The finish line. The summit. The big goal. 

What happens when you get there?

We see it publicly in pro sports and entrepreneurs who make it big. You did it, now what? 

But it’s not just them. It’s you and me also. We’re all going somewhere. We’re all going to arrive. Many will arrive at the destination they’ve been working toward. 

It’s not really about the arrival. 

It’s the daily motion. The effort. The people. The practice. The identity we shape, not the title we wear.

The win is just a moment. The becoming is the legacy.

Once we realize the destination isn’t the point, we can stop waiting to get there and start living here.

You’re backstage. 

You can hear the murmur of the crowd on the other side. The crew bustles around you. Excitement fills the air. But the curtain is down. There’s no risk yet. There’s anticipation, but that’s all so far. 

You know your lines. You’ve rehearsed. You’re confident in what you can do. You’ve done the work, and you have the skills. You know the audience has paid a fair price. 

But your heart doesn’t care about any of that.

Your mouth is dry. Your hands tingle. Your heart is suddenly a percussionist with something to prove.

When the curtain rises, it could go either way. The standing ovation and the audience satisfied. Or they won’t care, didn’t get it, and think they paid too much. 

And that’s what makes it real.

Because if it were certain, it wouldn’t be worth doing. If it were easy, it wouldn’t matter. That mix of hope and fear — of maybe and maybe not — is the cost of doing something that matters.

You don’t get to skip this moment. You shouldn’t skip this moment.

So you breathe.

You take that step forward and put a smile on your face. 

The curtain rises.

When a fire hose — sometimes even a garden hose — gets loose, look out.

It whips, spins, jumps, and makes a mess. It’s erratic. Even a little dangerous. It certainly doesn’t behave the way you want it to.

If you try chasing the end, you’ll never gain control and maybe even get bruised. Just when you think you’ve got it, or know where it’s going, it darts out of the way and leaves you a soaking mess.

Better to find its source and grab it there. It’s steady there. Get your feet solidly underneath you and walk it out toward the end. Slow and steady. Breathe. Focus on the outcome. 

Guide it to where you want to end up.

Because no one tames a hose by chasing the end. 

Have you ever reached for the hot water knob on a sink and either the handle turns the wrong way, or the cold and hot water knobs are backward?

It’s jarring.  

First, you freeze. Confused. It takes you a blip to get your bearing. You might even, just for a second, question yourself, “Am I doing this right?”

Then, you figure it out. Because it’s an easy problem to solve. Oh, turn the knob the other way. Or, the hot water must be on the right side. And, “No, I’m not doing it wrong. This thing is wrong.”

Is it wrong? What makes us think it’s wrong? What gives us the expectation of how it should work?

Intuition, of course. Built up through years of using sinks that conform to the US Plumbing standard of how a sink and its knobs should work. That standard has a whole history behind it that seeks to accommodate right-handed people. 

Sinks that don’t conform to this standard won’t land the plumber in jail, nor will some enforcement agency confiscate the contraband sink. 

But it’s jarring for the user.

If you’re making something for someone else, is that what you want? Possibly. That might be exactly what you’re going for. You need them to think differently or feel something.

But if not, the Law of Least Surprise is your friend. 

Know your user. Know how you want them to feel.

[P.S. I have a sink in my house on which the cold water knob spins backwards. After 23 years, it’s still jarring. I still spin it the wrong way every time. Every time. Why haven’t I changed it?]

Scientists have reconfirmed one of the most famous and vexing theories in physics — light is both a wave and a particle.

Which is it when? That depends on whether it’s being observed or not. 

If you measure it, it’s a particle. Precise and localized. Unobserved, it’s a wave. Fluid, adaptable, interfering with itself.

Effective leaders share this dual nature.

They’re decisive and clear when the team requires structure and certainty. They’re reflective and fluid when creativity and exploration are needed.

Great leaders recognize when to be each and can switch back and forth. 

Effective leadership isn’t about choosing a side. It’s observing, taking the pulse, and knowing the desired outcome. Tension isn’t a threat. It’s a signal. 

Which does your team need right now? 

Your town decides to build a centralized water system.

It helps many in the community. It’s more efficient. It provides standardized quality and access to that quality for more people. The generated revenue lessens individuals’ tax burden. 

But, you have a well, and it works fine. Water’s clean. Tastes great. You maintain it. Cheap. No need to change anything.

Now you’re being asked to pay for installation and then monthly for access to something that you think is probably worse than you currently have.

You didn’t ask for it. You don’t need it. 

That is the conundrum of the individual versus the collective and the present versus the future. The new system may not serve you better, at least not right now. 

But what about tomorrow, or five years from now? And what about your neighbor? 

When you’re a centralized system, here are some of your advantages:

• Speed – You can make decisions and engage machines or people quickly
• Efficiency – You can spread and use resources with little waste
• Communication – You can create a speedy and efficient communication system
• Control – You set the standards, enforce consistency, and lead with impunity
• Security – You can monitor and guard your systems more easily

When you’re a distributed system, here are some of your advantages:

• Resilience – You can easily ensure no single point of failure
• Self-sufficiency – Each part can operate independently, adapt locally, and take initiative
• Scalability – You can grow organically, node by node, without a total overhaul
• Flexibility – You can respond differently in different regions or contexts
• Innovation – You can empower the constituents 

Coming to the table knowing your advantage is, in itself, an advantage. 

When you’re a startup, here are some of your advantages:

• Flexibility – You can say “yes” or “no” to anything
• Decision-making – You can decide for yourself 
• Speed – You can start, stop, finish, or change at any time
• Attention – You can be razor-focused on whomever you want
• Creativity – You have no box or boundaries
• Upside – The upside is all yours

When you’re a multibillion-dollar enterprise, here are some of your advantages:

• Budget – You can afford capacity, technology, teams, and systems
• Access – You can access capacity, technology, teams, and systems
• Systems – You can create, acquire, use, and polish systems
• Risk – You can spread your risk
• Emotions – You can flatten out the emotional rollercoaster
• Downside – You can significantly reduce the downside

Coming to the table knowing your advantage is, in itself, an advantage. 

The 100-year flood, or for that matter, the 1000-year flood isn’t a real thing. 

It’s a set of statistical values used for engineering, insurance, and planning purposes. The engineers who design the burms, drainage, and pumps need a target. The actuaries need a target to price insurance policies. Community leaders need a target to put systems and policies in place. 

It’s a model, and nature doesn’t have to follow the model’s rules. 

Models are helpful for thinking through possibilities. For our business. For our retirement. For our health. 

But the real 100-year flood doesn’t know what year it is. It doesn’t know where it’s supposed to dump its water. It doesn’t know how much water. It doesn’t know which path it’s supposed to take. 

Plan all you want. And you should. But make room for chaos. Because it’s coming. 

The ones who thrive aren’t the ones whose model was better. They’re the ones who figured out how to float when the levee broke.

Do you know what your future looks like?

Have you planned it out? Do you know what you’ll be doing, where you’ll be living, and who you’ll be with? Can you picture it? 

You need a strategy, and I hope it works out.

But what if it doesn’t? 

What if there’s medical stuff? What if you miss on your market assumptions? What if your product doesn’t resonate? What if the kids move away? What if you have a financial inflection? What if you change your mind? What if the system changes? What if the world changes? 

All we know is today and history, but something, probably many things, will not look tomorrow like they do today or did last year.

Crazy will get crazier. The “can’t happen” will happen. The “never thought about” will become the focus.

However, there’s a solution — resilience and flexibility. Design resilience into your plans and foster mental and emotional flexibility. 

It’s simple, if not easy, to combat the unknown future with resilience and flexibility. Here are some ideas. 

For resilience: 

• Assume it will break
• Create margin, checks, guardrails, and failsafes
• Abstract the interface from the implementation 
• Have backups
• Have a plan B, C, D (burn the ships is romantically overrated)
• Watch what they do. Modify accordingly. 
• Invest in a network

For flexibility:

• Allow yourself to decide later
• Play devil’s advocate
• Instead of “What will happen?” try “What else could happen?”
• Follow your curiosity
• Challenge and reconfirm, or change, beliefs
• Practice discomfort
• Daydream about the what-if (not all the time, but occasionally)
• Give yourself grace for past failures and poor decisions. The lesson learned should rarely be “I’ll never do that again.” Rather, it should usually be “This is what I’ll do different next time.” There are some important exceptions, of course. 

Preparing for the future isn’t about being right. It’s about being able to respond when you’re wrong. 

Rule-followers (I’m one) take heed.

Paraphrased from The Third Door, by Alex Banayan.

• Front Door: This is the main entrance for the ticket buyers. The people who follow the rules to see the show. It’s where 99 percent of the people wait in line, hoping to get in.
• Back Door: This is the door for the people who have an “in”. Maybe they know somebody who can let them in, or introduce them to the right person. 
• Third Door: This is the door that the truly successful person creates — out of thin air. It’s created by sheer force of will, effort, and creativity. It’s the entrance where you have to jump out of line, run down the alley, bang on the door a hundred times, crack open the window, and sneak through the kitchen.

People matter. Connections matter. Relationships matter. 

Creativity matters. Grit matters. Force of will matters. 

The rules don’t matter as much as you think they do. What the paper says doesn’t matter as much as you think it does. The sign on the front door doesn’t matter as much as you think it does.

If you can get in through the back door, do it. That’s a great way to get in. 

If you can’t get in the back, find the third door. It’s often the best door.

True for engineering deliveries. True for contracts. True for the rock band’s rider. True for packaging. True for the smart home water sensor you just ordered on Amazon.

There are exceptions, of course, but should you rely on the exception?

Nobody reads your documentation. 

Plan accordingly. 

Childhood is the perfect time to teach and build resilience. It’s much harder as an adult. Maybe impossible.  

Resilience stems from emotional and physical recovery, as well as the confidence to overcome the challenges they face. 

Here are some things you can do to help your kids build resilience:

• Enroll them in baseball or softball. 
• Let them get the zero on the forgotten homework assignment.
• Have them discuss the zero or failed test with the teacher themselves.
• Don’t confuse embarrassment with bullying. 
• Give accurate, if empathic, feedback. If you don’t like it, it’s OK for them to know. 
• Encourage them to explore their curiosity.
• Allow them to walk on the curb, climb the monkey bars, and play hockey in the street. 
• Allow them to talk to strangers. 
• If they don’t feel good, but want to continue, maybe let them. 
• Encourage them to play with others.
• Argue with them. Respectfully, of course. 
• Fail in front of them (sometimes). 
• Don’t get involved.
• Sometimes, “Because I said so” is the perfect answer. 
• Let them figure it out.

Life is full of disappointment, failure, and challenges. Let’s help kids build the skills to handle it.

My friend, one of the best engineers I’ve ever known, has a saying about how we should do good engineering:

“Requirements first, then principles, then feelings.”

This clearly and helpfully lays out the hierarchy of how we go about our engineering work individually and collectively. 

Requirements are the objective north star. Does it do what we’ve been asked to make it do? Requirements are worth arguing about to come to a consensus. They rule the decisions we make. 

When we lack a specific requirement, we rely on our engineering principles. The principles in play are worth discussing and arguing about, but consensus isn’t necessary. What should it do in this situation? What’s the “right way” to do this? 

Feelings are not only third, but the gap between principles and feelings is a chasm. We’re here to make this thing according to the provided requirements. In cases where we need to derive a requirement, we rely on solid engineering principles. Your feelings are irrelevant. 

Let’s contrast that with good product marketing.

It’s exactly the opposite. 

First, feelings. Then principles, and finally requirements. 

What’s the story around the product? How do we want our users to feel? What problem do they care about? 

What kind of person would use our product? What do they care about? What tribes do they belong to? What status do they want to achieve?

What are they trying to accomplish? Why would they use it? 

The engineer tries to build the thing right.
The marketer ensures it’s the right thing.

You need both. In tension. In conversation. With respect.

Because in the end, no one buys specs. They buy the story the specs create.

When you show up at a well-stocked drum shop to buy a cymbal, you’ll have hundreds to choose from. 

One method is to just start hitting them. Grab a stick, start at the beginning, and smack each one.  

Although maybe fun for a few minutes, this method will take you the longest, and ultimately won’t yield what you’re looking for. After a few dozen, they don’t all sound the same, but your ear will be tired and you won’t be able to remember what sound you came in hoping to achieve.

Plus, you’ll mark yourself as a complete amateur, and you’ll annoy everybody else in that store. If you need any help from someone, well…

Another method is to know what type of cymbal you want when you walk in. A crash cymbal. Okay, now you’ve narrowed the selection down to around 100. 

Better yet, an 18” crash cymbal with a dark overtone to complement the 16” bright crash you already have. 

Now you’re down to 15-20. 

If you’ve really done your homework, you’ll know the one or two from each manufacturer that might be the one you want. 

Now you’ve got less than 10 to choose from. 

What’s your budget? Is there a specific look you’re aiming for? Do you favor or dislike one of the manufacturers? 

A professional walks into the drum store and hits 5 cymbals and walks out with the one he was looking for. 

The pro always brings a compass. 

As a startup company, 4TLAS always has one hurdle to cross — trust.

We’ve had to answer various versions of the following question in conversations with every potential customer:

“What happens [to us] if you go out of business?”

I get it. I don’t blame them. I’d be asking the same questions. I have asked the same questions of potential partners in the past. 

It’s a catch-22. 

Because, of course, the answer is “if you work with us, that’s one more brick in our foundation that will assure that never happens.”

We can’t build the trust without those bricks, and we can’t lay those bricks without having our customers trust us.

So we show up. We look them in the eye. We stay transparent. We delight. We say “yes” and “no” appropriately. We solve real problems with real urgency. We put contingency plans in our contracts for our customers’ benefits. 

We don’t use sleight-of-hand. We don’t put small print in the Terms of Service. We never overpromise and underdeliver. 

We do the things we can to build that trust. One brick at a time.

That’s how you build something unshakable — one brick at a time. 

I use Grammarly to write my articles. 

Today, I open it up and bang! Wholesale changed the interface overnight. Doesn’t look anything like it did yesterday. Totally different. 

No warning. No easing into it. Just opened up the app, and there it was. New, unfamiliar, and, frankly, irritating.

They moved my cheese. 

When someone moves your cheese, the first thing you notice isn’t the new layout, features, or promises of improvement. What you notice is your frustration. The interruption. The feeling that someone messed with your stuff.

Your cheese was right here, and now it’s over there. And it’s not just a small adjustment. It’s a whole new cheese map.

Maybe Grammarly did this to make things better. Maybe the interface is genuinely smarter, faster, and more intuitive. Maybe in a month I’ll wonder how I ever lived without it.

But today, I’m grumbling. Because change, even good change, is rarely comfortable.

I have a choice: Spend my energy wishing they moved my cheese back, or spend it adapting to the new location. 

Adaptation isn’t about the cheese. It’s about us. It’s about how quickly we can get from frustration to acceptance. From disruption to productivity. From resistance to resilience.

Maybe the cheese needed moving.

And maybe it’s me who needs to adjust.

I had a naive approach when I first trained for triathlons (all in my past now). 

I assumed training for swimming, biking, and running was about getting my body able to exert the most energy for a long time. Therefore, training was all about time and intensity. More, more, more. 

Wrong. 

It’s really about wasting the least amount of energy over the three legs, and you do that through getting better mechanics.

Swim mechanics — least resistance, most economical power stroke.
Bike mechanics — smooth cadence, proper gear selection, proper bike setup.
Run mechanics — Posture, stride, rhythm. 

Winning a triathlon isn’t necessarily about who can keep the highest heart rate for the longest time. It’s who can go the fastest with the lowest heart rate.

Mechanics.

If you’re stuck, not getting to where you want to be, or frustrated, maybe it’s time to look at how you’re doing it, rather than simply what it is.

Not a chance (unless you let it).

AI can write song lyrics because it knows statistically how to put words together. 

AI can write software because it knows statistically how to put words (syntax) together.

But AI has no purpose. It has no meaning. It has no desire (other than incentives we give it). It has no responsibility. It has no will. It doesn’t decide a problem needs a solution. It doesn’t care about risk. It doesn’t care about judgment. It doesn’t care about status. It doesn’t get tired, or excited, or nostalgic. 

AI has helped me be more productive, but at a very personal level, and marginally. Me with a power saw instead of a hand saw. Not at an organizational level. 

As the leader of a startup, I’ve been trying over the last year to figure out how AI can help me in the areas in which I’m deficient. I’m open. I’m a good guinea pig. I’d really like it to. 

Bottom line is it hasn’t helped me replace anything wholesale yet. Not really. Maybe it won’t, either. It has helped me do some things with words and research. Like the power saw gets me through the wood faster. But is it better?

AI isn’t gonna take over the world. It’s not gonna kill us all for its own benefit. It’s not gonna replace you or me. 

Unless, of course, you let it. 

But that’s no different than letting the younger and hungrier colleague replace you. 

Grades. Degrees. Titles. Certifications.

These are the systemic qualifications. But they don’t tell the whole story.

I’ve met straight-A students who couldn’t hold a conversation. I’ve worked with PhDs in engineering who couldn’t design, build, or debug their way out of a paper bag. I’ve worked for leaders who couldn’t lead their family on a vacation. I’ve hired ISO-9000-certified firms that couldn’t deliver a sandwich, let alone quality engineering.

Sometimes, and in some genres, it’s all we got. You may have to play the systemic qualification game.

However, if you want to make an impact, or hire someone who will make an impact, here’s what you’re really looking for:

Competence. Competence is skill, and skill isn’t the same as talent. Developing a skill simply requires a choice and then the work to get better.

Adultiness. Show up. Call back when you say you’ll call back. Deliver when you say you’ll deliver, or be up front when you can’t. Respect your coworkers, their ideas, and their perspectives. Take it on rather than pushing it off — get on the hook.

Curiosity. Be curious and follow it. Curiosity never killed anything. Rather, it’s the engine that leads to innovation.

Becoming. You might not be it now, but you can be. We’re all becoming something. Become who you need to be on purpose.

These are all choices that you can make.

In whatever line of work you’re moving through, the system may demand its formal qualifications.

But don’t substitute systemic qualifications for real qualifications.

When you work for yourself, you can give yourself whatever professional title you want.

So why take conformist or boring titles like CEO, lead engineer, or machinist?

If you want to be the “Curator of Human-Centered Synergies” or the “Chief Evangelist of Synergistic Paradigms,” no problem. Even “Mindful Experience Architect” might be the one.

However, you’d better know your audience, because that title is the first they see in your professional bio.

If you’re selling vision and vibe, then sure, make your title sing. But if you’re building trust, shipping product, or solving gritty problems, your audience might be looking for something a little more boring, yet understandable.

The point is to remember the purpose. Titles are shorthand. A signal. A pitch in a single phrase.

What are you signaling?

Have you ever worked for a micromanager?

Gives you the task list for the day. Gives you the timeline for the day. Gives you the “how” it should be done. Repeatedly checks. A daily dashboard full of KPI’s, metrics, and graphs.

Chains you to your workstation.

“Check with me.”

This is the industrial way. People as machines.

But we live in a post-industrial world. The post-industrial world doesn’t reward people as machines. It rewards people who use machines.

The teams that win combine creativity, curiosity, and humanness with the ability to deliver. They know the destintation, and they figure it out.

The best leaders of today encourage it. They don’t obsess over control. They build trust.

When you treat them like builders, they’ll create more than you imagined.

Not with chains. With guardrails.

The weight’s getting heavier.
The water’s rising.
The hole’s getting deeper.

The news is always bad.
The bank account’s getting close to zero.
The bills are piling up.

The glass isn’t even half empty — there are only a few drops. There is no way to be optimistic, especially for a realist. In fact, you’re pretty sure if someone tosses a “lemons into lemonade” line your way, you’d punch ’em.

There’s no f’n lemonade.

So what do you do?

Breathe. Make your list. Do one thing. Then the next. One bite at a time. One step at a time. One shovel-full. Faith. Family. Friends.

But never nothing.

The glass will start to fill. One drop. Then another.

Then it’s half full.

Trust is necessary.

Trust yourself. Trust the process. Trust God. Trust it will be all right. Trust you’ll figure it out.

And don’t forget to trust the team.

The team got you here. The team will step up.

Trust the team.

Everything has a user interface. You might want to pay attention to it.

The UI allows you to work it or tells you how it’s working. Is it levers and buttons? Gauges and windows? Maybe it’s audio or video. Do you need physical effort or mental intuition?

The UI is the connection whenever you’re making something for someone else. It’s what you or they see. It’s what you or they use.

What does your UI tell them? What does your UI tell you?

If the interface is unclear, somebody is filling in the blanks. Either them or you.

What are those blanks telling you?

Sometimes the temperature and the breeze is just right. The people standing around you are just right. The activity is just right.

The moment is just right.

Look around. Take it in. Be thankful.

Don’t miss it.

Because tomorrow you’ve gotta climb back down into the trench.

We talk about when it all works. The sunny day scenario.

We highlight it. We get excited. We show the investors. We show our friends.

But it’s gonna break.

You’ll get 8 inches of water in the basement. Your client will no-show. You won’t get a response. You’ll get stuck on the side of the road. The power will go out. The user will do something you never thought of. You’ll have no internet connection.

What will you do then?

We wake up to the buzzing rectangle on our bedside table.
We spend our day staring at the rectangles on our desk.
We drive to where the rectangles tell us to drive.

Maybe we need more circles and triangles.

Tornado warning. Trees and branches falling all around. Inches of rain per hour. Flash flood. Roads unpassable. The groundwater table rises above the elevation of the basement floor. The power goes out. 

What can you do? What does a leader do?

1. Breathe.
2. Assess.
3. Prioritize.
4. Focus.
5. Direct.
6. Empower.
7. Work quickly.
8. Let go what needs to be let go.

Because in a real crisis, everything’s not equally important. Some things will be lost. Some things can’t be saved.

A leader doesn’t panic.
A leader doesn’t freeze.
A leader sees the mess, accepts the chaos, and makes the next decision anyway. Even if it’s the wrong decision.

Leadership isn’t about controlling the storm.

It’s about moving forward within it.

Even when the water’s rising.
Even when the lights go out.
Even when it feels like the end of the world.

Especially then.

I recently visited the Museum of the American Revolution.

Well done. I highly recommend it.

My big takeaway: the US came to be because of the crazies. 

Not the reasonable people. Not those with a cool head. Not those with the ability to look at both sides and find the common ground.

The crazies.

And as someone who considers himself a reasonable person, that gives me pause.

But also, it helps me appreciate the big, beautiful chaos that is this wonderful country. We fight. We yell. We argue. We push it this way and that way. 

Most importantly:

We can fight. We can yell. We can argue. We can push it this way and that way.

This is freedom. This is what it looks like. 

Thank you, crazies. 

My cat woke me up last night, and then kept me up batting a little plastic spring around the floor and generally making an ass of himself.

First, let’s clear this up: Cats aren’t nocturnal.

They’re crepuscular. That’s a strange-sounding word that simply means “most active during the twilight hours.”

Bullshit, this was 3 am. 3 am is never twilight in southeastern PA. Now, I’ve been to Sweden, Finland, and Norway, and in the summertime, 3 am can indeed be twilight in those areas. But not here.

Regardless, crepuscular means they are adapted to seeing much better than you do in the low light. They don’t have perfect night vision, but they don’t need much light at all — the moon, a porch light, a street light down the block — to see just fine.

It’s the rods. They got a lot more than you do.

When you stumble over the coffee table or step on an errant shoe in the dark, it’s so tempting to look at the cat and wish you could see like they do. It seems like such an advantage.

But you got the cones.

Which means you see much better color and detail in both near and far distances than your cat.

Every time you look around at others and the world, you have a choice. You can continue to wish you were like the cat, or you could recognize the advantages you have.

Life is a journey of change.

Your experiences. Your family. Your work. Your body. Your ideas.

What would be the point of living if we didn’t let life change us?

We’re (I’m) wired to resist it. We (I) lean into what’s familiar, what feels safe, what’s comfortable.

But comfort isn’t the goal. Change is.

New problems present an opportunity to change your skills.
New people present an opportunity to change your thinking.
New seasons present an opportunity to change your priorities.

This you is a different you, whether you’ve embraced it or not. The trick isn’t ignoring or avoiding change. It’s participating in it. Each day presents the opportunity of change.

Change isn’t the interruption of your life.

It is your life.

Money is a charlatan. A trickster. And it is oh, so good. 

It says, “Look over here,” and we do while it pockets the card with its other hand.

We fight over it in our personal lives. We fight over it in our public and political lives. We bluster, yearn, blame, and chase. 

We say it doesn’t matter, yet we fashion our lives around it. We put it on the vision board as the goal.

But money isn’t a worthy goal. It’s not the end. 

It’s the means to an end. 

Money’s superpower is as a tool.

Once you recognize the real power of money, you stop chasing it for its own sake. You chase what it unlocks. You start chasing the real goal. 

But the goal? That’s still on you.

You can do all the science for your new startup business.

You can research the market and find the gaps. You can research the perfect product to fill that gap. You can research the development effort. You can research all the costs, risks, competition, and the pricing model. You can build a rock-solid pro forma.

But at some point, you still have to make the art.

What color? Rounded or square? What should we leave out? Who’s our person? What’s the story? What’s the story our person tells themself? What do we want them to feel? How do we convey the story? What are we willing to give up? What are we willing to change about our perspective?

Science gives you the data. The art determines success.

Anything worthwhile takes both.

Often, it’s easy to recognize when you’re the storyteller.

If you’re standing at the front of the room, you’re the storyteller.
If you’re posting on the socials, you’re the storyteller.
If you’re talking to a potential partner, you’re the storyteller.

Sometimes, however, you may not recognize it. But make no mistake, you’re still the storyteller.

If you’re looking in the mirror, you’re the storyteller.
If you’re replaying last week, you’re the storyteller.
If you’re thinking about next week, you’re the storyteller.

You’re the storyteller about yourself. About what happened and what’s possible. What didn’t and what could.

You own the narrative. You own the perspective. You own the feeling.

So, what kind of story are you telling yourself?

I got my first car in 1987. It was a 1979 Chevy Chevette. Mint green, 2-door, 3-speed automatic with a whopping 70 hp.

There is no way to sugarcoat this — this car sucked.

Don’t get me wrong, I was happy to have a ride, but every day it was something. I carried around a large adjustable wrench. Not because I might need to tighten some bolts (although that, too) but because sometimes I needed the all-metal handle to short the starter motor terminals. Sparks would fly, but the motor would kick over, and we’d be on our way.

I still have the wrench. Here it is, and you can easily make out the distance between the terminals on a 1979 Chevette starter motor.

The Chevette followed directly from the 1973 oil crisis. American car manufacturers, who had been spending most of their engineering effort on bigger, faster, musclier, and more luxurious cars, suddenly had to pivot to fuel efficiency. But it took time. It took real products out in the real world to figure out how to make them better.

In 1987, this car had less than 50k miles. I passed it on to my brother when he turned 16, and when he finally put it out of its misery, it had less than 75k.

How many miles are on the cars sitting in your driveway?

They don’t make them like they used to.

And thank goodness.

The shifting sands aren’t quite the same as the rug pull, but they rhyme.

The rug pull hits you all at once. One minute, you’re standing on solid ground, and the next, your feet are firmly planted in mid-air. The decision has been forced upon you. Solve the problem. Today.

The outcome of the shifting sands is the same, but the journey is different.

If you’re not paying attention, you probably don’t notice the ground moving. Or maybe you notice it, but it’s so slow and small that you decide it’s not immediately important.

A slow erosion. What once was stable is now a bit tilted. Not because something snapped but because it’s been shifting beneath you for months.

The shifting sands don’t demand action like the rug pull. They seduce you into complacency.

The danger of the shifting sands is not that you’ll fall. It’s that you’ll sink.

Even though it feels solid, the ground beneath us is always shifting.

How will you adapt?

Perfection is an unattainable target.

Perfection only exists in a lab with ideal conditions, a controlled environment, and a finite set of known inputs.

Perfectionism is a form of Resistance. Avoidance. It can keep you in your comfort zone. Perfectionism can help you feel better about not trying.

Toward perfection, however, is not the same as perfectionism.

Toward perfection is toward better. And toward better is how you make a difference.

Sometimes, it really is just a fork.

But also, that one fork might have changed everything.

One fork became the spoon, bowl, and three coffee mugs sitting in the sink. Then you wiped down the counter, which led to wiping the cabinet doors. While wiping them down, you could no longer just close the door on the dysfunctional storage container cabinet. Before you knew it, not only was the kitchen clean on the surfaces, but also under the covers.

The full job. The one you knew needed to be done. Was done.

All because of that one fork.

Somedays you just gotta find that fork and take care of it.

Ready, Fire, Aim
Build the bridge as you cross it.
Leap before you look.

Measure twice, cut once.
Have all your ducks in a row.
Look before you leap.

So which is it?

Well, that depends.

On what you’re building.
On what’s at stake.
On who’s involved.

The trick isn’t choosing one over the other. It’s recognizing how to be the right amount ahead.

“The people of Texas are informed that, in accordance with a proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free.”

June 19, 1865. 

That’s the day when Union Major General Gordon Granger, along with 2000 troops, arrived in Galveston, TX, and announced the end of slavery.

But this was over two years after the Emancipation Proclamation.

Of course, information traveled and filtered into the masses slower in the 1860’s. No internet, radio, TV, or automobiles. Not everyone heard. 

One could blame it on that. And that would be a lie. 

The system didn’t change because it wasn’t ready to change. It didn’t want to change. 

It’s always the system. 

We celebrate Juneteenth not because of the declaration of the end of slavery. We celebrate it because this is the day it arrived. 

We live in a big, beautiful world.

So many interesting things. So many unknown things. So much to learn.

So much to be curious about.

Yet, The World tries to steal your curiosity.

“Don’t think about that. We’ll take care of it.”
“Don’t wonder about that. We’ll do it for you.”
“Don’t look into that. We’ll tell you how it is.”

One quality that will keep you young, make you happy, and help you remain useful is curiosity.

Never stop thinking. Never stop wondering. Never stop looking into it.

Figure it out.

Deep down, you know.

You know that more outrage doesn’t help you. It helps them.
You know that more scrolling doesn’t help you. It helps them.
You know that being more offended doesn’t help you. It helps them.

If your goal is to help them, then by all means.

But if not, maybe less is better.

I’m sure, or at least I hope, you know the flow state.

It’s that beautiful moment of full immersion, where time vanishes, doubt disappears, and the doing comes effortlessly. 

For me, it can happen when writing code, writing words, or building a spreadsheet. But also, I can find it when sharpening the knives, fixing the lawn mower, or wrestling with a jigsaw puzzle.    

I don’t find it every time I do something on that list or every day. But I’m always in pursuit of the flow. 

How do we summon it?

It’s not a sudden spark or a lightning bolt. It doesn’t hit in the shower or the middle of the night. 

It shows up when we show up. 

Steven Pressfield talks about the muse and how she shows up because you summon her. She doesn’t show up because she feels like it. You’re not waiting around until she shows up. You sit down and do the work. That’s when she shows up. 

The Flow follows effort. It’s a pattern. A rhythm. Deliberate.

The Flow finds you because you put in the effort. 

Show up. Do the work. Make bad stuff. Get punched in the face. Make it again. And again. 

Summon The Flow. 

People at my age often stagnate.

And just as often, it’s on purpose. They’re tired, or feel like they’ve earned where they are, or feel done.

I don’t blame people for this. We’re 30 years into our careers and probably 20-30 years into family life. We’ve been there and done that. We’ve figured some stuff out.

However, you’re also never done.

The world keeps shifting. Technology and culture keep marching forward. Changing around us, if not with us.

You keep shifting. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. Whether you’ve embraced it or not.

You’re still becoming, whether by default or design.

The question is: Are you happy with who you’re becoming?

We confuse the two all the time. 

Knowledge is what you know. The dates, specs, and procedures. The contents of a book, the lecture, a YouTube video, or what you see from the stands. You can gain knowledge without ever leaving your chair. 

Learning is what happens when you engage. 

You can memorize the rules and strategies of chess, but what happens when you start playing? One gives you information, the other, transformation.

You can know everything there is about fitness and still never work out. You can know the steps of a sales process and still never close a deal. You can know leadership principles and still be a lousy leader.

Because knowledge doesn’t necessarily affect behavior.

Learning shows up in how you act, how you adapt, and how you grow. It shows up when you fall, reconsider, revise, and try again. It’s the shift in how you see the world, not just what you can recite from it.

Knowledge might help you join the conversation at a dinner party, but learning is what makes you worth listening to. 

Despite some rumors, your Costco ID will NOT work at the airport.

The Costco card indicates you’re part of that club, but that club doesn’t carry any weight at the airport.

We all carry various physical, intellectual, and emotional membership IDs. The key is to know which one to use when.

Deep down, we know what the real work is.

The phone call. Reworking the pitch for the umpteenth time. Redoing the research and the numbers. The thing that might not work.

But we don’t do it. Not right away.

Instead, we clean our desk.
We tinker with the fonts and images.
We attend a meeting that doesn’t need us.

It feels productive.
It feels like progress.
But it’s just sedation.

Busy work dulls the discomfort of real work.
It keeps us feeling safe, but not moving forward.

The real is scary. Uncertain. We might fail. We might be told we stink. We might be told we don’t have anything.

But it’s the only work that matters.

The rest is just anesthesia.

Are you doing the real work, or are you just staying numb?

You easily recognize the size of some decisions.

Marriage is easily recognized as big. Renting an apartment you’d probably call medium. And where you’ll eat lunch you wouldn’t think much about.

In the moment, or the lead-up to the moment, you may recognize the size, but it’s also just as likely that you won’t or you’ll get it wrong.

Maybe your lunch was tainted, and it put you in the hospital. Or, while eating your lunch, you serendipitously met your future partner, employer, or largest customer.

The reality is, size isn’t always measured by effort or emotion in the moment. Some big decisions feel small when they’re made. Some small ones echo for decades.

That job you took because it was convenient.
The person you met because you sat next to them.
That time you said yes, or no, without much thought.

Only hindsight can provide the necessary context.

Stay awake. Pay attention. But also, don’t fret too much. Don’t be paralyzed. Keep marching. Reflect, OK. Give yourself grace. The small may be bigger than it seems. The big may be more flexible than it feels.

Each decision shapes the story you’ll tell later, but that story is your own.

Big, medium, or small. They’re all chapters in your life.

It seems there is a pretend work trend in China.

“Many citizens who don’t want to explain their employment status pay to rent a position in a fake office, with some even assigning fictitious tasks and organizing supervisory rounds.”

Why? 

Because work is meaningful. For some, it’s identity. For others, it’s purpose. And others, it’s just what needs to be done. 

Work, by the way, doesn’t need to be “professional.” It’s application. Utility. Creativity. Expense of energy for some purpose. 

But in any case, it’s meaningful. 

Having “work” to do — or appearing to — communicates value. We want to feel valuable. 

We can talk about systems, institutions, and governments and how each of these has contributed to and sustains “where we are in human history,” but none of these exist without basic human ambition. 

The Smart People don’t give enough credit to the human spirit. To ambition. 

Humans want to matter. They want to contribute, to be seen, to be relevant. They want to work. 

Not everyone. But enough. 

The danger isn’t fake work. It’s systems that don’t make space for human ambition. It’s when bureaucracy, risk-aversion, and status produce work that feels just as fake but pays better.

Is our system perfect? Heck, no.

The good news is that if we continue to work on the systems, we can build work that matters. Work that welcomes people. Work that sees potential and encourages contribution. 

Because the future of work isn’t pretend.

The human spirit is too ambitious. 

A great way to think about and socialize your unique advantage is a differentiation grid.

It looks like this:

What are the axes on which you (or your product, your service) look the best?
Who are your competitors?
Where are they on the grid?

Find your axes. Find your magic.

When I was a young engineer working on the products that our company made and sold, I was quite naive. 

Actually, I was worse than naive. I was insular and egocentric. Basically, I thought that engineering was the most important function of the company. Engineering was the purpose of the company. 

Sales? Can’t sell something that doesn’t exist.
Marketing? Can’t market something that doesn’t exist.
Accounting? Can’t create P&L statements if there’s nothing that brings in P.

Yeah, I’m not proud of my thought process at the time.

I missed the fact that we were all pieces in the system. All important. None functions without the other. It’s a symphony, not a solo performer.  

You can’t sell or market something that doesn’t (or won’t) exist, but also, you don’t have a business (or a job or a purpose) without marketing and selling what you make. You also won’t be in business if you can’t understand your finances, keep them in order, and make decisions based on them.  

So here’s a better approach: 

When you walk into the room, assume everybody is important, and ask yourself, “What does the system need from me?”

That’s the shift from solo performer to symphony.

It’s easy to do, and it’s easy to buy in when others do it for us.

“You deserve this.”
“You’re doing a great job.”
“It’s not your fault.”

To be clear, these may be true, but what if they’re just comfort in disguise?

Are you snowing yourself?

Attention is a currency.

You spend it, and others are trying to extract it.

We talk about, write about, and argue about how we spend our other resources. We made up the term ROI (return on investment) to measure it.

“What’s your ROI?”

How are you spending your attention? Are you investing it? Wasting it?

“What’s your ROA?”

Where you spend your attention shapes what you produce, how you feel, and who you become.

Attention, like time, is one currency you can’t earn back.

A friend of mine recently said that when we were commiserating about useless meetings in our businesses.

In the industrial work paradigm, you clocked in, moved parts down the line, and then clocked out. Today, we do the same thing, except the parts are useless meetings, and the line is our calendar.

We replaced the factory with the meeting room.

We gather six people with the right titles for an hour to address a $100 problem.

The repetition feels safe. Familiar. Productive-ish. The hierarchy is satisfied.

Useful work — the kind that solves $100k and $100M problems — often takes place with a collaborator or collaborators. In assertion. In tension. In collective energy. In conversation.

Wait, aren’t meetings the problem?

Meetings, yes. Conversations, no.

If you’re a leader, encourage the conversations. Give them room to exist and breathe. Give them tools and the power and responsibility to use them.

Skip the meetings.

You’ve lost momentum.

To get back at it, you don’t have to start with inspiration, intensity, or the answer to whatever stopped you.

It’s simply motion. Not everything or even the most important thing. Start with the next thing. One foot in front of the other.

Now you’re back at it.

Tables and charts are just tables and charts. 

Until you enter the picture. Does this table beg new questions from you? Will this chart inform your decision? Do either of these help you change your mind or bolster what you already know? 

The data doesn’t talk, but when you come together with it, it may undergird your voice. Or maybe not.

Yet, smart marketers use data as part of the story they tell. It’s part of their influence campaign. It’s a bludgeon.

More data — bigger hammer. 

Don’t be impressed, distracted, or confused by the data if it doesn’t help you see it better. 

Data should be a flashlight, not a weapon. 

[NOTE: I commandeered/plagiarized/stole the title from The 1440.]

Penny’s cost almost four cents to make. Yet, they’re worth only one cent. 

The government lost $85 million last year making pennies. $85 million. A pittance for the government, sure, but for you and me? 

And what did you do with them? 

You probably left them at the register, or tossed them in a tip jar, or stuffed way down in the console of the car, or even threw them out. About 6.7 million people toss their pennies in the trash. In total, we discard about $62 million in coins each year, with pennies comprising a significant portion of this amount.

And yet, we kept stamping them out. Why?

Nostalgia — The penny feels foundational, plus it’s a tie to times past. 

“That’s how they get ya!” — People are concerned about businesses rounding up and having to pay more.

Infrastructure — Pennies are built into the system’s infrastructure. Changing the system is hard. 

Politics — Somebody’s gonna spin this as taking away something “the people.” That somebody will tell you a story with a name and a face about how this person is suffering without the penny. 

OK, fair enough. 

But sometimes you gotta rip the band-aid. 

Just because it used to work doesn’t mean it still does. Just because that’s the way we always did it doesn’t mean you still should. Just because one or some people may be worse off doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it anyway. 

The hardest part of progress isn’t necessarily building the new. Sometimes, it’s letting go of the old. 

I’m coming out of the closet. 

The best car we ever owned was a minivan. Specifically, a 2004 Toyota Sienna. Dark green. Tan interior. Stone-cold awesome.

We put 250,000 miles on that thing.

Three kids. Countless vacations. Thousands of sporting events, lake trips, and hardware store runs. It towed our jet skis, cruised the interstate, and swallowed everything we threw at it.

It was reliable. Comfortable. Easy to drive.

You might be thinking, “A minivan? Really?” Yeah. Really.

Why does a minivan trigger a little cringe?

Probably identity. And that identity has been shaped by the culture and the market. 

Minivans became shorthand for “settled-down.” People want vehicles that say “adventure.” Even if the closest you get to off-road is the garden section of Home Depot. 

Manufacturers know this, and they leaned in. Minivan margins are slim, and SUV margins are fat. Target the marketing dollars at the fat margins. 

And we followed. Not because SUVs and giant pickup trucks are better for our lifestyle. But because of story. The story we tell ourselves about the person we are or want to be. It’s a story of freedom and adventure.

I don’t, but I could. 

Whenever you’re making something for someone else, make sure you know the story they tell themselves about themselves. 

Because it’s the story they’re really buying. 

P.S. About 80-90% of the 30 million Jeeps, SUVs, and trucks with knobby tires, roll-bars, and lift-kits on the road today have never been, and will never go off-road. That’s about 24-27 million “I don’t, but I could.”

Disagreement feels like rejection. Agreement feels like validation.

Disagreement is discomfort. Agreement is comfort.

But if you’re a leader, agreement can be a trap because your idea isn’t always the best.

The best ideas, or maybe the best outcomes, come from creative tension. From friction. From someone brave enough to say, “That doesn’t make sense.”

Want better ideas? Invite your people to disagree. Create space where people don’t have to nod along.

If no one’s pushing back, you’re probably not leading. You’re just broadcasting.

More is many things.

We chase more because it looks like progress, value, and better.

More is easy to sell. It’s harder to maintain.

More meetings mean more overhead.
More stuff means more stuff to deal with.
More choices mean more decisions.
More features mean more bugs.
More success requires more success.

More is unstable. Because it requires more.

That’s about 450 words. What will you say?

It’s a hallway conversation. A coffee line moment. A surprise introduction or run-in at the grocery store.

That’s just enough time to either make someone lean in or check out. It isn’t long enough to say everything. But it’s more than enough to say something.

Will their eyes glaze over or flit about? Or will their pupils narrow just a bit as the muscles around them tighten slightly?

Start with the spark. Not the history. Not the digression. Not the explanation.

The spark.

What’s the essence of the story?

You’ve got 3 minutes. What will you say?

The elevator pitch has several origin stories.

Here’s one I like:

In 1854, Elisha Otis dramatically demonstrated his safety elevator at the New York World’s Fair by cutting the support rope on a hoisted platform on which he was standing. The platform safely stopped mid-air.

Here’s another:

In early Hollywood, screenwriters used elevator rides to pitch ideas to busy executives, prompting the creation of brief, persuasive pitches that required clarity and efficiency.

So what is it? Here is an elevator pitch for an elevator pitch:

“An elevator pitch is a powerful, concise summary of your idea, product, or value proposition that you can deliver in the time it takes to ride an elevator.”

Elevator pitches are very difficult for someone who rambles, tends towards overexplaining, uses too many words, includes too many details, digresses, inexplicably feels the need to explain tangential concepts, is secretly afraid that the audience thinks he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and really and truly just wants to ensure that everyone, everywhere gets the point.

That’s me. And that’s a terrible explanation, like most of mine.

Now, here’s the elevator pitch version of the previous (from ChatGPT):

I ramble, overexplain, and occasionally give TED Talks on side topics, which is why delivering an elevator pitch feels like a personal nightmare.

Or, here’s another (from ChatGPT):

Elevator pitches are hard when your brain writes a novel, your mouth reads the footnotes, and the elevator only goes up three floors.

This post is proof. I set out to write an elevator pitch but ended up walking you around the entire building, door by door, floor by floor. We went to the basement to see the plumbing and electrical infrastructure. We went to the roof to see the antennas. I told you about our contract with AT&T and Verizon to lease antenna space. I probably pulled out the documentation. I showed you the custodian’s closet. I explained the lighting strategies and provided some wonderful (ly boring) anecdotes about the automation features. Did you know that the floors use a new compound that not only meets the green requirements for this building, but have actually saved us almost 5% compared to the alternative?

I’m sorry for that. I can’t help it. That’s why this blog is called The250.

Here’s the elevator pitch for this post:

Elevator pitches are simple, but not easy, especially when your instinct is to explain the elevator before you ride it.

Contractually, you might get paid for hours or milestones. At least according to the terms and conditions. 

But you’ll get paid much more for value.

(Thank you, Seth)

I’ve written a few proverb lists over the years. Here’s a curation of those, plus some new ones that apply to the professional. No matter where you are, what you do, and what role you have, these are for you. 

1. The same old mistakes form the walls of your prison. New mistakes pave the highway forward.
2. Multitasking is a myth. 
3. You don’t have a time management problem. You have a time priority problem.
4. Avoid hanging out at the corner of bitch and moan. 
5. Be willing to get punched in the face. 
6. The one who gets ahead is the one who takes responsibility. Especially for the failures.
7. Compete.
8. Follow the money, power, and status, but learn to navigate all three without becoming owned by any.
9. Color outside the lines. Walk on the curb. Run with scissors. Not all the time, but sometimes.
10. Creative tension is how great teams get better. Embrace the disagreement.
11. Always assume the other person doesn’t mean harm and that you misunderstood.
12. Consensus does not equal truth.
13. Curiosity and the desire to explore keep you young and make you more valuable.
14. Bring your passion with you. 
15. Value doesn’t necessarily mean hours or KPIs. Be valuable. 
16. Legacy isn’t a name on a building. It’s the effect you’ve had on the people around you.
17. You are a work in progress. So is everyone else. Remember that before casting the first stone.
18. Learning how to recognize, confer, and use status is a superpower.
19. Don’t be snowed by credentials. Respect everyone. 
20. The best method for learning is to teach someone else.
21. Do things that make you feel like an impostor. That feeling means you’re growing.
22. Inspiration shows up more often in the middle of the work than in the middle of the night.
23. It’s OK, maybe encouraged, to geek out on tools.
24. You don’t have to start in the mail room, but pay attention to those who have. Their perspective is likely a magnetic pole to which you should be attracted or repelled.
25. Leave your colleagues feeling, “I want to work with this person.” That’s not the same as, “I’d love to hang out with this person.”
26. Once you learn how work works, you’ll never worry about machines taking your job.
27. Professionals play hurt.
28. Professionals show up when it counts.
29. The leader isn’t necessarily the name in the box at the top of the chart. Be a leader. At the very least, lead yourself.
30. Teach others to do your job.

Stuff you can’t control directly:

If someone else says “yes.”
What politicians decide.
The price of gas.

Stuff you can:

How many conversations you have.
Who you vote for.
What you buy, where you go, how you get there.

It’s important to both recognize and remember what you can control directly.

Not just intellectually, but emotionally.

Although it’s useful to discuss and debate the things over which you have no direct control, it’s not useful to lose sleep over them.

Somehow it all got away.

Have you ever, if even just for a second, stepped out of yourself, out of your existential presence, looked around and realized, “this is not as I planned it” or, “this is not how I imagined it” or, “I don’t think I recognize any of this?”

Yeah, OK, I realize that probably sounds crazy. But if you know, you know.

Somehow it all got away.

It’s jarring. It’s odd. It feels kinda destabilizing. Like vertigo, but in your soul.

Maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s God telling you that it’s not about planning and control and exactly as you pictured it. It’s about sowing and watching it bloom. Once it’s bloomed, to continually reshape, weed, tend, untangle, or retangle.

Maybe the point is to notice and to stay long enough to see what it becomes.

Earth’s current population is ~ 8.2 billion.

Walmart has the highest revenue of all companies on this planet at $681 billion in the last year.

So, each person on the planet spends approximately $83 per year at Walmart. But, of course, we know that’s not true. Even Walmart isn’t for everybody. Not even close.

Perplexity estimates about 600 million shopped at Walmart last year. That’s about 7% of earth’s people. Which means each Walmart shopper spent about $1135 last year.

So what?

You’re not Walmart. You (probably) won’t have 7% of the earth’s population as your customer.

Yet again, though, Walmart doesn’t build its business around the average of 600 million customers. They break it down further.

The average Walmart shopper makes 67 trips per year and the average spend is about $54 per trip. That’s $3618. But they’re still not done. Now they dive into geography and demographics to further understand their customers. They know what a middle-income, older adult in West Virginia will spend versus a lower-income, young mother in southern California.

Your product or service isn’t for everyone.

Who’s it for?

Building a great product or service is a bit like cooking dinner for someone you don’t know.

There are some things you know, however.

They expect it hot.
They desire something delicious.
They (believe they) deserve a great experience.

That’s product design.

They expect it to meet the basic requirements.
They desire it to meet their personal requirements.
They deserve to feel valued, heard, and respected.

If you build a washing machine, your customer expects it to clean the clothes, they desire that the features work as advertised, and they deserve to feel like they received value.

If you’re an airline, your customer expects to arrive at their destination, they desire to sit in the seat they paid for (or upgraded), and deserve to be treated with respect.

Expectations and desires are easy and concrete. Talk to your customers. Survey the market.

But it’s that last one that sets you apart.

Finally, I’m excited about a new car and car company. 

We have a saying in 4TLAS: “Make the right thing to do the easy thing to do.”

One thing I’ve learned in over 30 years of making stuff for people to use is that they generally do the easy thing. We wax eloquent about doing the right thing and doing the hard thing, but mostly we do the easy thing. 

We like it easy.

Therefore, if you want people to behave in a particular way, make it easy to do.

How does this relate to the Slate EV?

Most people don’t care about EV’s. At least not in the way that The News portrays it, or that we might argue about at a serene, rooftop cocktail party or a loud BBQ picnic bash in the infield at Daytona. 

Slate is showing us the very essence of making the right thing to do the easy thing to do. 

EVs will become dominant when they make practical financial sense. 

You go, Slate. 

Smart can be measured.

Test scores. Speed. Memory. Pattern recognition.
Smart is right. Smart is efficient. Smart gets there quickly.

You know the smart ones. 

But wisdom plays a different game.
Wisdom doesn’t rush. It watches. Waits.

Wisdom requires experiences. Wisdom has felt consequences. It doesn’t just answer the question, it asks new ones like, “What happens if we’re right?” and “Do we want to be right?”

Wisdon isn’t always interested in the right answer. 

Smart will build it.
Wise asks if it should be built at all.

Smart wins the argument.
Wise wins the trust.

Smart and wise aren’t the same, but the Venn Diagram shows an intersection. It doesn’t have to be or. It can be and. 

That’s where you want to stand. It takes effort, generosity, empathy, skills, observation, confidence, awareness, and history to stand there.

Not IQ or credentials. 

It depends on where you start and what you mean by “learn how to use.”

If you’re a novice at construction, a hammer will take you less than a minute to learn how to use. Same with the saw. But how long will it take you to learn how to use those tools to build a house or the cabinets for your kitchen?

If you’re a novice at software, GitLab might take you years to learn how to create an automated build pipeline (because what does that even mean?). However, if you’re a pro developer, it will only take you a couple of hours.

Tools help us get from here to somewhere. But context matters. Not every tool needs to be easy for a novice.

Mastery takes context. It takes reps and commitment.

More impotantly it takes intent.

The best tools aren’t magic. They reveal the craft.

When I started working at GE right out of college in 1992, they offered me an opportunity to join the Christmas Club.

Choose an amount. Usually small. A few bucks a week automatically deducted from my paycheck and sent directly to the Christmas Club account. I couldn’t touch it till it matured in November.

Save first, spend later.

Today, we usually do the opposite. Swipe now, pay later.

As a system, neither is right or wrong. Neither is good or bad. This isn’t a post about how our culture and ourselves have become greedy, impatient, or entitled.

It’s about systems.

The Christmas Club system baked in the save first, spend later behavior. We followed the system. Today’s system encourages the spend now, pay later behavior. We follow the system.

If you want different behavior, design a different system.

The market wants faster. Productivity gains help the system go faster.

But productivity gains can be (should be?) about giving you, the human, more.

More space. More time. More energy. More room to breathe. More ability to innovate. More collaboration. More creativity.

And also less.

Less pressure. Less stress. Less repetition. Less focus on metrics. Less worry about margins. Less energy suck.

And also the right amount.

The right amount of quality. The right amount of output. The right amount of profit. The right amount of work. The right amount of people. The right amount of balance.

In theory, if we’re able to build a system that enhances productivity through thoughtful requirements, collaboration, and tools, it’s not just the executive, owner, or shareholder that wins. We, the people, win.

One useful way to look at productivity is that when done right, we all win.

We’re all on a journey of becoming.

But there’s a big difference between growth and drift. Growth stretches you. Drift pulls you away from yourself.

Sometimes it’s subtle. You admire someone else’s role. You want their results. You think, “I can do that.” You (try to) take on their path.

And suddenly, you’re chasing a set of results that was never meant for you, nor could you ever hope to achieve. Yeah, I’ve done this. Or tried to.

Growth comes from knowing who you are and working toward becoming who you can be. Drift comes from trying to become who you’re not supposed to be.

It’s OK to become who you’re supposed to be. We need that version of you.

Social media begat the selfie. Then selfie videos at the gym, vacations, unboxing deliveries, meet and greets…

Now, personal drones. Hands-free filming from above as we walk, run, paddleboard, or just exist. With ease. Cinematic aerial documentation of each moment worth remembering (or not). 

They’re amazing. Truly. The tech gets better. The image gets cooler. The distance gets wider.

But the question stays the same:

Why are we doing this?

At first, it was to capture the moment. Then, to share it. Now, maybe, to stage it?

The drone doesn’t just document. It directs.

“This moment matters — as long as it looks cinematic.” 

There’s nothing inherently wrong with that. But it’s worth noticing.

Have we stopped living moments and started producing them?

Producing moments has also been around forever. What’s a big, fancy wedding but a planned, staged, and highly produced moment? Same with graduation, prom photos, family portaits, business launches, vacation tours, and awards ceremonies. 

But technology has exponentially increased our ability to produce and stage each and every moment. 

The drone, of course, isn’t a problem. 

I think a lot about tools.

Truth be told, I think about tools just about all day, every day. We at 4TLAS build tools. I’ve spent a good portion of my career building tools.

What makes a great tool?

It works and feels right. It’s pleasant to use and disappears into the work. It’s intuitive but may require practice. Practicing with it provides joy. 

It solves your problem. Not just a problem. Your problem.

It makes you better. It provides a capability that you didn’t have previously, or it increases your capacity and value in a way that was impossible without it. 

It teaches. It helps you understand the problem and solution better. It reveals patterns and encourages innovation, new directions, or new uses. 

It fades into the flow. You either stop noticing it, or you build your vernacular around it. 

Great tools have function, of course, but they’re also art. They make us, or allow us, to feel. 

Here are some great tools:

A well-balanced hammer, language, a map, a level, the library, Google search, a compass, a great question, breath, a straight edge, needle and thread, a mirror, a well-formed analogy, a broom, a ToDo list, a perfectly weighted cordless drill, your legs (arms, hands, and feet), a flashlight, a hockey stick, a backpack, and a calendar.

I think LLMs are on the cusp of being great tools. Not quite yet. But maybe soon.

The best tools don’t just help us do. They help us become and enjoy the journey. 

If you’re the leader and the room splits, it’s easy to panic.

Easy to rush into placation, fixing, and tension relief. That’s not leadership, that’s fear.

Most times the best approach is to lean into the tension, at least initially.

Hold the room.

Sit with it. Let them sit with it. Let them argue. Listen. Not for agreement but for clarity. Where are you trying to go? What change are you trying to make? What is the intended outcome? What’s the real goal?

Once you know, the job is simple. Not easy, but simple — build (enough) consensus or push ahead anyway.

Your job isn’t to please the room. It’s to move it.

Hold the room.

You might need to build consensus, but it’s the movement you came for.

“This is a great idea!”
“This is a terrible idea.”

“We should go left.”
“We should go right.”

“I think we should stay the course.”
“I think we should pivot.”

Safe ideas create consensus. Innovative ideas create tension.

When the room splits, that’s the signal. A good sign that you’re onto something. Disagreement isn’t a threat. You, yourself, might be split. That’s OK. Keep going.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with safe and consensus. Tension can be counterproductive. Consensus might be required.

But make no mistake, if everyone agrees, it’s not going to create the change you seek.

(Seth’s original post)

Enhancing productivity, both personal and team, doesn’t require innovative ideas, authoritarianism, or monk-like discipline. It starts with simply respecting everyone’s time, including your own. 

From Seth:

• Show up on time. Leave when the work is done.
• Respect synchronized time. If you can put it in a video instead of saying it live, please do.

Perfect. No more needs to be said. 

I’ll add three of my own specifically for leaders:

• Make objectives, or at least the endpoint, clear and socialized. It doesn’t mean formal or corporate objectives. It just means whatever you’re trying to do at this time. 
• Swat the flies. Keep them shielded from unnecessary external requests, distractions, and noise.
• Respect work-life integration. 

Respecting their time means allowing them to spend it as they need. 

P.S. Wasting time and respecting time are not diametrically opposed. Sometimes, “wasting time” is exactly what you or the team needs. 

(Seth’s original post)

I placed an ad to sell a truck on Facebook Marketplace. After wading through the bots and scammers, I engaged with a real human. Then this:

Me: When would you like to see it?
Them: How long will it take me to get there?

Me: That depends on where you are [eyebrow raised].
Them: I’m in Trenton, New Jersey.

Me: I’m in Oley, PA [as is clearly marked on the ad — now its a flag]
Them: How long will it take me to go from Trenton to Oley?

I ghosted them. 

Maybe you’re thinking, “What? Why?” Or maybe you’re thinking that’s harsh.

I don’t purposely let people waste my time (if I can help it), and I put respect for others’ time at the top of my list. 

From Seth:

• When you get stuck, first ask Claude, then ask a human.

I had no interest in being Google, Maps, or Claude for this person. They’re talking to me on their device. They have any or all of those. They could have literally typed those same 13 words into any browser, map, or AI app and gotten the answer. 

Instead, they’re asking me to do it for them.

There are a million good reasons to ask another person instead of asking a device (for example), but productivity starts with respecting your and others’ time and continues with knowing how to use your tools.

Asking the right questions to the right source makes you exponentially more productive, knowledgeable, and valuable.

(Seth’s original post)

Ah, my two pet peeves — meetings and the overuse of email. The perfect place to start a conversation on personal and team productivity.

Meetings

It’s very simple: Less meetings. Shorter meetings. Smaller meetings. 

Not less conversation or less communication. Less time spent in (physical or virtual) rooms as an observer, reporting status, and generally not engaged in the activities that move you and the team forward simply because someone else thought you should be there or has booked an hour for a conversation that should take 10 minutes. 

Here are some tips for having more effective meetings:

• Use tools for reporting and collecting status. Never meetings.
• Have a 1-on-1 discussion if that will suffice
• Decline meetings that aren’t important for you
• Decline or ask for reschedule of meetings that don’t fit your timeline
• Change the default time for meeting invites to 15 minutes.
• Invite only the necessary people. Three to five people is the ideal size for a meeting. 

[NOTE: As group size increases, individual effort decreases, and the effectiveness of the group tends to flatten out and sometimes decrease — the Ringelmann Effect.]

Email

Email is great. It’s the most revolutionary communication tool for office workers since the copy machine. It’s ubiquitous, simple, and well-understood, and that, unfortunately, leads to its overuse in areas for which it’s a sucky tool. 

Here’s what it’s great for:

• Formal communication (external and internal)
• Publication / one-way broadcast
• Meeting invites
• RSVP / confirmations

Here’s what it’s NOT for:

• Conversation
• Questions

For internal conversation and questions, or anything in real-time, use chat tools such as Slack/Teams.  

Think of email as a library and the chat tool as a coffee shop. 

• If you’d say it in the hallway, don’t email it. 
• If you need back-and-forth, don’t email it. 
• If you need an answer in real time, don’t email it. 

Meetings and email aren’t the enemy, but are woefully misused sometimes. 

Use them well, and you build trust and productivity. Use them poorly, and you’re just wasting everybody’s time.

Here’s what Seth Godin recently said about “Simple and Painless Productivity:”

• Don’t invite someone to a meeting if an email or 1:1 conversation will do the job just as well.
• Don’t fly if you can show up virtually and get the job done.
• Instead of asking a group of people when a good time to meet might be, use a doodle.
• Send a calendar invite when you book a time.
• When you get stuck, first ask Claude, then ask a human.
• Show up on time. Leave when the work is done.
• Default to using shared docs (like Google docs) for any collaborative work.
• For repeated tasks, make a checklist. Update it and share it as you go.
• Respect synchronized time. If you can put it in a video instead of saying it live, please do.

I talk a lot about productivity here because a quest for my own productivity (or, more accurately, ownership of my own time) has been part of my journey. 

Also, I talk about leadership in today’s post-industrial, new work paradigm. Helping your team be productive. Recognizing what productivity looks like. NOT being part of the problem. Because this has also been a big part of my journey.

I love Seth’s list above. I mostly agree with it all, but have my own take on these points, plus some of my own. I’ll spend the next few days fleshing these out here. 

Starting with meetings and email…

I had the great fortune of watching my daughter mash the Boston Marathon. I spectated from mile 24.9.

It’s on Beacon st, right at the crest of a little hill that doesn’t register on the list of famous features to look out for on the route, such as Heartbreak Hill in Newton.

The crowd picks up here — 3-4 deep. Lots of cowbells and encouragement. Fenway’s right there. You’ve got just one more turn to make onto Boyleston and down the iconic finishing shoot. The last watering station is just ahead. You’ve got this.

But if this is your first time on the course, it’s probably unexpected. You’re past the famous hills. Nobody (except those who know) talks about this little blip. You had no idea.

Make no mistake, this little non-feature was a heartbreaker for many, even without the moniker.

I watched this last blip wipe out a bunch of people. Brought some to their knees. Lots of wobblers and walkers. I saw people crying.

But everyone kept going. One foot in front of the other.

It’s one thing to know the hard times are coming. You can prepare. Train. Get yourself emotionally ready.

It’s a whole other thing when you had no idea. They are, by far, the hardest.

There’s just something that feels cruel about that little blip that nobody talks about right at the end.

Will you keep going?

Holidays, religion, family, work.

Tradition drives a lot of the processes and procedures around much of our lives. Like code passed down through generations. The hardware is the same, but the software is different.

Some of it elegant and efficient. Some of it full of bugs.

Some traditions anchor us. Give the event meaning. Bring stability, connection, and nostalgia. A sense of place. You don’t rewrite the code that works. You build on it.

Some traditions hold us back. They’re written for an old platform. They solved problems that no longer exist. They addressed fears that are no longer real. Yet we keep running them, unaware of the drag on performance.

When we treat all traditions as sacred, we miss the chance to debug. To evolve. To make the system better. Sometimes, that means updating a line or two. Sometimes, that means starting over.

Honor the past. Understand the source. Respect the emotions.

Then patch it, replace it, or maintain it.

We can debate whether ambition is a virtue or a vice.

However, the person, team, institution, or nation with the ambition will beat the ones without. Every time.

Ambition is fuel. It doesn’t ask for permission. It doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath. It doesn’t care about fairness, rest, or balance.

While you may want stability, ambition wants growth.
While you manage, ambition leads.
While you’re resting, ambition is racing.

Ambition has its downsides. Your worth isn’t tied to your ambition. It doesn’t make you a better friend, partner, or human. It can burn you out. It can cost you relationships, sleep, and sanity.

But make no mistake, if there’s a race on, ambition wins every time.

De-extinction. Should we be doing this?

We’ve brought dire wolves back to life. What’s next? Wolly mammoths and saber tooth tigers? 

Soon, it’s Jurassic Park.

Science and technology are wonderful engines that move us forward. On one hand, science and technology exist to solve problems. We generally agree on what those problems are. Not many people (although some, for sure) would rather have lived in 1225 than in 2025. Life was much harder in 1225. 

Thank you, science and technology. 

On the other hand, science and technology move forward through passion and excitement. Passion and excitement aren’t necessarily tied to objective or even subjective problem-solving. 

Sometimes, we just wanna try stuff that we think is cool. Because we can. 

Just because we can doesn’t mean we should. 

The juxtaposition of capability and incentives and ethics. How do we resolve it?

We might not need to slow down, but we definitely need to look up.

Here it is.

It was a weird, interesting, and ultimately successful (for him) idea — sell 1 million pixels of advertising on a webpage for $1 a piece. 

Rake in $1 million dollars. Done.

Alex put this up in 2006. If you go to the page now, it seems largely, possibly completely, unchanged from its initial inception. It’s kind of a cool snapshot of one side of the internet in 2006. There are lots of gambling ads, a bunch of “free” promises, companionship, some ads pointed at the fringes, and several promising to help you make money or get traffic. 

If you click on the pixels/ads, you’ll find that most are broken or redirect to something different than the original. 

It’s weird colors and images and is very clunky. It strikes me as Donkey Kong crossed with AOL. Nothing stands out (OK, I do see Thomas the Tank Engine). It’s a sea of 8-bit colors. The very opposite of useful advertising. 

Who could have possibly extracted the value supposedly provided by this page?

Nobody, of course.

Except Alex.

The manager looks for the right time.
The leader makes it the right time.

The manager sticks up for the process.
The leader sticks up for the endpoint.

The manager creates safety.
The leader creates tension.

The manager saves it for tomorrow.
The leader does it today.

The manager has authority.
The leader takes responsibility.

The manager waits for permission.
The leader acts regardless.

The manager has a good system for tracking and reporting status.
The leader turns reports into decisions.

The manager has an effective defensive posture.
The leader gets punched in the face.

The manager proceeds knowing it will work.
The leader proceeds knowing it might not work.

Good management is necessary in a well-functioning organization. The systems we all depend on daily need good management.

But let’s not confuse management with leadership.

Leaders are in short supply. Will you be one?

I recently detailed my system for Wordle.

I went on and on about how my system isn’t designed to solve the Wordle in a minimum number of tries. It’s designed to solve it within 6. There I was on my high horse about expectations and systems, wagging my proverbial finger, “Don’t expect an outcome it’s not designed for! If you don’t like the outcome, design a new system!”

And then it happened. I’d seen something similar one other time, as I mentioned, and I nailed it. I got excited. 

My first word:

Wow! Opportunity! I got this in 2! Screw the system!

And then, womp, womp, womp…

I went off script, and it sucked me into the Wordle quicksand. The seemingly easy but actually tricky one-letter problem. Which is it?

If I’d stayed with the system, I’da had it in three. 

Systems are designed to be followed. If you don’t like the outcome of your system, design a new system.

Let’s assume you’ve gotten out of bed (or maybe you’re reading this in bed, but definitely will get out of bed).

That means today can be the day.

Today can be the day you make the call.
Today can be the day you say “Hello.”
Today can be the day you clean it out.
Today can be the day you decide.
Today can be the day you cut it off.
Today can be the day you build it.
Today can be the day you get excited.
Today can be the day you learn it.
Today can be the day you cross it off the list.
Today can be the day you say it.
Today can be the day you stop.
Today can be the day you start.

So why not today?

Every interaction you have is some sort of pitch.

How’s your pitch deck?

Most pitches fail. Not because your idea is weak or your deck isn’t slick, but because the language is wrong.

You’re fluent in you. Your product, your roadmap, your excitement.

They’re fluent in them. Their pain, their pressure, their goals.

So your job is to translate. Turn your language into their language. Speak their language. It’s not about you. It’s about them.

Whether you’re pitching to a potential customer, leading your team, or discussing weekend plans with your spouse, speak their language.

If they don’t hear themselves in your pitch, you’ve already lost them.

You’ve done it. We’ve all done it.

“Don’t touch the hot stove!”

Yet, sometimes, you do it anyway. It’s not rational. It’s not you thinking it through (although you may convince yourself you are). You know, deep down or even on the surface, that you shouldn’t touch the hot stove. They’re right.

However, touching it yourself is the only way for you to feel the consequences.

And feeling the consequences is exactly the point.

That’s where you start.

If you don’t know or don’t know how to address the question of “why would they care,” you won’t get anywhere.

This is the main lesson I’ve learned over the last 9 months as we try to get 4TLAS off the ground. 

Why does someone care?

Fear. Pain. Status. Left out or left behind. Pressure.  

Not your skills.
Not your tech stack.
Not your “better” solution.

(although you’ll need those to help them succeed)

They care because something in their world feels urgent. Unsafe. Unfair.

If you don’t speak to that, they hear more cacophony or maybe silence.

I mistakenly assumed clarity. We’re a very niche product in a niche market. I assumed our people inherently understand what we do and how we can help. I assumed interest. I assumed people would connect the dots.

They didn’t. That was my fault. 

Because they had their own fire to put out, and smart and knowledgeable people are still people. They need you to address what they care about.

What’s keeping them up at night?
What’s at stake if they ignore us?
What happens if they choose nothing?

Why would they care?

That’s the real pitch. Everything else is noise. 

Ship it fast. Break it fast. Fix it fast.

In many situations, that’s my mantra.

But speed amplifies trajectory. If your trajectory is wrong, getting there faster may not help.

Automating tasks that don’t need doing doesn’t help. Optimizing a non-functional system doesn’t help. Parallelizing dependent work doesn’t help.

Solving the wrong problem faster doesn’t help.

As a leader, your fundamental job is to ensure your team is solving the right problems.

Ask better questions. Have better conversations. Solve better problems.

Life is our journey between inflection points.

You’re moseying along on a path. Bam! An inflection point happens, and that starts you on a new path.

You planned some of these inflections, foreseen some others, and were blindsided by several. But the journey continues.

Our journey, in hindsight, looks like a map of these paths strung together. When you look back at this map of your journey, what does it tell you?

What caused that new direction you took? The left turn. The dip into the canyon or the climb over the mountain. Maybe even the retracing of paths already taken.

Was it fear? Confidence? Excitement? Necessity? Vision? Providence? Dumb luck?

Your paths have led to you where you are right now. Maybe you’re happy with where you are. Maybe you’re not.

Regardless, this next inflection point will set you on a new path. What direction will you take?

Complexity causes chaos.

And chaos stalls progress. Yet, complexity is always conserved.

You can’t eliminate the complexity, but can you tame it? Can you bring some order to the chaos?

As a leader, your job is to figure that out.

Can you eliminate some variables? Can you keep the team focused on the most important requirements? Can you swat the flies and minimize distractions? Can you find some underlying structure on which to place your feet?

You’ll want less meetings, but more important discussions. You might need to encourage some wandering, but wandering with purpose. You’ll definitely want to protect the team from the outside noise, but you might need internal dissension.

Chaos doesn’t obey.

But good leadership can see through the complexity.

My co-founding team and I have been working together for almost 10 years. We’re high-functioning, very good at what we do, individually excellent, and our whole is greater than the sum of the parts. We have solved some very hard engineering problems. 

But bar none, the hardest thing we’ve ever done as a team is name our company. 

We named our company 4TLAS.

If the first thing you see is our logo (https://4tlas.io), you might intuitively know that we pronounce it “atlas.” If the first thing you see is the word typed out as above, you’ll be confused. Is it “four-tless” or maybe “four-atlas?”

At first, I disliked the name because of this. Nobody knows how to say it. It’s too hard. There are a million companies called “atlas.” I pass four companies named Atlas on my way from Berks County to center city Philly to see my daughter.

A funny thing, though, has happened along the way — conversation. The confusion or the foible leads to converation. People ask how to say it and how and why we came up with it. 

The name has become an opportunity for me to tell the story. To have conversation.

And more conversation is how we move forward.

P.S. I haven’t told the story above of how and why we came up with 4TLAS, but I’m happy to have that conversation with you. Reach out to me and I’m happy to tell it.

“We should do it this way, and here’s why.”

“No, we should do it this way, and here’s why.”

Then, it goes back and forth or round and round. 

The most underrated characteristic of a high-functioning, creative, A-player team is creative tension.

Useful creative tension includes several features:

• “Here’s why…”
• “Ok, I see that…”
• “Good point…”
• “I think the most important requirement is…”
• “If we do it that way, here’s the downside…”
• “Ok, we’ll try it this way…”

Reasons. Acknowledgment. Respect. Discussion of requirements and outcomes. Trade-offs.

High-functioning creative teams don’t always agree on the path to the solution. But they always agree on where they’re trying to get to and they respect each other as people and professionals.  

The horse has left the barn.
That ship has sailed.
The genie’s out of the bottle.
You can’t unring the bell.
The train has left the station.

Some decisions or actions are one-way. Once you’ve said it or done it, there’s no going back, or at least something has fundamentally changed.

When you recognize you’re in one of these situations, slow down. Measure twice. Cut once. Don’t hit send. Breathe. Take a walk.

But if it’s passed, remember that the question is not whether you can undo it, but what you will do next.

The gap between the test and the test results.
The flight status of “delayed.”
Waiting for the call.
After you submit the resume.
The 3 dots that dissappear in Messages.
Still under review.

Humans don’t like the unknown. Especially when you combine it with more unknowns.

Waiting is one thing, but waiting without knowing when you’ll get an answer is a special kind of agony.

Helping bridge the gap of the unknown wait is one of the most important, empathetic, and human jobs of leadership.

Nobody likes getting punched in the face.

It hurts. It’s embarrassing. It causes damage. But sometimes it’s the only way.

Do the video. Give the pitch. Sign up to stand in front of the room. Take the microphone. Answer the questions. Invite the conversations. Take the chance.

Let them punch you in the face, because you’ll learn where the real resistance is. Do you have something? What is it?

And once you see it, you can decide.

Push harder. Pivot. Or walk away.

When Carrying It Means You’re Standing Still
Because strength is useless if it keeps you from moving forward.
Maybe the bravest thing isn’t to carry more. Maybe it’s to set something down so you can take a step.

When It’s Not Even Yours
Because you might be shouldering someone else’s expectations, guilt, or fear.
We all do it. Parents, children, friends, colleagues. We take on burdens that don’t belong to us or we think helps another. The weight isn’t just heavy. It’s misplaced.

When It Costs You Everything With Nothing in Return
Because leadership isn’t martyrdom.
If the burden you’re bearing is helping no one but breaking you, it might be time to re-evaluate. Help and sacrifice aren’t the same thing.

When It’s Blocking the Light
Because the load on your back can also cast the shadow you’re stuck in.
Sometimes, the heaviness isn’t a badge of honor. It’s the thing keeping you from seeing clearly.

When You Can’t Ask for Help
Because isolation compounds pressure.
The weight becomes too much the moment you believe you’re not allowed to share it.

Right After the First Big Failure
Because you just learned something most people are too scared to confront.
You’ve lost. You’ve failed. Maybe even embarrassed yourself. But this moment, the one where shame and doubt creep in is where grit is born. The first failure is the gatekeeper. Keep going.

When the Applause Stops
Because external validation is fleeting.
Everyone loved your idea, and was very supportive. But that wore off. Now it’s just you, doing the work. Grinding. Thisis where real things are built. Keep going.

When You’re Being Ignored
Because silence isn’t the same as rejection.
You’re talking, sharing, offering, and trying to lead. And no one’s responding. It feels like shouting into a void. But silence often precedes breakthrough. Keep going.

When You’re Almost Done
Because quitting right before the finish line guarantees you never cross it.
The dip before the end is real. Fatigue shows up just as the breakthrough is near. Keep going.

When You’re No Longer Sure Why You Started
Because rediscovery only happens mid-journey.
You’ve outgrown the original reason. That’s normal. That’s evolution. Without evolution, there is no resilience or longevity. The only way to find the new reason is to keep going.

A bow on a gift package is a useless adornment. It serves no functional purpose.

Yet, isn’t it nice to receive a gift package with a bow?

The purpose of the bow is intention. You’re special. This is special. You matter. This matters. I hope you enjoy this. I hope you feel loved.

Whatever change you’re trying to make in this world, make sure you wrap it in a bow.

I’ll never get the Wordle in less than 3 tries (well, once I got it on the 2nd, but I’ll explain later). Most of the time, it will be 4 or 5 tries.

The reason is my system. Here’s my system:

First word: S-N-A-R-E
Second word: P-I-L-O-T

Then, I look at what’s matched and go from there with intuition. However, if zero or only one of the letters from those first two match, or I just can’t catch an intuition, then I use:

Third word: F-U-D-G-Y

What’s my system?

Letter coverage. The first two words give me coverage of 10 oft-used letters, including the most used vowels. ChatGPT says that gives me about a 90% chance that two or more of those letters will be in the solution. If needed, the third word rounds out all possible vowels and adds another couple of common consonants. Now I’m at 15 and have raised my chances to 98% that at least two of the letters are in the solution and 100% that I know which vowels.

With a budget of 5 tries, I’m spending 2, sometimes 3 of them without regard to the actual solution. But I’m collecting valuable data.

I designed the system to produce a particular outcome — namely, maximize the chances of a solution within the constrained budget.

I did not design it to minimize the number of tries. 

We often get frustrated when outcomes don’t meet our goals or hopes. But is the system designed to meet those hopes? 

Systems do what they’re built to do. 

So, step one is to recognize the system. Step two is to ask yourself — do you need a new system?

P.S. The day I solved the Wordle on the 2nd try was when the word was “snake”.

Earth’s population currently sits at an estimated 8.2 billion.

Approximately 7.3 billion of those people have smartphones (Christopher Walken excluded, of course). That’s 89%. Let’s call the Blackberry the first smartphone. It came out in 2002. But we all know the first smartphone that went to the masses was the iPhone, and it came out in 2007. 

Let’s look at some other technologies and their penetration into the world’s population:

• Running water: Practically available in the 1600’s. Currently, ~6.5 billion people have daily access. That’s 79%.
• Clean/Safe water: Practically available in early 1800’s. Currently, ~6 billion people have daily access. That’s 73%.
• Electricity: Practically available in late 1800’s. Currently, ~7.1 billion people have electricity in their homes. That’s 87%.
• Car ownership: Practically available in early 1900’s. Currently, ~1.6 billion people own cars. That’s 20%.
• Banking: Practically available in the 1400’s. Currently, ~6.4 billion people have bank accounts. That’s 78%. 

In approximately 20 years, the smartphone has out-penetrated all of these other technologies/services, some of which we could argue should be a basic right of every citizen of this planet (who desires it).

I’d be lying if I said I knew exactly what this all means.

Is it power? Economics? Geography? Maybe it’s choice. Like most complex problems, it’s probably some combination of many variables.

What we do know, however, is that connectivity is king. Connectivity, in whatever form it takes, is a fundamental human need. 

If you’re trying to make a difference in this world, focus on connectivity.

Let’s talk about choo choos.

Passenger rail is an systemically efficient method for moving people around. I was recently in Germany, and it’s a wonderfully practical and pleasant method of getting from somewhere to somewhere else.

As long as you’re near a station. And the place you are going is near a station. And you don’t want to go anywhere the train doesn’t go. The cost to create new rail infrastructure to new places is very high.

Roads with automobiles are also an effective method for moving people around, but systemically much less efficient. However, the cost to add new infrastructure to new places is relatively inexpensive.

Roads are less efficient as a system but optimize for individual flexibility. Trains are the opposite — efficient as a system but rigid for individuals.

We see this trade-off everywhere. Healthcare. Education. Business processes. Even relationships.

When you’re making something, do you design for the system or for the individual? The answer depends on who you’re trying to serve.

Step one is to get clear about who you’re trying to serve.

When I was in 4th and 5th grades, I got in trouble sometimes for Daydreaming. Standard stuff. My mind was off on an adventure (outer space, likely), the teacher called on me, and then I was embarrassed in front of the class.

I don’t know how often, but it happened enough times that I can recall a few. So, I guess often enough to have left an impression. Or, at least, the story of a memory.

The point the teacher was trying to drill into me was, “Daydreaming is bad. Quit wasting time.”

Today’s hustle culture drills the same thing into your head, “Do more! Schedule every minute of your day! Follow the script! Be productive!” Hustle culture sells the idea that attention should always be optimized—focused, productive, goal-oriented.

And sure, unconscious distraction by The World — mindlessly scrolling according to the algorithm’s desires — is a problem. Both for productivity and for your mental well-being.

But sometimes, don’t we need to explore?

Time isn’t just for crossing off items on your list. It’s about seeing new connections, letting your brain breathe, and allowing creativity to emerge. Some of your best ideas will come when you’re wasting time.

Get bored. Daydream. Walk without headphones. Look around. Read something you find entertaining. Let your mind stretch.

Maybe waste some time.

Trust is fuel.
Trust is a bridge
Trust is a contract.
Trust is a foundation.

And trust is a currency.

You can trade it, spend it, and invest it. Like with money, you can track your spending and ROI.

Some people say you must earn trust, but what if you choose to freely give it first?

Starting from a position of trust doesn’t mean you’re naive. It means that you recognize that most relationships, businesses, and institutions function best when trust is the default. Trust accelerates collaboration, fuels relationships, and builds stronger communities.

Starting with trust creates momentum. Withholding it creates barriers.

Of course, not everyone will provide a positive ROI. Some will take advantage or not rise to the occasion. That’s why you should freely give it, but not blindly keep it.

Trust left unspent is like sticking money under your mattress. It won’t grow, and it’ll lose value. You have to spend it for it to work.

Like money, trust is only valuable where you put it.

Before automobiles, people spent a lot of time and energy dealing with horse manure. 

They probably complained, but they also recognized it just was. It wasn’t a problem that had a solution. Therefore, whole cottage industries built up around dealing with horse manure. Street cleaning. Resellers. City-center stables and stable hands. 

Along comes the car.

At first, many resisted. Not because they liked horse manure but because they couldn’t imagine a world without it. The entire system was built around horses. 

Why question something so fundamental?

That’s the paradox of problem recognition. If people can’t envision an alternative, they don’t see a problem at all. The mess in the streets wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t avoidable, either.

Then, as cars became practical, something shifted. The problem had always existed, but only after a better way emerged did people truly recognize it as a problem. 

People defend inefficiency, struggle, even frustration. It’s not because they love it, but because they don’t believe there’sanother way. 

Until there is. If you’re designing a better way, the most important part, and probably the hardest part, is to help people understand that the problem has a solution.

That’s messaging. 

How do you pick your expert? The person you’ll hire to diagnose your illness, fix your plumbing, or lead the town.

If you’re like most people, you start with trust. Who you know and who the people you know know. Personal trust is a powerful selector.

If you don’t know somebody, you’ll probably use credentials. Credentials serve as a surrogate for personal trust.

How else do we build either real or surrogate trust? It’s a puzzle.

We trust signals. Small cues that feel like expertise. A doctor in a white coat, a confident politician, a loud voice. But signals can be misleading.

We trust consensus. If enough people believe someone is an expert, we assume they must be. But crowds can be wrong, and reputations can be built on perception, not reality.

We trust teams. Which team are they on? But teams are built upon ideology, loyalty, and compromise. All of which may have ulterior motives.

So, how do you solve the trust puzzle? You test it.

Ask questions. Look for explanations, not just answers. The best experts have something behind the white coat, confidence, and which team’s shirt they wear.

And be wary of those who avoid the questions.

Real expertise can withstand scrutiny. Real expertise knows it’s limitations. Real experts aren’t afraid of your questions. Real experts pass the test.

Does it mean you should fear?
Does it mean you shouldn’t fear?
Does it mean something bad could happen?
Does it mean something good could happen?

Does it mean nothing?

Sales Cycles.
Business Cycles.
Product Life Cycles.
Orbital Cycles.
Hiring Cycles.
Sleep Cycles.
Economic Cycles.
Water Cycles.
Weather Cycles.
Life Cycles.
Market Cycles.

Some of these are human-made, and some are built into the fabric of the universe.

Cycles are systems. Like all systems, you can either work with them or work to change them. If you ignore a cycle, it keeps turning. If you fight it blindly, it fights back. But if you understand it, you can adapt, influence, or even redesign it.

If you want to change a cycle, it’s probably best to first understand it as a system, because systems protect themselves. What will it react to? What will it react against?

You can’t always break a cycle, but you can decide how you engage with it.

Competition can make you smart. Keeps you sharp. Hones your message. Focuses your attention and resources.

Competition can also make you dumb. Distracts you from what’s important. Pulls resources in the wrong direction. Makes you worry unnecessarily.

When thinking about competition, the key is to decide who, not what.

Who’s your competition? Ignore the others.

It’s one thing to read “over 700000 people have died from AIDS in the US.”

That sounds large and unfortunate. It makes you feel sad but in an abstract way. 

It’s quite another to look with your own eyes at a quilt that contains about 50000 3×6′ panels with names on them — Mike, Jerry, Matthew. Now, it feels personal and real. That’s what the NAMES Project has created.

One thing I’ve learned from over 30 years of engineering and making stuff for people to use — it’s hard to feel abstract. It’s easy to feel personal. 

If you’re making something, or trying to get a message out, or trying to make an impact, make it personal.