Pronounced: EN-KUR-UJ.com–short posts you can use every day
Author: Bob Dailey
Bob Dailey. Born and raised in Southern California...now in Oklahoma. Graduated from (and met my future wife at) Cal Poly Pomona, in 1988. Married to Janet 37-plus years. Father of two: Julianne and Jennifer. Grandfather of 9!
Held many leadership positions in small, medium, and large companies (and even owned a company for about 7 years). Tractor operator, competitive stair climber, camper, off-roader, occasional world traveler, sometimes mountain biker, and writer.
There’s a quiet moment in meaningful work when your idea begins to live in someone else. You see it in the way they talk about it. You hear it in their enthusiasm. You notice how they add their experience and their language to it until the idea carries their imprint as much as yours.
It can feel strange the first time it happens. You know the origin, but they suddenly feel the spark of the idea for themselves. That’s the moment you know your idea has begun to grow.
Real success often arrives like this, but we don’t always notice it. People begin to adopt your idea, reshape it, and eventually believe in it with a conviction that can be surprising. They explain it to others in their own voice. They defend it. They improve it. If the idea spreads far enough, some will forget where it began. Your name may fade from the origin story. That loss of attribution can sting if you hold the idea too tightly. It should feel like success instead.
Leaders have a responsibility here. Ideas rarely spread through logic alone. They spread through emotional ownership that grows when people discover a piece of themselves in the idea. When that happens, they carry the idea farther than you ever could by insisting on authorship.
A leader’s task is to create the conditions for this transfer. You offer the early shape of the idea, then invite others to step inside and help build the next version. You ask for their insight, their experience, and their concerns. You let their fingerprints gather on the surface until the idea becomes a shared creation. People support what they help to shape.
As others begin to adopt your idea, they’ll need to feel safety in their new enthusiasm. They need to know they’re not the only ones who believe in this direction. A wise leader pays attention to this. They take the people who have embraced their idea and introduce them to others who have done the same. They form new connections, helping to create a small community where confidence strengthens and courage grows. When people see others adopting the same idea, they feel validated, understood, and ready to act.
This is how ideas gain momentum inside organizations. One person sees the promise. Another begins to shape it. A third begins to feel inspired. Before long, it becomes a shared narrative. It starts with your imagination, but it continues through their belief and conviction.
Once people begin to adopt your idea, you must release it. You may or may not receive credit for it. Either outcome is acceptable.
The goal was never to build a monument to your creativity. The goal was to move the organization forward. When others bring your idea into new conversations without you, your contribution has done its job.
Your attention can return to the horizon. There’s always another idea waiting for you, another possibility that needs your curiosity, another problem that needs new framing.
Good leaders plant seeds. Great leaders celebrate when those seeds take root across the organization.
Inspired by Dr. Michael Levin’s post, h/t – Tim Ferriss
Photo by Alex Beauchamp on Unsplash – a new idea taking root and growing beyond its beginning.
From thirty thousand feet, the land below looks like a patchwork of roads and fields. Each marks a choice someone once made about where to go. Some stretch straight and steady. Others twist through hills or fade out of sight. Together they form a map of movement and direction, a living story of people who kept choosing the next road.
Life feels the same way. The routes change, but the invitation stays the same. Keep moving to find greater meaning.
The most rewarding paths often pass through three places. Serving others, staying curious, and daring to pursue new goals.
Service opens our heart. When we give to something beyond ourselves, our life expands. For the younger generation, it teaches them that purpose grows through generosity and connection. Helping a friend, joining a cause, or showing up for someone who needs encouragement builds an identity rooted in contribution. Later in life, service transforms experience into legacy. It turns lessons into guidance and presence into impact. Every act of service whispers that we still matter.
Curiosity keeps that whisper alive. It invites discovery and reminds us that wonder never expires. For young adults, curiosity shifts attention from comparison to possibility. It fuels creativity and builds resilience (because nobody said it would be easy). For those further down the road, curiosity revives joy. Learning something new, exploring unfamiliar tools, or asking deeper questions renews their spirit.
Big goals complete the trio. Ambition alone can fade, but big dreams shaped by purpose bring hope to life. For the young, bold goals turn uncertainty into motion. For the experienced, they rekindle the thrill of becoming. The thrill of pursuing. Every goal, whether to build, create, teach, or grow, reminds the soul that movement still matters. Hope rises with every goal we dare to pursue.
Many people never take these paths. Fear of failure, fear of embarrassment, fear of losing face…they each build fences where we can hide. Quiet excuses convincing us to play small and call it wisdom.
Fear says, “Stay comfortable.” Curiosity says, “Let’s see what happens.”
When fear wins, both young and old lose sight of their forward motion. The young adult who fears being judged easily drifts into hopelessness. The older adult who hesitates to dream again slips into quiet surrender. The reasons sound different, yet the root feels the same. Fear has taken the wheel. Stagnation and hopelessness follow.
Purpose waits just ahead. It lives in the next act of kindness, the next mystery to be solved, the next dream still worth chasing.
The pathways to a rewarding life have no finish line. Every act of service, every curious step, every daring goal breathes new life into our soul.
When we explore these paths, joy and fulfillment will be our companion.
Photo by Line Kjær on Unsplash – I wonder what’s in the next valley. Let’s go find out.
Imagine two managers sitting at their desks, both using the same AI tool.
The first asks it to write the same weekly report, just faster. Three hours saved. Nothing new learned. Box checked.
The second uses the AI differently. She asks it to analyze six months of data and search for hidden patterns. It reveals that half the metrics everyone tracks have no real connection to success. Two new questions emerge. She rebuilds the entire process from scratch.
Same tool. Different questions. One finds speed. The other finds wisdom.
This is the divide that will define the next decade of work.
For a long time, leadership revolved around structure and repetition. The best organizations built systems that ran like clockwork. Discipline became an art. Efficiency became a mantra.
Books like Good to Great showed how rigorous process could transform good companies into great ones through consistent execution. When competitive advantage came from doing the same thing better and faster than everyone else, process was power.
AI changes this equation entirely. It makes these processes faster, yes, but it also asks a more unsettling question. Why are you doing this at all?
Speed alone means little when the racetrack itself is disappearing.
Curiosity in the age of AI means something specific. It asks “why” when everyone else asks “how.” It uses AI to question assumptions rather than simply execute them. It treats every automated task as an opportunity to rethink the underlying goal. And it accepts the possibility that your job, as you currently do it, might need to change entirely.
That last part is uncomfortable. Many people fear AI will replace them. Paradoxically, the people most at risk are those who refuse to use AI to reimagine their own work. The curious ones are already replacing themselves with something better.
Many organizations speak of innovation, but their true values show in what they celebrate. Do they promote the person who completes fifty tasks efficiently, or the one who eliminates thirty through reinvention? Most choose the first. They reward throughput. They measure activity. They praise the person who worked late rather than the one who made late nights unnecessary.
This worked when efficiency was scarce. Now efficiency can be abundant. AI will handle efficiency. What remains scarce is the imagination to ask what we should be doing instead. Organizations that thrive will use AI to do entirely different things. Things that were impossible or invisible before.
Working with AI requires more than technical skills. The syntax is easy. The prompts are learnable. Connecting AI to our applications isn’t the challenge. The difficulty is our mindset. Having the patience to experiment when you could just execute. The humility to see that the way you’ve always done things may no longer be the best way. The courage to ask “what if” when your entire career has been built on knowing “how to.”
This is why curiosity has become a competitive advantage. The willingness to probe, to question, to let AI reveal what you’ve been missing. Because AI is a mirror. It reflects whatever you bring to it, amplified. Bring efficiency-seeking and get marginal gains. Bring genuine curiosity and discover new possibilities.
Here’s something to try this week. Take your most routine task. The report, the analysis, the update you’ve done a hundred times. Before asking AI to replicate it, ask a different question. What would make this unnecessary? What question should we be asking instead?
You might discover the task still matters. Or you might realize you’ve been generating reports nobody reads, tracking metrics nobody uses, or solving problems that stopped being relevant two years ago.
Efficiency fades. What feels efficient today becomes everyone’s baseline tomorrow. But invention endures. The capacity to see what others miss, to ask what others skip, to build what nobody else imagines yet.
The curious will see opportunity. The creative will see possibility. The courageous will see permission. Together they will build what comes next.
The tools are here. The door is open. Work we haven’t imagined yet waits on the other side. Solving problems not yet seen, creating value in ways that don’t exist today.
I’ve come to believe what Chesterton once said. Art is limitation, and the essence of every picture is the frame. It took me time to see that truth.
Many of us grow up thinking freedom creates great work. Unlimited time. Unlimited canvas. Unlimited choice.
But if you’ve ever stared too long at a blank page, you know what real freedom can feel like. Paralyzing.
Nothing takes shape until the edges appear. A story waits forever if the writer can’t decide where it begins. Music is noisy until the composer chooses a key. The frame gives the work its purpose.
The same is true in leadership and life. A budget helps us decide what we value. A deadline turns a dream into something real. A small team learns to trade excess for imagination. Limited resources push us to invent new ways to adapt. The frame brings focus.
Still, the frame itself matters. A picture can feel cramped when the frame becomes too tight. A project can drift when the wrong thing fills the center. When the boundaries are off, the whole image loses clarity. That’s why wise leaders spend time defining the edges before the work begins.
Whenever I work on a puzzle, I start by finding all the edge pieces. Once the border comes together, I can see how everything else might fit. The same principle applies to creative work and leadership. The edges give us context. They help us imagine where the middle pieces belong and how the picture will come to life.
Frames should change as we grow. The world shifts. We learn more about what we’re building. Every so often, we step back and see whether the picture still fits. Sometimes the frame needs widening. Sometimes the colors need more light. Adjusting the frame keeps the beauty true.
Constraints give possibility its shape. They reveal what truly matters. Choosing the right limitations helps us see what is essential.
When you feel boxed in or limited, pause before you push against the edges. The frame around your work may be the very thing helping the picture appear. And when the picture becomes clear, refresh the frame so the beauty within it continues to grow.
Thanks to James Clear for sharing this G. K. Chesterton quote: “Art is limitation; the essence of every picture is the frame.”
Writing a song is like fishing, Kenny Chesney once said. Some days you catch something beautiful. The melody, the moment, the truth. Other days, you sit there all day with nothing but frustration and a stubborn belief that it’s still worth being out there.
That kind of wisdom transcends genres. Ernest Hemingway spent his life circling the same idea. That real art happens when we show up. Whether facing a blank page, a marlin that wouldn’t bite, or a battle that couldn’t be won, he believed the only way to live fully was to move, to act, to engage.
His work embodied a simple truth. The shortest answer is doing the thing. For him, wisdom wasn’t found in thinking about life, but in living it. No clever phrasing. No shortcuts. Just the act itself. Simple, honest, alive.
We spend so much of life thinking about what we might do, planning what we should do, waiting until we feel ready to begin. But readiness rarely arrives on its own. The line stays slack until you cast it. The song stays silent until you play it. The story remains untold until you write it.
Sometimes we catch something incredible. Other times, nothing.
Either way, we were there. Present. Awake. Participating in the work and wonder of life.
Maybe that’s the whole point.
A life well-lived must first be lived.
Photo by Shojol Islam on Unsplash – I wonder if he’ll catch something on this cast. Maybe. Maybe not. But, he’s in the game, giving it his best shot and that’s what matters.
There are certain destinations in the world that feel larger than life. The Taj Mahal is one of those places. For many travelers, seeing it with their own eyes is a once-in-a-lifetime moment.
We were finally there. We had made it to Agra. All that remained was to step inside the gates and witness the iconic white marble glowing in the sun.
Only one problem.
There was no sun. There was no white marble. There was no Taj Mahal.
There was only fog.
We woke that morning filled with hope. The rooftop restaurant gave us a commanding view of… absolutely nothing. We stared into a wall of haze, sipping coffee and laughing at the absurdity of our timing. Surely the fog would lift. Surely the Taj Mahal would reveal itself.
Our guide, Kuldeep, assured us everything would be fine. He had led more than 500 tours of the Taj Mahal. He knew everything there was to know about its history and its beauty. We boarded our bus, grabbing our special cloth bags with a picture of the Taj printed on them. These were designed to hold the single water bottle we were allowed to bring inside the property. And we set off with excitement.
Fog. All the way there. Fog in the parking lot. Fog at the security lines. Fog as we walked the long approach toward the main viewing area. Each time Kuldeep stopped to point out an “excellent vantage point,” we nodded with wide eyes, imagining the magnificent structure hidden somewhere in the mist.
We took photos pointing at the picture on our water bottle bags. That was the only Taj Mahal available to us from any vantage point.
As we walked toward the building, we eventually reached the outer wall and finally saw something. White marble appeared just a few feet above our heads. Then the stone vanished again into the haze. The grand dome. The sweeping arches. The delicate inlays. All shrouded in fog.
We were standing beside one of the wonders of the world and could only see a sliver of it.
Our group laughed so much that day. Not because we had traveled halfway around the world only to miss the view. We laughed because we were sharing something unforgettable and slightly ridiculous. We were experiencing a story that would last much longer than a postcard-perfect photograph.
Kuldeep shook his head with disbelief. In all his tours, he had never experienced this. He told us we were a very select group of visitors who could claim something few on Earth could say. We visited the Taj Mahal, but we have never actually seen it.
He was right. I still have never seen the Taj Mahal in person.
The destination was never the prize
You might think this would be a disappointment. But when I look back on that trip, the fog made everything richer.
The destination was never the prize. The people were.
We shared meals and conversations and inside jokes. We tried foods that were new to us. We navigated chaos and beauty side by side. We saw India’s contrasts and colors and kindness. We saw devotion expressed in temples and marketplaces. We saw how history and modern life can exist on top of each other without barriers.
The Taj Mahal is extraordinary. I would love to see it someday with clear skies and a rising sun. Yet I already have what I came for.
When I think about all the amazing places I have been blessed to visit, a pattern appears. I never say, “Remember when we saw that famous landmark.” I say things like:
– Remember how we got lost trying to find it? – Remember the tiny restaurant we discovered afterward? – Remember the guide who became a friend? – Remember that amazing gelato place in the middle of nowhere?
I have my memory of that rooftop breakfast. I have the echo of laughter on the bus. I have the photos of my family and friends pointing to a water bottle bag as if it were the crown jewel of Indian architecture.
The world is full of wonders. But relationships are the wonders that stay with us.
The real bucket list
If someday I return to the Taj Mahal and finally see it, I’ll smile and take it in. But I know the picture etched into my heart is already complete. It’s filled with faces and voices and laughter. It has the beauty of our shared experience.
Checklists are fine for airplanes. But our lives deserve something better.
The best adventures can’t be captured by a camera or a perfect view. What lasts are the relationships made stronger by shared surprises, setbacks, and moments of wonder.
This story, fog and all, remains one of my favorites.
Photo by Mark Harpur on Unsplash showing the majestic beauty of the Taj without fog.
The photos below are mine showing what we actually saw. Unfortunately, the amazing water bottle bag photos are stored on a drive I can’t see…a little bit like that morning in Agra more than a decade ago.
There it is!Can you see the Taj in the background?Can you see the Taj on the right?
The difference between reacting to the moment and preparing for it.
Most leaders spend their days responding. A problem surfaces. They fix it. A crisis hits. They mobilize.
Urgency crowds out importance. By Friday they’re exhausted from fighting fires they never saw coming.
This is leadership without anticipation.
Every action sets something in motion.
-Launch a product without considering support capacity, and you’ll be drowning in angry customers in three months.
-Promote someone before they’re ready, and you’ll spend the next year managing the fallout.
-Ignore the quiet signals in your market, and you’ll wake up one day wondering how you got disrupted.
Some outcomes can be seen in advance. Leadership is the discipline of noticing what’s coming and readying your team to meet it.
Wayne Gretzky once said, “I skate to where the puck is going to be, not where it has been.”Most leaders skate to where the puck was. They optimize for yesterday’s problem. They staff for last quarter’s workload. They strategize for a market that no longer exists.
Leaders who matter skate differently. They think past the first step and see how decisions unfold across time. When they make a choice today, they’re already anticipating the second and third-order effects.
They connect short-term actions to long-term outcomes, asking not just “Will this work?” but “What happens after it works?”
When you cultivate this habit of anticipation, something shifts. You stop being surprised by the predictable. You create space before you need it. You move with a quiet confidence that comes from seeing the terrain before you cross it.
Your team feels it too. It’s the difference between reactive and ready, between scrambling and intentional.
We can’t eliminate uncertainty. The future will always bring surprises. But we can change how we manage it. We can choose to be the leader who sees what’s coming rather than the one who’s perpetually caught off guard.
Dwight Eisenhower said, “In preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable.” Plans will change. They always do. But the act of planning, of thinking through trajectories, testing assumptions, and imagining scenarios, prepares you to lead when the moment arrives.
The leader who anticipates doesn’t wait for clarity. They sense it forming and courageously move toward it. They shape the path while others are still reacting to it.
The days feel long, but our years disappear. I’ve been thinking about how easily “someday” turns into “back then.” We spend so much of life working toward what’s next that we sometimes forget we’re already living the moments we’ll one day remember with gratitude.
This truth reaches us at every age. Whether we shape our future with intention or let it unfold on its own, it arrives and quietly invites us to participate. This reflection is about the sweetness of now and noticing that these moments become the story we’re creating together.
Each day arrives on its own, small and full of potential. It doesn’t ask for much. Only our attention, our care, and our willingness to be here. The hours move like honey, slow and golden, rich with sweetness if we take time to notice. Yet the years rush by quietly. One morning we look up and realize the future we worked toward has become the past we cherish.
What we dreamed about for so long is happening now. This day, with its imperfections, interruptions, and small joys, is the life we once hoped to reach. It’s the tomorrow we imagined, already unfolding beneath our feet.
Time helps us see backward with gratitude and forward with wonder. We remember the faces and laughter that have softened into memory. We hold them gently, realizing how meaning hides in ordinary moments.
Each day is a life of its own. Complete, sacred, and fleeting. When we let its minutes open slowly, like sunlight through leaves, we find gratitude sweetening everything it touches. Our wonder grows in quiet places.
“Then” is always born of “now.” When we live this moment with attention, kindness, and a sense of awe, it never really fades. It simply changes shape, becoming the stories we tell, the lessons we pass along, and the love that lingers long after the moment has gone.
You can tell people what to do, and sometimes that’s the right call. Yet, direction without participation creates compliance instead of commitment.
When people understand the purpose, see where they fit, and have a voice in the direction, they’ll take emotional ownership.
The best leaders invite that ownership by asking questions that open doors to insight. What are we missing? What would you try? Where do you see the risk? These questions are invitations to shape the work and the results.
When a product manager asks her team, “How would you approach this?” instead of presenting a finished plan, the solutions that emerge are sharper, and the team building them gets stronger.
Humans are built for both independence and belonging, desires that often pull in different directions. Wise leaders guide this tension well. They give people space to grow while connecting them to something larger than themselves.
To bring others on the journey is to build together. Growth is shared. Trust expands. When the path gets steep, they’ll keep climbing with purpose.
They remember the reasons, because they helped shape the path.
Photo by Powrock Mountain Guides on Unsplash – Unsplash has a ton of amazing hiking photos, mountain climbing photos, pictures of maps, legos, and winding paths. All would have represented the themes of this post admirably. But this photo caught my eye.
How do you see it connecting to this post? What makes this photo stand out? How hard do you think it is to hike across to that gleaming white mountain in the distance?
It was the second day of a two-day strategic planning retreat. Revenue projections stretched across the screen. The CFO walked through all the assumptions in his spreadsheet. Customer acquisition costs will flatten, churn will improve by two points, and the new product will capture eight percent market share within six months.
Everyone nodded along, acting as if these forecasts represented knowledge rather than elaborate guesses built on dozens of assumptions, any one of which could be wrong.
Three months later, a competitor launched an unexpected feature. Customer behavior shifted. The CFO’s projections became relics of a reality that never existed. The entire strategic planning process had been built on an illusion.
What we pretend to know
In his 2022 memo The Illusion of Knowledge, Howard Marks explored how investors mistake confidence for clarity. He began with a line from historian Daniel Boorstin:
“The greatest enemy of knowledge is not ignorance, it is the illusion of knowledge.”
Leaders face a brutal paradox. Boards expect forecasts. Teams want confidence. Investors demand projections. The machinery of leadership demands certainty.
So, we build elaborate forecasts and make decisions based on assumptions we know to be fragile. We treat detailed guesses as facts.
Physicist Richard Feynman once said, “Imagine how much harder physics would be if electrons had feelings.” Electrons follow discrete laws, unlike people. People innovate, resist, panic, and occasionally do something amazing nobody saw coming. Competitors behave differently than our models assume. Markets shift for reasons we never thought possible.
Marks describes forecasting as a chain of predictions. “I predict the economy will do A. If A happens, interest rates should do B. With interest rates of B, the stock market should do C.” Even if you’re right two-thirds of the time at each step, your chance of getting all three predictions correct at once is only about thirty percent.
Leadership forecasts work in a similar way. We predict customer adoption rates. If adoption hits those numbers, we’ll need a certain operational capacity. With that capacity, we can achieve specific margins. Those margins will attract investment.
Each assumption depends on the previous one. The chain is only as strong as its weakest link.
The tools we trust
Walk into any strategic planning session and you’ll likely encounter two frameworks treated as gospel:
-SWOT analysis (strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats)
-SMART goals (specific, measurable, achievable, relevant, and time-bound).
Business schools teach them. Consultants recommend them. Leaders deploy them with confidence. Each relies on assumed knowledge that may not exist.
A SWOT analysis claims to know which possible developments count as opportunities versus threats. It’s a snapshot of assumptions masquerading as strategic insight. An opportunity exists only if you can identify it, execute against it, and do so before circumstances change. The framework provides no way of acknowledging uncertainty.
SMART goals often confuse precision with accuracy. “Increase market share” becomes “increase market share in the Northeast region from 12% to 15% by Q4 2026.” It sounds specific, and therefore rigorous. It’s easy to be precise about something unpredictable.
And how do we know a goal is achievable? We make assumptions about resources, market conditions, and competitor behavior, then write a goal that treats our assumptions as facts.
Both frameworks serve a valuable purpose. They force structured thinking. But they also seduce leaders into believing they know more than they do.
What should we do instead?
To be clear, this isn’t an argument for abandoning planning. Organizations need direction, priorities, and coordinated action. The question is how to plan in ways that acknowledge what we can’t know while still making decisive progress.
A better path involves changing how we plan and how we talk about the future.
Distinguish between direction and destination. Amazon knew it wanted to be “Earth’s most customer-centric company” without knowing exactly what that would look like in year ten. “We’re moving toward increased automation” carries more truth than “we’ll reduce costs by seventeen percent by Q3 2026.” The first creates direction. The second creates false precision.
Separate what you know from what you assume. Customer complaints increased forty percent this quarter. That’s knowledge. Saying the trend will continue is extrapolation. Predicting that fixing the issue will increase retention by five points is speculation. Present plans that show what you know, what you’re inferring, what you’re assuming, and what you’ll do if you’re wrong.
Build optionality into everything. Create strategies that work across multiple futures. Hire people who can do, or think about, more than one thing. Build modular systems with flexibility in mind. Create decision points where you can change course.
Use familiar tools differently. Run a SWOT analysis, then list three ways each opportunity might fail to materialize. Write SMART goals, then document the assumptions those goals depend on and how you’ll adapt if they prove incorrect.
Here’s a concrete example. You’re deciding whether to build a new product line. The traditional approach creates a detailed business case with market projections and revenue forecasts. You present it. People debate assumptions. A decision gets made.
An alternative approach defines what success means, then identifies what must be true to achieve it. You sort those conditions into things you can validate quickly, things you can validate over time, and things you can validate only much later. Stage investments to match the timing of the validations, rather than an arbitrary quarterly schedule.
The difference in these approaches is critical. In the first, the business case pretends to represent knowledge. In the second, it becomes a set of hypotheses to test over time.
The harder path
Amos Tversky observed, “It’s frightening to think that you might lack knowledge about something, but more frightening to think that, by and large, the world is run by people who have faith that they know exactly what’s going on.”
We select leaders for their ability to project confidence about an unknowable future. We reward decisiveness over doubt. Then we wonder why strategies fail when reality diverges from our projections.
Most of us live in this system. We’ve built organizations that demand the illusion of knowledge.
Real leadership creates organizations resilient enough to find answers as circumstances unfold. It builds teams that can adapt rather than simply execute a plan written many months ago.
When did you last change a forecast because reality diverged from your assumptions?
When did you last reward someone for identifying that a plan was failing?
Start small. Pick one decision where you can be explicit about uncertainty. Structure one investment to test assumptions instead of betting on a forecast. Have one conversation where you separate what you know from what you’re guessing.
Plan in ways that acknowledge uncertainty and position your organization to learn. Lead with confidence about principles while staying adaptable around specifics. Build organizations that can adapt when reality diverges from the plan.
Because it will. The measure of leadership lies in how well your culture can face that truth.
Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership 
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