly, we argue where the line is.

A religious debate, and I’ve always taken one side.

My side has always been the delayed gratification side.

“Good things come to those who wait.”
“He that can have patience can have what he will.”
“The seeds of greatness are often planted in the soil of patience.”

I’ve seen and experienced the fruits of patience. But I also realize, when I’m being truthful with myself, that I’ve used patience as an excuse.

I’ve not started or not completed a million projects because “I’ll have time, someday.” I’ve not looked for new opportunities because “they’ll come when the time is right.” I’ve not taken the trips because “maybe now isn’t the best time.”

I used to think, “I got 40 or 50 years to make it happen.” But age is a funny thing.

I no longer have 40 or 50 years to make it happen. How many? Who knows. But now the clock is ticking. Louder. Clearer. Each tick echoing with urgency.

I am now becoming acutely aware of this veil that masks procrastination, the voice that whispers comforting lies about infinite tomorrows. I see the constant tension between the present and the eternal, between action and waiting. And somewhere in the intersection of these, life unfolds. But there’s a profound difference between patience and passivity.

While I remain an advocate for the wisdom in waiting, I can no longer use it as an excuse to not to.

About 18 months ago, I had my right shoulder replaced. Before I went under, the doctor confirmed which shoulder to upgrade and marked it with his initials.

This marking practice is common among surgeons to prevent errors. It’s a simple system, but highly effective at eliminating avoidable errors. It ensures everyone involved, from the patient to the medical team, is aligned.

And operating on the wrong shoulder is indeed an avoidable error.

My youngest son started a lawn care and landscaping business two summers ago. I taught him a foolproof method that I used to ensure his trailer was securely attached.

Because the trailer disconnecting as you drive down the road is indeed an avoidable error.

My father was a pilot. I watched and helped him apply a rigorous pre-flight checklist prior to engine start, taxi, and takeoff.

Because an accident due to improper clearance around the propeller is indeed an avoidable error.

Systems and procedures are the perfect antidote for avoidable errors. If that’s the problem you’re having, devise a system, teach the system, and stick to the system.

Unfortunately, you can’t, nor should you seek to avoid all errors. Failing forward is an unavoidable part of growth and innovation. While it’s essential to have systems in place for predictable scenarios, it’s equally crucial to stick your neck out.

Life is a blend of caution and courage. While systems protect us from known pitfalls, embracing the unknown equips us with resilience and adaptability.

Success lies within the tension.

The box exists for a reason. Actually several.

The box keeps the rain out and the heat in. It also keeps the rif-raf out and the people like us in.

The box serves as a guide. Here’s a good direction and a great place to play. But also, stay here, don’t go there.

The box serves up ready-made excuses. The box won’t let me.

The box is familiar. Everything makes sense in the box.

Honestly, there’s probably nothing wrong with the box. Billions of people walk around in the box every day. Happy. Healthy. Safe.

But you and I both know that life begins outside the box.

I do it too. I think we all do, but some are much better at overcoming it than others.

I don’t know if it’s human nature — programmed into us at some basic level. Or if it’s learned — taught by the culture and tribes to which we belong. But I do know it’s a force that is difficult, sometimes impossible, to overcome. 

It’s what keeps people in abusive relationships, crummy jobs, and godforsaken circumstances. Those are the highlight reels. You read about them, see them in news clips, and listen to those stories detailed in podcasts. You probably shake your head and say, “not me.”

But it’s also a much darker and more insidious force that keeps billions of others — probably you and me — on a path of mediocre, malaise, and unrealized dreams. 

That force is the familiar.

We love what we know. We do what we know. We choose what we know. We seek out what others know so we can follow it. We borrow what others know. 

But the path to somewhere is paved with the unfamiliar.

I studied Electrical Engineering in college.

One of the basic electrical components one must learn is called an operation amplifier. Op-amps have a ton of practical circuitry uses in our world such as inverters, phase-shifters, amplifiers, converters, and switches.

To perform circuit analysis and design with op-amps, you can assume that the op-amp is “ideal” — this means you assume several characteristics to be categorically perfect.

Ideal op-amps use no power, have infinite input impedance, unlimited gain-bandwidth and slew rate, no input bias current, and no input offset. They have unlimited voltage compliance.

With these assumptions, you go on your merry way designing or analyzing what’s happening — on paper.

And then you get in the lab. Only practical op-amps exist in the real world, and hence, in the lab.

Practical op-amps consume power, have high, but not infinite, impedance, have limited gain-bandwidth and limited slew rate, have some input bias current and input offset voltage. Voltage compliance is limited by the power supply rail, or frequently even less.

Ideal versus the real world.

Ideal can be assumed for analysis purposes — thought experiments, hypotheses, philosophical systems, “should” statements.

But never forget that, as humans, we live in the real world.

While clearing out my closet recently, I discovered some funky ties from the early 90s — relics from my early-career “work clothes” wardrobe. 

I worked at my first intern assignment at GE AstroSpace during the spring semester of 1990. I wore a tie to the office every day, as did every other male worker.

But apparently, this was already progress because a colleague told me, “not so long ago, we could only wear white shirts and conservative dark ties.”

I returned for my second intern assignment during the spring semester of 1991. Casual Fridays emerged, signaling the onset of Business Casual. No more ties on these days. 

After graduating, I began full-time at the same office, with the same team, and the same people in the early summer of 1992. I never wore a tie to work again. And by now, casual Friday attire had morphed into jeans and a respectable shirt. 

By the time I left that job (by then, the company had morphed into Lockheed Martin) in 1995, jeans and respectable shirts had weaseled into the entire week unless you were presenting to management or meeting with customers. 

And now look at us. Who has “work clothes”? What even is Business Casual? 

Sometimes tradition guides us as to the (relatively) “right thing to do.” Sometimes we mistake tradition for the “right thing to do.” 

There’s nothing wrong with tradition. But let’s recognize the difference between tradition and “the right thing to do.”

I’ve always been a destination man.

I never understood wandering. I need a destination.
I never understood no plan. I need a destination.
I never understood those who walk slowly. I gotta get there.
I never understood those who drive slowly. I gotta get there.

One thing that age has taught me:

There is no destination. And why are you in such a hurry to get nowhere?

I’m getting better at taking in the journey, but I have a ways to go.

Start here. End there.
Movement. Everywhere.
Force required.
Stuck and tired.
Faced with fear.
Not very clear.
Do it anyway,
or maybe someday you’ll find
the end you didn’t intend.
Twist and turn,
In lessons learned.
Choices matter,
Amidst the chatter.
The journey, long,
Requires a song.
Start with a stride,
There’s no place to hide.
Forge your path,
Defy the wrath.
Till the end you’ll see,
The person you’re meant to be.

Continuing the conversation with my younger self…

Current Self: Hey, I got some good news and some bad news to share with you. Which do you want first?

Younger Self: I guess the bad.

Current Self: You won’t get picked. Nobody is gonna choose you.

Younger Self: Huh? What do you mean? Chosen for what?

Current Self: Nobody is gonna walk up to you and just hand you opportunities or a job or the perfect life. Nobody will notice you. Ever.

Younger Self: I don’t think I understand.

Current Self: You know how you’re waiting for things to happen? You assume that if you do the right things — get the degree, stay within the framework, try the front door — that this will get you noticed. Someone will notice your talent and hand you the perfect job or some amazing opportunity.

Younger Self: OK, but isn’t that how The World works? Fit in, play by the rules, and get good enough to be chosen?

Current Self: That’s what I’m trying to say. It doesn’t. At least not for you. 

Younger Self: That just sounds like bad news. So, what’s the good news?

Current Self: The good news is that you can choose yourself. You don’t have to wait for someone else to pick you. You can create your own opportunities, your own success, your own life. 

Younger Self: That sounds selfish. I don’t want to be that guy.

Current Self: I’m not talking about narcissism. This isn’t about looking out only for yourself or caring only about yourself, or doing the things that put you ahead at all costs. In fact, it’s kind of the opposite. 

Younger Self: How so?

Current Self: It’s simply about recognizing your potential, taking responsibility for your life, and using it to make a positive impact on those around you. It’s about not waiting for others to define your value or to give you permission to be great.

Younger Self: So how do I choose myself?

Current Self:  Invest in yourself — physically, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. Embrace fear and failure. Create things. Get comfortable with uncertainty. Be open to and seek out opportunities. Talk to people — all kinds of people. Help others. Help your community. Lean into faith. Stand up for what and who you believe in, but always seek to walk in others’ shoes. Listen don’t shout. Lead with empathy. 

Younger Self: Hmmm. Sounds empowering, but how am I supposed to do all that?

Current Self: That’s for you to figure out. It’s a tall order, but if you manage it, everything changes. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to keep moving forward. 

Current Self: Hey, one more thing about fear.

Younger Self: OK, what is it?

Current Self: Don’t think it goes away just because you’re walking towards it. It doesn’t.

Younger Self: So you’re saying that I’m supposed to go towards my fears, but that when I do, it doesn’t get any easier?

Current Self: Not exactly. It will get easier. What I mean is the more you face it, the better you’ll get at handling it. It won’t go away, but your confidence will soar. And confidence is everything. 

Younger Self: I think I understand. Are you saying that even though the fear doesn’t subside, I’ll start to build up a skillset at dealing with it?

Current Self: Bingo! Because your goal isn’t to have no fear but to have the confidence that you’ll succeed in the face of fear. Everyone is afraid of something. What separates the successful from the unsuccessful is the ability to operate within that fear — to feel that fear deeply and still move forward.

Younger Self: So, take my fear of heights. You’re saying that I’ll never get over it, but I shouldn’t let it keep me from doing things?

Current Self: Yes! If you shy away, you’ll miss out on a bunch of memories that you wouldn’t otherwise have had, plus it will help you get better at operating when afraid. So stand on the edge of that cliff and feel your knees go weak.

Younger Self: OK, got it. The fear doesn’t go away. But do it anyway. 

Continuing my conversation with my younger self…

Current Self: Hey, let’s talk about fear, because you’re going to experience a lot of it. 

Younger Self: Ok, sure.

Current Self: Fear isn’t your enemy. It’s your compass — your guide. You’re gonna want to walk towards it. 

Younger Self: My compass? That doesn’t make sense. Fear means danger. Why would I go towards it?

Current Self: Danger, sometimes. But its mostly just emotional danger. 

Younger Self: I don’t know. Isn’t safety what we ultimately want?

Current Self: Well, let’s look at. When’s the last time something amazing happened when you weren’t a little afraid? 

Younger Self: Hmmmm

Current Self: Now, what happened when you were a little afraid? Like when you talked to the girl, or gave the presentation, or jumped off the 10-meter platform? 

Younger Self: OK, good stuff. But there were times when fear led to failure, too.

Current Self: And those failures? They were the sparks that fueled your fire. Every fall was a stepping stone, each failure a lesson. Fear will lie, but you must hear the truth in its whisper. That truth? That you are limitless.

Younger Self: I never thought of it that way.

Current Self: Start thinking of fear as a challenge, a riddle to solve. Go towards it, embrace it, wrestle with it. It’s a wild ride, and it’s where life truly begins.

Younger Self: It’s still scary, though.

Current Self: That means you’re on the right track. 

Continuing the conversation with my younger self…

Current Self: I need to tell you about another myth of The World. You’ve got to stop playing by their rules. 

Younger Self: But isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Follow the rules, work hard, and then it’ll all fall into place? 

Current Self: How’s that working out for you so far?

Younger Self:  You’re telling me to just ignore everything I’ve been taught? Just go rogue?

Current Self: No, it’s not about going rogue. It’s about creating your own path. Creating doors that don’t yet exist. 

Younger Self: So, you’re saying we should just break the rules?

Current Self: Not break them, reframe them. Playing it safe will suffocate your potential. There’s a third door to success, one you forge yourself.

Younger Self: But what will others think? Won’t they hate me or think I’m not playing fair?

Current Self: Some will, problaby, but forget them. They’re the front-door people, stuck in their lanes. But some will get it.

Younger Self: But what if I fail? What if I make a fool of myself?

Current Self: What if you do? You’ll learn, and you’ll move on. You’ll get better. Failure isn’t the end; it’s a new beginning. And that beginning is forged along your own path. 

The real fools are those who never try.

Continuing the conversation with my younger self…

Current Me: Hey, you’re gonna struggle with something that will absolutely keep you stuck in neutral and pile up the regrets.

Young Me: Really?

Current Me: Yup. You’re gonna find excuses not to start some things and, ironically, not finish other things. In fact, you’ll have more trouble finishing than starting. And you’re gonna do it a lot.

Young Me: What do you mean?

Current Me: Well, you’ll have this terrible feeling that whatever you are doing isn’t good enough. This will infiltrate your entire life. And you’ll sight your lack of external success as proof that it’s true. I’m even doing it now as I write this.

Young Me: Will I be afraid to fail or make mistakes?

Current Me: Not exactly. You’ll understand that failure is a necessary path to success, and you’ll get better at that over time.

Young Me: Then what will be the problem?

Current Me: You’ll think that whatever you’re doing isn’t good enough. Which will actually be, “I’m not good enough.”

Young Me: Can I fix it? Can I stop it somehow?

Current Me: Say “yes” to more. Put yourself out there. Finish it anyway. Get around people who are doing it. Don’t give in to those feelings.

And most importantly, embrace the journey, not the endpoint.

Continuing the conversation with my younger self…

The younger me saw it all as black and white, or maybe he wanted it to all be black and white. 

Put perfectly by Brene Brown:

“I spent a lot of years trying to outrun or outsmart vulnerability by making things certain and definite, black and white, good and bad. My inability to lean into the discomfort of vulnerability limited the fullness of those important experiences that are wrought with uncertainty: Love, belonging, trust, joy, and creativity to name a few.”

– Brene Brown

The younger me was wrong.  

This binary thinking was my shield, as I sought to align myself with the “smart people” while dismissing the others. But this rigid mindset was draining, limiting my emotional growth, and constricting my perspective — and just plain wrong.

The revelation came when I recognized that the smart people exist on all sides of an issue: Theism and Atheism, Liberal and Conservative, Vegan and Paleo, Chocolate and Vanilla. This realization allowed me to see that there might not always be an objective right and wrong.

It’s grey. 

Embracing the grey means engaging in conversation, exchanging ideas, and respecting diverse viewpoints. In this space, perspectives are formed, changes are made, and love deepens.

The grey is where art and authenticity reside. It’s the path to connecting with the whole and realizing one’s unique perspective. The grey challenges us to be more open, flexible, and understanding. 

Open your eyes and embrace the grey.

Continuing my discussion with my younger self…

I’ve recently watched the Arnold documentary and listened to Dice Clay on a Joe Rogan podcast. Regardless of personal feelings about them, they are shining examples of one important thing I’d tell my younger self:

You are who you tell yourself you are.

That guy looking back at my 20-year-old self in the mirror had no idea how much power he had and how manipulating he could be (or maybe he did?). 

You can’t do that.
You’re not good enough.
You aren’t smart enough.
Nobody cares what you say.

I told myself this story every day. Over and over again. 

It’s true that not everybody will like you, think you are pretty, resonate with your message, or think your idea is good. Your audience is not everybody. 

You will have to get better, do the work, and continue to improve. And you will have to find your voice and let it out. But who do you want to be? Keep telling yourself that’s who you are.

Wherever you go, you take yourself with you. Make sure that person is telling you the right story.

Continuing my discussion with the younger me…

Keep my head down, play by the rules, avoid scary, stay in the framework, never get in trouble, and all will turn out dreamy. If it felt scary or I wasn’t comfortable, the younger me believed it wasn’t for me. Little did I know then that those were the very things that I should have been pursuing.

With clairvoyant hindsight, I can recognize the growth monuments along my path. Without fail, each time I grew, made progress, or ended up better, it was because I stepped out or was forced out of my comfort zone. 

I can also look back and regret the opportunities missed or not taken. 

No matter how much you fight to stay in that zone, however, it’s not always your choice. Whether you want to or not, there will be times when you get shoved outside of your comfort zone. How will you deal with it? 

You’re going to get laid off.
Your family will have a crisis.
Somebody close to you will hurt you.
You will have to give the presentation.
You will have an existential crisis of faith.

These things are coming. You can count on it. With a mindset that recognizes opportunities, not only can you deal with them, but you can grow through them. 

The more you live with sweaty palms, weak knees, and the tension of discomfort, the better equipped you will be to handle them.

Expose yourself to emotional danger.

Getting older is a funny thing.

Time speeds up. The black and white of my youth fades to grey. The weave of certainty unravels. The future compresses from limitless possibilities to a subset of realities.

The current me looks back on the previous me and wonders. What would I tell him?

I’d tell him to take more risks.

The risk of failing.
The risk of losing.
The risk of rejection.
The risk of looking stupid.
The risk of getting laughed at.
The risk of not being good at it.
The risk of what they’re going to think.
The risk of making the wrong the decision.
The risk of someone else getting upset at you.
The risk of looking like you made the wrong decision.
The risk of letting someone know how you really feel.

In hindsight, I can see now how fear ruled over me. Fear of what? All those things listed above. That was an easy list to write. I could keep going.

When my kids drive off, I always tell them in jest, “Drive fast and take chances!” I don’t mean it literally, and they know that. But it’s just a little out-of-context reminder that they will have to take some risks.

There is no reward without risk. Life is worth the risk.

We swim around inside a foamy sea of multitasking.

We ride the waves, juggling tasks, hoping to crest the wave of productivity. However, beneath the surface, the undertow of inefficiency and stress pulls us deeper into the tumultuous waters. The industrial machine demanding ever more.

Maybe the solution isn’t more gadgets, apps, or AI.

Maybe the solution is leaning into our humanity. The deep focus of one thing at a time.

One task, one wave at a time. That’s how we navigate this sea. That’s how we find our way back to the shore. Because our humanity isn’t built to frolic in the foamy sea of multitasking but to walk firmly on the ground of focused purpose.

Focusing on the work that matters.

Read a great article from Luke Burgis about AI and Effective Altruism.

I have also mused about this topic in the past. 

Rest assured that you don’t have to be a foot soldier in the Effective Altruism (EA) movement to be doing work that matters. Because EA — the formal movement — rejects what really matters about altruism — the human heart. Truly effective altruism defies objective metrics, as does work that matters. 

Each revels in investment, purpose, and empathy. In the realm of significant work and altruism, it’s not the calculated strategy that triumphs. It’s the emotionally charged, human-led endeavor. It’s not the cold data, but the warm, resonating human touch that truly makes a difference.

It’s about our individual and collective human capacity to help others. It’s personal, subjective, and emotionally driven. Truly effective altruism and work that matters invite us to bring our full, authentic selves to the table. To embrace our emotions, harness our passions, and contribute to a cause greater than ourselves — whether that cause is an outward facing mission, inward on the team, or simply within the confines of one’s family and friends. It’s not about fitting into a predetermined box, nor adhering to computed numbers, but about celebrating our humanity, making a difference, and adding value where we can. 

This is the essence of work that matters and true effective altruism.

At first, it may seem as if work that matters is outward facing and possibly even objective.

We can all agree that some work matters objectively, right? When asked, you might say something like teaching, medicine, social work, policing, green energy, defense/military, politics, farming, truck driving, DEI, or firefighting. 

Ah, but that’s the rub, isn’t it? You probably found some work in that list that you agree matters and some that you don’t. 

Because work that matters isn’t objective, nor does it have to be outward facing. Any work can be work that matters.

It’s all about what you bring with you to the work.

As a leader, your role isn’t just to guide and direct. It’s also to connect. To empathize. To understand each team member’s ‘why’. What drives them? What motivates them? What do they value? Why does their work matter to them?

In the new work paradigm, a leader doesn’t impose meaning. You unearth it. You create an environment where everyone can see their own work as work that matters.

Right out of college, I thought I had found the perfect career path. 

I started my career at a large defense contractor (GE Astrospace — which became Martin Marietta and then Lockheed Martin while I sat at the same desk, doing the same thing). As a space nerd, I certainly was excited about working on space-y things.

I worked in the Survivability group. We ensured that the satellite would work within the naturally occurring and man-made radiation and electromagnetic environments of space — including nuclear weapons threats. 

Queue the Oppenheimer movie trailer. 

On paper, and before I knew anything about engineering work, I thought this was a dream job. Like Oppenheimer movie cool. But reality turned out differently, at least for me.

The projects were too large. The bureaucracy was stifling. The time frames were too long. The tasks were too myopic. The office politics were overbearing. The workday framework was like kindergarten. 

After a while, I really did hate it.

But also, I learned a lot. In fact, I know that place helped me get where I am today. I learned how to conduct myself. I learned how to be a professional. I learned that the more you give and help, the more valuable you become. 

Any new opportunity may or may not be what you thought it was going to be. You may end up hating it. But there’s always something valuable to be taken away.

Never miss the nuggets. 

Work-life balance. A buzzword of the past. An antique in the new work paradigm.

In the old paradigm, balance was a scale. Work on one side. Life on the other — a juggling act. A struggle to keep both sides level.

But that was yesterday.

Welcome to today. To integration. To harmony. Work and life intertwine. They coexist. Work-life balance becomes work-life integration.

Work isn’t a place anymore. It’s an activity. Life isn’t a break anymore. It’s intertwined.

You’re not two people. One at work. One at home. You’re you. Everywhere. Always.

And you are the person we all need.

You’re human. You’re team is human. Sometimes you miss.

You can follow all the rules of hiring, yet fundamentally, it’s still a risk. It’s a gamble. You gather data. You make an educated guess. You choose. Sometimes, it works. Other times, it doesn’t.

You’ve invested time. Energy. Hope. And it didn’t pan out. That’s OK.

Perfection is a mirage. Even if you’ve done everything right.

Give yourself grace. Embrace the missteps. They’re not failures. They’re lessons. Insights wrapped in discomfort. They show you where to improve. They shine a light on blind spots.

A missed hire is not a life sentence. It’s a detour. An opportunity to reassess. Reframe. Realign.

Fix the problem. Don’t dwell on the miss. Focus on the fix. Is it training? Is it a different role? Or is it time to part ways? Each miss gives you data. Use it. Learn from it.

Sometimes, you hit. Sometimes, you miss. Both are part of the game. Both lead to growth.

Boldly roll those dice.

We’ve seen paradigms shift before. We’re living through another now.

Today, we stand on the precipice of a seismic change. Not just a shift, but a shattering of the old paradigm. 

So, what’s next? An orchestra — the composer, the conductor, and the orchestra.

We’ve already discussed the composer and the conductor. Now, musicians. 

The orchestra members share the purpose, but each contributes uniquely. The violin does not attempt to mimic the trumpet, nor does the cello envy the flute. An interplay of autonomy and unity.

This is the future of work.

We’re artists in an ensemble. Work isn’t about syncing our steps; it’s about harmonizing our tunes. The new work paradigm isn’t just about how we work. It’s about who we are.

We’re embracing diversity, not just in race or gender, but in thought, in skills, in points of view. Each individual brings their unique instrument to this grand symphony, contributing to a melody richer and more dynamic than we’ve ever heard before. 

The most extraordinary part? This orchestra is boundless. With the rise of remote work, our ensemble is expanding beyond borders and time zones. We’re tapping into global talent, harmonizing with individuals we may never meet face-to-face.

The symphony of the new work paradigm is playing. Do you hear it? It’s time to pick up your instrument and join the ensemble. 

It’s time to make your music.

The industrial machine valued meetings.

Top-down. Front of the room. Presentation. Here’s what you need to know. Consensus by org structure. Do what I say.

The new work paradigm values discussions.

Exchange ideas. Argue convictions. Respect each other. Consensus not required. Push forward. Re-evaluate. Change direction if needed.

Leaders in the new work paradigm understand the difference.

We have a mantra on our DevOps, Automation, and Tools team:

“Make the right thing to do the easy thing to do.”

This is the standard to which we hold everything we make. We don’t always hit it, and many times (most times?), we have to iterate to get there, but it’s always our goal.

This mantra does two things:

One, it provides a target — a north star. One which we can always apply to whatever it is we’re building. It’s simple to say, see, and understand.

Two, we acknowledge a fundamental truth about our audience — humans usually take the easy road when available, even if it’s the wrong road.

That’s not a judgment statement. It’s just a truth.

In an ever-increasingly complex world, we gravitate towards easy, or maybe one could say simple. Simplicity encapsulates elegance. Simplicity accelerates understanding. Simplicity finds common ground. 

Know your audience. 

Take responsibility.

Your job doesn’t stop at creation in the new work paradigm, where we rely on agreements, standards, and interfaces. Your job doesn’t stop till it’s tested.

You create, then you ensure that it meets the agreement, the standard, or the interface. In the software world, we can use all kinds of automation — AI and bots — to execute this testing. If we can define it, we can test it.

But it’s ultimately a human exercise — whether it’s software, accounting, lawn mowing, nursing, welding, personal training, or mayor-ing.

As the human, you must take the responsibility to ensure you’ve adequately tested your stuff.

If the org chart, micromanagement, and compliance are out as effective leadership tactics in the new work paradigm, then what is in?

How will we get stuff done on time and on budget? Even though we’ve deemphasized machine-like productivity in favor of significance, we still need to produce something.

We use agreements, standards, and interfaces.

We agree (even if we disagree). We agree to deliver. We agree to take responsibility for this and you for that. We agree to work together. We agree that when the shit hits the fan, we’ll dig in.

Standards set the quality, the bar that we collectively aim to meet or exceed. They give us a shared understanding of what ‘good’ looks like and motivate us to bring our best to the table. We rise to the standards.

Interfaces define the interaction between teams and individuals. Interfaces aren’t just about technology; they’re about communication, about how we exchange information, ideas, and feedback. Effective interfaces streamline collaboration and ensure that everyone stays in sync.

Agreements, standards, and interfaces fit perfectly into the new work paradigm built on trust, empowerment, and commitment.

We leverage the unique strengths of each individual, fostering a culture of shared responsibility and collective success.

The beginner digs in.
The beginner observes.
The beginner is curious.
The beginner applies focus.
The beginner sets aside her ego.
The beginner approaches with humility.
The beginner knows it will be a journey.
The beginner learns from those before him.
The beginner tries things that might not work.
The beginner understands there will be setbacks.
The beginner combines apprehension with excitement.

All masters started as a beginner.

Lunch break.
Evening chill.
The weekend.
A week on holiday.
An earned sabbatical.

Cyclical — work and rest. Micro and macro. Do and do not. Flow and wander.

Connect and disconnect. Balance plus integration.

Two rhythms in the same dance. Together, they create a sustainable, satisfying work-life symphony.

Respect the effort and honor the rest.

The fear isn’t new.

First robots. Then outsourcing. Then robots again. Then robots plus outsourcing. Then AI. Next, AI plus robots.

You can always find something to fear.

What if, instead, you found something to embrace?

The two most important people in the symphony performance don’t even play an instrument.

First, the composer. She’s the one who writes the music. She may play some of the instruments for which she is writing, but not all. And she doesn’t play anything on the night of the performance. Her job is to create the framework for the feeling; the roadmap for taking the audience from point A to point B.

She’s the original gig worker, entrepreneur, and intrapraneur. She creates and then lets it go into the ether. She’s the visionary.

Then, the conductor. He’s the one who drives the audience from point A to point B on that particular night. He makes the decisions on who needs to give more or less, which part requires emphasis, who must do what, and how to adjust the flow to create that emotional journey. His role is to unite individual performances into a harmonious collective that meets the composer’s vision and his interpretation, even if those individuals are machines.

He’s the leader in the new work paradigm. He gathers his team around the stage, and they’re all better than him at their individual roles. But he’s the one that turns the musicians into the symphony.

Both of these roles have been around since the dawn of work, but now more than ever, the new work paradigm emphasizes these roles.

Find your place.

Trust is hard.

I don’t necessarily mean trusting another, although that may be hard as well. I mean trusting in the unknowable future.

God asks us to trust. Smart people tell us to trust. We tell our kids to trust. We ask our partners to trust. We ask our team to trust. We’re told to trust the process.

But it’s hard.

Maybe that’s what makes it so important.

Building a team isn’t a lottery. It’s a chess match.

Within the ranks of sprouts and warriors, search for your essential generals, gatherers, and snipers.

The industrial machine hierarchy is out the window. When you get your team around the table, each member has their place. Each better than you at what they do. This ain’t your grandfather’s org structure. You’re building a team for the new work paradigm. 

Generals are your torchbearers, leaders, and the stalwarts holding your mission high. Commanders in competence, visionaries in ambition, they help you steer the ship, even through storms. Since not all eyes are on you, you need others who can also lead, if even just themselves. 

Next are your gatherers. More than just hard workers; they are the heart and soul of your team. They see the patterns others miss, collect the knowledge others overlook, and build the bridges others cannot. They are the glue holding your team together, the unassuming heroes fostering relationships, strengthening bonds, and fueling operations.

Then come the snipers. Your secret weapon and game-changers. They dive deep, deliver big. These are your experts. 

Building a great team is about pinpointing these roles, and then positioning them to maximize their potential. 

Choose right, and watch your team soar.

Should you consider hiring someone who has many years of contractor experience to be an employee?

This one is more of a yellow flag than a red one. It can work, but you should understand the risks.

Long-time contractors are typically specialists with depth in their niche. Hired guns. Snipers. Delivering specifics on time and with precision.

However, when you transition them to employees, the landscape shifts. You’re need team members who are invested and show up every day with curiosity and conviction. Your contractor ace swimmers may flounder on dry land.

Employees need a different skill set. They require breadth. Versatility is their secret weapon. They juggle tasks, pivot quickly, adapt to new roles. Their playground is vast. Their utility, manifold. They care. You want them to care.

A contractor turned employee might struggle to broaden their horizon and to invest the way you need them to. The singular focus that once was a strength may now be a constraint. Plus, they’re used to filling a role for time period, and then moving on.

Hiring a long-time contractor as an employee is an exercise in balance. It’s about finding that sweet spot where a contractor’s laser-focused expertise and an employee’s diverse skill set intersect. It’s also about finding someone who’s willing to invest — in the mission, the team, and themselves.

So, look before you leap. Transitioning a contractor to an employee might sound like a logical move, but it’s not always the winning move. Beware.

Not all that glitters is gold.

You’re on the hunt for craftsmen, meticulous in their method and knowledgable of their craft, yet agile in their approach.

Masters have their cherished tools, languages, and methods. That’s good. It means they care. You need your team to care. But there’s a fine line. When this affection hardens into dogma, it’s damaging. Productivity stumbles. Teamwork suffers. A single inflexible developer can grind your project to a halt, fracturing your team in the process.

Religious wars work against progress.

Then there’s the fluff. Buzzwords. Jargon. Overcomplicated explanations. This fluff hides gaps in understanding or skill. The true professional and master can simplify the complex and communicate it clearly. Even the sprouts you’re looking for know when to speak up about their current limitations.

Talking a good game isn’t the same as playing a good game. You need the players.

Remember, hiring the right people starts by eliminating the wrong ones.

Linus Torvalds ruined an entire generation of software developers.

Well, more specifically, he ruined a generation of his disciples in software team environments. He made it seem like it’s OK to be a giant asshole. Let’s be clear. It’s not. Not when you’re trying to build a great team full of sprouts and warriors, and you’re not one of the tech giants.

Torvalds is a master at his craft, no doubt. Yet, he’s equally infamous for a harsh communication style. Public rants and dismissive comments are his hallmarks. These behaviors spawned an intimidating, hostile culture. It squashed collaboration. It quashed innovation. It bred fear, not ideas.

Therein lies a critical lesson: Technical brilliance is not enough. An engineer who can’t play well with others can seriously damage the team’s dynamics, no matter how skilled they might be.

But don’t confuse “plays well with others” with “milk toast” and “B-players.” You need people who care, and you want them to speak up. You want conviction. You want creative tension, and you want everybody to hold each other accountable and to a higher standard. You should listen to ornery people who care. 

You just don’t have to be a dick about it.

You need people who argue about ideas, not about the person. You want people who can find empathy. You want people who contribute to the positive energy in the room.

Find the people who move the team forward, not backward. 

Hiring is hard.

Especially if you’re not one of the tech giants or a hot shit startup. But you can still hire and assemble a great team.

Previously we learned that hiring is not dating and that you’re looking for sprouts and warriors.

The secret is in strategic elimination rather than trying to assess perceived perfection. Shif your approach to eliminating those that will capsize the boat. 

Often, we’re too engrossed in finding ‘the best’, overlooking problematic traits that lurk beneath the surface. It’s like inverse anchor bias. The critical focus? Personality. Misjudge this, and you’re headed for an iceberg.

Consider arrogance versus confidence. You’re craving the confident, and you’re hoping to spot the arrogant. Arrogance dismisses critique and steamrolls colleagues, while a confident one invites feedback, respects peers, and fuels team synergy. You need to eliminate the blustery hype machines. 

Consider introversion versus milk toast. A great team member doesn’t need to be the life of the party or talk all that much. But she certainly needs to speak her mind and argue her convictions. The team needs constructive dissension and creative tension. You need to eliminate those who won’t ever speak up. 

Tune your hiring process to find the right personalities. 

The industrial machine drove the old work paradigm.

Work the hours. Supervisorship and micromanagement. Fifteen-minute increments. Org leadership. Come to this office. Park here. Sit in this office. We’ll give you snacks. Do what we say. Ask the boss. Fit in.

The old work paradigm required ever-increasing productivity, compliance, and hierarchy from the humans. Humans acting like machines.

But the industrial machine is in its death throes.

Queue the new work paradigm.

The new work paradigm values significance — for the mission, team, and the people.

Authority gives way to autonomy. Micromanagement replaced by empowerment. Compliance out, and creativity in. Our days aren’t dictated by the clock but driven by curiosity and commitment. Boundaries have blurred, giving rise to fluid, cross-functional teams. Unconventional thinking is celebrated, not silenced. The office no longer dominates work. Geography independence begets work-life integration.

This is the new work paradigm. Empowering. Engaging. Enthralling. Work of significance. Let the humans be the humans. Let the humans use the machines rather than be the machines.

The future is now. Embrace it with confidence or get left behind.

You’re looking for warriors, but warriors don’t always show themselves through flashy credentials.

Warriors go to battle. Warriors persevere. Warriors don’t stop until you’ve done the job. Warriors invest themselves in the team, the project, and the outcome. They’ve turned their scars into strength.

Warriors are made in the trenches, in the projects that have derailed, the classes they failed, and a life that’s gone sideways. In these harsh environments, they’ve learned to adapt, persist, and most importantly, overcome.

Herb Brooks, coach of the legendary 1980 US Hockey team, didn’t opt for the most skilled players. Instead, he sought fighters, individuals who knew adversity and still pressed on. He looked beyond mere talent, focusing on resilience, dedication, and the will to conquer.

In your hunt for warriors, ignore the shiny qualifications and uncover the gritty stories of resilience. Look for those who’ve fought battles, emerged victorious, learned, and are ready to take on the next challenge. Find those who value commitment over prestige, team victory over personal glory.

Warriors don’t require work experience in your field. Life throws each of us battles. Warriors are chiseled out of life experience as much as work experience. Sprouts can be every bit the warrior, just as a 20-year grizzled veteran.

How do you find them?

Listen to their stories — work, school, life. Discuss the battles they’ve fought. How they fought them. Find the uncut gems of wisdom.

Go beyond the resume and dive into life.

You’re looking for sprouts, and one of the best places to find them is fresh out of college. 

So how do you find them?

Experience has taught me this: the conventional hiring process for new graduates doesn’t cut it if you’re not one of the big tech firms or a hot shit startup. Google, Facebook, and Apple can afford the conventional approach to finding their superstars because they have a line of candidates that stretch out the door and around the block. 

So what if you don’t?

Toss the school name, GPA, and grueling theoretical interviews out the window. They won’t serve you, and that’s what everyone is looking at. You need to look differently. Don’t compete in that ocean. Find your own sea. 

Here’s what truly matters: Will this sprout succeed with us?

Software development demands a mix of technical skill, initiative, productivity, and teamwork. Spotting potential in these areas is the game changer.

Ask them one question: “What are you presently working on?”

If the answer smells like, “Well, nothing, I’m still trying to get my first job,” then pass. Yours will not be their first job, no matter what their GPA and class standing is. 

You need sprouts who are already working on something, regardless of pay because that shows initiative, creativity, focus, and self-reliance. They have curiosity and drive. They already care enough to do it. 

So, look for the sprouts who are already working on something. They’re your future.

You’re on a quest for sprouts and warriors.

Sprouts burst upwards, hungry to grow, learn, and become. They’re not complete, not yet. But within them lies a potential brighter than the brightest star. When you recruit, seek sprouts. Seek the thirst, the ambition, the raw, unshaped talent. More than that, seek the spirit.

Walt Disney built his empire by finding the right sprouts. The genius of Disney was his ability to see the sprouts, the raw potential, and to cultivate it.

Sprouts bring new ideas, energy, and turn into warriors.

Warriors win the war.

Warriors are embodiments of unwavering commitment, less about talent and more about resilience. They dance in the rain of adversity, not always the most gifted, but the most dedicated. They’ve tamed their tools, turned challenges into stepping stones, and carry a fire of willing contribution.

Herb Brooks built the 1980 US Hockey Team from a band of warriors. He chose fighters over flash. Grit over names. Resilience and experience in the ring, and those who had battled their dragons and emerged victorious. He transformed a group of collegiate athletes into an Olympic team that beat the invincible Soviets.

You don’t have to be Google, Facebook, or Apple to build an amazing team. You need to choose and recruit differently.

You’re gonna want to find sprouts and warriors.

Building your team is a quest, and it’s critical to your success. 

If you’re Google, Facebook, or Apple, it’s easy. The people will come to you. The A-listers will be pounding on your door to get in. All you have to do is select, and if you make a mistake, no big deal. Get someone else. The supply is never-ending.

But you’re not Google, Facebook, or Apple. You don’t have a long line of A-listers banging down your door. Don’t worry. You can still build an amazing team. In fact, you can probably build a better team. 

Of course, you’ll need to go about it differently. Ironically, you’ll turn it around on them and be the one to think and act differently. You’ll channel some Billy Beane (finding undervalued and under-the-radar talent by thinking differently), mix in a little Herb Brooks (getting the most out of who you have — warriors), and spread some Walt Disney on the top (finding people who will grow to be amazing — sprouts).

The first thing to understand is that Hiring is Not Dating. 

What’s next? 

Let’s go find the warriors and the sprouts. 

The craftsman knows that mastery itself is a skill.

Since it’s a skill, it can be learned.

Mastery, and by extension craftsmanship, follow curiosity, openness, others, effort, diligence, and time. Mastery doesn’t require special talent or genetics. Sure, those ingredients can accelerate or guide you toward the path, but they’re not necessary.

Each day, each project, and each challenge is an opportunity to learn, grow, and improve. Skill development requires it.

Because mastery isn’t just a destination, it’s the journey itself.

Masters acknowledge others and Luck/God/Universe.

The master knows he is connected to something bigger than himself. The master is one part of the whole.

Sometimes things fall into place for her, and she acknowledges this. She may consider it God, or the Universe, or fate, or the muse, or even incoherent luck, but she knows that the whole has contributed. She does not drink her own bathwater.

He also knows that he is not self-made and there is no such thing. The very concept of self-made is oxymoronic.

The master asks for review, takes criticism, and adjusts. Not for external validation but for growth.

He always gives credit to others and the whole. He is thankful for those before him and with him and who come after him. The master makes gratitude part of his daily practice.

The master knows she is not alone, nor could she have made it alone.

Masters remain flexible and current.

The master questions his own beliefs and his own methods. This may shake him to the core. He does it anyway.

Beliefs are beginning assertions, and methods are test procedures. She knows that sometimes they are wrong. As she produces, she adjusts accordingly, and her output changes.

The master also knows that skill sets and philosophies are fluid and ever-changing, so he keeps up. He doesn’t keep up so that he knows the lingo and can talk a good game. He keeps up to discern progress from bullshit.

He employs progress. He eschews bullshit.

A master knows when to be flexible.

A craftsman masters his domain.

The master turns from consumer to producer.

He does stuff, and he continues to participate. He takes the information, finds his voice in it, and starts producing. The master makes the phone calls.

The master gets comfortable being uncomfortable. She tries the things that might not work. 

Mastery requires going through the hard. There are no shortcuts, or ways around, or tunnels underneath. There is only through. 

The guru on the mountain may be a master, but not because he’s got a robe and a label. He’s a master because he’s dug into it, struggled with his own beliefs, argued with his teachers and peers, written about it, lived it, and is willing to teach it to you. The guru produces. 

The social media influencer may be a master, but not because she’s beautiful and has a team of people around her. She’s a master because she’s built a network, mastered her distribution channel, mastered her content, adjusts the content accordingly, and exposes herself to the emotional danger from the public. The influencer produces.

The master may talk a good game, but maybe not. Because talk doesn’t matter. 

Masters are producers.

A craftsman masters his domain.

What is mastery? How good do you need to be? How do you become a master?

Mastery starts with a beginner mindset.

The master started by setting his ego aside and becoming a beginner.

The beginner is humble and recognizes he will need help. The beginner steps out of his comfort zone. He sets aside what he thinks he knows and is willing to start fresh.

Beginners gather information. They learn from other masters. They may go to school, read books, listen to podcasts, and take courses. They definitely invest.

But information only takes you so far. Information cannot make you a master.

The amateur stops at beginner. He stops at gathering the information.

The amateur can make good dinner conversation, but he hasn’t made a contribution that matters. That’s where the line is drawn, because across the line of contribution lies the emotional danger.

A master starts at the beginning. 

I’m committed to helping you work the way you want.

Because I want to work with craftsmen, and craftsmen care about the way they work.

But also…

Craftsmen keep up with the times. Craftsmen look out for new and better. Crafstmen adapt to new tools when needed or when the benefits become clear. They take the industry’s pulse to see if anything new will help them at their craft.  

They adopt new if new brings forward progress. And they discern forward progress from shiny objects.

If you want to know about the latest tools, gizmos, methodologies, and science in your industry, ask a craftsman.   

If you work for/with me, I will do my best to allow you to work the way want. 

I apply this to environments, platforms, tools, applications, and methodologies. We have standards and agreements, of course, but for the most part, I’m on board. Want a mac or Linux? I’ll get it for you. You need a license for your favorite IDE? I’ll approve. 

Because I want to work with craftsmen and craftsmen care about the way they work. They care about their tools. They care about methodologies. They care about what they produce and how they produce it.

Empowering you to work your way, I believe, is a key element in creating a productive, innovative, and vibrant work environment. I respect your professional expertise and want to equip you with what you need to be successful. In turn, I anticipate the passion, commitment, and high-quality output that craftsmen are known for.

By enabling this level of autonomy, we foster a culture of respect, personal responsibility, and a sense of ownership over one’s work. It’s not about conforming to a one-size-fits-all approach, but rather, embracing diversity of thought, style, and approach to drive innovation and foster personal growth.

By working the way you want, we all get better. 

Where are you trying to go? What is your endpoint?

Project management maps the journey to the endpoint. Without an endpoint, you don’t need a map. If you don’t need a map, you don’t need project management. 

Razor sharp focus on the endpoint saved and built companies like Apple, Southwest Airlines, and Amazon. Choose the endpoint. Unite the project managers. Distractions be damned. We’re on the road to our endpoint. 

However, Twitter (podcasting platform), Slack (game), and PayPal (security software) all became what they are because they chose a new endpoint in the midst of their journey. OK, project managers, throw out the map. Let’s build a new one.

Commitment and adaptability are two sides of the same coin. But in both cases, you need to know your endpoint. 

When you get your team around the table, what does it look like?

Are you at the head, everybody facing you, everybody looking to you to tell them what to do?

Are you the best at all the jobs?

Do all the decision flow through you, up and down the chain?

If so, consider a new order.