Successful outcomes are often the result of relatively boring steps done well … with a few error corrections and a few moments of brilliance.

It’s never a solid highlight reel.

A good friend of mine is an entrepreneur with keen business skills.

One of his practices that I particularly appreciate is the decision calendar. (I don’t know what he really calls it, but “decision calendar” is an approximate description.)

The basic formula is this: “If x doesn’t happen by [specific date], then y.”

If the contract isn’t signed by September 1st, then we consider the opportunity dead.
If the customer doesn’t reply by next week, we’ll reach out to them.
If we don’t reach our sales goal this quarter, we’ll pause and reevaluate the business model.

By setting a decision to a calendar date, the unknowingness of waiting is made easier. The work isn’t easier, but the question of, “How long do we wait?” is answered.

The practice puts a framework in place that outlines our next steps, acknowledges what’s outside our control, and keeps us from locking into a holding pattern.

H/T RPA

When I was a kid, the only time I would hear Elgar’s Pomp and Circumstance was during my older siblings’ commencement ceremonies. Graduates in gowns and brass instruments filling a cavernous space. These days, you might hear the same tune played during a middle school elevation program, a pre-school graduation, or a certificate presentation at a puppy training seminar.

Generations ago, if you wanted blueberry cobbler, you’d have to wait for blueberries to be in season. These days, you can buy blueberries at the grocery store year-round.

Not too long ago, you might wait until December each year to watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas. These days, you can stream it whenever you’d like.

“Anything you want whenever you want” might sound like a dream, but there’s a certain magic to scarcity and restraint. Special occasions stay special because they’re not part of any-day, any-time, anywhere.

What might you be electively preserving? What are you protecting by not allowing it to be overplayed?

“Finish it up and let’s get out of here!”

This is what the winning coach called out to his team in the final stage of the game.

It’s not a message for a team in chase; they’re busy trying to capture the lead.

But for the team that’s ahead, it’s a focusing thought: “Finish the job, close it out, go home. Don’t make it harder than it has to be. Don’t drag it out. Don’t make it exciting.”

No need to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.

For you: have you developed the skill of finishing? Of locking in and bringing a project across the finish line?

Let the coach’s words cheer you on.

Everything is a trade off. We know this.

If we’re doing one thing, it means we’re not doing (quite literally) countless other things.

And time only moves in one direction.

One of the challenges is that some patterns quietly hold themselves in the mix. As though they’re fixed within each day, and only the remainder is ours.

So we review the inbox, or we watch the news, or we check the necessary feeds, and so on … and only then can we divvy the day.

But it’s a cunning trap.

Each day is ours — all of it. Each moment.

And we get to choose.

Like a judicious chef, ought we not pick the best ingredients and in the proper balance?

“I’m not very good. I don’t think I’ll continue.”

This is a common and natural response. (Why torture ourselves?)

But if we can make even the slightest improvement, then we can shift from a static not very good to a dynamic getting better.

And when we experience improvement — even in small measure — it allows us to see a different future.

Incremental progress is fuel for transformation.

The time I think this is not the time I write this.

The time I write this is not the time you read this.

The time you read this is not the time you act on this.

We live in asynchronicity.

Ancient words may choose today to take root in your heart.

And some of today’s words may only make sense years from now.

Be patient. Everything in its time.

In some situations, “low” prompts immediate attention. In others, it’s an early warning. In still others, it’s part of the natural cycle of things, and nothing needs to be done.

In our personal lives, it takes some knowledge to recognize whether a low indicator is normal, or if it’s a problem that needs to be addressed (and how soon).

Listen to your small creative voice.

When you have the impetus to doodle, doodle. When you feel like humming, hum. When a side-project draws your attention, attend to it. When you want to make a little something or other, make a little something or other.

Because our small creative voice is a tender threshold between what is now and what could be. It’s a gentle invitation into a grander conversation. When we honor it, it rewards us with a deeper connection to possibility. Like a window into a new world, the first step is to peer through its frame.

My flight home was delayed by an hour. The woman sitting next to me was unsure if she would make her connection; she was nearly convinced she’d miss her next flight as a result of the delay.

Reviewing the arrival and departure times, it would be close.

After a reasonable amount of fretting and fussing (the passenger’s, not mine) I offered — in a kind, gentle way — some truth:

“You can spend the next three hours worried and stressed, or you can trust that when we land, you’ll be able to figure out what you need to do.”

Her posture changed and she seemed to relax.

Three hours later, she thanked me, then hurried off as the cabin door opened.

Plans will go pear-shaped from time to time. We don’t have to allow our minds to do the same.

On recent business trip, my colleague’s hotel room didn’t have any hot water. My room, however, had the opposite problem: I didn’t have any cold water. (The shower was scalding and nearly impossible to use.)

Similar to the more difficult situations in this world, it’s not a matter of resources, or availability, or even the willingness to cooperate and share. It’s a complex problem of distribution.

At an unfamiliar restaurant with a crowded bar, we had to ask a server, “Excuse me. Where’s the restroom?” (We hadn’t found it on our own.)

“Oh, it’s easy to miss. Go around the corner and you’ll see kind of a secret hallway. It’s there.”

We later learned: the facilities are unmarked and difficult to locate. The servers had even asked the owner, “Can we please install a sign so that people can find the bathroom?”

The answer: “No. This gives customers more opportunities to interact with the staff.”

Understandably, especially on busy nights, neither staff nor customer appreciate the exchange.

* * *

Sometimes what we find to be annoying and frustrating — is actually what someone else had thought would be a good idea.

“By design” is not guaranteed to be a positive outcome for all.

Our interactions with others are rarely pure, as though built on a blank slate.

Instead, we often pick up where someone else left off. That is, we experience the leftovers of that previous interaction.

So the question might not be, “What did I do?” but rather, “What happened right before I arrived?”

Having a sense of this might not fix every difficult encounter (it won’t) but having perspective helps.

I joked with the nursing staff about something clever I might put into the patient response, should the healthcare group send me a survey.

They laughed and said, “Oh, do it! We read survey responses at our weekly staff meetings! That would be amazing!”

I was surprised to hear this, but also encouraged. So many organizations distribute surveys. I often wonder who reads the responses, how they’re processed, and what comes of it.

Surely many surveys are aggregated and put into colorful charts for the C-suites and managers.

But in some places, the comments are read. What a great opportunity to be thoughtful, generous, and intentional in our writing.

Each time I glanced at the clock on the wall, the meeting felt longer.

After 45 minutes (and maybe my third time checking) I realized that the minute hand hadn’t moved at all; the clock had a dead battery.

Time can seem fleeting. Other times, it can drag on.

And sometimes, it’s really just a dead battery that causes our suffering.

The lesson: our emotions can be highly influenced by what time we think it is — regardless of the actual time.

When we sing “happy birthday” we sing it together, as a group.

It’s shared sentiment.

Do we individually have identical thoughts and feelings? No.

But we don’t each take turns singing a solo version. We sing it in unison.

Sometimes it’s not about us in particular; it’s about all of us together.

You could walk at night for a long time without once looking up to see the moon and stars.

You could stare at the moon and stars for a long time without once watching where you’re walking.

You could stare ahead for a long time without once diverting your gaze in any other direction.

* * *

Look down, look up, look ahead, and look around. There’s a time for each; none is exclusively paramount.

Having prepared is not the same as arriving prepared. That is, the long prep is not the same as the short prep.

Standing at the starting line of a 10K in your running shoes is being prepared. It’s not the same as having followed months of a training protocol.

Mustering courage and focus is being prepared. It’s not the same as having rehearsed and fine-tuned the performance.

Sharpening your Number 2 pencil is being prepared. It’s not the same as having studied for the test.

Preparation comes in many forms. Being really good at the short prep rarely compensates for having ignored the long prep.

There’s a lot of ritual, tradition, and protocol involved when the Catholic church selects a new pope. Part of this includes a conclave of electors sequestered in the Sistine Chapel. Before the doors are sealed, one of the prelates announces, “Extra omnes.” (Or sometimes, exeunt omnes.) That is, “Everybody out.” Only the voting cardinals remain.

This concept — everybody [else] out — is useful.

What happens when we (for a time) dismiss those who aren’t involved in the heart of the work? Or when we expel negative thoughts from our mind? Or when we politely distance ourselves from those who don’t believe in our endeavors? Or when we remove distractions? Or when we clear away what’s not useful?

When we oust all but what’s essential — be it physical, mental, or emotional — we create sacred space for the work at hand.

We often round for simplicity.

9.8 is a 10.
7.7 is an 8.
4.2 is a 4.

It’s easier this way.

And it’s tempting to start believing that the partials don’t count.

Four tenths? That’s not even half. It’s lost in rounding. Maybe not worth counting.

But do that 0.4 every day for a month, and it’s a cumulative twelve. And that’s not nothing.

There are always exceptions, but there are many areas were partials are plenty.

Or at least a start.