The first version of almost anything is an act of discovery. We’re learning in real time, usually without understanding what we’re building. We don’t yet know which parts will matter, which ones deserve less attention, or where the challenges are.
The first version is shaped by assumptions. Some accurate, others incomplete. It’s often held together by optimism and a willingness to learn as we go.
The first generation isn’t meant to be polished or permanent. Its purpose is proof of life.
Does this idea work at all? Do we enjoy pursuing it? Is there something here worth continuing once the novelty fades?
Many ideas never move beyond that first stage. Excitement gives way to routine. Maintenance enters the picture. It’s decision time.
Is this something I’m willing to own, or was I simply exploring an interesting possibility?
If the answer leans toward exploration alone, the idea stalls, usually forever. It never makes the leap from curiosity to commitment.
That leap matters.
William Hutchison Murray said it well, “Until one is committed, there is hesitancy…the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too.”
The second generation begins at that moment of commitment.
If we choose to begin version two, everything changes.
We’re no longer experimenting or learning if this idea works. We’re deciding that it matters enough to carry forward.
We’re operating with experience now. We’ve seen where effort was misdirected and where the momentum came from. We understand which details carry lasting value and which ones only seemed important at first.
More importantly, we own it now.
That’s why the second generation feels heavier. The weight of responsibility belongs to us. We know too much to pretend otherwise.
An idea that survives long enough to earn a second version has already passed an important test. It has encountered reality and endured.
The first generation asks whether something can exist. The second generation answers whether it should continue.
From there, our work evolves. Spontaneous ideation turns into direction. The purpose becomes clearer than the feature set. Identity begins to emerge.
This is how we do it. This is what matters. This is what we’re willing to stand behind.
The second generation is the foundation for everything that follows…far more than the first. It establishes patterns, standards, and expectations for what comes next.
Tackling version one takes courage. But finishing that version is only part of the journey.
The deeper test lies in beginning again. This time with clearer eyes, better judgment, and full ownership of what we’re building.
We move from discovering what we could build to owning what’s truly worth building.
New platforms arrive. Old tools fade. Processes are reworked. Skills must evolve.
In that sense, disruption has long been part of the job description.
Software developers create new and improved tools. They streamline workflows. They automate tasks that once required entire teams. Over time, they have reshaped and disrupted how work gets done across nearly every industry.
This pattern has been in place for decades.
For software developers, something different is happening now.
With the arrival of AI-assisted development tools, including systems like Anthropic’s Claude Code, disruption has begun to turn inward. These tools are reshaping how developers approach their own work.
For many in the profession, this feels unfamiliar.
Software development continues, but the definition and details of the role are shifting. Tasks that once required sustained manual effort can now be generated, refactored, tested, and explained with remarkable speed.
A developer who once spent an afternoon writing API integration code might now spend fifteen minutes directing an AI to produce it, followed by an hour reviewing edge cases and security implications. The center of gravity moves toward judgment and direction rather than execution and production.
When job roles experience disruption, responses tend to follow predictable patterns. Some people dismiss the change as temporary or overhyped. Others push back, trying to protect familiar and comfortable ways of working. Still others approach the change with curiosity and engagement, interested in how new capabilities can expand what’s possible.
Intent Makes the Difference
An important distinction often gets overlooked when discussing pushbacks.
Some resistance grows from denial. It spends energy cataloging flaws, defending established workflows, or hoping new tools disappear. That approach drains effort without shaping new outcomes. It preserves little and teaches even less.
Other forms of resistance grow from professional judgment.
Experienced developers often notice risks that early enthusiasm misses. Fragile abstractions, security gaps, maintenance burdens, and failures that appear only at scale become visible through lived experience. When developers raise concerns in the service of quality, safety, and long-term viability, their input strengthens the eventual solution. This kind of resistance shapes progress rather than attempting to stop it.
The most effective developers recognize this shift and respond deliberately. They move away from opposing new tools and toward advocating for their effective use. They ask better questions. They redesign workflows. They establish guardrails. They apply experience where judgment continues to matter.
In doing so, they follow the same guidance developers have offered others for years.
Embrace new tools. Continually re-engineer how work gets done. Move upstream toward problem framing, system design, and decision-making.
Greater Emphasis on Judgment
AI generates code with increasing competence. Decisions about what should be built, which tradeoffs make sense, and how systems must evolve over time still require human judgment. As automation accelerates, these responsibilities grow more visible and more critical.
This opportunity in front of developers calls for leadership.
Developers who work fluently with these tools, guide their thoughtful adoption, and help their teams and organizations navigate the transition become trusted guides through change. Their leadership shows up in practical ways:
-pairing new capabilities with healthy skepticism
-putting review processes in place to catch subtle errors
-mentoring junior developers in how to evaluate results rather than simply generating them
-exercising judgment to prioritize tasks that benefit most from automation
Disruption has always been part of the work.
The open question is whether we meet disruption as participants, or step forward as guides.
Over the last 15 years, I’ve written a lot of words.
Words shaped by work and leadership challenges.
Words that grew out of quiet reflection or things that caught my attention at just the right moment.
Many of them were also shaped by family, faith, mistakes, and moments that stayed with me longer than I expected.
More than a few people have suggested I start a podcast. They’d tell me it’s a lot easier to listen than it is to keep up with a bunch of new reading assignments each week.
While my mom was still alive and living with significant vision loss from macular degeneration, I gave the idea serious thought. Listening would have been the only practical way for her to “read” my posts.
Unfortunately, that “serious thought” didn’t turn into action in time for her to benefit.
Ironically, for someone who usually believes in starting, then figuring things out along the way, I let all the steps required to set up a podcast get in the way of beginning.
Until now.
So today, I’m launching a new podcast:
Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership
This podcast is a series of short reflections on leadership, life, and learning. I’m sharing them first and foremost with my grandchildren…and with anyone else who might be listening in.
The episodes are intentionally brief, thoughtful, and unhurried.
They’re the kind of reflections you can listen to on a walk, during a quiet drive, or at the start or end of your day.
They’re meant to create space, not fill it.
Who it’s for
At its heart, this podcast is for my grandkids.
Someday, years from now, I want them to be able to hear my voice and know what mattered to me.
The things I noticed. What I learned the hard way. What I hope they carry with them as they find their own way in the world.
But leadership lessons rarely belong to just one audience.
So, if you’re listening, as a parent, a leader, a teacher, or simply someone trying to live well, you’re welcome here too.
What we’ll talk about
Each episode explores a simple idea. Here are some examples:
-Showing up when progress feels slow
-Letting go of certainty
-Choosing gratitude over entitlement
-Learning to wait without drifting
-Leading with trust, humility, and patience
-Paying attention to what’s quietly shaping us
There won’t be hype. There won’t be slogans. There certainly won’t be any fancy edits.
I’ll discuss questions worth talking about, and observations a loving grandfather hopes to pass along to his grandkids.
An invitation
You can find Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership wherever you listen to podcasts.
Don’t worry if you can’t listen to every episode.
Please feel free to disagree with anything I say. I don’t have a monopoly on the right answers.
If even one episode helps you pause, notice something new, or steady yourself a little, then it’s doing what it was meant to do.
Thanks for listening.
And if you’re one of my grandkids reading this someday, know that I believe in you and I’m always rooting for you.
If you’re listening alongside them, the same is true for you.
As we enter 2026, it’s tempting to look for a new system, a better plan, or the perfect moment to begin.
Most of the time, the real answer is simpler.
Just show up.
The secret to progress isn’t brilliance or motivation. It isn’t certainty or confidence. It’s presence.
Show up every day. Show up when it’s easy. Show up when it’s uncomfortable. Show up when you don’t know what comes next.
Show up and be present. Show up and handle your business. Show up and figure it out as you go. Show up for the people you love. Show up for the work that matters. Show up for yourself.
When you’re unsure what to do next, don’t overthink it. Show up and take the next step. Clarity usually follows movement.
The alternative is standing down. Waiting. Drifting. Quietly giving up ground you were meant to claim.
You’re stronger than that.
Progress is rarely dramatic. It’s built through consistency. Through ordinary days stacked on top of each other. Choosing to show up when no one is watching.
The hard things happen because you showed up. The meaningful things happen because you stayed. The impossible things only happen when you refuse to disappear.
There’s another truth hidden in showing up.
When you show up, you give others permission to do the same. Your presence becomes proof. Your consistency becomes encouragement. People notice. They realize they can take the next step too.
So how do you crush your goals in 2026?
You don’t wait for the perfect plan. You don’t wait to feel ready.
You show up. You make it happen.
Because that’s what you do. And this is how things get done.
We turn it over in our head. We ask a few more questions. We look for one more data point. We check with another person whose opinion we respect. We wait for the timing to feel right.
And still, we hesitate.
We tell ourselves we need more information. More time. More certainty.
Indecision usually grows from very human places. Fear of being wrong. Fear of being blamed. Fear of choosing a path that can’t be undone. Fear of embarrassment.
Add decision fatigue to the mix and postponement starts to feel reasonable.
Meanwhile, the cost of waiting accumulates quietly. Teams stall. Momentum fades. Confidence erodes. What began as a thoughtful pause turns into drift.
Most leadership decisions are made without perfect information. Progress rarely waits for certainty.
So, what is our hesitation really telling us?
Sometimes, it’s a clear no. A request pulls us away from what matters most. We don’t like what we see, but we’re not sure why. Maybe a partnership doesn’t sit right with our values. In these moments, extended thinking isn’t searching for clarity. It’s searching for a way to explain our decision.
Other times, we hesitate because the decision stretches us. It introduces uncertainty. It raises our visibility. It asks more of us than we feel ready to give. Growth decisions usually feel uncomfortable before they feel right.
At some point, the data stops improving and the waiting stops helping.
Start small. Take a step that tests the decision rather than locking it in. Forward motion reveals new information…something thinking alone can’t.
A decision that turns out to be wrong isn’t failure.
It’s feedback.
And feedback points us toward our next decision.
“Whenever you see a successful business, someone once made a courageous decision.” — Peter F. Drucker
Photo by ChatGPT’s new image generator, which is way better than prior versions of the tool.
One of the best parts of the Iron Man movies is Jarvis, the ever-present AI system that acts as an extension of Tony Stark’s mind. Jarvis is a collaborator. A research analyst. A pattern finder. A problem solver. He handles logistics, runs calculations, surfaces insights, and stays ready in the background until Tony needs him.
Jarvis amplifies and extends Tony’s genius.
Recently, I introduced a friend to ChatGPT. He hasn’t jumped into any AI tools yet, but he can see that people around him are finding real value in them. Like many thoughtful people, his first questions weren’t about features. They were about data privacy. About whether these tools were simply repackaging other people’s work. About what was really going on under the hood.
At one point, he asked a simple question:
Is it like having Jarvis around whenever you need him?
To me, the honest answer is yes.
But it’s also important to realize that Jarvis isn’t perfect. And neither are the AI tools available to us today.
The First Questions Matter. Almost every serious conversation about AI tools begins in the same place.
Is my data safe?
Who owns the output?
Can I trust what I’m getting back?
These are the same questions we ask whenever a new digital tool emerges.
At a basic level, paid versions of tools like ChatGPT don’t use our conversations to train public models. Even with that protection in place, I still guard my data carefully. If I’m asking questions related to finances, health, or legal matters, I use hypothetical scenarios rather than personal specifics. I’m the first line of defense when it comes to my personal information.
In professional and commercial environments, organizations using business or enterprise versions gain additional protections around data isolation, encryption, access controls, and audit logging. At the enterprise level, some platforms even allow customers to manage their own encryption keys on top of the platform’s security.
The tool doesn’t decide what’s appropriate to share. We do.
Who Owns the Output? We do. The tool doesn’t claim authorship. It doesn’t retain ownership of what it produces for you. The output becomes yours because you directed the work, supplied the context, and decided how the result would be used.
But ownership is only part of the story. Responsibility matters just as much.
The tool doesn’t know your intent. It doesn’t understand your audience. And it doesn’t bear the consequences of getting something wrong. That responsibility stays with the human in the loop. That’s us.
In that sense, using AI isn’t fundamentally different from working with many other analytical tools we may have used for decades. The work becomes yours because you shape it, refine it, and ultimately stand behind it.
A Note on Sources and Attribution. Owning the output also means owning the responsibility for its accuracy and integrity. This is especially important when it comes to research and citations.
AI tools can pull together large volumes of information, synthesize ideas across many inputs, and present them in clean, compelling language. That capability is incredibly useful. But it doesn’t remove the author’s responsibility to understand where ideas come from and how they’re represented.
The tool may summarize research. It may surface commonly known concepts. It may produce language that sounds authoritative and polished. What it doesn’t guarantee is proper attribution or assurance that content isn’t too closely mirroring a specific source.
That responsibility stays with the human.
When I use AI for research or writing, I treat it as a starting point. I ask it to surface each source. I follow links. I read original material. And when an idea, quote, or framework belongs to someone else, I make sure it’s credited appropriately. This step also helps catch hallucinations that sound amazingly accurate.
Ownership requires standing behind the integrity of the work to the best of your ability.
Can I Trust What I’m Getting Back? Usually. Only with supervision. AI tools are very good at consuming information, identifying patterns, and accelerating first drafts. They are less reliable when precision, nuance, or real-world verification is required.
They can be confidently wrong. They can lose context. They can blend accurate information with outdated or incomplete details.
AI tools hallucinate regularly, though this tendency improves with each new model release. These aren’t reasons to dismiss AI as a tool. They’re reminders to understand what AI is and what it isn’t.
Trust paired with skepticism is the right approach. AI tools are fast-thinking assistants, never the final authority.
Verification still matters. Judgment still matters. Experience still matters. In fact, the better your judgment, the more valuable these tools become.
Why Memory Changes the Equation. Most people use AI tools like a smart search engine. Ask a question. Get an answer. Move on.
That works. But it barely scratches the surface of what’s possible. The real multiplier happens when the tool is allowed to remember context.
ChatGPT includes a memory capability that lets you intentionally store preferences, patterns, and reference material across conversations. Used well, this transforms the tool from something you query into something you can collaborate with.
Over the past year and across hundreds of prompt conversations, I’ve shared:
-My writing voice and stylistic preferences
-A digital copy of a leadership book I wrote over a decade ago (about 65,000 words)
-An autobiography I wrote for my children and grandchildren (about 90,000 words)
-Hundreds of blog posts published over the past 13 years (roughly 240,000 words)
-How I like to structure projects and approach new work
In total, I’ve trained the tool with nearly 400,000 words of my original content. This began as an experiment to see if I could reduce generic responses and encourage the tool to approach questions from my foundational perspective.
The difference is tangible. Early on, whether I was drafting communication, analyzing problems, or organizing ideas, the tool would produce polished but generic output that required extensive rewriting. Now, it reflects my priorities, uses frameworks I’ve shared, and produces work that feels aligned with how I think. I still edit quite a bit, but I’m refining rather than rebuilding.
Collaboration Requires Judgment. My friend asked me another important question.
Do you still feel like the writing you produce with it is yours?
Yes. Completely.
Every project I’ve worked on with these tools begins with my original content, reinforced by reference material I created long before AI entered the picture. Hundreds of thousands of words written over more than a decade. Clear intent about audience and purpose, using a defined process I’ve established before drafting anything.
The tool supports rather than replaces my judgment. Drafts usually require significant edits, shifts in tone, and sometimes complete rewrites.
Where it excels is in synthesis. In retrieval. In pattern recognition across large bodies of work. In accelerating first drafts that already have direction.
Large projects require constant supervision. Threads get crossed. Context gets muddled. The tool needs redirection, clarification, and sometimes retraining as the work evolves.
This is simply the nature of collaboration.
Why the Hype Misses the Point. There’s a popular narrative circulating that anyone can now write a book, write a complex software application, create a website, start a business, or become an expert with just a few well-written prompts.
This misunderstands both the tools and the craft associated with each of these tasks.
I think of AI the way I think of a great camera. We can all buy the same equipment. That doesn’t guarantee an amazing photo. The quality still depends on the eye behind the lens, the patience and skills to frame the shot, and the willingness to edit ruthlessly afterward.
Ansel Adams once said that asking him what camera he used was like asking a writer what typewriter he used. The tool matters. But it has never been the point.
The same is true with AI tools.
Without intent, taste, and care, straight AI output feels flat and formulaic. Readers will notice. Substance can’t be faked. Depth doesn’t appear by accident.
These tools reflect the discipline of the person using them.
Hitting the Ground Running. For someone just getting started, the biggest mistake is expecting magic. The better approach is to build understanding and training into the process (for you and the AI tool).
Explain what you’re trying to do.
Tell the tool how you think.
Correct it when it’s wrong.
Guide it when it drifts.
Treat it like a junior collaborator. One that’s fast, tireless, and remarkably capable…but still dependent on direction and context.
If you’re looking for a practical first step, try this. Find an article you’ve read recently and ask the tool to summarize it. Compare that summary to the original. Notice what it captured, what it missed, and what it misunderstood. This simple exercise reveals both the tool’s strengths and its limitations in a low-stakes way.
From there, you might ask it to help you draft an email, outline a presentation, or brainstorm solutions to a problem you’re facing. Start with tasks where you can easily evaluate the quality of the output and provide feedback on what the tool provides.
Over time, you’ll notice the quality improves. That’s when the tool begins to resemble the Jarvis we imagined. It isn’t perfect, but it becomes more aligned with what you value most and how you like to approach your work. At the same time, your understanding of its strengths and limitations becomes clearer through consistent use.
AI doesn’t replace thinking. It requires it.
Used carelessly, it produces noise. Used deliberately, it sharpens your insights.
The question is whether we’re willing to slow down at the beginning, set expectations, and engage AI tools with proper intention.
Only then can these tools truly serve us well.
Photo by Chris Haws on Unsplash – photographers often say, “It’s about the photographer, not the camera.”
If this post was helpful, please feel free to share it.
Some leaders wear the line outside their door like a badge of honor. People waiting with questions, approvals, decisions.
It feels like proof of trust. Proof of competence. Proof of necessity. If the team can’t move forward without your judgment, surely that means you are at the center of the work.
In many ways, you are.
But there’s a second truth hidden inside that scene. When every decision depends on you, you become the one point your organization can’t outrun.
The line reveals the fragility that forms when decisions stay in one place instead of growing across the organization.
At a certain level of responsibility, leadership effectiveness isn’t measured by the number of good decisions you make. It’s measured by whether the organization can make good decisions without you having to approve each one.
Leadership at this level is staying at the wheel while helping others learn to steer.
High-pressure operators know instinctively that a bad decision leaves a mark. A slow decision leaves a gap. Most organizations struggle more with waiting than with trying. That line at your door, day after day, is the quiet proof. The whole operation can only move as fast as the person at the center of its decisions.
There’s a time in every leader’s career when the instinct to take control is the right one. When the team is inexperienced, when stakes are high, when the risk is real and present, you become the center of gravity because someone has to be.
But later, if the business grows and the structure doesn’t change, this habit of control becomes limiting. What protected the organization early can start to quietly cap its potential, because your bandwidth is finite.
There’s a moment when the senior leader’s job shifts from “Do we have the right answer today?”to “Will we have the right judgment tomorrow?”
That shift feels slow. It feels inefficient. It feels like a luxury.
It isn’t.
It’s a protective move.
Teaching someone how to make a decision can feel like taking the long way around the problem. You could make the call in 30 seconds. Walking someone through the context and reasoning might take half an hour.
It’s natural to skip teaching and just decide. It feels faster. And today, it is.
But tomorrow it isn’t. Because they come back with the next decision. And the next. And the line gets longer.
Here’s a simple practice that changes the arc of your relationship without exposing the business to risk. When someone comes to you with a decision, don’t give the answer first. Ask them, “What would you do?”
You’re not surrendering the decision. You’re building their capacity to make it. You’re seeing how they think. You’re catching errors before they matter. You’re adding the perspective that builds judgment.
It is controlled delegation, not abandonment. Nothing is handed off recklessly.
When someone brings an answer that is close to right, you supply the context they don’t have, and then you say something specific and concrete:
“Next time this situation comes up, you can make that decision.”
Not in general. Not theoretically. For this exact decision, with a shared understanding of why it works.
Over time, the pattern shifts. Fewer decisions reach you. The ones that do are larger, higher consequence, more strategic. The team develops in the shadow of your reasoning, not separate from it. And the bench of judgment widens beneath you.
This is what protects the business from single-threaded leadership. Not a gesture toward empowerment, but a strategy of risk reduction.
Leaders don’t become less important by creating decision-makers. They become less fragile.
The organization becomes capable of sound judgment when you’re not there. The most durable form of control a leader creates.
If the business only works at full strength when you are present, you haven’t reduced the risk. You’ve concentrated it.
At the top levels of leadership, the question is rarely, “Can you decide?”Of course you can.
The real question is, “Can others decide well when you aren’t in the room?”
That’s the difference between being the operator and building the operation.
It begins quietly. A question reflected back. A recommendation explored. A context added. A decision shared. A leader shaped, one situation at a time.
The line at your door gets shorter and your organization gains strength. Not because you step away from accountability, but because you’ve built accountability into the people who stand in that line.
Leadership Homework
One question to sit with, without rationalizing it away:
If you disappeared for 30 days, what decisions would the organization be unable to make without you?
Not decisions they might make differently, different is acceptable. Decisions they could not make.
That answer will show you where the real bottleneck lives.
And where the next generation of leadership needs your attention.
Every December, I return to a familiar practice. I reread a few of my older posts, looking for threads that might help clarify my thinking about the year ahead. Last year, on the final day of 2024, I wrote a short post on my goals for 2025:
-Serve the quests of others over my own -Offer insights and advice, not direction -Push beyond my comfort zone and inspire others to do the same -Bring the loaves and fishes, and trust God with the rest
I see that I longed for simplicity without mentioning it directly. I wanted more presence, more clarity, more intention, and a little less noise in a world that seems to generate more every year.
This week, as I listened to Tim Ferriss speak with Derek Sivers, Seth Godin, and Martha Beck about simplifying life, I realized this desire has been with me for a long time. More than a decade ago, I wrote a short post called Becoming a Chief Simplicity Officer, describing how organizations thrive when they remove friction and create clean intuitive paths so people can focus on what truly matters. The idea was straightforward. When systems run smoothly, people flourish.
It turns out this Chief Simplicity Officer role fits in life just as well as leadership. Someone needs to step into the work of reducing complexity, eliminating friction, and clearing space for the things that deserve attention. Someone needs to guard the essentials by shedding the excess.
That someone is me, and it’s you in your life.
From Tim Ferriss’s Podcast
Derek Sivers: Simple Isn’t Easy, but It Is Freedom
Derek Sivers says simplicity requires intention. It doesn’t appear just because we cut a few tasks or say no occasionally. It takes shape when we clear away commitments that no longer belong and choose what contributes to the life we want to live. He often talks about building life from first principles instead of living on top of default settings.
Every recurring obligation fills space that could hold something meaningful. Every dependency adds weight. Every unfinished task pulls at the edges of our attention.
What possibilities would rise if complexity stopped crowding the edges of your life?
Seth Godin: Boundaries Create Clarity
Seth Godin approaches simplicity through the lens of clarity. When you know exactly who your work is for, you stop bending your days around expectations that were never meant to guide your decisions. Clear boundaries turn vague intentions into choices you can actually live out.
Simplicity often follows sharper edges. Define your edges, and the path through each day becomes easier to walk.
Martha Beck: Choose Joy, Not Habit
Martha Beck speaks of simplicity in the language of joy. She tells a story from her twenties when she made a single choice that reshaped her life. She turned toward joy and stepped away from misery, even when the joyful path cost more in the moment. Joy has a way of clearing the fog. It cuts through distraction and highlights what brings life.
Her words invite us to examine the decisions we’ve kept out of habit or comfort. Some habits strengthen our soul. Others only multiply clutter. Joy reveals the difference.
Ten Simplicity Moves for the Start of 2026
These actions are small, but each one lightens the load. They remove stones from a shoe you may have been walking with for years without realizing.
Cancel one subscription that no longer serves you. Even a small change can create a surprising sense of clarity.
Choose one non-negotiable time boundary and honor it. Maybe evening email and scrolling limits or a weekly focus block on your calendar. Small open spaces accumulate over time.
Simplify one recurring decision. Automate it, template it, or eliminate it entirely.
Pause one habit you maintain out of inertia. Give yourself a week to assess its value.
Identify one activity that consistently brings joy and schedule time for it this week.
Unsubscribe from three email lists that add noise instead of value.
Clear one surface you see every day. A calm space refreshes the mind.
Revisit your goals from last year and carry forward only what still matters. Release the rest.
Decide who you are working for. Clarity about your audience sharpens the work you choose to do.
Ask yourself one grounding question: What do I truly need to live the life I want? Let your answer shape what stays and what goes.
Looking Back at 2025 and Forward Into 2026
My goals for 2025 were aimed at deeper alignment with the things I care about. They served me well and opened my heart to possibilities I never would have imagined. I’ll carry these goals into 2026 (and beyond).
For 2026, I’m adding one specific goal to my list. I started working on this goal a few months ago, and it’s pushing me way outside of my comfort zone. While it’s a personal quest (and not one that serves the quests of others over my own), I believe it will serve others on their journey. I’ll be bringing the loaves and fishes and trusting God to do the rest. I’ll share more details later.
A Closing Invitation
Simplicity grows as unnecessary weight falls away and clarity rises in its place. You don’t need a title or a plan to begin.
You only need to choose.
Choose clarity.
Choose boundaries.
Choose joy.
Choose to be the Chief Simplicity Officer in your own life.
Let this be the year you simplify your days and rediscover the freedom and clarity that come from intentional living.
In sales, there’s an old saying that has echoed through offices and training rooms for decades.
Always be closing.
It’s meant to keep the salesperson focused on their end goal. Keep the deal moving forward. Stay alert to opportunity. Maintain momentum.
Over the years, I’ve come to believe leaders need a different version of that advice.
Always be coaching.
As a leader, your mission is to develop the people who will come after you. You lift others through quiet, daily work that helps them grow. Your job is to bring out the best in yourself and in the people who will eventually step into your role. Coaching drives growth and keeps it moving forward.
Coaching your team is a way of saying, “Your future matters to me.” Coaching your children says, “I believe you have more inside you than you can see today.” And coaching yourself acknowledges the simple truth that growth must continue throughout life, especially for the leader.
Great coaches do more than explain ideas. They create space for practice. They help others turn new knowledge into muscle memory. They offer challenges sized just right for the moment. They ask questions that change how a person thinks about a problem. They reveal a new angle or a new path forward when something feels unsolvable.
Coaching takes learning to the next level. You learn something. You put it into practice. Then you pass it on. Teaching anchors the lesson. It deepens the insight. It turns wisdom into a gift you can hand to others.
Coaching doesn’t require perfect knowledge. It requires humble generosity. Share the insight you gained from yesterday’s challenge. Share the questions that helped you see an issue more clearly. Share the perspective that lifted your confidence when you needed it most.
Leadership is a relay. Someone handed the baton to you. One day you’ll hand it to someone else. The best leaders prepare the people who will run ahead long after they’ve finished their leg of the race.
Who have you coached today? This week? This month?
This is your responsibility. Your opportunity. Your mission.
In the early 1990s, the term Peace Dividend appeared in headlines and boardrooms. The Cold War had ended, and nations began asking what they might gain by redirecting the resources once committed to defense.
Today the conflict is between our old ways of working and the new reality AI brings. After denial (it’s just a fad), anger (it’s taking our jobs), withdrawal (I’ll wait this one out), and finally acceptance (maybe I should learn how to use AI tools), the picture is clear. AI is here, and it’s reshaping how we think, learn, and work.
Which leads to the natural question. What is our AI Dividend?
Leaders everywhere are trying to measure it. Some ask how many people they can eliminate. Others ask how much more their existing teams can achieve. The real opportunity sits between these two questions.
Few leaders look at this across the right horizon. Every major technological shift starts out loud, then settles into a steady climb toward real value. AI will follow that same pattern.
The early dividends won’t show up on a budget line. They’ll show up in the work. Faster learning inside teams. More accurate decisions. More experiments completed in a week instead of a quarter.
When small gains compound, momentum builds. Work speeds up. Confidence rises. People will begin treating AI as a partner in thinking, not merely a shortcut for output.
At that point the important questions show themselves. Are ideas moving to action faster? Are we correcting less and creating more? Are our teams becoming more curious, more capable, and more energized?
The most valuable AI Dividend is actually the Human Dividend. As machines handle the mechanical, people reclaim their time and attention for creative work, deeper customer relationships, and more purpose-filled contributions. This dividend can’t be measured only in savings or productivity. It will be seen in what people build when they have room to imagine again.
In the years ahead, leaders who measure wisely will look beyond immediate cost savings and focus on what their organizations can create that couldn’t have existed before.
Photo by C Bischoff on Unsplash – because some of the time we gain from using AI will free us up to work on non-AI pursuits.
Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership 
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