johnmaconline

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.