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.

In the Steps of Trailblazers

I’ve probably hiked or biked hundreds, maybe thousands of trail miles in my life.  Most of the trails had been there for many years…even decades. 

Other than clearing some fallen branches from a trail or participating in a trail volunteer day, I never gave much thought to how the trails were built, or who originally built them.  They were always there.  It didn’t matter if the trails started out as animal paths, or were built by hand, carved through the forest.  The trails seemed to belong right where they were.  

My perspective shifted when we were fortunate enough to purchase acreage that includes a forested hillside, a mostly dry pond, rocky escarpments, and a meadow thick with trees and scrub brush. 

Where others may have seen a tangle of impenetrable forest, I could see trails winding through it, paths crisscrossing up and down the hill, around the pond, and maybe a little campsite down in the meadow under the tall trees. 

I had no idea where to start or where exactly the trails would go.  I just knew the hillside and meadow were calling for a trail system and a campsite that my family and friends could enjoy exploring for years to come.    

When we moved here, I didn’t own a chain saw, a tractor, or any of the fancy attachments that make tractors such useful (and fun) tools.  I had the standard set of homeowner hand tools from our lifetime of living in a tract home that didn’t have a yard big enough for a lawn.

The real work began when our new property was hit by a 90 mile per hour derecho that effectively found all the unhealthy trees and snapped them in half or knocked them to the ground.  As I worked my way across our property over the next six months, cutting and clearing all of the downed trees (40-50 trees in all), I got a ton of practice with my new chainsaws, my upgraded tractor (the small one we purchased initially didn’t cut it, so I did what every tractor guy worth his salt does when faced with this dilemma…I upsized), the 5-foot brush hog attachment, and the front loader grapple attachment. 

As I worked to complete the clearing process, I could see where new trails might go.  As I brush-hogged large swaths of overgrown scrub brush and brambles, new openings showed themselves.  In the areas where I cleared away the dead and fallen trees, nice new grassy areas greeted the sunlight that finally penetrated to the ground.  I could see how trimming up some of the remaining trees would improve the sight lines through the area. 

Once the land clearing process was mostly done, the real trailblazing process began. Deciding exactly where to cut the trails, which routes worked best given the lay of the land, the gradient of the hillside, natural features, and tree coverage.  Could I veer up and to the right a bit to maintain the trail flow while leaving more trees intact?  Will a hiker be able to maintain their footing if I use the existing (slightly) flatter terrain on the hillside?  Can I make this trail intersect in an interesting way with the other one that’s 200 yards away? 

So far, I’ve been talking about literal trails and the (rewarding) process of carving a trail system by hand into my property.  I’ve known my share of trailblazers in life and work, and I’ve even been one myself on occasion. It’s funny how, like the paths I was carving through the woods, new trails—whether they’re businesses, inventions, ideas, or methods—often seem inevitable after the fact.

Once they’re established, they feel as if they’ve always been there. But every one of those trails began with someone willing to face the unknown, to push forward without a clear end in sight, risking failure or embarrassment in the name of carving a new path. 

Only the people who actually built these trails know what it took to get there.  The obstacles that had to be moved, the dead ends they hit along the way, their moments of doubt. They alone understand the learning curve, the time, and the sheer energy it took to bring the trail to life. And as they move forward, bit by bit, the final route often ends up looking different from what they first imagined.

Our new trail system is amazing.  It has straight sections, switchback sections, offshoots, shortcuts, climbs, and descents.  Parts of the trail are under a tunnel-like canopy of thick forest and other areas open to the sky, providing amazing hilltop views.  Walking along the trails feels like the landscape was made for them…even though there were countless hours of planning, experimenting, cutting, clearing, and adapting along the way.     

Sometimes the trailblazer is driven by an obsessive need to see where the trail can go.  To see what lies over the next hill, or around the next bend.  Others visualize how their trail will be enjoyed for years (decades?) to come. 

While their motivations may differ, the result is often the same.  A path that seems to have always been, enjoyed by countless people who may never stop to wonder how it got there. 

For those who wonder, the trail offers something more than just a route.  It’s a reminder that someone, somewhere, once walked an untamed path and decided it was worth carving a trail for those who’d come later. 

Photo by Judy Beth Morris on Unsplash

The Ripples We Leave Behind

“No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away, until the clock wound up winds down, until the wine she made has finished its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of someone’s life is only the core of their actual existence.” 

– Terry Pratchett, Source: Reaper Man (h/t – James Clear)

Every so often, we’re reminded of our mortality…especially as we get older and face the loss of loved ones, both young and old. 

Truly, it’s a matter of time for each of us.  Not an if, but a when. 

I appreciated seeing this quote today. 

It’s a reminder of the enduring mark we leave on others.  Far beyond the days we live, we influence the lives we touch, leaving lasting impressions.  

A tribute to those we’ve lost and how they continue to be with us.  Our memories of them, the lessons they teach us, their legacy of connections.  All of it remains and echoes in our conversations, our thoughts, our choices, and even in the way we approach the rest of our life.    

We are here only briefly, but we’re each given the opportunity to plant seeds.  Seeds that, in time, may bear fruit for others long after we’re gone.    

A gentle reminder to make sure that our legacy is a positive one, filled with love, wisdom, and warmth.

So the ripples of our lives continue to inspire and uplift those we leave behind.

Photo by zhang kaiyv on Unsplash

Leaving on Time, the Next Higher Gear, and Traction: A few lessons Uncle Denby taught me

Most of my childhood outside of school is a blur of off-road riding and racing (and lots of water skiing, but that’s another story).

We were either preparing to ride, camping in the desert to ride, racing in the desert (although I didn’t race nearly as much as everyone else), or providing pit support for others who were racing.

By the time I was about 10 years old, Uncle Denby (my dad’s younger brother) had become a serious racer in Baja.  By the time I was about to enter high school, he was racing for Team Honda in Baja.  The Hilltoppers, the motorcycle club my dad and Uncle Denby belonged to (that I’d join a little later) put on annual Grand Prix races in Rosarito Beach. 

Between the Baja racing, pre-running trips, adventure riding to Mike’s Sky Ranch and San Felipe, and numerous trips to Rosarito Beach to set up the race each year, we were in Baja a lot.  I remember watching the Dallas “who shot JR” episode on a small television in a hotel bar in Rosarito Beach.

All of this meant I got to ride with Uncle Denby regularly.  He was always ready.  His bike was perfectly tuned.  His gear was impeccably organized.  He was dialed in.  He expected everyone around him to be as dialed in as he was. 

For most Baja rides, we had a scheduled time for departure.  Maybe at first light, or 7:30am.  To Uncle Denby, this meant we’d be putting our bikes in gear and leaving at the scheduled departure time.  Not putting gas in our bikes, trying to find our goggles, or figuring out why our backpack wouldn’t fit right.  He’d say, “Do all of that on your own time.  If you need an hour to get ready, wake up early and get it done.” 

Since I rarely knew where we were going, and Uncle Denby was usually leading the way, I quickly learned to be fully ready with my bike idling at departure time.  I operate this way today, even though I haven’t ridden a motorcycle in decades. 

Whoops are a fact of life in off-road riding.  These are undulations in the trail caused by countless vehicles digging a little bit of dirt and relocating it to the top of the whoop behind it as they race by.  Certain sections of the California desert where we used to ride are notorious for miles of 2-3 foot (or larger) whoops.  Sections of Baja are similarly whooped-out. 

I struggled with whoops.  I don’t know anyone who likes riding whoops, but some people can fly through them.  That wasn’t me.  Lucky for me, Uncle Denby happened to come up behind me in a whoop section.  He had stopped to help someone else, so I and many others in our group got ahead of him on the trail.  Once he was back on his bike, it didn’t take him long to catch me.    

This time, he didn’t pass.  He stayed behind me for a couple of miles.  Then he rolled on the throttle and went right by me, smooth as ever.  When we regrouped for gas a while later, he came over and asked me what gear I was in when he came past.  I was in third gear, maybe three-quarter throttle. 

He said I was riding in too low of a gear.  I needed to work on riding the next higher gear if I wanted to find a smooth way through the whoops.  He told me he was watching me ride and getting exhausted for me.  He could tell that I was working way too hard.  Moving to the next higher gear at half-throttle would get me on top of the whoops with more speed and reduce my workload on the bike. 

None of this was obvious to me, but second nature to Uncle Denby.  Later that day, we came up to another (shorter) section of whoops.  I eased into fourth gear and carried a lot more smoothness into the section.  The whoops were still challenging, but not nearly as hard as before…and I was moving at a much higher pace.  I was conserving energy and riding faster (and safer) by clicking up one gear.

Something else about that next higher gear…traction.  Ride in too low of a gear, especially on a two-stroke, and your back tire has a tough time staying stuck to the ground.  Forward motion is all about smooth and consistent traction.  If your power isn’t making it to the ground, you’re not moving.  A spinning rear tire isn’t taking you anywhere.  Everything is working hard, but nothing is happening. 

We had another riding day, this time out on the Rosarito Beach Grand Prix course.  We rode most of the loop together.  The course had lots of high-speed sections and fast turns.  We were having a great time, riding wheel-to-wheel.  Obviously, he could have left me in the dust, but he pushed me at my pace and showed me how to brake before the turns, and then accelerate out to maintain the most speed and control. 

Yet another aspect of traction.  No traction, no turning.  If you’re on the brakes in the turn, you don’t have the same traction and control as you do if you’re accelerating out of the top of the turn.  Timing when to get off the gas, when to brake, and when to accelerate made all the difference in the world. 

Something else Uncle Denby taught me that day.

I was sad to hear that Uncle Denby passed away last night.  He battled a tough disease for quite some time.

I will always treasure the lessons he taught me.  He probably thought he was teaching his nephew how to ride a motorcycle faster and smoother. 

But he was really teaching me how to dial myself in, how to find the next gear, and how to maintain proper traction in all situations.

Godspeed, Uncle Denby, and thank you for riding with me.

It’s Up to You

Consider all the things that are up to you:

  • Your mood when you wake up.  Waking up on the wrong side of the bed is your choice.  You alone decide how you’ll approach each new day.
  • Your morning routine.  What’s included or excluded?  How much time are you providing for yourself in the morning?  Are you rushing, or welcoming the day at the pace of your choosing?    
  • The tone of interactions you have with others.  Are you smiling when you’re talking (whether in person or by phone)?  Are you looking for faults in others, or the good in others?  The energy you bring is your choice.
  • Your career choice.  Unhappy at work?  What are you doing to change it?  Are you changing your situation, or just complaining.  Not sure if you should work in your chosen profession?  What are you doing to figure it out?  If this profession isn’t for you, what concrete steps are you taking to prepare to work in another profession?  You decide all of it.
  • Whether you choose to manage your day, or let it manage you.
  • The places you visit and frequent.
  • Your hobbies.  Do you even have a hobby, or are you too “busy” for anything that brings you joy or peace outside of work? 
  • Your friends.  Are they lifting you up or bringing you down?  Jim Rohn said, “You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.”  Choose wisely.
  • The organizations you choose to join or support.

This list only scratches the surface. 

It’s easiest to let someone, or something, else make the decisions for you.  But remember—choosing not to decide is a decision, and you own it.    

So, what kind of day will you have?  What kind of life will you live? 

It’s up to you.   

Photo by Eric Prouzet on Unsplash

Commitment Leads to Fulfillment

Zig Ziglar once said, “It was character that got us out of bed, commitment that moved us into action, and discipline that enabled us to follow through.”

This perfectly describes the driver of true achievement. It’s not just the initial desire or excitement that propel us, but the dedication to stick with something until the end.

I accidentally saw this idea come to life during a recent road trip.  I stopped by a taco shop.  It happened to be near a beach and was clearly a popular local destination.  The tacos were excellent, but that’s not the point of this story.

As I sat on the patio eating my carnitas tacos and enjoying the view, I couldn’t help overhearing a conversation at the table that less than two feet away.  Two early-twenties (by my estimation) men were talking about how amazing the surfing had been earlier that morning. 

I got from the conversation that they had been surfing together since they were teenagers and this morning’s session was a long-overdue reunion of sorts since they hadn’t surfed together in quite some time. 

One of them made a comment that stuck with me: “Surfing is the only time I’m really alive. I know what I’m doing and can feel the water telling me what to do. I wish I could get that kind of fulfillment out of the rest of my life. I feel like I’m just wandering around, waiting until I can surf again.”

It wasn’t long before his friend responded, “I know what you mean. I’ve had to settle down these past couple of years. I got a dog, and it’s been a lot of responsibility, but he’s amazing. He loves the beach, so I take him there as often as I can.”

Then came the real kicker. The first guy, the “wandering” one, responded, “Maybe that’s something I should do. I can’t get motivated at work and just want to quit. Maybe getting a dog would help me commit to the work.”

He used an extremely important word—commit. It was evident these two men are deeply committed to surfing. It’s their passion, and it gives them a sense of fulfillment that’s absent in other areas of their lives. Surfing isn’t something they merely do—it is something they live for. But beyond surfing, they lack the same kind of dedication. Their passion for the sport brings them joy because they are fully invested in it, heart and soul.

The wandering friend’s dilemma isn’t uncommon. Many people struggle with finding motivation in their daily lives.  They haven’t truly committed to something that extends beyond their comfort zone or personal hobbies. They desire fulfillment without realizing that commitment is often their missing link.

It was as though this young man had stumbled upon the key to unlocking motivation and purpose: he needed to commit. Whether it is work, relationships, or another area of his life, the power to find meaning and fulfillment can only come from his willingness to fully invest in something.

Goethe once said, “At the moment of commitment, the entire universe conspires to assist you.” This idea aligns with the realization that real fulfillment only comes from investing fully in what we do. When we are all in, we aren’t just going through the motions—we are owning the process, taking charge of the outcome, and continually working toward our goals.

The wandering surfer may never have thought about his job as something worth committing to. To him, it was just a means to an end, something he had to do so he could afford to spend time doing what he really wanted—to surf. But if he can shift his mindset and fully invest in his work with the same passion and dedication he gives to surfing, the fulfillment he seeks might not seem so elusive.

Fulfillment doesn’t come from merely reaching a goal or winning a trophy. As Cardinal Pell put it, “Commitment to a worthwhile goal brings fulfillment and meaning, even if the path is difficult.” The true joy and deep sense of satisfaction come from the commitment itself—the effort, discipline, and perseverance that drive us toward our goal.

If you’re handed a trophy without having worked for it, it’s meaningless. You know deep down that you didn’t earn it, didn’t push through the challenges, didn’t grow in the process. But if you earn that trophy through your own hard work and dedication, it’s a symbol of something far greater than the achievement—it’s proof of your commitment.

In the end, what we commit to is what brings meaning to our lives. Whether it’s our relationships, our careers, or even something as personal as surfing, the act of giving our all, of pushing through the hard times, is what fills us with a sense of purpose.

The wandering surfer wasn’t lost because he lacked passion; he was lost because he hadn’t fully committed to anything beyond the waves.

To truly live a fulfilling life, we must commit wholeheartedly. When we do, we’ll find that the truest sense of fulfillment comes from the dedication and growth that only commitment can bring.

Photo by Blake Hunter on Unsplash

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back…

Is still progress.

Pick any project—it doesn’t matter if it’s something you’ve assigned to yourself or something your boss has given you. It could be a huge, long-term project, or something that should take less than a week.

Chances are, that project will turn out to be harder than expected.  It will require effort that nobody saw during the planning process (whether planning consisted of a 5-minute conversation, or a multi-month series of meetings and discussions). 

Here’s something else about projects: even when we’re given full ownership, most of us will try to find ways to make sure we’re not fully responsible for the outcome.

But no matter what, the project remains. We own it. We also own the goal of getting it done right.

“The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.” – Chinese Proverb

Progress is made through consistent effort, one step at a time. Then another. Then another. It’s the steps toward the goal that matter, almost as much as the goal itself. 

What if some of the steps we take are the wrong ones?  What if we have to go back and redo some of our work?  What if somebody sees us make mistakes along the way?

Each of these are (almost) guaranteed to happen. 

Embrace it.  Learn from it.  Carry on.

Keep stepping forward.  Learn along the way and give yourself permission to take a step (or two) back from time to time. 

The progress you’re making is the reward.    

Photo by NEOM on Unsplash

You Can’t Delegate Your Influence

A professional manager understands that managing is an active role. It requires proactive effort, not just sitting back and overseeing tasks. A good manager knows how to delegate responsibility and authority. It’s a key skill that helps multiply their impact and develop the next generation of leaders.

There’s no shortage of books and articles that dive deeply into the art of delegation. Many are worth reading and putting into practice. But here’s the thing: no matter how much you delegate, you can’t delegate your influence. That personal touch—the way you listen, share your perspective, and guide the conversation—is something only you can bring to the table.

Managers have a unique viewpoint. They understand the critical questions facing the organization in a way others often don’t. Their value lies in their ability to communicate directly, to really hear what’s being said (and often what isn’t), and to guide the organization toward the right path. That’s what makes their influence so crucial.

Now, picture this: a manager sends one of their team members to a meeting with internal customers. The goal? For the subordinate to represent the manager’s ability to listen, understand, and guide the discussion. Sure, it can work if that person has full decision-making authority and can make agreements that hold the manager accountable. But that’s rarely the case.

So, we come back to the reality: a manager has to prioritize where they spend their time and energy, making sure they’re showing up where their influence is most needed. It’s not just about sitting in meetings or making decisions on the fly—it’s about really understanding the dynamics in play, both spoken and unspoken.

A manager’s influence over the direction of projects, processes, and people can’t be handed off. At best, subordinates can carry a “shadow” of that influence. It might get the job done, but it’s not likely to push the organization in the bold direction it needs to go.

In the end, while delegation is a powerful tool, influence is personal. And if you’re serious about leading, you need to make sure you’re showing up where it counts.

Photo by Katja Anokhina on Unsplash

The Strangeness of September

As a kid, September marked the end of summer’s glorious freedom and the start of another school year. Truth is, by mid-August, all the kids on my street were getting bored and restless, ready for something new.

My birthday is in September. But because it coincided with back-to-school season, my presents were school clothes. Useful, yes, but hardly the exciting stuff of childhood fantasies. My brother, whose birthday is also in September, was in the same boat—more school clothes. Still, it usually meant two cakes in one month, which always felt like a win.

Fast forward to adulthood.  September takes on a new meaning, especially if you own or run a business. It’s the last month of the third quarter—the point where you should have a pretty good idea if your business is on track for the year. Strategic planning for next year is underway — the annual cycle never stops. Little time to pause and reflect.  There’s always a new deadline, a new target. September is less about questions and more about answers and execution.

Then life throws in its own strange layers. In 2019, my father passed away on my birthday. A heavy twist of fate that turned my annual day of celebration into something far more complicated. In a strange twist of symmetry, last year, my mom died on my brother’s birthday.

Now, both of our birthdays are marked not just by the passage of time, but by the memories of losing our parents, their passing dates forever linked to our birth dates.

September marks the birth of my oldest son-in-law, my youngest daughter (32 years ago tomorrow), and one of our eight grandchildren (also tomorrow).  Lots of celebrating and gift giving…and some ice cream, of course.

All of it adds up to a certain strangeness in September for me—a month of beginnings and of endings. A mix of personal milestones and bittersweet memories.

p/c – Blessing Ri on Unsplash

Why Manners Matter

“Manners are of more importance than laws. Upon them, in a great measure, the laws depend. The law touches us but here and there, and now and then. Manners are what vex or soothe, corrupt or purify, exalt or debase, barbarize or refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible operation, like that of the air we breathe in.” – Edmund Burke

-Why do we say Please and Thank You? 

-Why do we hold the door for the next person? 

-Why do we show respect for our elders? 

-Why don’t we interrupt someone when they’re speaking (at least, most of the time)?

Mostly because we were taught these behaviors by our parents, or someone in authority, when we were growing up.  We may have learned by being told explicitly, or by watching others that we admire acting in these ways. 

As Burke points out, manners are more important than laws.  They are fundamental in establishing the boundaries of our behavior, of integrating us within our community.

Manners show our respect for those around us.  They create a standard for how we work with others.    

Consider the manners (customs) that are in play where you work.  It doesn’t matter if you work in construction, nursing, information technology, or any other field.  If you work with people (which you always do whether they are your co-workers, your customers, or both), your manner of behavior will be critical to your success. Good manners create a positive environment, build strong relationships, and foster a culture of respect and professionalism.

Since we are creatures of habit, it’s easy to establish either a habit for lacking manners, or for having them.  The disciplined decision to operate your life within the bounds of good manners is a decision that will pay consistent dividends.  Good manners can be the foundation for a disciplined approach across all areas of your life.  When we are polite and considerate, we remind ourselves of our values and our commitment to treating others (and ourselves) with dignity.

The simple act of saying “Please” and “Thank You” (and meaning it) shows our vulnerability to others, and at the same time, our appreciation for what they have done for us.  Powerful ways to remind us of our humility and gratitude many times each day. 

Edmund Burke observed, “Example is the school of mankind, and they will learn at no other.”  Our behavior and proper manners will be a teacher to those around us, whether we intend it or not.  Our actions, grounded in good manners, can inspire those around us to adopt similar behaviors.

It’s easy for each new generation to look at the rules and traditions of prior generations (manners) as archaic, overly formalized, and irrelevant in their “new modern era.”   They may rationalize away the need for good manners on this basis.  However, dismissing the importance of manners can lead to a breakdown in social cohesion. Our challenge is to adapt the principles to modern contexts while preserving the core values of respect and consideration.

Manners are a timeless currency that never loses value—so spend them generously and watch how rich life can become.

p/c Robert Collins on Unsplash

Process Over Outcome — The True Value of Life’s Challenges

The year spent training for a triathlon isn’t just about race day.  It’s about the discipline, endurance, and self-discovery that come with each mile ran, every beach swim, and each grueling mile logged on the bike.  The race is the goal, but the transformation to triathlete happens during the journey to the starting line. 

What about Basic Training for the Marine Corps (something I haven’t personally experienced)?  Recruits aren’t merely learning the basic skills they’ll need to be successful.  They are becoming something entirely new…a Marine. The recruit is transformed into a Marine by the training process.   

Consider a four-year college degree.  It’s been said (not sure who said it first) that the main thing a recruiter learns about a college graduate is that they had to apply themselves adequately over a four (or five, or six) year period to get enough class credits to graduate in their chosen major. Each college graduates’ journey is different, and that journey is often as valuable as the classes they had to take to get their degree.  

Even smaller experiences like a short hike, a long drive to visit family, or a phone call with a friend can offer more than just their immediate outcomes. They can provide moments of reflection, connection, and growth.

Life’s experiences are not just a series of goals to be checked off or memories to be cherished.

When we learn to enjoy the process and the lessons along the way, we gain something far more valuable: growth, understanding, and the ability to appreciate the transforming power of our journey.

 Photo by Matt Howard on Unsplash